gif by @inevitable-destruction
James Moriarty x Sherlock Holmes
James teaches a terrified Sherlock how to swim.
AN: This was inspired by @the-lady-stardust28‘s post. I was going to make this smut but I found that I actually don’t really like to write smut, so angst and fluff it is.
The river churns, waves beat down, spraying Sherlock’s face with salty water. He halts, stopping an inch away from the bridge’s ledge. The water is hypnotic, beckoning Sherlock’s frightful gaze. He sways, feeling lightheaded, watching wave after white-tipped wave swallow everything in its path. His vision blurs, tears sting his eyes. The sound of the river is unbearable, a deafening roar silencing all else. In the back of his mind, Sherlock hears a mother call for her child.
“Bea? Bea?” The unanswered call rings out, a terrified undertone to the anger of the river. The wind pushes at his back, forcing him closer to the river. Sherlock’s hair beats his face, growing wild and unruly with every gust of wind. His stomach drops, falling into the river below. His hands shake, and he shuffles back, realizing how close he is to the ledge. Nothing else exists in his mind except for the river.
“Sherlock!” A familiar voice cries out. A hand is placed on his upper back, drawing him out of his trance. Sherlock spins, hugging the man behind him as tightly as possible.
“James.” He whispers into his startled friend’s shoulder, eyes wide with fear.
“Sherlock, what are you doing? He’s getting away!” James pries Sherlock off him, gesturing to the suspect they had been previously chasing, swimming to a bank at the edge of the river. Sherlock clutches at James’ lapels, trying to ground himself to the cobblestone below him.
“James, please, let’s just go.” He mutters, staring into the river below.
James walks Sherlock across the bridge to nearby solid ground. He presses his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“What happened?” He asks, his brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you jump after him?”
Sherlock looks away, leaving James’ questions unanswered. He sighs, dropping his hands into his pockets. Giving in, he leads Sherlock to a carriage, taking them back to Appleton Manor.
They sit in silence for the majority of the ride, only bumping into each other when the carriage hits a rock.
“I can’t swim.” Sherlock utters after a long while. His voice cracks slightly, betraying the shame underneath. “After Bea, I haven’t been able to without panicking.”
James stares at him, and Sherlock can feel regret bubbling up inside him. He shouldn’t have admitted that. What would James think? He had just made a friend, his only friend, who now must think he is a complete half-wit. It was a terrible idea to be this vulnerable.
“I can teach you.” James says, calm and unjudgementally. Sherlock expected a joke, a smirk, anything. Not James being completely serious and sincere. It was unexpected, but not unappreciated. Something stirred in Sherlock as he quietly nodded and accepted the offer.
They are in the river behind Appleton Manor, just upstream from where Beatrice died. The cool water is waist high, leisurely flowing through the forest. The trees create a canopy over the water, with leaves and vegetation surrounding the river. James is wading, stripped down to nothing but his pants, and Sherlock waits at the shore, tentatively dipping his bare feet into the water. His heartbeat quickens, and he pulls out, clutching his suit jacket like a pillow. The water is much calmer than the river from earlier that day, but it doesn’t do much to settle his nerves. Sherlock pulls his knees up to his chest, opting to watch James instead. James stands in the water, trying, and failing, to catch fish with his hands. His chest gleams from perspiration and Sherlock realizes how majestic he looks, water reflecting the late-afternoon sunlight upon his face. He looks away, tracing circles into the dirt below him.
“Slippery bastards." James laughs, resting his hands on his hips. He turns, approaching Sherlock. “The water won’t bite!”
“No, but the fish might.” Sherlock counters, still tracing the same circle into the ground.
“C’mon! The water is perfect!” James shouts, splashing Sherlock. He nervously laughs, holding his hands to block his face from the spray. James walks over to him, extending his hand for Sherlock to take. Sherlock hesitates for a moment before sitting up to grip James’ hand and stand up. He presses his lips together, suppressing his growing anxiety. He nervously scans the water, tightening his grip on James’ hand.
“We don’t have to if you aren’t ready.” Says James, rubbing his thumb comfortingly across the back of Sherlock’s hand.
“No-. No, I’m ready.” Sherlock exhales, resting his gaze upon James’ face instead of the river behind him. They slowly make their way into the river, water lapping at their heels. Sherlock holds James tighter the further they go, his fears quieting the closer the two are.
They reach the deepest part of the river, still holding on to each other. The current is strong enough that Sherlock can feel its pull, but he doesn’t fear that it will sweep him off his feet and carry him away if he lets go of James. Although, he still doesn’t want to just yet.
“Lean back.” James instructs. “Don’t worry, I've got you.” Sherlock follows his direction, floating on his back. James’ hands rest firmly at his waist, holding him up. When the back of his head hits water, he tenses up, panicking. He hears the cries of his mother, the sound of “Just breathe. I’m not letting you go.”
Sherlock lets his eyes flutter shut, feeling the water flow over his face. James’ hands ground him, and with the support he realized how relaxing the water is. It’s calm, serene. He breathes deeply, feeling the flow of the water with the tips of his fingers. His fears, his anxieties, his concerns all wash away with the current. He wonders how he was scared of this in the first place.
James’ hand slowly trails up Sherlock’s back, onto his chest, over his shoulders, and eventually resting at his cheek, thumb softly stroking his skin. Sherlock lets his eyes open, meeting James’ gaze. It's full of a quiet affection, a soft admiration spoken from afar. Sherlock stands straight, facing James. James’ eyes flicker to Sherlock’s parted mouth, before meeting his eyes again a split second later. Sherlock steps forward, letting his mouth part slightly. He closes the gap, tangling his fingers in James’ hair. He feels James lean into the kiss, humming against Sherlock’s lips. James pulls him flush against his chest, his hands still resting at Sherlock’s waist and cheek. They slowly pull apart, catching their breath, before James pulls Sherlock in again, this kiss deeper and more intimate.
Everything except the two falls away, fading into nothingness. Sherlock tightens his grip on James, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping him anchored to this reality. He feels James’ heartbeat fall in time with his own, creating a steady rhythm tethering them together. Sherlock follows James’ lead, adapting to the slow pace he sets. Far too soon for Sherlock’s liking, James breaks away, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Sherlock’s eyes. He softly kisses his cheek, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s.
“You look gorgeous in the water.” James whispers, his voice barely audible above the sound of the water. A smile creeps upon Sherlock’s face, warming his face, before he moves to kiss James again.
