#basillockian

"Watch!" Sherlock called over his shoulder from where he was now hunched over in a pile of boxes by the window. He tossed a pair of scissors Basil’s way & barely missed it, letting them fly past into the kitchen. "Where is it?"

Basil stretched, feeling the strain of muscle around his bones. It felt like it had been a long time since he'd even bothered to step foot outside. With an invigorating breath, he then knocked on the front door to the flat he had come to know so well.

The door opened unceremoniously, the wiry frame of one consulting detective filling the length of it. Pyjama clad and hair tousled off in every other direction, the infamous Holmes stood lamely against the frame with his jaw set into the good half of a pastry before he started chewing.  "Af-" he began, before he took in the sight of Basil before him, and his eyes widened with surprise.

First came the initial raise of his eyebrows, then was the slow grin. "Holmes." He greeted him, stifling amusement and feigning slight nonchalance. 

With a clearing of his throat he brought his hand up to wipe at his mouth, standing up properly. "Basil," he replied, just as smoothly -or as smoothly as he could, and he swallowed the half of a pastry still in his mouth before stepping out of the way of the entry.

He stepped inside, facing him again with the smile still lingering on his face as he took in the sight of the other detective. "It's... been awhile, my dear fellow." He commented, softening just a bit. 

Sherlock arched his brow in response, the echo of a smile ghosting over the deep bow of his lips when he can properly look the other over. "Nearly six months," he quips, though from him the fact is much more common place.

His eyebrows raised lightly as he considered that. "Really now? Hmm, indeed it has." His hands slid into his pockets. "Quite awhile, then."

Falling back into the center of the living room, Sherlock tosses off his robe onto the nearest surface and fixes the t-shirt that was nearly hanging off his shoulder. "I take it work's well then?" He asks, with an honest curiosity, and he clambers over the coffee table to cover the ground between them.

"Fine, I suppose." He replied, watching Sherlock's haphazard movements with an amused smile. "I had a great case not long ago, but currently it's gotten slow, it's been a boring few days." He shrugged a bit. "Yourself?"

"Eventful," he concedes, then quickly crosses over to the opposing side of the living room, rounding a giant plant that nearly took up the space between the chairs by the mantel. "Just finished a case the other day," he says, taking up a newspaper from amongst a stack and tossing it over to the other. A picture of him and John take up the front page, with some cheesy headline or another in bold above them. 

He caught it and skimmed it curiously. "Excellent. My last case to make the papers was... one before the last, I believe."

"I should tell you about it before John manages to condense it into simple dramatics," he says, pushing aside the plant as he walked past it and stopping just before the other. Without pretense he takes the others shoulders in his hands and leans in enough so that his sudden tight smile is in perfect view. "Three consecutive deaths, no prior connections accept one symbol carved into their shoulder blades."

Basil didn't move, just looking at Sherlock's face, his eyes brightening at the news. "Fascinating...!" He said with a grin, his interest obvious. "Symbol carved by the murderer or there to begin with?"

"Evidence suggested pre-death due to scarring but the tissue was still too soft so it wasn't long before hand, ergo our murderers trademark. Or so the yard claimed," he breathed in, straightening himself back into a stand and bringing his hands back together into a perfect steeple. "MY evidence, of course, was different."

Basil nodded, listening intently and following the fellow detectives train of thought. "You found something else, then?"

"Naturally," Sherlock quips, bouncing onto the balls of his feet, a glimmer of something like childish excitement flashing behind his eyes. "The bodies weren't freshly murdered, id say a good few days old, and any other signs of violent death or resistance was missing. They only had small punctured holes in their skulls and a few other places," he said matter-of-factly. "Of course after extensive research i found the true purpose for them... Organ donation." 

Basil grinned, matching the others excitement. "Brilliant!" He praised Sherlock, gesturing with his hands. "So he held the bodies to preserve the organs, is that right?"

-high-functioning-sociopath replied to your post: 

"Hmm.." Sherlock hummed, his partially lidded eyes absently scanning over the headline of the newspaper the other held. "Anything of susbtance?" he inquired, reaching over to take up a piece of toast and let it sit between his teeth for the moment.

"Unless you fancy being stuffed in my coat pocket for most of the trip, then you might have to consider an alternative. I’m on shaky terms with Lestrade as it is."

It's quite simple but quite wonderful, and I just wanted to share it with you all...

Sherlock and I are now together. I am completely and totally in love it's almost ridiculous.

And I just want to share a quick story with it too. Because... I went from being very... very Basil. I was very much against love, like he is. I didn't want to fall in love. I didn't think I was exactly meant for it. I'm very used to being alone and I don't really rely on anyone. But as soon as I met Sherlock... I forgot about all of that. Simply forgot. It didn't matter how closed I was, because I'd been falling for a long time, and as soon as we were together... that was all it took. 

So I found it interesting, more parallels between Basil and I. I feel for him even more now. He's being a bit more stubborn about love, but now that I've let go and I see how amazing it can be, I think he'll be able to let go too.

The case was well over, solved in a matter of days. Basil and Sherlock had been dragged out to America for it; California, to be more precise. It had taken them all across Los Angeles and Hollywood, far from their rain and chill of London and into the CA heat. They were packing to leave when Basil halted, standing bolt upright.

"Where's my passport?"