London gives a casual shrug. “I wasn't ignoring the moment, Elliot. There was an opening for information; I couldn't ignore it. As it stands, I didn't get anything out of it. And if you'd had answered, I would have. As for what I'd have done… well, there is a reason people think us to be a couple, you know. I don't see-”

“What?” Elliot interrupts in a hiss.

“There is. We're two men, we live together, we are the most important people to one another. People with simple minds assume that means we're together. Not much of a jump, if I'm honest,” London says, tipping his head from side to side in consideration. “Of course, I've always said I'm married to my work, and you claim we're better described as friends. Yet, your recent behavior suggests otherwise. Normal people would call that a relationship, or the starts of one, wouldn't they?”

Elliot stares at him flatly. “You're a cock.”

“Yes, you've said. But I've made my point, haven't I?”

“Not really. You haven't answered my question.”

“I wasn't lying when I said I'm welcome to change. I am capable of it to a degree.” London sighs, arching an eyebrow at him almost playfully. “Whatever you need to come home, I'll give to you - within reason of course. I will not stop experimenting or working, which you'll never ask me to do because you like that I do it.”

“Eyeballs in the refrigerator and chasing down mad men is non-negotiable,” Elliot says dryly.

London unfolds his hands from in front of them and flicks his fingers like he's batting away Elliot's sarcasm. “You are aware of my need to do my work, you never bore me, and you won't intentionally hurt me. Molly says we're practically married anyway, and Mrs. Hanson says that you're a romantic. Though, she also says a thorough shagging will get you to come home, so I'm not sure of her reliability when it comes to you. Still, my statement stands.”

“You're actually serious, aren't you? You'd do whatever I asked, just to get me to come home, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” London says, shrugging again.

Elliot doesn't know if he wants to bang his head against the table, or London's, more.

For him to be the smartest man alive, the Consulting Criminal can be incredibly dim. While Elliot appreciates the sentiment, that is not a good enough reason.

"I will come home because I want to, and because you make sense when you say distance isn't the solution.”

London's recovery time is amazing, because his face brightens immediately. “You'll come home?”

“Yes,” Elliot answers, lips twitching.

The thing about going home after six months of London being gone is that Elliot expects it to be hard. 

The problem with that is that it isn't.

Elliot puts his things back where they belong; Mrs. Hanson flits about, making tea and tutting at them in a decidedly pleased fashion; London still plays his violin, drags Elliot along on cases, finishes his experiments from before and starts some more. Things rotate back to the way they're supposed to be, and Elliot feels something within him heal. The wounds will always have scar tissue, he knows this, and it aches at the strangest of times. London will smile at him, or forget to pick up milk, or start composing, and Elliot will almost crumble under the bitter-sweetness of it.

But all in all, it's perfect again.

His life with London has always been wild. Between the insane cases, the oddities of their home, and the adventures in his days… it's wild. But within the lack of normalcy, there is perfection.

The only difference is the abrupt ache he gets, or the new fears he's discovered, and the Consulting Criminal's sudden obsession with how Elliot feels about him.

London won't leave him alone about it. He claims it distracting not to know, but Elliot thinks he's just being a cock. London brings it up at least once a day, even suggests experimenting if Elliot doesn't know how he feels about it himself. London watches him always, seeming to try and figure out Elliot's reasoning and what possible feelings that could be there. Elliot ignores him to the best of his abilities.

They decide to allow clients again, simply because Greg has nothing to call them up for. The first is a man who's pets all keep running away, and London declares him boring, practically pushing him from the apartment. The next, however, catches his attention.

The woman is small with red hair and a kind smile. She looks timid and unsure, but Elliot can see the fire in how she argues with London. Her situation is a bit on the heavier side. She is under the assumption that her brother is an arsonist, and she's terrified he'll hurt someone someday, but she has no proof.

“And you're willing to imprison your brother on the chance he'll hurt someone?” London asks curiously, tilting his head at her.

The woman's jaw hardens. “Someone could die, Mr. Holmes. I love my brother dearly, but he has to go down for this.” Her fingers twitch and she shifts in her seat, looking as if in discomfort.

London cocks his head. “Where does your brother work, Ms. Kendell?”

“He's an accountant at-”

“Boring!”

“You asked!” she shot back hotly, eyes narrowing at London in annoyance.

“Hmm, and does he have any family outside of you at all?” London continues.

“A wife,” she replies, frowning slightly, no doubt worried for the woman married to an arsonist. “He hasn't said anything, but I think she's pregnant.”

“When is the last time he committed arson?”

“Eight months ago.”

“Any idea as to why it's been so long?”

“Not a clue.”

London hums again and looks away, focusing his gaze out the window. “Do you have someone, Ms. Kendell? A lover, or a child?”

“No,” she murmurs, sagging slightly in her seat, fingers twisting together, “it's just me and my brother.”

“It's clear you love him and this pains you a great deal, but you seem to believe this is absolutely necessary anyway,” London muses.

She gives a crooked smile, eyes sliding down to the floor. “Funny how love for something can push you to do the last thing you thought you'd do.”

“You love him, so you stop him. How very… sentimental,” London murmurs.

“Quite,” she agrees quietly.

Then, without preamble, London is on his feet, waving a hand around. “Alright, alright, we'll take your case. Have a nice day, Elliot will be in touch!”

Elliot watches the woman get ushered outside in faint amusement, eyes trailing the way her hips sway. She really is pretty, and Elliot muses the consequences in getting involved with a client. 

“A good case, then?” Elliot asks casually as London whisks back in with a faint look of confusion.

“Do you feel the same about me?” London asks without preamble, looking directly at him.

For a moment, Elliot balks at the question. He's just been bouncing back from ogling some woman, and he needs a moment to catch up. London waits patiently, eyes never straying, and Elliot has to catch his breath from such a look of intensity. Finally, clearing his throat, he decides to be honest.

“I do, yes. You're my best friend, of course. Why do you ask?” Elliot replies.

London frowns at him. “If I were to do something terrible, would you support me or have me put away? Something not quite terrible, but getting close.”

“I suppose… well, I don't know, and how would I? You do terrible things all the time, and I tolerate them. What's this about?”

“I need to understand. Her brother is the only connection she has in her life; he is clearly the most important thing to her. Yet, she's making moves to have him arrested and put away, all because he might be a danger someday. Why?”

“Well, maybe she's actually worried about people.”

“No, no, she reacted with the same distaste as I do to sentimentality; she's clearly intelligent. Why is she attached to him, Elliot?”

“He is her brother, you know,” Elliot sighs in exasperation, rolling his eyes.

London tuts and waves a hand. “Familial bonds hold no true weight; they're a mere obligation to most people. Look at Alexander and I, look at you and Harry. No, she grew up losing homes to supposed house fires - though she knows it's his doing - and yet… she still shows care for him instead of blame. It almost doesn't feel real.”

“Maybe they've just always been close,” Elliot suggests, shrugging slightly.

“Unlikely. An arsonist and someone who cannot form bonds easily? They most likely were never close at all, yet she appears to cling to him. And still, her loyalty is lacking, despite her love.”

“I don't think analyzing her love for her brother is going to help us catch him.”

“Still, it brings a question to mind. You said I do terrible things, does that mean-”

“You don't want to hurt anyone, Holmes.”

“Not usually,” London agrees, lips twitching up in amusement. “The question still stands. You said you care about me; would you support me in this situation or have me put away?”

“You're not-”

“Yes, I'm no arsonist, but I am cruel, and I enjoy things that normal people consider vile. I'm an addict. I enjoy dead bodies, I understand serial killers, and the lives of others are very insignificant to me. I see and do things no-one else could ever dream of. I have a gift but I see it as a curse. On more than one occasion, I've put people in danger without even a second thought. Moreover, I've hurt you plenty. Yet, here you stand, still by my side, still seeing good in me where many do not believe there is any.”

Elliot tucks his lips in, pushes them out, then sighs heavily. “Well, you've got your answer then, haven't you? London Holmes, you're a terrible, vile person and I'm your partner in crime, which makes me just as terrible and vile. Brilliant.”

“You're being childish,” London snaps, huffing in annoyance. “Explain it to me.”

“Fine,” Elliot groans, moving over to plop himself on the couch beside London, propping one leg up and facing him, tucking the propped up foot underneath his other knee. “Right, so it's not about excusing you or supporting you; it's that I know you're a good person. Yes, you do things that aren't so good, but you've always meant well whether you realize it or not. Sometimes it's as easy as that.”

London leans forward, waving a hand jerkily, practically vibrating in his seat. “Exactly! He's her only connection, he's never actually hurt anyone, and yet… she wants to see him put away.”

“Well, it's different for her, I imagine. She loves him as a brother; I don't love you like that” Elliot tells him, not really thinking about the words before he says them.

“How then?” London asks, voice soft with curiosity, eyes scanning him for details.

Elliot forces himself not to go rigid and keeps his breathing in check. “How I always have, what does her need to do the right thing have to do with us putting the brother away for arson?”

London blatantly ignores the question. “How you always have? Elliot, that tells me nothing. You're purposefully being vague.”

“The case, Holmes-”

“I don't care about the case at this moment; I may be coming close to solving the case you've given me!”

“I'm not a case,” Elliot mutters, rolling his eyes and moving to stand up.

London darts out a quick hand and grabs his wrist, keeping him from moving. “Of course not. You're my best friend, and there are feelings that I don't understand. I'm simply asking you to help me.”

“Why won't you let this go?”

“Why won't you tell me?”

“London.”

“Elliot.”

Elliot narrows his eyes. “Alright, fine. If I were a bad man, would you support me or have me put away?”

“Honestly?” London muses, lips twitching. “I don't know because you're not capable of being a bad man. Only hours of knowing me, you shot a man on the mere hunch that he was going to harm me. In the war you saved and killed people as well, yet I'll never see you as anything but a good man.”

“See?” Elliot hums, ticking his head to the side as if to prove a point. “You see me as good, even if some of my actions say otherwise. I feel the same for you.”

London considers for a moment, then hums, “I suppose, if I'm capable at all, that I do. Though, love is merely a symbol of-”

“Nope, no, not hearing that. You care about me, but do you love me as a brother?” Elliot challenges, arching an eyebrow pointedly.

“I don't even-”

“Don't you dare say that; we both know you love Alexander, and it would embarrass you if I had to provide evidence in my argument.”

London wisely snaps his mouth closed. “Fine,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, “I don't love you as a brother, and no, I have no idea as to why any of this matters. This isn't the point.”

“Exactly. The point is there is an arsonist out there we're meant to be questioning, and you're in here worrying over romance like an ordinary person. Don't tell me you're becoming normal and boring,” Elliot teases, lips twitching.

London's lips part and his eyes widen in pure shock. He goes rigid, back snapping straight, hair seeming to fluff up in anger at the mere thought of him being ordinary, or god forbid, boring.

The sight is amusing, and Elliot knows he's staring at the Consulting Criminal in what can only be adoration.

“You're right,” London breathes out, looking surprised and disappointed in himself.

He looks ten seconds from jumping up and running off to get started on the case, as if to prove how utterly extraordinary he is. Elliot can see it now; he's going to bury any curiosity he has and stop wondering about what it all means. Elliot is bordering on laughing outright. The whole situation is amusing, and he is only adding fuel to the fire when he leans forward and catches London's hands with his own and pulling him closer so their foreheads are touching.

“Boring,” Elliot chuckles, standing up from the couch with a bounce in his step.

London frowns at him. “You're confusing me on purpose!”

Elliot smiles. “Just this once.”

“That doesn't help,” London yells after him as he heads up to his room to change.

Elliot laughs to himself the whole way.

Mark Kendell does not look like an arsonist.

He's a broad man with a bright smile and is quite handsome. His wife is equally beautiful with long blonde hair and dimples. They're at a park, clearly enjoying a couple's picnic, sharing looks of amusement as kids run and play around them.

“How'd you know he was here?” Elliot asks as they start across the lawn.

London huffs. “People are so boringly predictable and allow themselves no privacy these days.”

“Works in our favor though,” Elliot notes, pulling London to a halt. “How are we going to talk to them without seeming creepy?”

But London is already walking. Elliot sighs and hurries after him, smiling at the kids that they pass. The Consulting Criminal walks around their target and finds a good spot only a few feet away. He suddenly reaches out and pulls Elliot into his side, looking over at the couple with a sweet smile.

“Do you mind if we sit here?” London asks, gesturing to the grass. “We won't be bothering you, will we?”

The wife grins at them. “Oh, certainly not! Have a seat, enjoy the sun. Not many times do we get a day without rain, yeah?”

“Indeed,” Elliot agrees mildly.

Each couple, the real and fake, go back to watching the kids, basking in the rare nice weather. There's a few minutes that pass and Elliot happens to catch the supposed arsonist's gaze; he offers a smile. The moment shatters as London reaches in his pocket, and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. The Consulting Criminal doesn't say anything, just puts the cigarette between his lips and flicks the lighter, flame flickering in front of its target.

Elliot doesn't even think, just reaches up and snatches it out, breaking the offending thing in his fist. London blinks at him, looking surprised, and Elliot glares at him in offence. Then, abruptly, the Consulting Criminal turns to the couple.

“Terribly sorry about that,” London apologizes, making a face of regret. “I'm quitting see, and it's really a terrible habit.”

The wife gives a small smile, but her husband looks a little sick. “Oh, it's fine,” she says a bit tightly, eyes flicking her eyes towards the children.“I do hope you manage to put them down.”

“Yes, well, my friend over here is a bit touchy when it comes to habits,” London chuckles awkwardly.

“His sister's an alcoholic, mind you, so it's fair.”

Elliot jolts, jaw dropping. “What the hell?!”

“Oh, it's fine, relax,” London tells him. “I'm sure they know all about unruly siblings!”

The wife nods reassuringly. “Oh, I do. My sister's a bit younger and dumber, has too many kids she can't care for, but… she's family. What is there to be done with them, but love them?”

“And you?” London asks the husband, smiling politely, waiting expectantly.

The husband is a bit cagey, lips tight, eyes flitting about. “I don't have any siblings,” he says quietly.

“A pity,” London hums, almost as if he actually feels bad for the bloke for growing up alone.

The wife is suddenly scrutinizing them closely, looking between them in interest. “How'd you two meet then?”

“We've known each other for about two years,” Elliot says quickly, elbowing London in the side when he goes to speak. “We became roommates, then friends. And how about you two?"

The wife sinks into the man's side, sighing happily and grinning. “He practically trampled over me in the street, sent all my things scattering everywhere. He never really looked at me as we were getting everything up, but right as he was standing up, he took one look at me and dropped everything again.”

“Oh, hush it,” the husband laughs awkwardly, cheeks going red. “I told you, I did it to get your number. I called her up the next day, I did.”

Elliot smiles, softening. “Well, you're a lovely couple!”

“You really are,” London agrees, all smiles and kind eyes. “Actually, we've been meaning to make more friends. As it stands, we mostly spend time with each other. We should all go out for coffee!”

There is a touch of London's normal enthusiasm, but it's reigned in. Still, it's equally compelling. The couple share a quick considering look with each other, clearing communicating in a way only a close couple can. Elliot makes himself a bit smaller, a bit more unassuming, softens his face, and waits.

Whatever the Consulting Criminal is doing, he fully trusts him to be doing the right thing.

The wife suddenly grins at them. “That'd be brilliant! We have free-time on the weekends; it sounds like a lovely time.”

“Wonderful,” London says, abruptly moving his hand from the ground and reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a pen and a crumpled piece of paper and quickly writes down his phone number before tearing the paper in half and handing it and the pen to Mark to do the same.

“Here you are. Name's Mark, by the way, and this is my lovely wife, Sarah.”

“William,” London says distractedly “and my charming friend here is Christopher. It's a pleasure.”

Elliot has to fight not to react to London's own middle names being spit out without so much as a twitch. But again, London clearly knows what he's doing.

Mark hands back his piece of paper and the pen to the Consulting Criminal.

“Ta,” Mark says, smiling at Sarah as if he's expecting to be rewarded for being polite.

"Christopher and I will be in contact, but unfortunately, we must be going now. Busy day of errands, you understand.”

Both Sarah and Mark seem very sympathetic to the busy lives of adults, nodding and smiling in understanding. Elliot lets himself be pulled to his feet, still hovering close to London.

“It was lovely to meet you both,” Elliot tells them sincerely. “We'll be in touch, I'm sure.”

“Of course,” Sarah agrees, smiling pleasantly.

London gives them a wave, tugging Elliot after him insistently. “Have a nice rest of your day,” he calls over his shoulder, then marches them along.

“Holmes?” Elliot hisses, sinking a bit closer, aware that the other couple are still watching them leave.

“Not to worry,” London tells him, pulling him out to the curb, raising a hand for a cab.

“Where are we going?”

“Mark and Sarah Kendell's home,” London says, like it's obvious, pulling them into the cab.

“Of course we are,” Elliot mutters, rolling his eyes as London gives the address flawlessly.

“He claimed not to have any siblings, and his wife - who he adores - didn't even twitch to suggest otherwise,” London murmurs.

“Maybe he knows she is trying to turn him in,” Elliot suggests, shrugging.

London huffs. “Yes, but he doesn't have any care about that. He either doesn't think she will actually do it, or he's convinced himself that no one can find any proof. Elliot, nothing fits.”

London is getting a bit frazzled, alarm spreading in his frame, eyes darting about as if he can find the answers in the air. Elliot doesn't really think about it, just acts on instinct and rubs his thumb over the back of London's hand soothingly.

Surprisingly, he settles a bit, frowning instead.

“Oh, it's Elliot now? It was Christopher a moment ago,” Elliot teases, trying to lighten the mood.

“A necessary evil,” London says, lips twitching as he relaxes, just as Elliot had hoped. “If they don't already know us, I don't want to give any idea to as who we are. So, for them, for a bit, we're William and Christopher.

“We'll actually be going to get coffee then?” Elliot asks curiously.

London hums. “We'll have to. Mark's a mystery, isn't he? Seemingly terribly normal, yet…”

“Everyone has their secrets,” Elliot tells him, still rubbing soothing circles into his hand.

“Right you are, right you are,” London agrees with a sigh, his head falling back against the seat with a dull thunk.

They sink into comfortable silence for the rest of the ride, lost in their own thoughts. Elliot's forgotten to watch for the moment to take his hand free, actually enjoying the contact. It's a small reassurance, easing the bittersweet ache in his chest he gets when London does London-like things.

Then, the cab stops, and London drops his hand, practically sailing out of the cab. Elliot blinks rapidly, staring down at his hand, actually a bit peeved at the loss, and oh no.

No, that's not good at all.

However not good it is, now is not the time to deal with it; Elliot pays the cabbie and follows the Consulting Criminal out onto the street. The house they stare up at is pretty normal for this part of London. It's a bit on the modest side, a normal grey color, and has a fenced in lawn.

It hangs at the end of the street, and it appears to be the only house allowing a bit of privacy from its neighbors.

Well, that works in their favor.

“And just how do you plan to get in?” Elliot asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

London smirks. “I've got my kit.”

“Of course,” Elliot tuts, following London around the side of the house, nervously looking around for any nosy neighbors. “You and that bloody kit. It's the worst thing Mrs. Hanson could have ever gotten you for your birthday.”

“It was her most thought-out gift, and I know you helped her pick it out,” London tells him, sidling up to the back door. “You're as much to blame as her; thank you for that, by the way.”