I'm going to be late for work.
Dec. 7th, 2003 04:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrNow ask me if I care. This story is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jagen13's new year's eve fic challenge. I'm not sure how much I like it, mostly b/c the concept of a short story is beyond me.
Something Sweet
"Oops, sorry." Sherlock smiled sheepishly at the woman he'd just bumped into, ducking his head in a quick apology before shoving his glasses back into place and continuing on his way down the bustling street. He readjusted the packages in his arms, making sure they balanced well enough that he wouldn't collide into someone else because he had to stoop to pick them up.
He hummed softly as he walked, a small smile on his face. The store was only a block away but he was in no hurry to return. The brisk walk to do some shopping during his lunch break had gone a long way toward releasing pent up energy and he was loath to go back to his small shop. Idly he glanced up at the sky, laughing as flakes of snow dusted the lens of his glasses, flicking out his tongue to catch the ones that drifted close to his lips.
His breaths came out in soft white puffs as he continued walking. He slowed his steps as the small shop came into view, the sign hanging above the door swinging slightly in the light, chilly breeze. Reluctantly reaching it, he again wrestled with his packages before managing to shove the door open.
The chime of a bell and the warmth of the store welcomed him back, the smell of sugar and chocolate washing over him. He smiled apologetically at the youth in front of the counter, who was moving forward to help him with the packages balanced precariously in his arms. "Hey Clarence. Sorry to take so long."
"No worries, man. I told you to take your time - I handled the ladies fine without you." Clarence winked a dark brown eye, grin mischievous as he took some of the bundles and carried them to the wide counter on the right side of the store. Setting them down he began to rifle through them, occasionally reaching up to swipe long messy dark blonde bangs from his hair. The chain on his wrist chinked against the wood of the counter, "So what's all this for boss?"
Sherlock shrugged, "Miscellaneous stuff. A book or two."
"Only two? What, did you max your cards buying them? Or did the bookstore finally banish you?"
"Ha, ha, it is to laugh. So were you busy at all while I was gone?" Sherlock placed his items beneath the counter, pulling up a seat beside the register and looking over his books as Clarence rambled on across from him. The chiming of the bell made them pause to look up.
Sherlock's heart stopped. That's how it felt anyway, and his ability to breath was quickly following. He just stared hard, blinking in shock and disbelief. It can't be…there's just no way…
Clarence looked at him oddly before pushing off from where he'd been leaning against the counter. "Good afternoon, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?"
The stranger shook his head and smiled politely, "No, thank you. I'm just killing time."
"Let us know if you need anything," the boy smiled pleasantly, his mannerisms at complete odds with his rough appearance. He turned back to Sherlock, snatching the book out of his boss' hand. "So what's this one? I though only people my age read this stuff."
Sherlock snatched it back, "Don't be ridiculous. Would you like to cut our early? I doubt we'll get much business the rest of the day and you said you had a party to go to this evening."
Clarence brightened at the offer, but hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't want to just abandon you…"
The older man looked around the store, "Abandon me to what, one customer and an afternoon of boredom? I'll be fine. You get going. Enjoy your party, don't drink so much you can't work tomorrow."
"Can do, Boss! I'll be here nine sharp, never fear." Reaching over the counter to grab his jacket from behind Sherlock, he smiled and waved as he departed the store.
Sherlock watched him go, smiling slightly before going back to his book. The soothing quiet he usually enjoyed seemed heavy this time, as he studiously ignored the man wandering the small candy shop. What the hell is Basil Dalton doing in my candy shop? He doesn't live in this city…does he? Sherlock sneaked a peek at the man perusing the chocolates with a tense look on his face. Damn, he hasn't gotten less hot over the years. It's been, what, eight years since I last saw him? I wonder if he remembers me…doubt it. Who ever remembers the geeks and losers at high school? Even if he was called 'Detective' four years straight.
The object of his inner turmoil was still perusing the chocolates, which took up most of the opposite wall and back corner of the store. He stood in profile, and Sherlock could not help but continue to sneak glances at the man. Basil stood just a bit taller than Sherlock's own 5'7", trim and neat. Guess he still runs like nobody's business. He must, looking like that. Black hair was cropped close to his head, and Sherlock still remembered his eyes - a pale, pale blue that had always ruined his ability to talk.
"I don't recognize most of the brands in this shop." A deep voice spoke, making Sherlock jump slightly. "Ah, sorry."
Sherlock shook his head, "No, you're fine. It was just so quiet." He looked at Basil, making sure not to look too closely at the pale blue eyes still so sharp in his memory. He smiled as the man's comment registered, "Most of the candies here are locally made, and all but one or two are very small businesses. Those there," he pointed to a stack of white and green wrapped chocolates at Basil's elbow, "Are made by this little old woman with purple hair who lives three blocks away. They sell really well with the kids in the area."
"I see," Basil smiled, both amused and impressed. "I've never heard of such a shop. This looks like something out of a story book; not an actual candy store."
Sherlock hid his surprise at the comment - rather, his surprise at whom had made it - but his delight was plain on his face. "That's what my grandfather intended when he opened the shop. He was good friends with a lot of these candy makers - it was like a hobby with him. He was hopeless in the kitchen though, so he settled for selling it. This shop was meant to share his friends' creations with everyone."
"So are you running the shop for him now?"
"Yeah - he passed away a few years ago." Sherlock looked briefly sad, "He left the shop to me, so I keep it going these days."
"I see," the man said again. He looked thoughtful as his eyes perused the contents of the store. "What would you recommend for a party, then? A New Year's party."
Disappointment and anxiety increased the pace of his heart as Sherlock moved around the counter and into the middle of the store where Basil stood. Disappointment that Basil clearly did not remember him, anxiety that he might yet. Why couldn't he get less good looking over the years? He's still so gorgeous…and I'm still 'Pumpkin' or 'Detective.' Pushing away his misery, Sherlock focused his thoughts on candy. He smiled at Basil, "What kind of party? Large? Small? Casual?"
"Small gathering, I guess. Mostly associates and the like." He frowned a moment, before shaking his head as if to clear it. "Nothing fancy, probably just three hours or thereabouts."
Sherlock looked briefly around, thinking. "Hmm…ah. Something like this then." He moved toward a stack of large, colorful tins. 'Covered' was written across the top in cheerful letters. "A mix of chocolate covered raisons, nuts, pretzels, all kinds of stuff. Salty and sweet, a good snack food."
The man laughed, "That'll work. But I never thought you'd be selling me candy, Sherlock."
"What!" Sherlock jumped, gaping up at the other man.
Basil looked disappointed, "So you really don't remember me?"
"No!" Sherlock burst out in dismay, and then flushed. "No, I remember you. I just…didn't think you remembered me. I was surprised to see you walk into the store."
Basil looked at him, expression uncertain. "Yeah, I noticed. But then you didn't say anything and I figured Cindy had been messing with me. I'd dropped by to see her while I was in the area, and she said you were nearby. Said I should stop in and say hello, though I told her I doubt you'd remember me. Looks like she was right after all." His smiled returned.
Just barely avoiding a groan, Sherlock forced himself to ask, "Right about what?" Do I really want to know? No, I do not.
But the dark haired man only shrugged, "Just that you would remember me, and that I should say hello. I had a hard time believing you were running a candy store, though. I really thought she was joking about that." He looked down at Sherlock, curious. "So what are you doing here? Just because of your granddad? I figured you would have taken over the world by now or something - you were always three or four steps ahead of the rest of us."
"I decided it wasn't for me, that's all." Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably, looking at the floor. "I got to college and just - didn't want to do it anymore. The science and all, I mean. I started helping grandpa more and more with the shop and well, here I am." He looked up again, a stubborn expression on his face as he prepared for the inevitable mockery. Basil wasn't the first familiar face to wander through his shop.
But Basil again smiled, the expression well suited to his finely shaped mouth. Sherlock valiantly tried to remember how to breath while the man talked. "I know the feeling. I was all set to run marathons the rest of my life. But…I dunno. By the end of my freshmen year I was starting to hate it." His smile turned sheepish, "The party tonight is actually with a few acquaintances from a publishing company. I've got a book set to go to print on the tenth. How's that for weird, huh? A first rate jock turned writer." He laughed, shaking his head. "I still can barely believe it."
"You're a writer?" Basil almost dropped the tin he was holding; doing his best not to let his jaw hang open. "I didn't know you liked to write." Oh good one, say it like you had the right to know.
"Neither did I, until college. One never knows, huh? The detective sells candy and I'm writing."
Sherlock was still in shock, "What do you write?"
"Ah, nothing much. Adventure novels, fantasy stuff." He laughed again, still looking mildly embarrassed.
"That's amazing. I think that tops my about face." He eyed the tin in his hands, "I guess you'd need something fancier for a party like that…" Sherlock bit his lip, looking around the store. Damn blue eyes. Damn smile. Damn stupid me. Eight years! It may as well have been eight minutes for all the good it's done me.
"Oh heck no. This is more than enough, Sherlock. I mostly just came to see you anyway - it wasn't until I got here that it occurred to me to get something for the blasted party." He turned to look at the bright rows of chocolate, then turned back to give Sherlock another of his sheepish smiles.
Sherlock raised his brows, "You sound like you don't want to go." Stay here.
"I don't. I hadn't realized writing would mean so much of this stupid social stuff. That's part of what turned me off running. I just got sick of the attention…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start whining. How much for the candy?"
"Huh? Oh, um…seventeen with tax? Yeah, $17.10." Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sherlock returned to the counter with the tine and set it down to ring up the price.
Basil handed over a twenty, then propped his arms on the counter and leaned over it. He watched as Sherlock rung up the sale, "So what are you doing for New Year's?"
"Me?" Sherlock looked confused by the question. "Nothing, really. I'll probably just stay here."
"In the shop? By yourself?" Basil frowned.
Sherlock shrugged, "I live above the shop so it's not that big a deal really. I'm not one parties. Neither was granddad - we used to sneak out every time there was a family gathering or whatnot and drink whatever he was keeping underneath the counter at the time. That's how we always toasted the New Year." He smiled nostalgically. "That's probably what I'll do - sit here with my brandy and snitch a few sweets. Here's your change."
"Oh, umm - thanks. It…was nice seeing you again, Sherlock. I'm glad you're doing well." Basil shifted awkwardly, accepting his package and turning to leave.
Sherlock smiled after him, seemingly cheerful as he watched the other man go. He waited a few minutes, then dropped his head to the register and groaned. "I'm such a loser. Twenty-four years old and I still can't sound intelligent with that man around. God forbid I actually manage to impress him just once in my life."
Morosely he opened up his new book and went back to reading, though when he looked up an hour later he couldn't remember a single word he'd read. Four already? Hell, four thirty almost. Time to close up shop. Mechanically he went through the motions of closing the store, counting the money and securing it in the safe, sweeping and mopping the floor, neatening the piles and stacks of sweets. Locking the door, he flipped the sign to "closed" but left the lights on. Crossing the room he retrieved his books and other purchases before passing through the door at the back of the store and then up a flight of darkened but familiar stairs.
If the candy shop downstairs often reminded people of a storybook, the house upstairs only emphasized that image. Like grandma's house before the wolf came to eat her -but more masculine. Sherlock smiled, instantly soothed by the simple, homey atmosphere that he'd inherited from his grandfather. Dumping his stuff on the coffee table, Sherlock moved toward the kitchen. He froze as he passed a mirror hanging on the wall.
Frowning he examined his reflection, expression darkening further at what he saw. Nutmeg, that's what mom calls my hair. Ha! Looks more like cardboard. He reached up to tug at a few strands before tucking them back out of his face. He jerked his glass off to better see his eyes, which he hated more than his hair. Whoever heard of eyes the color of pumpkin pie? Damn mother and her stupid attempts to be nice. I’m a walking dessert that nobody wants. Ha ha ha. Looking away from his own eyes, Sherlock stared at the feature he hated more than the other two combined - the fine dusting of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose and just brushing his cheeks.
Jerking away from the mirror, Sherlock continued on toward the kitchen to make an early dinner.
The chiming of the clock above the TV brought Sherlock's head up, and he looked at it in surprise. "Eleven already? Where does the time go?" Rising, he kept a grip on his book as he stretched and yawned. "What an exciting evening." Reaching out he lifted the small bottle of brandy he'd bought earlier that day from the coffee table and carried both it and his book downstairs with him. The phone blinked up at him as he passed, and he gave it a cursory glance. Three messages, all from family no doubt. Too bad, they can celebrate the New Year without me. I doubt they'll miss me much, seeing as I was always slinking off anyway. Considering the phone a moment, he decided to keep the ringer off until he went to bed.
He set the bottle down on the counter with a faint thunk, reaching beneath and bringing up two old snifters. Setting them beside the bottle of brandy, he then relaxed in the seat beside the register and returned to his book. Several minutes later he looked up with a sigh and set the book down. Rising and stretching again, he moved around the counter and meandered through the shop. He hummed a soft tune as he fiddled with packages and boxes, straightening and re-straitening them as he wandered around. What a New Year, eh granddad? I wish you were here…not that I have anyone but myself to blame for hanging around the store all by myself on New Year's Eve. Stupid Basil, I was perfectly content with the situation until he showed up. Now I'm aware of how pathetic I am.
Sherlock glanced up at the clock, which displayed 11:20. "Forty five more minutes and I can go up to bed." He sighed and went back to fiddling with a display of candied fruit.
A sharp rapping made him jump and spin around, scattering foiled packages across the floor. A startled shout broke the near silence of the room, and he first glared and then gaped at the source of the intrusion. I've finally lost my mind.
Basil stood outside his shop, rapping at the window. Sherlock shook his head and rubbed his eyes, then looked again when the rapping sounded again. He stared out the window, confused by the smile on Basil's face. The man looked nervous. Slowly Sherlock moved to unlock the door, swinging it open to continue gaping at the man who'd suddenly appeared on his doorstep. His voice was full of disbelief when he finally spoke, "What are you doing here?"
Basil smiled sheepishly, "Would you mind terribly if I came in first? I walked here and I'm freezing."
"Oh, of course. Come in." Sherlock locked the door back and moved further into the store. "Set your coat and stuff here." He waited as Basil removed his winter gear, doing his best not to start gaping again. Start drooling for that matter, good god who lets him walk around like that? Argh, bad Sherlock! Bad! "Aren't you supposed to be at a party or something? What in the world brings you back here? Is something wrong?"
"Sort of? But um…well…" Basil floundered, looking at Sherlock a moment before his gaze slid away. Nervously he gazed around the shop, struggling with what to say. Finally he looked back at the silent Sherlock, "A couple of reasons really. One - I was sick of the party. Like I said earlier today, I didn't really want to go anyway. I'm always glaringly aware that I'm an ex-jock when I'm with that crowd, and a few of them are always happy to remind me if I do happen to forget." He shrugged, and Sherlock was painfully aware of just how incredible the taller man looked in a dark blue sweater. "I liked your idea of just bailing, but I couldn't think where to go…I know you didn't want company. I didn't mean to intrude, it was just sort of spur of the moment. I can go if you like."
"NO!" Sherlock said in surprised panic, "I mean, no. You're fine - you just scared me to death. It…it was kind of quiet around here anyway. I don't mind the company."
"Are you sure?"
No, I want my permanent crush to leave. Sherlock smiled, "I'm sure. Do you like brandy?"
"Sure - don't really drink it that often."
Heart beating too rapidly in his chest, Sherlock walked past Basil to the counter and fumbled with the bottle a moment before pouring generous amounts into the two snifters. "Neither do I, really only for Christmas and New Year's. Usually you don't drink it until midnight, but…"
"Then wait 'til midnight. I'm in no hurry. But I thought the tradition for the New Year was champagne?" Basil asked teasingly.
Sherlock blinked, then tried smiling back. "Granddad hated champagne, wine, all of it. He loved brandy though, so that's what we usually drank for Christmas an New Year's. I think a few times we might have had whiskey or something, but mostly it was brandy."
"I see. I think I like your granddad's taste, personally I think champagne tastes vile." Basil looked up at the clock, then looked back to Sheridan. "Fifteen minutes until the New Year. What's your Resolution? Did you and your grandfather have any sort of tradition for that as well?"
Sherlock looked embarrassed but pleased, "Yeah, how did you know? That predictable?"
Basil looked serious, "Anyone can see this whole thing means a lot to you. Even Cindy knew you always stayed here alone for New Year's Eve every year. Something that important, you must have a resolution that fits the tradition."
Still embarrassed, Sherlock stared sightlessly at the glasses of brandy a moment. Even Cindy noticed…I really am a loser. I knew that though. I hadn't realized I was that much of one though. Yeesh. How to lose your dream man in one tradition or less…not that I ever had him to lose. He looked up again, not quite meeting Basil's appealing blue eyes. "Granddad always insisted we "follow our dreams to something sweet." That was always our New Year's Resolution."
"To Something Sweet? Follow your dreams to the store?" Basil laughed.
Sherlock smiled weakly back, "That's what I said the first time he said it. But it seems to have worked so far, so what can you do? He always said you can't go wrong with sweets."
"Can't really argue with that."
Sherlock sighed, "So what's your resolution then?"
"Mine? Ah, well - I'm just continuing with a resolution I made a long time ago.
Sherlock stared at him in curiosity, but said nothing. After a moment, Basil continued hesitantly, "I told you earlier today that it was freshmen year I realized I didn't want to keep running my whole life. But it wasn't until my junior year that I finally was confident enough in my writing to give up athletics once and for all. My parents weren't happy, but over Christmas that I was done. My New Year's resolution was to always do what I wanted from then on. No matter what anyone said. So each year I work toward something else that I've always wanted but never was brave enough to for before."
"That's wonderful. You…have really come a long way from high school."
"So have you, though you're still very much the detective." Basil winked.
Sherlock flushed and jerked his gaze away. "Once a geek, always a geek I guess."
"That's not true - if a jock can change, why can't a geek? I never thought you were a geek anyway."
"What?" Sherlock looked back up in surprise, "You guys always--"
Basil stunned him further by placing a finger over Sherlock's lips, effectively silencing the man. "That was me being stupid and insecure. That was all of use being stupid and insecure. We couldn't stand that you were a million times smarter than us. I hated it. Hated it every single day that I was never good enough, never smart enough to be friends with someone like you." He dropped his hand.
Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times, "Not good enough…someone like me? Don't you have that backwards?"
"No." Behind them the clock on the wall chimed softly, making Sherlock jump. Basil laughed, "You're really jumpy, I've noticed. But it's midnight - Happy New Year."
"Ha-happy New Year." Sebastion looked at him, looked away. He looked back again when he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, staring up in shock as Basil moved closer to him and ducked his head.
The seventh chime rang out as Basil placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's startled, parted lips. The clock chimed nine as he pulled away. Ten, eleven and finally twelve passed before Sherlock managed to speak. "What was that for?"
"Your family doesn't do a traditional kiss?" Basil smiled again.
"Not…not like that." Brain melting down…melted. I have to be dreaming, have to be.
Basil winked again, though nervousness lingered in his eyes behind the teasing. "Good - because I wasn't being wholly traditional in giving it."
"What?" Sherlock just looked confused.
"I told you - I resolved to work toward everything I've always wanted. I finally feel I'm good enough to find you. That's why I came here, not because of Cindy."
Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing, "I don't understand - you want me? Why?"
Basil looked uncertain, "I…I always have. I'm sorry - I thought you…I didn't mean to spring this all of a sudden. But when I realized you'd be here all alone tonight, it seemed like too good a chance to miss. If you want me to go…"
"NO! That's not what I meant! Don't go." Sherlock's face was pink with embarrassment. "I just didn't…expect it. Not at all."
The other man smiled in relief. "Still, I shouldn't have just pulled this so suddenly. Would you like to go to lunch tomorrow?"
No way, no way, no way. Where am I? Not on earth. "Yeah. That'd be nice."
"Cool. I'd better get going then, it's a long trek back to the hotel. Thanks for the New Year's Eve." Basil reached out a hand, stroking Sherlock's cheek softly for a second before stepping back. He turned to grab his things.
Sherlock forced himself out of his stupor. "We haven't had our brandy. You can't leave yet."
Basil smiled, blue eyes bright as he turned back. "You're right. That would be rude of me."
"Yeah, and we're supposed to have something sweet with it. We're in a candy shop after all." Sherlock attempted a smile, still too embarrassed and uncertain to look the other man in the eyes.
"I know exactly what I'll pick."
jagen13's new year's eve fic challenge. I'm not sure how much I like it, mostly b/c the concept of a short story is beyond me.Something Sweet
"Oops, sorry." Sherlock smiled sheepishly at the woman he'd just bumped into, ducking his head in a quick apology before shoving his glasses back into place and continuing on his way down the bustling street. He readjusted the packages in his arms, making sure they balanced well enough that he wouldn't collide into someone else because he had to stoop to pick them up.
He hummed softly as he walked, a small smile on his face. The store was only a block away but he was in no hurry to return. The brisk walk to do some shopping during his lunch break had gone a long way toward releasing pent up energy and he was loath to go back to his small shop. Idly he glanced up at the sky, laughing as flakes of snow dusted the lens of his glasses, flicking out his tongue to catch the ones that drifted close to his lips.
His breaths came out in soft white puffs as he continued walking. He slowed his steps as the small shop came into view, the sign hanging above the door swinging slightly in the light, chilly breeze. Reluctantly reaching it, he again wrestled with his packages before managing to shove the door open.
The chime of a bell and the warmth of the store welcomed him back, the smell of sugar and chocolate washing over him. He smiled apologetically at the youth in front of the counter, who was moving forward to help him with the packages balanced precariously in his arms. "Hey Clarence. Sorry to take so long."
"No worries, man. I told you to take your time - I handled the ladies fine without you." Clarence winked a dark brown eye, grin mischievous as he took some of the bundles and carried them to the wide counter on the right side of the store. Setting them down he began to rifle through them, occasionally reaching up to swipe long messy dark blonde bangs from his hair. The chain on his wrist chinked against the wood of the counter, "So what's all this for boss?"
Sherlock shrugged, "Miscellaneous stuff. A book or two."
"Only two? What, did you max your cards buying them? Or did the bookstore finally banish you?"
"Ha, ha, it is to laugh. So were you busy at all while I was gone?" Sherlock placed his items beneath the counter, pulling up a seat beside the register and looking over his books as Clarence rambled on across from him. The chiming of the bell made them pause to look up.
Sherlock's heart stopped. That's how it felt anyway, and his ability to breath was quickly following. He just stared hard, blinking in shock and disbelief. It can't be…there's just no way…
Clarence looked at him oddly before pushing off from where he'd been leaning against the counter. "Good afternoon, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?"
The stranger shook his head and smiled politely, "No, thank you. I'm just killing time."
"Let us know if you need anything," the boy smiled pleasantly, his mannerisms at complete odds with his rough appearance. He turned back to Sherlock, snatching the book out of his boss' hand. "So what's this one? I though only people my age read this stuff."
Sherlock snatched it back, "Don't be ridiculous. Would you like to cut our early? I doubt we'll get much business the rest of the day and you said you had a party to go to this evening."
Clarence brightened at the offer, but hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't want to just abandon you…"
The older man looked around the store, "Abandon me to what, one customer and an afternoon of boredom? I'll be fine. You get going. Enjoy your party, don't drink so much you can't work tomorrow."
"Can do, Boss! I'll be here nine sharp, never fear." Reaching over the counter to grab his jacket from behind Sherlock, he smiled and waved as he departed the store.
Sherlock watched him go, smiling slightly before going back to his book. The soothing quiet he usually enjoyed seemed heavy this time, as he studiously ignored the man wandering the small candy shop. What the hell is Basil Dalton doing in my candy shop? He doesn't live in this city…does he? Sherlock sneaked a peek at the man perusing the chocolates with a tense look on his face. Damn, he hasn't gotten less hot over the years. It's been, what, eight years since I last saw him? I wonder if he remembers me…doubt it. Who ever remembers the geeks and losers at high school? Even if he was called 'Detective' four years straight.
The object of his inner turmoil was still perusing the chocolates, which took up most of the opposite wall and back corner of the store. He stood in profile, and Sherlock could not help but continue to sneak glances at the man. Basil stood just a bit taller than Sherlock's own 5'7", trim and neat. Guess he still runs like nobody's business. He must, looking like that. Black hair was cropped close to his head, and Sherlock still remembered his eyes - a pale, pale blue that had always ruined his ability to talk.
"I don't recognize most of the brands in this shop." A deep voice spoke, making Sherlock jump slightly. "Ah, sorry."
Sherlock shook his head, "No, you're fine. It was just so quiet." He looked at Basil, making sure not to look too closely at the pale blue eyes still so sharp in his memory. He smiled as the man's comment registered, "Most of the candies here are locally made, and all but one or two are very small businesses. Those there," he pointed to a stack of white and green wrapped chocolates at Basil's elbow, "Are made by this little old woman with purple hair who lives three blocks away. They sell really well with the kids in the area."
"I see," Basil smiled, both amused and impressed. "I've never heard of such a shop. This looks like something out of a story book; not an actual candy store."
Sherlock hid his surprise at the comment - rather, his surprise at whom had made it - but his delight was plain on his face. "That's what my grandfather intended when he opened the shop. He was good friends with a lot of these candy makers - it was like a hobby with him. He was hopeless in the kitchen though, so he settled for selling it. This shop was meant to share his friends' creations with everyone."
"So are you running the shop for him now?"
"Yeah - he passed away a few years ago." Sherlock looked briefly sad, "He left the shop to me, so I keep it going these days."
"I see," the man said again. He looked thoughtful as his eyes perused the contents of the store. "What would you recommend for a party, then? A New Year's party."
Disappointment and anxiety increased the pace of his heart as Sherlock moved around the counter and into the middle of the store where Basil stood. Disappointment that Basil clearly did not remember him, anxiety that he might yet. Why couldn't he get less good looking over the years? He's still so gorgeous…and I'm still 'Pumpkin' or 'Detective.' Pushing away his misery, Sherlock focused his thoughts on candy. He smiled at Basil, "What kind of party? Large? Small? Casual?"
"Small gathering, I guess. Mostly associates and the like." He frowned a moment, before shaking his head as if to clear it. "Nothing fancy, probably just three hours or thereabouts."
Sherlock looked briefly around, thinking. "Hmm…ah. Something like this then." He moved toward a stack of large, colorful tins. 'Covered' was written across the top in cheerful letters. "A mix of chocolate covered raisons, nuts, pretzels, all kinds of stuff. Salty and sweet, a good snack food."
The man laughed, "That'll work. But I never thought you'd be selling me candy, Sherlock."
"What!" Sherlock jumped, gaping up at the other man.
Basil looked disappointed, "So you really don't remember me?"
"No!" Sherlock burst out in dismay, and then flushed. "No, I remember you. I just…didn't think you remembered me. I was surprised to see you walk into the store."
Basil looked at him, expression uncertain. "Yeah, I noticed. But then you didn't say anything and I figured Cindy had been messing with me. I'd dropped by to see her while I was in the area, and she said you were nearby. Said I should stop in and say hello, though I told her I doubt you'd remember me. Looks like she was right after all." His smiled returned.
Just barely avoiding a groan, Sherlock forced himself to ask, "Right about what?" Do I really want to know? No, I do not.
But the dark haired man only shrugged, "Just that you would remember me, and that I should say hello. I had a hard time believing you were running a candy store, though. I really thought she was joking about that." He looked down at Sherlock, curious. "So what are you doing here? Just because of your granddad? I figured you would have taken over the world by now or something - you were always three or four steps ahead of the rest of us."
"I decided it wasn't for me, that's all." Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably, looking at the floor. "I got to college and just - didn't want to do it anymore. The science and all, I mean. I started helping grandpa more and more with the shop and well, here I am." He looked up again, a stubborn expression on his face as he prepared for the inevitable mockery. Basil wasn't the first familiar face to wander through his shop.
But Basil again smiled, the expression well suited to his finely shaped mouth. Sherlock valiantly tried to remember how to breath while the man talked. "I know the feeling. I was all set to run marathons the rest of my life. But…I dunno. By the end of my freshmen year I was starting to hate it." His smile turned sheepish, "The party tonight is actually with a few acquaintances from a publishing company. I've got a book set to go to print on the tenth. How's that for weird, huh? A first rate jock turned writer." He laughed, shaking his head. "I still can barely believe it."
"You're a writer?" Basil almost dropped the tin he was holding; doing his best not to let his jaw hang open. "I didn't know you liked to write." Oh good one, say it like you had the right to know.
"Neither did I, until college. One never knows, huh? The detective sells candy and I'm writing."
Sherlock was still in shock, "What do you write?"
"Ah, nothing much. Adventure novels, fantasy stuff." He laughed again, still looking mildly embarrassed.
"That's amazing. I think that tops my about face." He eyed the tin in his hands, "I guess you'd need something fancier for a party like that…" Sherlock bit his lip, looking around the store. Damn blue eyes. Damn smile. Damn stupid me. Eight years! It may as well have been eight minutes for all the good it's done me.
"Oh heck no. This is more than enough, Sherlock. I mostly just came to see you anyway - it wasn't until I got here that it occurred to me to get something for the blasted party." He turned to look at the bright rows of chocolate, then turned back to give Sherlock another of his sheepish smiles.
Sherlock raised his brows, "You sound like you don't want to go." Stay here.
"I don't. I hadn't realized writing would mean so much of this stupid social stuff. That's part of what turned me off running. I just got sick of the attention…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start whining. How much for the candy?"
"Huh? Oh, um…seventeen with tax? Yeah, $17.10." Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sherlock returned to the counter with the tine and set it down to ring up the price.
Basil handed over a twenty, then propped his arms on the counter and leaned over it. He watched as Sherlock rung up the sale, "So what are you doing for New Year's?"
"Me?" Sherlock looked confused by the question. "Nothing, really. I'll probably just stay here."
"In the shop? By yourself?" Basil frowned.
Sherlock shrugged, "I live above the shop so it's not that big a deal really. I'm not one parties. Neither was granddad - we used to sneak out every time there was a family gathering or whatnot and drink whatever he was keeping underneath the counter at the time. That's how we always toasted the New Year." He smiled nostalgically. "That's probably what I'll do - sit here with my brandy and snitch a few sweets. Here's your change."
"Oh, umm - thanks. It…was nice seeing you again, Sherlock. I'm glad you're doing well." Basil shifted awkwardly, accepting his package and turning to leave.
Sherlock smiled after him, seemingly cheerful as he watched the other man go. He waited a few minutes, then dropped his head to the register and groaned. "I'm such a loser. Twenty-four years old and I still can't sound intelligent with that man around. God forbid I actually manage to impress him just once in my life."
Morosely he opened up his new book and went back to reading, though when he looked up an hour later he couldn't remember a single word he'd read. Four already? Hell, four thirty almost. Time to close up shop. Mechanically he went through the motions of closing the store, counting the money and securing it in the safe, sweeping and mopping the floor, neatening the piles and stacks of sweets. Locking the door, he flipped the sign to "closed" but left the lights on. Crossing the room he retrieved his books and other purchases before passing through the door at the back of the store and then up a flight of darkened but familiar stairs.
If the candy shop downstairs often reminded people of a storybook, the house upstairs only emphasized that image. Like grandma's house before the wolf came to eat her -but more masculine. Sherlock smiled, instantly soothed by the simple, homey atmosphere that he'd inherited from his grandfather. Dumping his stuff on the coffee table, Sherlock moved toward the kitchen. He froze as he passed a mirror hanging on the wall.
Frowning he examined his reflection, expression darkening further at what he saw. Nutmeg, that's what mom calls my hair. Ha! Looks more like cardboard. He reached up to tug at a few strands before tucking them back out of his face. He jerked his glass off to better see his eyes, which he hated more than his hair. Whoever heard of eyes the color of pumpkin pie? Damn mother and her stupid attempts to be nice. I’m a walking dessert that nobody wants. Ha ha ha. Looking away from his own eyes, Sherlock stared at the feature he hated more than the other two combined - the fine dusting of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose and just brushing his cheeks.
Jerking away from the mirror, Sherlock continued on toward the kitchen to make an early dinner.
The chiming of the clock above the TV brought Sherlock's head up, and he looked at it in surprise. "Eleven already? Where does the time go?" Rising, he kept a grip on his book as he stretched and yawned. "What an exciting evening." Reaching out he lifted the small bottle of brandy he'd bought earlier that day from the coffee table and carried both it and his book downstairs with him. The phone blinked up at him as he passed, and he gave it a cursory glance. Three messages, all from family no doubt. Too bad, they can celebrate the New Year without me. I doubt they'll miss me much, seeing as I was always slinking off anyway. Considering the phone a moment, he decided to keep the ringer off until he went to bed.
He set the bottle down on the counter with a faint thunk, reaching beneath and bringing up two old snifters. Setting them beside the bottle of brandy, he then relaxed in the seat beside the register and returned to his book. Several minutes later he looked up with a sigh and set the book down. Rising and stretching again, he moved around the counter and meandered through the shop. He hummed a soft tune as he fiddled with packages and boxes, straightening and re-straitening them as he wandered around. What a New Year, eh granddad? I wish you were here…not that I have anyone but myself to blame for hanging around the store all by myself on New Year's Eve. Stupid Basil, I was perfectly content with the situation until he showed up. Now I'm aware of how pathetic I am.
Sherlock glanced up at the clock, which displayed 11:20. "Forty five more minutes and I can go up to bed." He sighed and went back to fiddling with a display of candied fruit.
A sharp rapping made him jump and spin around, scattering foiled packages across the floor. A startled shout broke the near silence of the room, and he first glared and then gaped at the source of the intrusion. I've finally lost my mind.
Basil stood outside his shop, rapping at the window. Sherlock shook his head and rubbed his eyes, then looked again when the rapping sounded again. He stared out the window, confused by the smile on Basil's face. The man looked nervous. Slowly Sherlock moved to unlock the door, swinging it open to continue gaping at the man who'd suddenly appeared on his doorstep. His voice was full of disbelief when he finally spoke, "What are you doing here?"
Basil smiled sheepishly, "Would you mind terribly if I came in first? I walked here and I'm freezing."
"Oh, of course. Come in." Sherlock locked the door back and moved further into the store. "Set your coat and stuff here." He waited as Basil removed his winter gear, doing his best not to start gaping again. Start drooling for that matter, good god who lets him walk around like that? Argh, bad Sherlock! Bad! "Aren't you supposed to be at a party or something? What in the world brings you back here? Is something wrong?"
"Sort of? But um…well…" Basil floundered, looking at Sherlock a moment before his gaze slid away. Nervously he gazed around the shop, struggling with what to say. Finally he looked back at the silent Sherlock, "A couple of reasons really. One - I was sick of the party. Like I said earlier today, I didn't really want to go anyway. I'm always glaringly aware that I'm an ex-jock when I'm with that crowd, and a few of them are always happy to remind me if I do happen to forget." He shrugged, and Sherlock was painfully aware of just how incredible the taller man looked in a dark blue sweater. "I liked your idea of just bailing, but I couldn't think where to go…I know you didn't want company. I didn't mean to intrude, it was just sort of spur of the moment. I can go if you like."
"NO!" Sherlock said in surprised panic, "I mean, no. You're fine - you just scared me to death. It…it was kind of quiet around here anyway. I don't mind the company."
"Are you sure?"
No, I want my permanent crush to leave. Sherlock smiled, "I'm sure. Do you like brandy?"
"Sure - don't really drink it that often."
Heart beating too rapidly in his chest, Sherlock walked past Basil to the counter and fumbled with the bottle a moment before pouring generous amounts into the two snifters. "Neither do I, really only for Christmas and New Year's. Usually you don't drink it until midnight, but…"
"Then wait 'til midnight. I'm in no hurry. But I thought the tradition for the New Year was champagne?" Basil asked teasingly.
Sherlock blinked, then tried smiling back. "Granddad hated champagne, wine, all of it. He loved brandy though, so that's what we usually drank for Christmas an New Year's. I think a few times we might have had whiskey or something, but mostly it was brandy."
"I see. I think I like your granddad's taste, personally I think champagne tastes vile." Basil looked up at the clock, then looked back to Sheridan. "Fifteen minutes until the New Year. What's your Resolution? Did you and your grandfather have any sort of tradition for that as well?"
Sherlock looked embarrassed but pleased, "Yeah, how did you know? That predictable?"
Basil looked serious, "Anyone can see this whole thing means a lot to you. Even Cindy knew you always stayed here alone for New Year's Eve every year. Something that important, you must have a resolution that fits the tradition."
Still embarrassed, Sherlock stared sightlessly at the glasses of brandy a moment. Even Cindy noticed…I really am a loser. I knew that though. I hadn't realized I was that much of one though. Yeesh. How to lose your dream man in one tradition or less…not that I ever had him to lose. He looked up again, not quite meeting Basil's appealing blue eyes. "Granddad always insisted we "follow our dreams to something sweet." That was always our New Year's Resolution."
"To Something Sweet? Follow your dreams to the store?" Basil laughed.
Sherlock smiled weakly back, "That's what I said the first time he said it. But it seems to have worked so far, so what can you do? He always said you can't go wrong with sweets."
"Can't really argue with that."
Sherlock sighed, "So what's your resolution then?"
"Mine? Ah, well - I'm just continuing with a resolution I made a long time ago.
Sherlock stared at him in curiosity, but said nothing. After a moment, Basil continued hesitantly, "I told you earlier today that it was freshmen year I realized I didn't want to keep running my whole life. But it wasn't until my junior year that I finally was confident enough in my writing to give up athletics once and for all. My parents weren't happy, but over Christmas that I was done. My New Year's resolution was to always do what I wanted from then on. No matter what anyone said. So each year I work toward something else that I've always wanted but never was brave enough to for before."
"That's wonderful. You…have really come a long way from high school."
"So have you, though you're still very much the detective." Basil winked.
Sherlock flushed and jerked his gaze away. "Once a geek, always a geek I guess."
"That's not true - if a jock can change, why can't a geek? I never thought you were a geek anyway."
"What?" Sherlock looked back up in surprise, "You guys always--"
Basil stunned him further by placing a finger over Sherlock's lips, effectively silencing the man. "That was me being stupid and insecure. That was all of use being stupid and insecure. We couldn't stand that you were a million times smarter than us. I hated it. Hated it every single day that I was never good enough, never smart enough to be friends with someone like you." He dropped his hand.
Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times, "Not good enough…someone like me? Don't you have that backwards?"
"No." Behind them the clock on the wall chimed softly, making Sherlock jump. Basil laughed, "You're really jumpy, I've noticed. But it's midnight - Happy New Year."
"Ha-happy New Year." Sebastion looked at him, looked away. He looked back again when he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, staring up in shock as Basil moved closer to him and ducked his head.
The seventh chime rang out as Basil placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's startled, parted lips. The clock chimed nine as he pulled away. Ten, eleven and finally twelve passed before Sherlock managed to speak. "What was that for?"
"Your family doesn't do a traditional kiss?" Basil smiled again.
"Not…not like that." Brain melting down…melted. I have to be dreaming, have to be.
Basil winked again, though nervousness lingered in his eyes behind the teasing. "Good - because I wasn't being wholly traditional in giving it."
"What?" Sherlock just looked confused.
"I told you - I resolved to work toward everything I've always wanted. I finally feel I'm good enough to find you. That's why I came here, not because of Cindy."
Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing, "I don't understand - you want me? Why?"
Basil looked uncertain, "I…I always have. I'm sorry - I thought you…I didn't mean to spring this all of a sudden. But when I realized you'd be here all alone tonight, it seemed like too good a chance to miss. If you want me to go…"
"NO! That's not what I meant! Don't go." Sherlock's face was pink with embarrassment. "I just didn't…expect it. Not at all."
The other man smiled in relief. "Still, I shouldn't have just pulled this so suddenly. Would you like to go to lunch tomorrow?"
No way, no way, no way. Where am I? Not on earth. "Yeah. That'd be nice."
"Cool. I'd better get going then, it's a long trek back to the hotel. Thanks for the New Year's Eve." Basil reached out a hand, stroking Sherlock's cheek softly for a second before stepping back. He turned to grab his things.
Sherlock forced himself out of his stupor. "We haven't had our brandy. You can't leave yet."
Basil smiled, blue eyes bright as he turned back. "You're right. That would be rude of me."
"Yeah, and we're supposed to have something sweet with it. We're in a candy shop after all." Sherlock attempted a smile, still too embarrassed and uncertain to look the other man in the eyes.
"I know exactly what I'll pick."
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Date: 2003-12-08 12:36 am (UTC)Gyah...woman, you are turning me into a puddle of goo, here. I *loved* this! I loved the way you set it up, I loved the names. *snickers*
I liked that Sherlock was so into his own uncertainties that he was having a hard time seeing Basil's, and I loved that you could show how they'd both shed some of the traits that they'd had in high school that had kept them apart while at the same time acquiring more that made this moment in time the perfect one for them.
I liked the way too, that you managed to get a kind of melancholy feel into Sherlock's feelings of the holidays while at the same time not making him a mopey sort. He's more resigned to the situation than anything, and I love how Basil both takes advantage of that and can turn that around into something specail.
I also adored the fact that Basil didn't think he was good enough for Sherlock and that he'd worked so long to become a better person--the kind of person he thought of being worthy of Sherlock--before finally approaching him. God...*melts into a fangirl goo*
Thank you for totally making my night. You so rock! *tigger glomps*
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Date: 2003-12-08 03:05 am (UTC)You need to insult me or something someday, because all this commmenting and liking each and every thing I struggled with just puts me on cloud nine all day. All joking aside - it makes me happy to know I hit every mark I intended.
You just made my night, I'm glad I could make yours.