milliways_bar | (no subject)

As he suspected he would, Jim caught Sherlock's - heh, Rory's - stupid bloody cold. He went to bed angry, frustrated, and sick to the back teeth of this entire bloody bar.

He wakes up with a Welsh accent, a body that feels weirdly exhausted, and a whooooole lot of surprise at finding himself in a bedroom that is not wallpapered in Laura Ashley, cluttered with years' worth of books and theatre junk. Gethin has never set foot in a room so opulent, and so incomprehensible to him. He spends a good hour looking at the clothes, the books, the...frankly pornographic, yet extremely beautiful...photography on the wall of the library (the centrepiece of which involves his own face, and the blurred figure of a much taller man in the background. He doesn't look at it for long.) Everything is very, very weird.

In short, Gethin Roberts does not have a bloody clue what's going on. But at least there are clothes he recognises - comfortably 80s in style - and if the cold he's got means he can't go searching Jonathan out, at least there appears to be a...bar, downstairs?

What. The Actual. Hell.

[OOC: getting in under the wire! Open until the end of March. :)]

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He drops his shirt back down, and blinks at her.

'What did you say your husband's name was?'

"Jim, or James. Moriarty."

Interesting to see if he gets the connection, whomever he's supposed to be.

Gethin runs a bookstore. Okay, a specialist bookstore, but he's always been a reader. He gets the connection.

Which is why his only response is, 'uhhhhhhhhm......'

And another blank look.

"Yes?"

She prompts him for something more.

"Are you finally going to give up or are you now a gay, Welsh man, because I will make it work."

'Even if your husband decided to pretend to be a gay Welshman, you'd make it work?'

Wow, she's...dedicated. This Jim fella is lucky, and obviously does not deserve her.

'I'm not him,' he finishes, in a lame tone. And he knows it's a lame tone, but he doesn't know what else to say.

"Of course I would."

She reaches a hand up to stroke his cheek.

"I love you."

He doesn't flinch back, simply because he feels that would be pretty rude. Also, he has nothing against women as friends. He likes women! But definitely not enough to marry one.

'...okay.'

What. The Fuck. Is Happening.

'How many kids have you got?'

See, he woke up in a room he doesn't recognise, but obviously one belonging to someone really rich. And there were no family photos around the place. The photos there were, were...not for the eyes of children. And there was absolutely another man in them.

Your borrowed mind is being toyed with, Gethin. That's what's happening.

"Just two, Peter and Sophie. They'll be five and six respectively this year."

She'll play along since this is apparently what they're doing.

'But you don't live here, surely?'

Not with kids. Not with James Moriarty, who apparently has the name of his arch-enemy tattooed on his ribs.

"Of course not. We have houses in New York and London. We don't bring the children here."

Out of the question by her tone of voice.

"This is where we come to unwind and relax. Play a little."

He gets his first smile from her as her hand drops down to rest on his shoulder.

The smile is a little unnerving. As is the hand on his shoulder. He can't quite get his head around the fact that he's obviously not her husband, yet she still believes he is. Like, seriously, why would he lie?

'I'm not playing, though,' he says, with a dry throat.

'I promise I'm not. I'm really not him. I've got a boyfriend, and everything. I live with him in London. I run a bookshop. He's an actor.'

"I know you've got a boyfriend and you know I don't care."

Isn't she progressive?

"But no, you're not playing. You're being an ass and when you're over this we are going to have words. A lot of them."

'You know about Jonathan?'

Wait, what? Not that they're hiding, but - no, this makes no sense.

'I'm not being an ass. I'd never do this. I don't know how anyone could be married to someone who would.'

(There is definitely going to be a lot of words when this is over.)

She waves a hand.

"Names aren't important."

Then she looks hurt.

"You're a very special man. I knew life would never be boring with you."

And she was right.

...there is literally no way to argue against this. Maybe she and this Jim bloke deserve each other, if this is their idea of a relationship.

'I'm not special. I just run a bookshop.'

This is muttered towards the floor, and he's thinking he should just get himself out of here. She's obviously not going to be convinced.

'My life's not boring, but it's nothing like you're talking about. You should be out looking for him, not trying to convince me I'm something I'm not.'

"Are you really happy running a bookshop?"

This may be a trick question.

"You are special. You may not want to hear it right now, but you are."

His head comes up, and he looks her square in the eye. It's not the same as Jim staring through someone like a laser beam, but it's pretty steady and sure, all the same.

'Yeah. I really am.'

He really is.

'Your husband might be special. But I'm not him.'

Oh, there's a little bit of what she's used to in there after all.

"Not that there's anything wrong with bookstores, but you're so much more than that."

She leans back, glancing over his features.

"You know, this could work for me. You but not-you."

'....what do you mean?'

Uh-oh.

She smiles and pats his hand.

"Don't look so scared! I promise I won't make a move, much as I'd like to."

'Don't think it'd do you any good if you tried, love.'

Gay. So gay. Really gay.

'Nothing against you, but women just aren't my thing.'

Another clue that he is not her husband, surely.

She rolls her eyes. This at least should be familiar.

"So you've said."

Nope, not familiar.

'Right. So you get how I'm not - can't be - your husband or the father of your kids, yes?'

He's pretty confident he wouldn't be able to manage it. He's starting to wonder if she need psychiatric help.

"Well, gosh no I guess you can't be. You're just some guy who has his identical tattoo, face and body."

She was right about this being way too much fun, too.

"I get that you don't want to admit it right now, though."

Gethin covers his face with his hands. Then holds them up in surrender.

'I'm going to go back upstairs.'

He does feel very tired. Weirdly so. It must be the cold.

'I hope you find him. I hope you give him what for as well.'

Whoever the asshole is, he absolutely deserves it.

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