Ааааааааа, ну прочитайте и разделите уже кто-нибудь мой восторг со мной, я умираю!))))
A Unified Theory (Sherlock/Moriarty, nc-17) Есть фики, о которых надо написать всем, везде, всюду! Это шериарти, он на английском, он совершенный, от первого до последнего слова! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 Просто прочтите, я захлебнулась эмоциями, настолько но правильный.
Детальки прекрасны - какое начало, ах, эта ленивая азбука морзе подставкой для стакана от Джима, и Шерлок, который отвечает на это вслух и плевать, что подумает посторонний между ними.
И этот ненавязчивый выбор прилагательных для деталей в поведении шерлока, во время ПОВа Джима, просто перекавай: (жирный шрифт мой)
"You're finished now, I hope," Sherlock said. The twist of his mouth was fetchingly accusatory.
Блин, да там всё смакуй и цитируй!

читать дальшеSherlock twisted in his chair, and Jim saw for the first time that he was drinking coffee. Jesus. "You're finished now, I hope," Sherlock said. The twist of his mouth was fetchingly accusatory.

"I never started anything. I was having a drink –"

"In the same building as the murder I'm investigating –"

"And you sat down. And it didn't occur to you, apparently," Jim continued, pausing to have a slow sip of his drink (and relishing the impatience blooming in Sherlock's face like crystals forming on a window), "to sit next to me. So I hardly thought it would be polite to impose myself. "
Серьезно, если я начну описывать достоинства, придется цитировать весь фик - там прекрасные IC мысли и Шерлока, и Джима, причем как о друг друге так и просто offtopic. Весь фик можно любоваться)

It was all performance. Jim didn't mind – he appreciated it, in fact. Sherlock in his unaltered form was sharp, brilliant, rough, an endless complexity of edges. That complexity liked to dress itself up as a simple, logical blade, and Jim had a deep sympathy with the desire to dress up. The raw data transactions that made up life were more intriguing when they had to be accomplished under a shifting and arbitrary system of parameters. He liked masks. He liked a little song and dance. He liked the soft, petulant slip of tongue over Sherlock's lower lip.

Шерлок:
Sherlock slipped past Jim to stand in the kitchen, keenly aware of the shadow Jim made on the cupboards, and waited impatiently for it to shift, for Jim to turn and watch him. The irritation he felt when it didn't made him throw open the refrigerator with unnecessary force.

***

"Jesus, it's not an apple. Give me that. "

Sherlock looked down at the bottle in his hands. He'd been peeling the foil off with the corkscrew in perfect, narrow strips. He smiled. "Thirsty? "

"Men like me have very tight schedules," Jim said, drumming his fingers in a syncopated line across the counter.

Sherlock stabbed the cork. "There are no men like you. "

"That's good, flattery will always get you somewhere – but wine will get you further. Put it out of its misery, will you? "