3potionproblem | Quidditch "Date"

WHO: Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty
TONE: Tense to somewhat romantic
RATING: PG-13 [tw - talk of suicide]
WHEN: Sunday, November 25th
WHERE: The Quidditch stands
WHAT: Sherlock and Jim go on their Quidditch date.
STATUS: Completed
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Sherlock stood in the Ravenclaw Quidditch viewing box watching the crowd far more than he bothered to watch the game as he stood aside from the stands. It wouldn't do well to be stuck in the middle of that crowd. For one, they were very noisy. For another, he was supposed to be meeting someone and standing aside would make him a bit more obvious. Not that Jim really needed the help.

To pass the time he watched Greg and Tony above, comparing their performance and team management styles with what he knew of them. He followed Peter's broom now and then. Things moved too fast to really be all that interesting. Sherlock much preferred a game of whits to a game mostly of luck, chance, and physical skill.

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"Gee, I wonder where you got that idea." Sherlock shouldered Moriarty aside and started down out of the stands.

"Sherlock." Moriarty followed after him, actually seeming somewhat disturbed by his reaction.

Sherlock had half a mind to ignore him completely.

Really, half a mind was all it was going to take.

And Moriarty had all a mind to grab Sherlock's arm after they managed to get away from the crowd. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped, looking over his shoulder at him. "What do you want?"

He seemed disgusted by the question for a moment. "That's what I was going to ask you."

Sherlock shook his head. "What I want is for you to stop doing these stupid things that from what I can tell serve no purpose other than to prove that you will always be the one in control of everything we do. I don't have to play your games. So I'm not going to anymore. I'm going to my room. I have more than enough I could be doing instead of playing into your stupid scenarios."

"Alright, I'll stop. We'll stop, I'll stop. These trifling games, they're not amusing anymore anyway. Don't go." He doesn't release his grasp, but the offer sounds rather genuine.

Sherlock looked at him for a long moment before exhaling through his nose in defeat. “Alright.”

"Alright," he echoed as if sorting something out in his head. His gaze dropped to the ground as he released Sherlock, not in submission as most would take the reaction - he was thinking. If only Sherlock knew how to get into his head.

"I think there's something larger going on, and these strange events are the trickle down, which is why Snow and the Ministry doesn't seem to be doing anything, there's a possibility that they're trying to hide something bigger," he murmured loud enough for Sherlock - an offering of knowledge, of peace? "Scream fire and no one will notice you stealing amidst the chaos." Just like the little stunt he had just pulled, no one paid them any attention because there was something bigger to pay attention to.

“Certainly gave them enough reason to start searching student’s things. There’s not enough evidence to go off of yet, though. We’ll have to wait for another attack—likely at the Yule ball.” He leaned against the wall once his was released, taking a relaxed posture to try and relieve the tension in his bones.

"I doubt they actually think it's a student. They have the Trace after all," he continued as he watched the other, "I agree though, there isn't enough evidence yet. I don't know enough to make many assumptions." It was a little awkward, he hadn't done this in a long time - shared possible ideas with Sherlock. "Are you going?" The question was genuine curiosity.

“To the ball?” Sherlock shrugged. “If there’s likely to be more activity, certainly. Not like getting dressrobes is any hardship and I’m quite interested to see what the perpetrator does next.”

Moriarty nodded in response, staying silent as he did. "Yes, yes," he paused to rub at the injury on his throat idly, "I am too, rather interested." Change of topic in 3, 2, 1: "I don't care you know?" He smiled at him similar to one of the ones he had used a million times to charm other people, but not exactly - there was a seriousness to his expression - it was a shitty attempt if he was trying to woo the other in some way.

Sherlock arched his left brow. "Don't care about what?"

"That problem of yours that involves feelings." He shrugged and pursed his lips together. "I don't care. You're not ordinary, no, no you're not. I hate to sound fulsome, Sherlock, but I doubt there's a single derogatory thing I could say about you."

Sherlock continued to eye him, not quite certain where that had come from. "...Thank you," he settled on at last, looking down with light discomfort at the wall across from him. "I'm sure you could think of a few if you tried, though. Suppose I'm grateful I'm not worth that effort all the same."

James grinned and let out a small chuckle. "Perhaps your fashion sense could use some work. No, I'm being fictitious," he trailed off, almost thinking about going quiet but seeming to change his mind... "Don't mistake my respect for an offer of sympathy, I have no inclination to coddle you." The sharpness of his words didn't seem to reflect any malicious feelings. "You are Brilliant Sherlock after all, I'm not out to insult you."

"I never feared you'd coddle me. And the last thing I have ever wanted from anyone is sympathy. You're the last person I expect either from. S'what I like about you. When you're not being completely insane." He couldn't let the knife thing go that quickly. And if Jim expected him to, he was still quite loopy.

He didn't expect him to, but he had every intention to dilute the anger. "I know all of that." The reaction was a little touching though, he had to admit, he would do it again just to see the fear from Sherlock - the way he seemed to be able to breathe once Moriarty wasn't endangering his life. James stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned around as if he were going to leave, but after looking around he spun back around on his heel to face Sherlock. "I couldn't even in the odd possibility that I wanted to."

Sherlock nodded. He knew that. He'd done quite a bit of research on sociopathy in his free time years before. The things he hated were things Moriarty could never give him. It was one of the main benefits to having him as a friend. Someone who understood him, someone who understood what it was like to be different in more ways than just intelligence. Jim was perfect as a companion in many ways.

And in just as many he was somewhat unnerving to keep in close company.

James' face split into an impish grin before he raised his eyebrows and looked up to the sky. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to wait for them to make another move." When his gaze lowered again it was on Sherlock but he was smiling like he had just heard the funniest joke.

"There really isn't another choice. Not enough is known and I can't really set a trap if no one cares enough about what some kid says to take me seriously. Waiting is the only option until they strike again."

"A river Sherlock, cry me one." He can't help but roll his eyes at the woe is me I'm a kid and no one cares thing once again. "Unless someone forces their hand somehow."

"And what would you suggest?"

He stopped himself short of taking the opportunity to bring up the stupid knife-to-his-throat tactic used minutes before again.

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Quidditch "Date"

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