if_inconvenient | (no subject)

He thinks of his own suspicions, but doesn't mention them.

"Paranoid about what?" he prompts instead.

Cal hesitates for a moment longer, then plunges ahead. Because if it was for real, then Sherlock would have seen it and maybe just hasn't said anything, and if he didn't then it wasn't and Cal can stop worrying about it. Either way, he's not going to end up making Sherlock worry for no reason - that, he has to admit, is just an excuse to justify not saying anything. Which he should.

"I don't know, I might just be making it up, but - when Stane said that thing about my mother and me being a shining example . . . I mean, either he was saying Mother's a whore and I'm not much better, which is kind of a weird thing to say when he's never met her, I mean, sometimes people hate us, fine, but saying that to my face when he's never even met Mother - but, either that or he was kind of hitting on me, or, or both, you know what, that sounds even stupider out loud, never mind, I never said anything. Uh, like I said. Paranoid."

"I had not," he admits, "considered that implication."

And now he is.

"Then it was probably nothing," Cal says immediately.

"I, uh, I've, um. Kind of. Had something like that happen before, so, uh. Probably overreacting."

"Perhaps. But perhaps you were right. I find I cannot rule it out."

Which really says something about Obadiah. Either that or it says something about Sherlock's suspicious nature. Or both!

"Fuck," Cal mutters.

Judging from the frustrated disgust in his tone, he's going with the first interpretation.

"I am sorry. Obadiah Stane is not a pleasant person."

That much, Sherlock has always known.

He thinks... no. No data.

"Yeah, I noticed."

Cal kind of wants a shower now.

Sherlock kind of doesn't know what to say now!

Cal picks up on this and casts about for something to possibly lighten things up a bit.

"Maybe," he suggests sardonically, "I'm just his type."

. . . lighten things up may not be the phrase to describe that remark. Oh well.

Dryly: "I don't know, I wouldn't say that you bear any particular resemblance to a bankroll."

The lightness of this remark is debatable, but at least it's humour.

"True," Cal says. "I'm taller."

"Among other notable differences, yes."

Cal laughs, more as a release of nervous tension than anything else.

Sherlock smiles briefly.

Cal lets out a sigh as he finishes laughing.

"Okay," he says, "I'm pretty sure I'm done sucking the air out of the room now."

He's sorry he managed to give Sherlock something else to worry about after all, but - he didn't expect to be taken seriously, he realizes, not about that. And it's . . . kinda nice to have been wrong there.

He doesn't know what to say to that, either, so he settles on: "Pleased to hear it."

"Anyway."

Subject change time!

"I did bring the sequel. It's not as good, sequels never are, but we could watch it or save it for some other time, whichever."

Or maybe it's time to break for dinner. Cal is open to all kinds of possibilities.

"We could—"

The doorbell rings. A different tone from the one that announced Obadiah. Sherlock smiles.

"The fabled pizza at last, I expect. Is there any for us, Jarvis?"

"If you don't mind pepperoni," says the computerized voice.

"No objections." He looks to Cal.

Cal brightens. Pizza is pizza. He's not overly picky about his toppings.

"Sounds good," he says.

"I'll go and get it, then, shall I?"

He bounces cheerfully to his feet and answers the door. The ensuing transaction is brief, and results in Sherlock carrying three stacked pizza boxes into the foyer, where he pauses thoughtfully.

There is a brief delay before Cal remembers that he should probably offer Sherlock a hand.

Hey, it's the thought that counts, not the length of time it takes to get there, right?

He gets up and hastens to the living room door.

"Need any help?"

"Quite possibly yes."

And then he looks up, past Cal, at the stairs that lead to the second and third floors. A moment later, Cal might hear two sets of feet descending them.

A moment after that: "Oh, why don't you let me take those, Sherlock?"

The Chandler persona is right back in place; this time, though, it's the reflex not of social propriety (nor the amusement of earlier) but of self-defense. There's a subtle thread of unease that wasn't there before, though Sherlock may well be the only one to whom it's visible. Cal would hope.

Cal is good, but not perfect.

"Thanks, but we've got it," he says, relieving Sherlock of one of the boxes.

"Are you sure?"

"C'mon, old man, give Sherry a break for once." Tony pushes past Obie to grab another box off the stack.

"I was just trying to help," he says with a smile. "Now Tony and I were thinking—"

"Lies!" Tony chirps. "His idea."

"—yes, very funny, Tony. We were thinking it might be nice if we all sat down together and had a meal like civilized people."

Tony is already making preemptive puppy eyes at Sherlock. He looks ridiculous. Adorable, but ridiculous.