#fff336

***

Sherlock quite liked Mr Sim: he played the grumpy businessman excellently. To some extent, the young boy understood his irascibility. Even at his age, Sherlock had encountered enough idiots to last a lifetime, thank you very much!

When a man’s face appeared on Scrooge’s doorknocker, though, Sherlock got a bad feeling in his stomach. He inched a bit closer to his brother, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. When invested in something, William Sherlock Scott Holmes’ perseverance was staunch. That didn’t mean he couldn’t seek comfort from his brother. He was after all not yet seven years old.

As the bell started to chime – without moving an inch – followed by the growl from what sounded like a gigantic hound, Sherlock felt like his curls had turned straight. He didn’t even register that he sat flush against Mycroft’s side. To his brother’s credit, he kept silent about it.

***

The Ghost of Christmas Past sent Sherlock’s heart racing like it did when he ran through the forest with Redbeard, but not in that exhilarating way the running evoked. To his horror, an anguished sound escaped him, which made him want to punch his brother for suggesting this fascinating but also horrific film.

“Don’t be afraid, brother mine,” Mycroft said softly and put his arm around Sherlock, pulling him closer.

“I’m not a baby, Myc,” Sherlock protested, but he was unable (unwilling) to withdraw from the embrace.

His brother said nothing, but his arm stayed where it was, and if Sherlock snuggled into the warmth emanating from Mycroft’s body, neither of them mentioned it.

It was slightly disconcerting to see Mr Scrooge smile and cheer up when he watched himself dancing. Sherlock had grown so custom to the man’s scorn and horror, that the laugh and glee seemed indecent.

Something warm rolled down Sherlock’s cheeks when the young Ebenezer’s sister died, and she begged him to take care of her infant son. He rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and whispered: “Don’t ever die, Myc.” 

His brother still didn’t speak, but Sherlock thought his inhale was a bit more unsteady than usual, and his grip on Sherlock tightened.

***

The next spirit – The Ghost of Christmas Present – wasn’t terrifying at all. It looked like an intermingling between Father Christmas and the head of the Greek gods, Zeus. Not that Scrooge was less frightened; he was clearly in distress, but he had after all estranged himself from everyone – even his own family.

“You will always be my brother, won’t you, Myc?” Sherlock asked with a trembling voice.

“Of course, Lock. I will be there for you, always. I promise,” Mycroft replied.

His voice was fond, and Sherlock felt a calmness fall over him. 

It only lasted until the third ghost appeared on the telly, though. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was dressed in a black hooded cloak, its face hidden. This apparition indicated that Mr Scrooge had died, and the scream when the ghost led him to his gravestone, chilled Sherlock to the core. He hid his face on Mycroft’s chest for a moment, but then Ebenezer started to plead with the ghost, telling it that he had changed his character. Sherlock had an urge to tell the man to not be afraid anymore when he woke up in his bed, but he was after all nearly seven, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself further in front of his teenage brother.

***

A happy ending wasn’t Sherlock favourite, but he would definitely make an exception for this film. The tormented man finally made things right, and Sherlock didn’t find his happiness disturbing anymore.

They sat in silence for a while before Sherlock extracted himself from Mycroft’s embrace at the same time as his older brother released him from the tight hold. None of them could look the other in the eye, but the mood between them stayed (almost) friendly until the new year appeared, and they went back to their respective schools.

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Toro was here. He heard heavy footsteps coming from the corridor. Seconds later the haggard figure of his beloved friend appeared walking toward his hallway. To his surprise he stumbled onto him. His head on his shoulder. “I ammm so tiredddd.” Toto moaned pouncing his friend. “I don’t think I have recovered yet from my allergic reaction.” Ron welcomed his friend’s initiative to seek proximity. “You didn’t send me a message that you returned.” The forbidden detective replied with a slight pout for a dramatic effect. His hands went up to Toto’s nape, stayed there cradling him. “I didn’t have any time. As soon as I reported from work, Amamiya-senpai immediately gave me something to do.” Toto arranged his head while his hands found Ron’s ribs and carefully wrapped his arms around him. He could smell his friend’s old perfume mixed with his natural scent: fresh and slight sour-ish due to perspiration, but without stink, mind. “Ah! But a text is enough.” Ron murmured. “Sorry. Sorry. It won’t happen again.” I need you. I want you. “You need to go to bed, Toto.” “Join me?” Huh? “I’d sleep much better if you were beside me. Besides, you also need some sleep. I can tell it from your eyes.” He looked up at Ron, who chuckled softly. “Okay…” “Good. Then let’s…” Toto said. “Let me make up to you.” Without saying a word, his lips found Ron’s. “Toto?” “Apologies. It just… happened.” Toto loosened his hold on to his friend, stepped away from him a little bit. Ron panicked slightly. He missed his friend’s hands, his body, on him, touching his skin. “No, no, no. Please…” Ron was not able to finish when he felt Toto’s lips on him again. Insistent. Unstoppable. “Hmmmm…” Tongues collided, sparred like swords. They exchanged salivas. Grunts. Moans. Ron felt hands directly on his skin, fingers removing his grey shirt. Toto was tired but strangely not for amorous purposes. Ron thought but he did not complain. He loved this version of Toto now, direct and forceful. They ended up on the wall, his wrists were help up as Toto lapped at his neck, down to his chest attacking his nipples then putting them between his lips. Later he felt teeth gently bit them, tongue nibbling them. “Ahhhh…” Who would have thought Toto knew these things. The hands moved on to his buttocks gently kneading them like a dough. A finger stubbornly poking inside the hole. Finally. Ah, fi…nal..ly. Between the two of them lay the question on who had to initiate. Two reserved men aching for intimacy. When the same fingers tried to pull down his jogging pants, he stopped them. “Perhaps it is better to continue this on a proper bed, Toto.” He placed his hands on to his shoulders, out of breath. Toto looked up disoriented as if he had seen Ron for the first time. “Uh… what… sure. Okay.” Ron opened the door to his bedroom. Toto took of his blazer, untangled his necktie and opened his dress shirt. He heard a click behind him. After he unfastened his belt, he unzipped his slacks pulling them down together with his black socks. He left his underwear, which was also black, unpretentious, unlabelled. He then turned to Ron. “Now you. I want to see you naked, Ron.” “Lie down.” He answered, almost a whisper. Toto lay down on the bed without losing any eye contact. When Ron removed his jogging pants the police officer realised that his friend was not wearing an underwear. He smiled. “Come here…” He took his left hand and dragged his fingers to Ron’s smooth back. As they pressed their bodies together just feeling up each other’s nakedness, Toto felt a wave of sudden drowsiness that he could not resist closing his eyes for a minute. Damn, the meds have worked. “I am sorry, Ron.” He said quietly. His hands then loosened up the hold to his friend’s arms. “Toto???” The lips stopped kissing his ears and the hands dropped to the bed. “What happened?” Ron heard a soft snore coming from his friend. “Not cool, Toto. Why now?” He was a bit irritated, but he couldn’t help giggling.