if_inconvenient | (no subject)

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He has not spoken to Cal in six days.

It is a ridiculous measurement. Plenty of more important things have happened since then. Tony is now CEO of Stark Industries. Virginia Potts has, with some reservations, accepted a position as his personal assistant. She is already proving invaluable. The media seem to believe that the only interesting thing Obadiah Stane ever did was die, and Tony has indulged in several bouts of cathartic rage on the subject.

And yet.

He has not spoken to Cal in six days.

Every moment he has to spare, away from the minutiae of making Tony's job easier as best he can, finds Sherlock on the couch in his workroom playing the violin. He throws himself into the most challenging pieces he can find, and as soon as he has perfected every note he moves on immediately to the next.

But he doesn't keep count of how many new solos he has mastered this way. Another count entirely occupies that part of his attention.

He has not spoken to Cal in six days.

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"We are in uncharted territory, I'm afraid."

Cal looks back up.

"Yeah, that - sounds pretty much like us, I guess."

He laughs.

Cal smiles at that, relieved.

"I can live with skipping the part where we talk about our feelings if you can," he offers.

"Oh, but you know how I like to have all the data," he teases.

"I'll spare you that conversation if there is nothing to be said."

There's plenty to be said. Some of it he genuinely cannot articulate even to himself, but some of it . . . he could try, anyway.

But what would be the point? Nothing would change. So he shrugs and says,

"I don't have anything."

Sherlock gives him a studying look.

. . . Cal can't quite hold his gaze.

Softly:

"If you're sure."

"I . . ."

Cal runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm pretty sure I was the asshole here," he says finally.

His lips quirk.

"Very likely."

"So."

He shrugs.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

And, again, "It's all right."

"Thanks," Cal says, quietly.

He's still looking at the floor.

Sherlock comes forward and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Cal glances up, meeting his eyes, a little surprised by the gesture.

He smiles gently.

A quiet laugh escapes.

"Fuck, I missed you."

And he did. Underneath everything else, in these last few days, he missed Sherlock a lot.

"I missed you too," Sherlock admits.

Tension eases out of Cal's stance, and he starts feeling (and looking) more at home again, the way he's come to feel in this house.

"So is there anything else I need to know?" he asks wryly.

As a matter of fact...

Sherlock laughs.

". . . oh my god," Cal says.

"Le me rephrase that. Is there anything else I want to know?"

Cheerfully: "No."

Although now he is infinitely curious as to what Cal just imagined.

Anything that makes Sherlock laugh like that after Cal asks that question is clearly something Cal doesn't want to know.

"Good," he says decisively.

"I might point out, however, that if the last six days are any indication, you didn't want to hear this either."