by Eva Chase
An idea sparked in the back of my head with an eager quiver. How much passion could I spark in them if I guided them to the water’s edge? Just the thought made the gnawing restlessness inside me ease back.
I was Jemma Moriarty. I could play the world like Sherlock played his fucking violin. Why not? I’d be giving them what they both might very well want if they’d let themselves admit it.
“Wow,” I said with a breathless laugh. “We’re almost there.” I picked up one of the cards and tapped it thoughtfully against the others as if the idea were only just coming to me. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I feel like I need a break from the planning and the worrying. Anyone up for a game of cards? We are new friends, after all.”
John stretched his arms behind him and aimed his grin at me. “That sounds like just what I need to end off the day, actually.”
“It’s not a pastime I generally enjoy,” Sherlock started.
I nudged his calf with my foot under the table, arching an eyebrow. “Now when have I heard that line before? You’ve got to know the basic rules of poker. We can play a simple five-card draw. To make things a little more interesting, we can play for dares instead of money.”
“Dares?” John said. “That’d be a new one.”
“We play it at the station sometimes back home,” I improvised. “Kind of like strip poker, except safe for work.” I winked at him. “Whoever wins gets to challenge the others to do something—within the same room, and nothing too extreme. It’s all in good fun.”
John laughed. “Somehow I think we’d better not let you win.”
I spread my hands. “Well, if you don’t think you can handle the heat…”
A sharper glint had lit in Sherlock’s eyes at my nudge. Perfect. “All right. A few rounds won’t hurt anything.”
“Such an avid vote of enthusiasm,” John teased. “I’ll give it a shot. No bets and no folding, if we’re not playing for money?”
“Exactly,” I said. “We check our hands, exchange cards as we see fit, and then we discover who’s made the right gamble. I’ll deal first?”
John slid the deck toward me. I made a show of shuffling carefully. I couldn’t guide the results of the hand completely, of course, since it was up to them whether they exchanged cards. But I could set one or another of us up in a good position with a bit of quick finger-work.
To start, it’d be better to let one of them win to warm them up to the game. And Sherlock clearly needed more warming. The cards flew between my hands. I tossed five each out across the table.
Despite his disinterest, Sherlock naturally had an excellent poker face. He looked at his hand in studied concentration, giving no sign of what he made of its contents. John let out a chuckle that might have been pleased or self-deprecating. From his swipe at his bright hair, I guessed the latter.
“One,” Sherlock said blandly, discarding.
“Confident, aren’t you,” John remarked as I flicked a new card to his friend. “Ah… I’ll take three.”
“Two,” I said, just to mix things up since I wasn’t going to win anyway. I ended up with a rather nice three of a kind in nines. Not quite good enough to match Sherlock’s three queens, though. John groaned as he laid down a hand with only a pair of sixes.
“What’s the damage?” he asked Sherlock.
“Let me think.” Sherlock steepled his forefingers against his mouth. “Ah. I’ll have you both sample my pu-erh tea. I picked up a fresh bag while I was out.” He pointed at John when the other man opened his mouth to protest. “You haven’t given it a proper try yet.”
He got up to fiddle with the tea kettle that came with the room. In a few minutes, he was setting down steaming cups of dark brown liquid in front of us, each only halfway full.
“No point in wasting it on the two of you if you don’t enjoy it,” he said. “But I expect you to drink everything I gave you.”
An astringent scent carried on the steam. I let more heat rise off and then took a sip.
I’d tried pu-erh before, but there were quite a few variations. Sherlock favored one that leaned bitter and earthy, rather like his tobacco. He watched me as if daring me to try to pop a sugar cube in. I restrained myself, draining the cup slowly and steadily, but it did give me an idea for my first “dare.” I was going to need to work up to the real challenge.
John set his cup down with a smack of his lips. “Yep, still not on the pu-erh train.”
Sherlock looked satisfied anyway. “I suppose that means I can continue not to worry about you raiding it from the cabinet like you do my Colombian coffee.”
“All right, let’s get on with the next round,” I said, clapping my hands.
Sherlock dealt, and I smiled inwardly when I lifted my cards. This was going to take a little luck but…
“One,” I said, and then I had a flush.
“And I thought I was doing pretty well this time,” John muttered, setting down a straight. Sherlock had nothing to speak of.
“You like to hassle me about my sugar habit,” I said. “So you can both suck on a sugar cube.” I handed over a couple from my remaining supply. A task both short and sweet, most literally. I took one myself to clear the bitterness of the tea from my mouth.
“You know,” John said after he’d rolled it around with his tongue a few times, “I can see how this could grow on me.”
“You would,” Sherlock said fondly. “I’ll stick to my tea.”
I would have won again in the third round with a high straight of my own, but I swapped out a few cards and ended up with only a pair so as not to rush things. John crowed over his three aces.
“You,” he said, with a pointed look at Sherlock, “have to listen to that new Burstback song you keep whingeing about. And actually listen to it, not just assume it must be awful.” He glanced at me. “Obviously you’ll listen to it too. If you’re as snobby about music as he is, maybe it’ll do you some good too.”
“Play away,” I said as Sherlock brought a hand to his agonized face.
The song that spilled from the speaker of John’s phone was a bouncy pop anthem that wound into a more complex harmony made up of multiple guitars, a harp, and a rich cello. I got plenty of entertainment simply from tracing the different melodies. Sherlock’s expression had mellowed by the time the melody wound down.
“Well,” he said, which John seemed to consider a victory in itself.
All right, it was time to get things moving along. I dealt myself a nice full house and then kicked off my shoes.
“Since we aren’t at work and we can get a tad racy, I would like a good foot rub,” I announced. “Both at the same time. Five minutes, shall we say?”
John shook his head in amusement. He came around to sit on the edge of the bed and lifted one of my feet without argument. Sherlock went to work on the other.
John approached the task with the anatomical awareness I should have expected from a doctor, finding just the right angles to work the tension out of my arch, and Sherlock focused on a pressure point I hadn’t known existed but that seemed to release a taut line that had stretched right up to my ribs. By the time my five minutes were up, I was quite pleased with my choice.
I’d been prepared to lose a couple rounds before I got the chance I’d been waiting for, but Sherlock’s deal placed four tens in my hand. I certainly couldn’t argue with that. And neither could the other two when they laid down their lesser offerings.
“Let’s see,” I said, drumming my fingers together. “I know. Kiss.”
John blinked at me. I saw an inkling of understanding in his eyes, but he still asked, “Kiss you?”
I kept my voice perfectly calm, as if there were nothing at all unusual about what I was suggesting. “No. Kiss each other.”
Sherlock had stiffened. John hesitated. A flush crept up his neck past the collar of his shirt.
“Is the idea really that horrifying?” I said. “I didn’t ask for tongue.” As enticing as that might be to watch. “
You’ve shared a living space for two years; I’d imagine innumerable body parts have contacted other body parts without anyone going into fits.”
“Not those particular body parts,” Sherlock said, but his tone was more dry than defiant. The most obvious resistance had gone out of his posture. He glanced at John. “Would it make you terribly uncomfortable to indulge her?”
John’s jaw worked as if he were grappling with the words. “Not if it wouldn’t for you,” he managed after a moment. He aimed for casual and didn’t quite hit the mark, but the possibility that he might be excited by the prospect was clearly so far outside Sherlock’s range of considerations that the detective didn’t pick up on it.
Sherlock appeared to analyze their positions relative to the table and opted to stand up. John got up too. Even his cheeks were a bit ruddy now. I settled into my chair to watch, folding my hands on my lap.
Sherlock stepped toward John slowly enough. Then he leaned in faster than lightning and touched his lips to the other man’s so briefly I’d have missed it if I’d blinked. He reached for his chair as if he figured that was the end of it, leaving John frozen in place.
“Hey!” I said. “I did say kiss, not barely perceptible peck. You didn’t let us get away with one sip of your awful tea. Hold on right there.” I hopped to my feet. “I’m sure you can do better than that. Let’s see what we can produce with a little inspiration.”
“Jemma,” Sherlock said, like the start of an argument. I cut him off with the brush of my fingertips over the slanted trail down his neck where I’d determined his skin was most sensitive. All that came out then was a soft hitch of breath. I grasped the top of his shirt and tugged him back toward John.
The doctor was watching me with an expression that was almost pleading. Did he even know what he was pleading me for?
I tugged him closer too, staying partly between them. My hand glided down John’s chest. I stroked Sherlock’s neck again. My knuckles skimmed over John’s belt and grazed his already hardening cock. He swallowed audibly.
I slipped my other hand down over Sherlock’s body, tweaking my thumb across one of his nipples, fanning my fingers against his stomach the way I had yesterday. His only enjoyable sexual experience. I’d pretty much written the book on how to turn this man on. I let the heel of my hand reach his waistband and held it there without dipping lower. He needed a lighter touch.
“All right,” I said in a low voice. “Let’s try that again. Kiss.”
Something had made up John’s mind during my intervention. He didn’t wait for Sherlock’s cue. He reached for the other man, his hand settling on the same part of Sherlock’s neck where he’d watched me caress him, and planted one on him.
I eased farther out of the way, my fingers stroking over both their sides. Sherlock hesitated, a shiver running through his body. Then he tilted his head just a smidge, leaning into the kiss.
Fuck, they looked gorgeous, bright- and dark-headed in the stark hotel light, John pressing the kiss a little more deeply at Sherlock’s response, both of them giving themselves over to the moment. The sight sent heat flaring between my thighs. John raised his other hand as if to cup Sherlock’s face completely, and—
Sherlock jerked back, his legs trembling for a second before he caught his balance.
“Well,” he said, not quite meeting either of our gazes. “I think that’s rather enough entertainment for one evening, considering the business ahead of us. I do have lock-breaking skills to practice.”
He snatched his coat off the bed and fled the room in a rush of hastily summoned composure.
I winced inwardly. That hadn’t exactly been the result I’d been hoping for. But then, had I really believed Sherlock would happily leap into making out with his long-time, utterly platonic friend with a few minutes of encouragement? I was smarter than that.
I hadn’t been thinking with my smarts. I’d run with the idea to try to chase away the restless anxiety that had been nibbling at me. Now that uncomfortable sensation had returned. What if I’d just screwed up the dynamic I’d cultivated so carefully—the dynamic I needed for this scheme to work? Fuck.
John wet his lips, his hands having dropped awkwardly to his sides. He looked elated and gutted and startled all at once. Despite my frustration with myself, a little twinge of sympathy ran through me.
I could at least salvage things with him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t— I shouldn’t have pushed it that far. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it at all.”
“It’s all right,” John said raggedly. “It’s not even really your fault. I mean, it wasn’t as if we couldn’t have called it off at any point.” He gestured toward the door. “He’ll be all right too, I’m sure. Sherlock deals with personal issues in a very predictable way. Come tomorrow morning, it might as well have never happened.”
I studied his face. “Is that how you’d prefer to handle it?”
“I…” He couldn’t seem to find the answer.
This poor sweet ridiculous man. I crossed my arms over my chest. “You really had no idea you wanted to do that, did you?”
“What? No. I—” His gaze jerked to me. “Did you know?”
The corner of my mouth quirked up even though my gut was still tight. “I saw a few signs. Call it an educated guess.”
“Bloody hell. You’re as bad as Sherlock with the mind-reading.”
My lips stretched into a full smile. “Maybe that’s why you wanted to kiss me too.”
John laughed, and for the first time since Sherlock’s departure, the tension ebbed from his stance. “Oh, no. You’re something else altogether, Jemma the Jewel.”
He dipped his head, and I bobbed up on my toes to meet him for a kiss that was nothing but enthusiastic on both sides. A trace of sweetness from the sugar cube lingered in his mouth, and I caught a smoky flavor that might have been Sherlock’s. A thrill shot through me at the impression of kissing them both at the same time.
Any desire I’d been feeling had dampened with Sherlock’s abrupt departure, though. I eased back with a softer smile to ease the rejection if John had hoped for more.
“I think we should all probably get some rest. We’re going to want to be as alert as possible if we’re going to pull off this plan.”
John nodded with no hint of disappointment. I gave him one more quick kiss before heading out.
I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away like that. From here on, no matter how precarious my situation seemed, I had to keep control of myself.
Chapter Nineteen
Jemma
I was doing crunches at the base of my bed when the smell of desiccated rot quivered through the early morning sunlight. Resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose and the even stronger urge to snap around and find out what the asshole shrouded one wanted now, I finished my set of fifty reps. My abdominal muscles emanated a satisfying burn as I stretched them. Then I sat up and swiveled to look.
In the corner over the table, Bog was wafting its gauzy tendrils of fabric like a squid made out of spider-silk. I’d rather have talked to a squid.
“You know, I’m starting to think you’re a little obsessed with me,” I said.
The shrouded one ignored the remark. “You have been attempting to divert me,” it said with a rasp in its distant voice that sounded almost angry. “Did you think I would not notice? Those wards will never be truly effective.”
“I wouldn’t bother with them if you’d leave me alone. While my life is still mine, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to aim for a little privacy.”
Bog’s body shuddered. “You’re lucky you’ve had any extra time at all beyond the fate you were named for, bloodling. I’d like to hear gratitude, not complaints.”
It wanted gratitude? I’d happily take a hunk of gratitude and shove it up Bog’s ass. If the shrouded one even had an ass. It was kind of hard to tell.
In any case, I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to be lectured about my attitude fro
m a creature who intended to shred apart my soul in less than a month’s time.
I shrugged, pushing that irritation deep down inside. “A deal is a deal. You agreed to ten years. That’s what I’m supposed to get.”
“No part of that agreement forbade me from following your activities.”
I ignored the growing itch of my contract mark. “And no part of it forbade me from making following me less comfortable for you.”
The strips of Bog’s covering swelled, its presence expanding until it looked twice as large as before. The mist where a face should have been clotted and churned.
“There is one fellow bloodling you’ve associated with for a long time. The darker male with little hair and many guns.”
It didn’t take a leap to realize the shrouded one meant Bash. My fingers started to curl into the thick carpeting before I caught them. “What about him?”
“I simply thought you should keep him in mind. Because if you do anything particularly stupid to hinder your association with me, there are ways I can appear to him. I can convince him that he can save you by giving up his own life. And then I will claim both of you.”
Fear hit me in an icy wave. Would Bash really sacrifice himself if he thought it would save my life? We understood each other, we trusted each other, but it wasn’t as if we ever talked about feelings of a tender sort.
I couldn’t deny that he’d put his life on the line plenty of times over the seven years since I’d first hired him, though. Or that I knew he would again, the moment I asked him, without a second’s hesitation. That was why I trusted him.
I didn’t want to take Bash down with me. I’d done everything I could to keep him out of this part of my existence. If I failed, then the empire I’d been building, the money I’d amassed—it would all be his and deserved. That was the plan. That was the way it was supposed to happen.
How fucking dare Bog threaten to destroy the only person I gave a damn about who wasn’t already gone.
The chill of my fear crackled into cold sharp rage. I held that in too, my hands braced against the floor beneath me, my heart thumping hard in my chest.
