Chapter Text
Sherlock always felt like getting the full picture of what a relationship in general is would be a true struggle for him. When he was little, he used to think that the way his parents were together was how it should be, how it was meant to be. But after all the things with Beatrice, when his mother was sent to an asylum and he to a private boys' school, he decided that probably their parents' relationship wasn’t that perfect after all. As he learnt from books, leaving your partner behind is never a good thing to do.
Sherlock was curious about relationships only as things that happen but never as something he wanted. He didn’t feel the need to get one, while other boys at his schools were sneaking away at night to meet some girls around. Mycroft was never a good example as well. While Sherlock wanted to explore the causes and consequences, Mycroft seemed fully interested only in building his career. A little bit later, during one of those times his brother was taking him out of prison again, he realised that Mycroft developed diplomatic relationship skills further than anyone else.
So Sherlock eventually put research on romantic love somewhere aside, thinking he wasn’t grown up enough to see all aspects of it, looking at his parents. When he finally grew up, he saw so many other things to discover. He left the need to care for communication to someone else. He was applying what he learnt about people's intercommunication from his observations of regular situations, not really feeling if it was appropriate or not. Probably, that was the first reason for Sherlock to end up in prison for theft.
However, this chain of events led him to Oxford, where all his life turned upside down. The day he met James Moriarty was truly important for the universe. And Sherlock was even a little bit grateful to his brother for finding him a scout job.
It never was love at first sight; cliches aren't their type of thing anyway. But it wasn’t regular as well. Although most times Sherlock felt nothing towards new people, there were occasions he was intrigued about some minds, like Professor Thompson's. And James was different from all that. Sherlock felt something like affection back in that classroom. Moriarty’s voice, his words, his smile and his hand were showing the feelings were mutual. No wonder they've clung to each other this fast. Both are outsiders, both irritatingly smart, and both looking for trouble.
And Sherlock never was quite sure what kind of a relationship they had. They were close enough not to call them acquaintances, yet he couldn’t call it friendship. Friends barely copy each other's words and habits and risk their lives to help with a prison break, and friends definitely don’t kiss each other the way they did.
The first time they kissed wasn’t really about emotions. It was simply James who couldn’t help himself but start a game. Sherlock should’ve seen it back then, knowing where they were now. They knew each other for less than a day and were already laughing and drinking in the library, discussing pricks from that party. Sherlock felt for the first time what it meant to feel normal when someone thinks you are worth the effort. And he enjoyed that feeling, confirming it by seeing the face James had while looking at him.
Sherlock didn’t pay much attention to it that second, because he was convinced if he would, he’d see what was coming. When Moriarty stood up, his expression shifted slightly, like he got an excellent idea which he wasn’t about to share. And the next second Sherlock found himself pinned to a library table and kissed by James.
That wasn’t a lovely, passionate kiss but rather an experiment or a test. James wasn’t pushing; on the contrary, he was giving Sherlock some distance, still softly pressing lips against lips. Holmes wasn’t one to turn down any challenge, so in honour of pure interest, he responded, leaving an unusual feeling for later to process. But he couldn’t deny that this one was different from those he had at boy school. Back then it was just teenage hormonal exploration in lack of women's attention. With Moriarty it wasn’t the same. He liked kissing James, though it ended too soon to consider other deeper feelings.
Moriarty stepped back and continued his speech on the scrolls, suggesting stealing them, and Sherlock pretended that nothing happened. Perhaps they were simply drunk enough to have a little mischief.
Back at his dorm, he tried to understand what happened. The fact was that they’ve kissed, but it wasn’t the thing Sherlock was looking for. He was trying to process if he could say he liked it. The sensation, of course, was enjoyable. Yet, should he feel that way towards a friend? A male friend, to be precise. Sherlock thought about that a little bit more and decided that male or female didn't make a great difference, since it was the first time he experienced something like that at all.
The next morning Holmes regretfully thought that they still could’ve stolen them and been blamed for it anyway. He and James were accused of stealing scrolls, and if it weren't Mycroft, he would sit in a prison cell barely a week after he was taken out of one. Luckily, he got his chance to find the real thief and clear his name. And also help James to prove his innocence to Hodge. The investigation they'd started kept Sherlock's mind busy, so he didn’t think about the kiss a lot. He couldn’t help but notice how simply James was slipping into his thoughts.
Moriarty entered his imagination, and even though in reality he wasn’t there, he caught track of Sherlock's thoughts even before Holmes did it himself. And also, it was almost admirable how James was ready to fight for him while Sherlock was nothing helpful. Not to mention, when they'd finally found the scrolls and discovered a bomb, he didn’t run away but almost got blown up in that hall together.
He really didn’t think about the kiss until they finally solved that riddle. Of course, there were a lot of other questions left without an explanation, starting with who put the bomb there and why. Yet, when they were sitting in the Holmes’ room, the stuffy dormitory, Sherlock couldn’t help himself from asking.
“What was that kiss about?” His expression was concerned and thoughtful. Straightforwardness of his was almost childlike.
“I just thought back then it'd be fun,” James replied easily, with his cocky smile. “You looked so pretty there."
Sherlock took a moment to process. This easy? He was considering mentioning that it was a little bit inappropriate, but was it fair now? He did nothing to protest, so why to start?
“Don’t take it too seriously”, Moriarty said, as if he were talking about a forgotten top hat. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? I was told I’m a good kisser" and gave another grin.
“No complaints”, Sherlock said dryly.
He heard James chuckle before changing the topic. He was talking about their mission success and now finally he’ll be an honourable scholar again, and Sherlock won’t go to prison. Holmes was replying, thinking about everything in the background.
He didn’t believe any word James said about having fun, since he saw that, from his point of view, having fun was mocking up wankers from wealthy families or stealing the scrolls. Kissing a guy you’ve just met must be something else; Sherlock just had to understand what exactly.
Surely, their little adventure made them closer; he truly wasn’t complaining. James’ mind was a hundred times more brilliant than any Sherlock met in his life. Again, James entered his thoughts easily as if he always belonged there, seeing exactly what Sherlock saw crawling around memories or imagining different scenarios. Almost as if they were sharing one mind. Holmes caught himself thinking if James was able to go deep enough to see that one memory of a summer day by the river which had been haunting him for 12 years. Not really the place he wanted to show him. Probably, not yet.
Sherlock decided that only Mycroft could compete in his brilliance with James, but Sherlock never thought about kissing his own brother. Unlike James, Holmes discovered that he wouldn’t mind repeating it, especially when whisky, which Moriarty just passed him, hit his stomach. God knows how this evening could end if they had more drinks. To his own surprise, Sherlock found himself enthralled.
The picture was ruined by the knock. It was Shou'an who came to thank him for saving her life. James smiled knowingly (what did he know?), said a couple of compliments, and seamlessly took himself away. Sherlock hoped he’d see how he doesn’t want Moriarty to leave. Holmes had no idea what to do with a woman, the one who wanted to show her gratitude so willingly. Oh, that’s what James knew. Sherlock felt trapped.
It appeared to be for a reason.
When the next morning he woke up with a hangover only because of the officers stating he killed Professor Thompson, he regretfully thought that evening with James instead of Shou’an would also end with a hangover but at least without a prison cell.