CHAPTER NINE
°⋆∴☽°:۵≼

i. man, money, freak, friends !

— THE APARTMENT OF 221B HAD BEEN ALMOST COMPLETELY SILENT FOR THE PAST TWENTY MINUTES, save for the occasional shuffle of things being moved about in the kitchen, and the ends of sentences and songs being sung in a broken, off-key, partly out of breath tone.

Once John had left his flatmates to their devices, the two had only spoken for about ten minutes before Sherlock had begun to trail off in that quiet, contemplative way he frequented. It was the sort of look that told Danny exactly when the typically stand-offish man needed some time alone.

So, instead, Danny had searched and successfully found his trusty navy blue iPod shuffle, hidden at the bottom of a bag he had yet to unpack with an old pair of earbuds tangled up around it. With that, he blasted some classic tunes and began to tidy up the kitchen to the best of his abilities, filling a trash bag with their old takeaway, chopsticks, and plastic forks. He piled up dishes in the sink, and moved some things around so it looked less like a frat den, and ever so slightly more like an actual respectable apartment.

Although, after the first five minutes, the promise he'd made to himself and Sherlock- that he'd keep quiet so Sherlock could think clearly- was broken as he began to sing along and jam to his music with a muted enthusiasm, swaying, moonwalking, and head banging when the time was right as he went about and wiped down the countertops.

It had gotten to the point where it had become glaringly obvious to Sherlock, and had successfully interrupted his meditative state.

He reluctantly watched Danny pass through the kitchen, playing air guitar to Rick Springfield's 'Jessie's Girl', occasionally singing those two lyrics (and only those two) as he danced around with a cloth in one hand, and a crusty old whisk in the other, which he used as a microphone for whenever he happened to know the words.

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. The man before him was carefree. As if one could truly forget their past tragedies, if only for the blissful forgiveness of a moment.

Even as John climbed the stairs, uttering and groaning as he lugged some shopping bags up and fully intended to dump them on the kitchen table, Sherlock could hardly hide his amusement when Danny turned in the middle of his dancing, and nearly ran straight into the old army doctor.

"Holy fuck!" He jumped, tugging his earbuds out of his ears, which were blasting music so loudly, Sherlock was half surprised Mrs Hudson couldn't hear it downstairs. "Give a guy a warning, John."

Hiding his growing smirk, Sherlock turned his attention back to the laptop placed before him, furrowing his brows as he reread over the words and half listened to Danny and John's conversation.

"Maybe don't keep your bloody music so loud." John countered, placing his crammed full plastic bags on the table next to them. "You're gonna completely ruin your hearing if you keep that up."

"What?" Danny joked, talking louder than necessary, laughing as John rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing, anyway?"

"Cleaning up, genius."

"And what's that whisk for?"

"Y'know... In case there's some whisk-y business to take care of."

The volume of John's sigh could have shattered their skulls, if Danny and Sherlock hadn't been so used to hearing it. Danny simply grinned in response as the man turned away from him in favour of addressing Sherlock.

"Is that my computer?" John asked, finally noticing that it was, in fact, his laptop in Sherlock's possession.

"Of course." Sherlock responded easily.

"What?"

"Mine was in the bedroom."

"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?"

Sherlock seemingly didn't register his tone, and gestured vaguely in Danny's direction, "I asked if Danny could grab it for me about twelve minutes ago. He didn't respond, so this was my second option."

"Sorry," Danny smiled sheepishly, poking out from the kitchen as he paused in his task of putting away the groceries, brandishing his earbuds momentarily before disappearing again, calling over his shoulder, "Must've had headphones in at that point."

"Couldn't tell." The detective dismissed.

"Hang on-" John interrupted in disbelief, "It's password protected!"

"In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours."

"Yeah, after I told him the answer." Danny added absentmindedly. "You really should get a new password."

John raised his eyebrows at the man, glaring slightly at his sweater-clad back in confusion and a small amount of betrayal, "How would you know? And why would you tell him?"

"It was during my cleaning break, he asked."

"Funny, how much that can get you." Sherlock voiced, his attention still captured by the screen set out in front of him.

"Besides, it's not like you have anything important on there." Danny continued, waving a package of bacon around in a dramatic fashion before stuffing it in the fridge next to the jar of pickled eyeballs that Sherlock hadn't yet disposed of, having simply accepted at this point that their kitchen now doubled as a mad scientist's laboratory.

"Right, thank you." John snapped the laptop shut and grabbed it, tucking it safely under his arm in a protective fashion, placing it off to the side and out of the reach of the stubborn detective before collapsing tiredly in his armchair, not bothering to continue his attempt at an argument.

He picked up a pile of letters that had been left on the side table, carding through them with an increasing look of concern in his eye, thinking more and more about his financial state, "Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull." Sherlock rolled his eyes, fixing them on the wall before him and fighting the smallest quirk at the corner of his lips as he noticed, from out of his peripheral vision, that Danny had returned to his music, shaking about and whispering lyrics under his breath as he balled up the plastic bags he'd emptied, stuffing them mindlessly into a cupboard.

"Listen, um... " John shifted in his chair, leaning forward and grimacing at the sound of Danny now drumming quietly on the kitchen table, completely ignorant of the world around him. "If you'd be able to lend me some..."

He trailed off, realising that neither of his flatmates were actually paying attention, as Danny continued to shimmy to his music, and Sherlock stared intently at the wall as if at any moment, it would reveal some great mystery and finally satisfy the man's impossible boredom

"Sherlock, are you listening?" John's eyebrows raised at the question, knowing full well that he hadn't been, and wanting to see what kind of response that would stir up.

"I need to go to the bank." Sherlock suddenly shot up from his seat, grabbing a coat and pausing briefly to tug an earbud from Danny's ear.

Danny turned to face him in a disoriented fashion, "What's happening?"

"Bank?"

"...Sure?"

Sherlock smirked, tossing him a second coat, similar to Sherlock's own, only this one had a deep blue tone rather than the charcoal black.

"This yours?" Danny asked curiously, nonetheless shoving his arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up slightly, placing his iPod in some random kitchen drawer, surely to be forgotten later.

"Can't have you freezing again." The detective stated simply, his voice remaining even and unemotional as he practically ran out of the apartment, allowing the slightest hint of merriment to break onto his face as he heard two pairs of footsteps following closely after him.

— THE BUILDING SHERLOCK HAD DIRECTED THEIR TAXI TO WAS UNEXPECTED IN ITS GRANDEUR. The building was modern- sleek and sturdy, in shades of white and grey. It had that sense of unnatural cleanliness that suggested you could lick the pristine walls and only walk away with the distinct, bitter taste of disinfectant on your tongue.

"Yes, when you said we were going to the bank..." John commented, ignoring Danny's snicker behind him as they passed through the revolving doors.

"Investment." Danny commented, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and guiding him forward, towards the escalators, trying to keep up with their rather distracted crime-solving detective. "Not commercial."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

They trudged after Sherlock, glancing about at the upscale professional atmosphere, coming upon a reception desk, where men in suits and women in clean cut, muted black blouses and pencil skirts bustled about. After a few moments at the desk, where Danny and John had begun playing a discreet game of rock, paper, scissors in order to stave off their boredom, they were suddenly steered away by a particularly amused Sherlock, who lead them towards an elevator, and ultimately, an office that was similarly void of colour and individuality.

Danny counted at least three oversized screens at first glance, all showing rapidly changing information that he couldn't be bothered to keep up with, as he instead turned his attention towards the decor of the space. A simple, black cubed floor lamp, two uncomfortable, cheap looking chairs facing a polished glass desk. What stood out most, however, was the grand, plush desk chair behind the previously mentioned desk.

It didn't take a genius, or even Sherlock, to determine that this office belonged to someone who generally thought that they were better than others. A concept made clear by the stark difference between the metaphorical throne opposing the tacky, second-rate guest seating.

"Sherlock Holmes." A man greeted, strutting in with a relaxed posture that suggested the office they had been standing in for well over five minutes was likely his own.

"Sebastian." Sherlock returned, ignoring the questioning look on his companion's faces as he offered his gloved hand for the man to shake.

"Hiya, buddy." Sebastian grinned, with an underlying tone in his voice that Danny couldn't quite place. "How long- eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Sherlock remained somewhat unemotional, keeping up that well developed mask as he gestured to his side, "These are my friends, John Watson, and-"

"Friend?" Sebastian interrupted.

That was it. The underlying tone. A vague sense of mockery. Danny may not be the best at the 'science of deduction', but it took this particular phrase- just one simple word- for him to decide he didn't like the man before him, as Sebastian reached out to shake John's hand.

"Colleague." John corrected, causing Sebastian to sneer slightly in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock seemed to deflate slightly, his proud posture, which always accentuated his height, shrivelled in the face of the poorly disguised jeer, affected so much so that he hardly had the mind to continue his introductions, as Sebastian charismatically took control of the situation.

"And yourself?" Sebastian turned to Danny in a similar fashion as to how he had approached the other two men, offering his hand for a greeting shake.

"Daniel Evans. Sherlock's friend." Danny smiled, keeping a straight face as he slapped his own hand down in an awkward, low, uncoordinated high five. Sebastian cringed slightly at the loud clap that sounded out as their hands met for that split second, tearing his hand away and rubbing at the now sore skin as he uttered some niceties and went to sit in his seat, offering the other two chairs up with an insincere apology for the lack of a third.

Even Sherlock couldn't fight the smile that broke its way through to the surface as Danny took advantage of Sebastian's turned back, sending the detective a quick wink. A silent show of encouragement, and determined loyalty. Not only did Danny stand up for him yet again, in a sense that no one before him had ever done before, but he had joyfully labelled himself 'friend'.

Sherlock had never had one of those, either. It was nice to consider.

Friend. He had a friend. The idea seemed to hold more weight now that they had spent a handful of midnights whispering into the darkness of their bedroom, tossing crumpled balls of research papers back and forth and cracking jokes that never quite made sense in the sleepiness of moonlight.

"So, you're doing well." Sherlock spoke, offering his seat to Daniel, who humbly declined, instead choosing to lean comfortably against Sherlock's shoulder once he had sat down himself. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, so?" Sebastian shrugged, eyeing the physical contact between the two, as if he was sceptical of the friendship between them, disbelieving that Sherlock was even capable of typical human relationships.

"Flying all the way around the world, twice in a month?" Sherlock prompted.

"Right. You're doing that thing." He pointed out, "We were at uni together, and this guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick-"

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story." Sebastian interrupted once again, looking down his nose at the man.

John nodded, leaning forward in his own chair slightly, "Yes, I've seen him do it."

"Brilliant." Danny pinched the detective's arm, pride and admiration wrapped around his comment, "Isn't it?"

"Put the wind up everyone, we hated him." Sebastian returned easily, as if it wasn't an incredibly rude and patronising sentiment. "We'd come down to breakfast in the formal hall, and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

Freak. Again. Such a nasty word, undeserving of being uttered in the presence of such an incredibly intelligent creature such as the unexpectedly considerate genius at Daniel's side.

"I simply observed." Sherlock defended, bowing his head slightly as he shamefully avoided eye contact.

"Go on, enlighten me." Sebastian leaned back in his seat cockily, "Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world, you're quite right. How could you tell? Are you going to tell me there's a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?"

"No, I-"

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes."

The way Sebastian spoke, disregarding Sherlock's feelings in the favour of making a laughing spectacle of him, was entirely detestable. Practically disgusting, as he looked expectantly at the man.

"I was just chatting with your secretary outside." Sherlock responded evenly, making Danny grin at the glimmer of irritation that ran through Sebastian's eyes. "She told me."

"Now," Danny spoke before anything more could be said, adopting an overly kind tone as he faux smiled at the man across from them, "Sherlock's here doing you a favour, yeah? No idea why, to be honest, Sebby-boy, but why don't you go ahead and 'enlighten' us on the matter?"

author's note

this is a chapter brought to you by our Thankmas fundraising efforts!! $150.00 on day one is unfathomable and unexpected I literally thought I'd have more time to prepare before you smashed that goal, but remind me not to underestimate you guys 😭😭

more chapters and more fundraising incentives are on their way, I prOmise, so keep up the amazing work <3