Something Sweet Read online

  *~*~*

  He went back downstairs at eleven, taking Basil's book with him to reread more slowly than he had the first time, along with a bottle of brandy and two lowballs. He was sure the kinds of people Basil spent time with would bitch at him for using the wrong kind of glass, but it was what he and his grandfather had always used, and Sherlock wasn't changing to appease people who weren't there.

  As it did every year since he'd continued the tradition solo, the shop seemed unbearably empty—lonely. Sherlock thought of Basil then tried to push the thought aside. He was working himself up over nothing and knew it, but it did no good to tell himself that because he wasn't believing it.

  God, two weeks was going to take forever, and it didn't really help he'd see Basil tomorrow since it was probably going to be a quick hi and by sort of thing. But Basil had stolen that kiss, and that counted for something, no matter what anyone said.

  Sherlock sighed at himself and opened the brandy, pouring about a shot's worth into each glass then setting the bottle aside. He picked up one of the glasses, swirled the brandy around, and glanced at the clock. Forty five minutes to go.

  He glanced down at the book and tried to read it, but his mind kept drifting right on back to its author.

  Someone knocked on the door, making him jump and yelp, turn wide eyes—and they widened still further when he saw Basil standing outside, looking red from the cold, snow covering his bare head. Leaping over the counter, Sherlock bolted across the store and unlocked the door, ushering him inside.

  "H-hi," Basil said through chattering teeth.

  Sherlock locked the door again then dragged him to the counter. "Hi. What are you doing here?"

  "S-s-sorry if I'm i-i-intruding."

  "You're not," Sherlock said quietly, because fuck if he didn't feel better just having Basil there, whatever his reason. "Would you like some brandy?" Basil nodded, and he filled one of the glasses a bit more, then handed it over. "What's up?"

  Basil sipped at the brandy, closing his eyes and sighing. "God, that tastes good. If I have to drink one more fucking martini or some beer I can't pronounce or a whiskey that costs more than my new mortgage payment, I'm going to kill somebody."

  Sherlock laughed and without thinking, reached out to tug at the sweater Basil was wearing: soft, well-fitted, and if he wasn't mistaken, it was cashmere. A beautiful deep blue that brought out Basil's eyes, matched the dark gray slacks he wore perfectly. "I thought you were going to the annual alcohol-poisoning."

  "Was, did, hated it," Basil said. "I also realized I was overdressed, not that anyone complained." He finished the brandy and set the glass on the counter, then swiped a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "I'm kind of sick of it all, you know? Nobody seems to get that."

  Tilting his head thoughtfully, Sherlock confessed, "I guess I'm not much better. I've spent all damn day trying to figure out why you asked me out when you look like GQ and probably have enough money to buy out half this town. Bennett was so jealous he was literally turning green, especially when he mentioned the Millstone place."

  Basil groaned and covered his face with his hands—hands, Sherlock noticed, that were devoid of rings. "I'm going to kill that real estate agent. I couldn't get her to show me anything reasonable. Everyone thinks I want ten bedrooms, three living rooms, five baths, a pool, a conservatory—I don't know what the heck that even is—and like servants or something. Dude, I have an apartment in Florida and not even a fancy one. I sink money into electronics and music, but that's all really. I don't—I'm not—"

  He looked so fucking miserable that Sherlock couldn't stand it; he didn't stop to think, just stepped closer, leaned up, and kissed him. Basil drew a startled breath, hands landing awkwardly on Sherlock's hips as he returned the kiss.

  When they finally pulled apart, Basil looked much happier, and Sherlock felt more than a little pleased.

  "I never stopped thinking about you," Basil said softly. "It's probably stupid, to never give up on a childhood crush, but you were always so quiet and still and—and sweet." His cheeks turned red. "Not flashy or glitzy or loud or expensive or anything like that. I left because I thought I wanted something more, thought I needed to be something more. Of course, I always thought you'd be long gone. I came back here just hoping to figure out where you'd ended up."

  Sherlock laughed. "I thought I would be, too, but here I am."

  "Here you are," Basil said softly, reaching up to push back a lock of hair that had fallen against Sherlock's cheek. "My quiet detective, still in his candy shop, still the sweetest thing in it."

  "That's a terrible line," Sherlock said, grinning.

  Basil smiled back. "I told you I was a terrible flirt."

  "I've dealt with worse," Sherlock said. "So what made you come here so late?"

  "Just a hope. I keep forgetting to get your phone number, and someone mentioned you lived over the shop earlier. You said you had other plans, but I figured it couldn't hurt … I just didn't want to start the new year at yet another stupid fucking party. It's probably dumb, but … " He shrugged. "I don't want to do all of that any more. I like this." He swept an arm out, indicating the shop. "Something small and quiet and simple—and sweet."

  Sherlock smiled at him, and glanced at the clock behind the counter. "Well, it's nearly midnight. My grandfather and I always did a toast here in the shop." He refilled Basil's glass and gave it to him, then picked up his own. He clinked their glasses as it began to chime the New Year. "To something sweet."

  "To something sweet," Basil echoed and took a sip of brandy before setting their glasses aside in favor of a very promising New Year's kiss.

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