“Pointy ears, bowl cut hairdo and an insufferable ego? Yeah, that sounds like Sherlock Holmes, alright.”
Leonard gave a heavy sigh into the phone, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Yeah, yeah, I do actually hear what you’re saying – I can’t do anything about him! He’s Sherlock Holmes, the last time I was able to convince him of anything, he insisted that I change the way my voice sounds. Yeah, you heard me right. My voice!” A scoff was followed, locking the flat up after he had exited.
The doctor managed to wave down a cab while the other person on the line shouted in his ear about the recent case involving his flat mate, Spock, known to the public as Sherlock Holmes. For some reason, the local police were under the impression that when Spock took over a case, it was their case still. The pointy eared bastard made sure it wasn’t once he was on it, which meant that Leonard would have to go and intervene.
Leonard McCoy had been a soldier, well, more field medical than a soldier, but he saw plenty of war. Unable to make sense of his world once he had returned, he turned to drinking, and wound up a suspect in a murder. Sherlock Holmes, or the man he would later come to know as Spock, proved that he was being set up by someone who had a grudge against being dishonorably discharged. After that, Leonard and Spock were automatic flat mates, the taller than average, annoying genius gave him a sense of life and action he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Spock would often run about the house, chattering off about cases and occasionally looking over the doctor’s shoulder and onto the blog McCoy had started to write. With their pennames, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Names Spock absolutely despised as cover names, Why did they need them?, he would ask Leonard often. To which the shorter fellow would respond, To keep your fanbase from finding us and walking up into the home. You never lock the damn door and you walk around naked half the time.
Today, it was different. The doctor hadn’t seen Spock all morning, not even ranting and raving about their latest case. He had been working on it for days, unable to sleep, much less eat. Leonard was growing increasingly worried, and not that he was afraid his friend couldn’t solve the case. Or that he was stuck. But that he was in trouble, something was different about this case and McCoy could feel it. Just by the sheer absence of the man. The cab eventually made it’s way to the back alleys of London, police cars and yellow tape strung about the streets.
He paid the faire, and exited the vehicle, being hit with the smell of smoke and a damp wind that he couldn’t quite explain. Leonard pulled up his jacket to shield himself as he briskly paced over to the crime scene.
“Dr. Watson - finally!” A harsh voice called out behind him.
Leonard shoved his hands in his pockets, already anticipating being yelled at for whatever it was Spock was on about today, whether it was the rain from last night, the way Detective James Tiberius Kirk’s hair looked. It could be anything, so he felt himself slip into John Watson, like a character in a play.
“How can I help you, detectives? Is he being a naughty boy, again?” He asked, soaking his question in sarcasm and hidden meaning, as if to say he was also unhappy to be here, looking after a grown man.
Detective Kirk shook his head, “It’s more than that, this time. He’s actually gone insane, won’t let anyone in. He asked for you two hours ago, and he’s been silent ever since! Rain is about to hit us any minute now, we need into the crime scene, John!”
Must be serious then, the doctor thought to himself, either that or he’s fallen asleep again. Once, while waiting for Leonard to show up, Spock had made himself comfortable next to the corpse, falling asleep, magnifier in his hand. When roused from his nap, the genius said he was playing dead. As if Leonard was unable to tell when someone was asleep and just laying still. Also, the man snored, but that was just for the doctor to know.
“Alright, I’ll talk to him. Thanks, Jim.” With an appreciative pat on the arm, McCoy made his way under the yellow tape and into the building where the body and his flat mate were. The red bricks were practically crumbling, this old and dusty part of London hadn’t been remodeled in years, and the buildings told stories of ravaging rain and warfare. Sometimes, Leonard felt like this building, hollow, cold, and weathered. But in his dealings with Spock, and all the cases they had undertaken, he had come to find life much more tolerable, less hollow. Being with the detective gave him a purpose, which he hadn’t had since the war.
Hopping up the stairs, two at a time, he eventually reached a rickety hallway, floorboards were missing and the railing was coming apart; wallpaper so faded it looked like a single color, but Leonard could tell it originally did have a pattern. He was careful to avoid the holes, the doctor made his way to the back of the hallway where the only door in the building resided. What even was this place for? He could only surmise it had to be a restaurant or store of some kind, but he wasn’t sure. As soon as he opened the door, his eyes scanned over the room, looking for that familiar dark coat and pointy ears, because let’s face it, that’s what stood out about Spock.
First, emerald eyes fell on the body; masculine, late thirties, knife sticking out of his liver. Second, all the windows were open in the room, only one was broken, but they were all open out to the street. Thirdly, Spock, who wasn’t wearing the signature coat, was sitting on the ground, legs crossed under him, meditating.
“Dear God, you’re meditating next to corpses now?” Leonard blurted, his hands sliding out of his pockets and onto his hips, in a fashion that only meant he was flabbergasted, and a little creeped out.
Spock didn’t even open his eyes, instead letting out a soft sigh. “Once again, your knack for stating the obvious is... amazing, doctor. I have been waiting for some time, I thought I might get more in tune with the area, while you took forever to get here.”
“I was out shopping if you must know. We’ll have to go back after we’re done here, and speaking of, the detectives would like their crime scene back.” The doctor informed him, crouching down next to the body, and using a pen to lift his clothing and examining the wound. He didn’t make any comments, as he was sure his counterpart did this very thing and even had his own theories. “How many do you have working, right now?”
That did cause the Vulcan to open one of his eyes, eyes wandering for a moment before landing on the doctor and what he was doing. “What?”
“Theories, how many theories do you have, so far?”
“Of course.” A scoff, and Leonard rose to his feet, circling the body and making his way to the head, giving it a turn, and checking out his overall health. This is what he did, examined the corpse while he helped Spock figure out the case, without offering any insight of his own, at least not often. “That’s two more than the last time I asked, are you stuck?”
The detective didn’t answer, pursing his lips and pressing them together in a hard line before he opened both his eyes, still staying in his seated position and still watching the doctor work. He was itching to hear what he thought, to have some sort of comment made, so Spock could either shut it down or build off the idea. He worked better when he could bounce ideas off someone, and especially if that someone was Leonard McCoy, who, although he didn’t present the same intelligence that Spock had, was a genius in his own right.
“So? Do you have anything, doctor?” Spock asked finally, his lips twitching since he had to ask.
“Oh my God, you really are stuck.”
Spock jumped to his feet, giving a huff and walking – stomping – over to grab his coat, hurrying to shuffle it over his shoulders. “I am not stuck.”
Leonard shook his head, a smirk carved into his lips as he continued to work with the corpse, looking at his nails and just overall skin color. He found some very interesting things, but nothing that would explain why he was stabbed, and why the windows were all open. He figured Spock would figure all that out in due time, but he couldn’t help messing with the guy a little.
“He doesn’t have defensive wounds, so he was clearly surprised or knew his attacker. However, I noticed that his eyes are completely blood shot, which leads me to believe he hadn’t been sleeping properly. Like someone else I know.” The doctor observed, his gaze moving to the taller male.
The detective couldn’t help but look back over to McCoy at his comment, his hands paused as he was readjusting his coat collar, before he continued. “Wrong. The bloodshot eyes and the obvious alcohol on his breath suggest he was drinking late last night.”
Beautiful browns didn’t leave the doctor’s face, and for a moment, he felt like losing his composure, risking their cover to explain himself for the nights he hadn’t come to the flat. Whatever his friend was thinking, it wasn’t, and he thought he made that very clear before.
“Also … It is impossible to sleep when I am not where I prefer to sleep.” Was all he said, before that coat turned out of the room, hurrying down the stairs and back out to the detectives. As if he hadn’t just said anything, and the doctor was left to sort his thoughts.
It wasn’t a secret to either of them that they had something under the surface of their friendship. They often found themselves in the bed of the other. Never sexual, but it was comforting, and it was becoming more and more common for Leonard to find himself with Spock’s arms draped over him in the morning. And maybe he didn’t mind, and just maybe, he felt the same way the detective did.
The doctor finished up what he was doing with a heavy sigh, knowing Spock wouldn’t look at him for the rest of the evening, but there was a murder to be solved, regardless of the feelings they were both currently battling. Leonard moved to one of the windows, watching his partner walk out onto the street and start having a heated conversation with Detective Kirk, who looked more eager than unhappy. Spock had always been close to Jim, the two had known each other for a while, and the doctor couldn’t deny his jealousy of that fact.
Which only spurred him on to finally have “that talk” with the consulting detective.
“We need to chat about… things.” Leonard mumbled, one dreary afternoon, while the two of them sat across from each other in their respective chairs.
Spock had his laptop in his lap, reading something, hands folded in front of him, fingers touching the bottom of his lips. He was focused, completely focused on the task at hand. He was going through the notes Leonard had taken a few days before, reexamining the corpse repeatedly. He was actually stuck, but he couldn’t break the cycle, he couldn’t see the obvious clue that would solve everything as it usually does. The last piece was missing.
“Things?” He finally asks.
“Christ- That was three hours ago!”
“Do you not want to talk about it then?”
The doctor hadn’t seen Spock so stuck on a case before. Four murder victims, all stabbed in the gut, left in buildings that were practically falling apart, all the windows opened to face the street. Usually by now they passed it along to someone else, not all cases could be solved, but this one… this one seemed to really bug the man. One example is that instead of sleeping in his own bed, Leonard found a half-naked Spock in his bed. Again. This was the fourth time this week.
“Alright. No! Get up!” McCoy put down his tea, and grabbed a pillow, starting to beat the pointy-eared bastard with it. He wasn’t hitting him hard, but enough to wake his ass up, just in case he was in a deep sleep. The repeated assault did eventually rouse the sleeping man, causing him to groan and curse.
“Doctor! Shouldn’t you be treating your patient with more courtesy? Some of us are trying to sleep.” Spock mumbled, turning over in Leonard’s bed, burying his face in the sheets to block the doctor’s assault.
“Who said you were a patient of mine? And why should I treat you with courtesy, you’re in my freakin’ bed!” Leonard pulled back the pillow, momentarily stopping his movements.
“I sleep better here!” The detective argued.
Both men suddenly found themselves in a locked gaze with each other, faces growing equally hot and flushed as their stare kept. The pillow was lowered, and Spock eventually found himself sitting up, tugging the sheets a little further up so he could cover himself.
“With or without me.”
“With or without me- Do you sleep better with… or without me?” McCoy asked, softly, like a whisper.
There was a pause, and what was only seconds feel like hours.
“With you, of course, doctor.” Spock replied.
In the morning, Spock found himself with his arms wrapped tightly around Leonard, as if he had been doing this every night. It felt natural, calm, and serene mixed in between the sheets together. Their breakfast was relatively silent, Miss Hudson doing most of the chattering, but the boys were too busy stealing glances, their fingers under the table, touching oh so gently. As if they had been in love the whole time.
“My husband had an awful liver, they told me his blood had whiskey in it! I believe it, too.” Miss Hudson had been talking for quite some time, apparently now on her husband and all the ways he was a god awful man.
But suddenly, Spock had an idea, jumping from the table and running over to his notes, scrolling frantically through them and shouting ‘A-ha!’ when he found the ones he was looking for. Miss Hudson and Leonard looked at each other than to the consulting detective, both with puzzled looks on their faces.
“Doctor, what did each person have in their bodies?” He asked, pointing a finger at him, while also holding his laptop in the crook of his arm.
“Ah – A knife in their liver?” Leonard responded, although it was also more like a question.
“No! What did they have in their bloodstream!”
“Oh! A very high alcohol content, they were all basically –“
“Drunk! Exactly! Our killer is taking drunks he finds on the street!”
Spock jumped around the room, tossing the laptop onto the couch, and racing off back into his bedroom. He had to get changed, they had a murder to solve. It was rare to see him so excited about finishing a case, but this one had taken him an inordinate amount of time. The doctor smiled behind his cup of tea at the hollers and shouts he heard from Spock’s room in the time he was getting dressed. Somehow, the thought had crossed his mind that what was keeping the detective in this slump was not the difficulty of the case, no, this one was rather easy, but it was the choice he had to make with Leonard. The choice they made together that night.
No longer would either of them be sleeping alone.
When Spock came back out in his usual coat and dark scarf, he headed straight for the stairs, only turning back to the kitchen before he put his foot down on the first step.
“Come on, Watson! The game is afoot!”
Leonard ran to grab his coat, following right behind him.