Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.
He can't see through the grime-coated window, but he thinks it's begun to snow. How touching.
The ice clinks lazily in his glass as he takes another sip, leaving just a trace of amber liquid. He places the cup on the water-stained bedside table and sighs and rolls his shoulders, contemplating sleep, or at least changing into something more comfortable. He glances at his companion on the next bed over, head buried in his pillow, snoring contentedly.
It's so simple for them, he thinks, looking away with a sneer. The others. With their easy lives and thoughts that move like sludge. The world moves like sludge. But he is always moving. Ever changing yet reliably constant.
His fingers trace the rim of his glass.
Dear Jim, I think my wife is cheating on me with her boss. How do I get rid of him?
Dear Jim, this guy at work owes be a considerable amount of money. How can I scare him into paying me back?
Dear Jim, I'm drowning in gambling debts. I need to disappear.
The abrasive throaty voice jolts him out of his reverie. His companion squints at him in the dim light and moves to sit up, threadbare comforter shifting to reveal his bare chest. "You still awake?"
"Hey, Seb." Jim forces a half smile. "Yeah. Sleep and I have a bit of a... difficult, relationship." He's talking too loud; the alcohol makes his tongue heavy. Sebastian doesn't notice. He yawns and frowns, pulling the blanket higher.
"Jesus, it's freezing in here."
"Really, I hadn't noticed." There isn't any sarcasm in his voice.
Seb gives him an odd look, hard face half-lit by the orange of streetlights that peers in stripes through the shades. "Why are you still in your clothes?"
Jim picks up his glass, the ice cubes half-melted swirl with diluted booze. "I didn't pack any pajamas," he says thinly.
The previously sleeping man just blinks, not really phased by his partner's distant mood. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers, ducking back under the blanket and soon Jim hears light snores emitting from the other half of the room.
He glances over with what could only be described as longing. He hadn't noticed it before, but it really is damn cold in the cheapass motel room. Apparently, heating is overrated in these parts. He glares into his cup and puts it back.
He finds his mind and body separated as he slides out of his bed. He's walking around the room and crossing the gap where Sebastian lay. He tries not to disrupt the other man as he carefully lifts up the sheet and blanket.
God, humans are so warm. They have all this energy and all these moving parts, they're like machines, or engines, always putting off all this heat. Shoes and all, Jim slides in beside Seb, their backs together. He rests his head on the paper thin pillow and makes pictures out of the cracks in the plaster wall. The fogginess has almost overtaken his mind when Seb shift and roll over. He feels an arm wrap around him but he's so far gone it might as well be a dream.
A voice in his ear whispers, "You're going to wrinkle your suit."