“Summer Gold or Amber Pearl?” Jim stood in the den holding up two paint swatches that were, as far as Sebastian was concerned, the exact same shade of yellow.
Well, they were in was what was going to become the den. Previously, it had been Sebastian’s office. But as more and more of Sebastian’s work was being done off-site and anything at home was usually done in the basement, Jim had decided that the room could be put to better use.
Sebastian was not pleased with this.
“I don’t even see why we need a den,” he protested, taking his books off a shelf and putting them in a box. He blew dust off an old youth hockey trophy.
“Don’t whine so much, Bas. You can still keep your books in here. They just won’t be on those sorry excuses for shelving from… what is that, Ikea?”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s cheap and hideous.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. Jim viewed everything that was mass produced as “cheap and hideous.” Apparently, if it wasn’t custom built or antique, it had no place in their flat. And the den would be going the custom built route. Jim was actually working with an architect and an interior designer. Sebastian thought this was slightly overkill, but he had no desire to repeat the fight that had erupted when he mentioned that opinion off handedly. “Beyond that… yellow? Seriously? It’s going to look like a nursery in here.”
“I suppose you’d rather have the place done in forest green, with mahogany and leather everywhere.” Jim pulled a face as he wandered around the room, running his fingers over windowsills and glancing around with a slightly far-off look in his eyes.
“Yeah, I would, actually.” Sebastian said with a frown, but it turned to a smile as he pulled out a small bottle of shells that they’d gathered on their not-honeymoon in Jamaica.
“Too bad. You got to pick the colors for the bedroom, now I’m doing the den. And you still haven’t answered me: Summer Gold or Amber Pearl?”
“I don’t know, babe…” he said with a sigh, carefully setting the bottle in a box. He put on his worst German accent. “Isn’t that a question for your dear Hans?”
“His name is Gunther and you know that. Now answer me.”
Sebastian folded the flaps of the box shut and stood to grab another one. “Whatever his name is, I don’t trust the guy.”
“You never trust Germans.”
“With good reason.”
“It was one bad judgment call, it’s not fair to bias yourself against an entire culture.”
“Talk to me again when you’ve been stabbed through the foot by a bloody neo-Nazi with a bayonet.” Sebastian rubbed at his left foot, feeling the slight raised bump of scar tissue.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“And you’re being pedantic.”
“Sebastian!”
Sebastian looked up at that. Jim’s voice had suddenly lost its playful edge and there was something there that he couldn’t quite place. “What?”
“Could you please try to take this seriously?” There was tension in Jim’s shoulders and he was looking at Sebastian with a hurt expression. “I’m asking your opinion because I’m doing this for you.”
Standing and brushing dust from his knees, Sebastian crossed the room to where Jim was standing. “What do you mean, doing this for me?” he asked cautiously. “You’re taking my office away from me so you can play house with your interior designer…”
Jim looked at the floor. “You said you don’t like watching movies in the sitting room because of the angle the couch has to be at.” He raised his eyes to look at Sebastian without lifting his head. “And there’s no place to mount surround sound speakers with the way the breakfast bar is situated.”
Sebastian blinked. He had mentioned that. About six months ago. He’d just assumed Jim had ignored him as usual. He’d certainly been acting that way up until this point. “So when you say den…”
“It’s more of a media room.”
“Why didn’t you just say that, babe?” Sebastian lifted Jim’s chin before sliding his arms around his husband’s waist.
“Because it was supposed to be a surprise, you clot,” Jim mumbled, reluctantly moving into Sebastian’s embrace. “And now you’ve ruined it.”
Sebastian took the paint swatches from Jim’s hand and studied them. “Summer gold,” he said finally, meeting Jim’s lips in a kiss.
—-
Felt like writing, so I asked for one word prompts over on twitter. This one was “Yellow.”
The only one in the world.
James Moriarty isn’t a man at all. He’s a spider. A spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.
sometimes I picture Molly Hooper sitting Jim Moriarty down and telling him this relationship isn’t working out but she’d do it in such a lovely way all sweet and anxious because she doesn’t want to hurt him but the fact of it is he’s gay and there’s no future for them but she’s happy for him really she is and maybe they can still be friends and Jim is just like
Sentiment
Jim is fearful of his feelings towards Sebastian and lashes out; effectively murdering his sniper. While bleeding out, Sebastian decides to ask why he is dying. He wasn’t expecting to be flattered by the answer.
“Dear Jim, Please will you fix it for me”
why do you insist on performing inception on me and planting actuallynice!Anderson headcanons in my head why
ANDERFEELS
I NEVER EXPECTED TO FEEL UPSET OVER ANDERSON BUT UGH THIS
I HATE YOU
“Hello John I am here”
“Goodbye John I am gone”
The fact that at one point Mycroft was standing in an office printing numerous sexual pictures of Irene Adler never fails to amuse me.
John, what is your face, John.
I AM EXTREMELY UPSET
THIS IS MY EXTREME FROWN
WAIT WAIT WAIT
in the first episode of sherlock, during the drugs bust, mrs. hudson got worried because she uses ‘herbal soothers’ for her hip
guys
mrs. hudson smokes weed
MRS. HUDSON SMOKES WEED
Dude, she got Sherlock Holmes to ensure her husband was executed.
We already know she’s a bad ass not to be messed with.
