#Sid/Sullivan

[slusheeduck]

Dubious Associates

Sid's always had a feeling there was a little more than just antagonistic, insufferable lawfulness when it comes to how Inspector Sullivan feels about him, and he's proven right exactly twice: once under extreme duress, and once right as they say goodbye.

Chapter 1: Evidence

“709, Frankie the Fence. I made the arrest.”

Sid half-listened as Sullivan searched. Too much talking for a good job, but still. Not like he couldn’t make good use of his own time in here.

“Well, well, what do we make of these?” Sullivan held up a pair of shoes, a smug smile on his face. Sid glanced over them, unimpressed.

“Frankie the Fence has size ten feet.”

“Frankie the Fence is a woman.”

The sheer, almost manic victory in Sullivan’s usually dour face might have been amusing, charming even (if Sullivan could ever be charming). But not in an evidence room where, Sid was pretty sure the inspector hadn’t registered this yet, they were breaking and entering. He blew out a breath, cheeks puffing out.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “We have not got time for this.”

All at once, Sullivan popped back up. His eyes went to Sid, then to the evidence shelf. He was a sharp one, for a copper, so by the time their eyes met again, it was clear he’d picked up on Sid’s own bit of shopping.

“Put that back.”

Sid’s gaze didn’t so much as waver, even as Sullivan’s eyes swept down to the back in his hand before looking back to the shelf. (Funny, how this inspector’s once-overs always looked more interested in the whole of him than Valentine’s ever had.) But when Sullivan’s eyes traveled back to his, he let out the smallest hint of frustration as he held the bag up.

“This evidence will get me six months in the poke. The way I see it, you owe me,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice low enough to keep from being heard.

“The debt doesn’t extend to the theft of your evidence,” Sullivan said through his teeth.

Sid’s eyes casually went down to the shoes. “Says the man holding stolen evidence in his hands.”

Sullivan stood up straighter, puffing up with his usual righteous indignation. It’s funny, normally, when Sid can get under his skin, but right now it’s unfortunate, because said indignation made him loud. “The distinction being, I’m innocent and you were caught fair and square. Put it back.”

There wasn’t much room to get in Sullivan’s face back here, considering they were already practically nose to nose, but Sid did try to get the air of it as he said, “Or what, you’ll raise the alarm?”

Sullivan’s chin jutted out, the sharp, stilted inhale that typically came before a self-righteous screed escaping him. While this would normally be an excellent time to rile the inspector up to boiling point, this was, in fact, a job, and keeping a cool head was essential, even as he could feel Sullivan’s frustration radiating through the whole room.

But before he could get so much as a word out, a voice floated in from the other side of the door—one Sid didn’t recognize, but given the wide-eyed, panicked look that crossed Sullivan’s face, he could pretty confidently guess it was Trueman. (He wasn’t the Father, of course, but contrary to popular belief, he could, in fact, put two and two together.)

“Open the door, Sergeant. I think I heard voices.”

They both moved quick. Sullivan turned, tucking the shoes against his chest. Sid put the evidence back where he’d grabbed it, lip curling in frustration. He might’ve pulled it off if Sullivan hadn’t—no time for that, not with keys jingling on the other side of the door. He dove down to sit beside Sullivan; the inspector had tucked himself up around the corner. Not a great hiding spot, so Sid merely tucked his legs up and waited for the inevitable.

“No-one signed the key out. I’ll take a look around, sir.”

That was Goodfellow. Not too bright, but decently lived up to his name when he wasn’t toadying after Sullivan. As Sid settled back, he had to admit to being a little curious what would happen when they were caught. Clearly Sullivan was, too, given the way he was practically shaking beside him.

It was tempting, of course, to sneer at the state of him, but Sid kept his gaze down. He didn’t like the inspector, let’s get that clear. But…well, honor among thieves, he supposed, and Sullivan—at least for this moment—was in with him. And yeah, it was a little gratifying to see the inspector on his side of the law for once. But he was a prideful man, and this was a hell of a fall. Now, he was frightened, desperate—Sid was careful not to look directly at him, to let him keep a small shred of his pride, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sullivan clutching the shoes like a teddy to his chest.

Nah, he couldn’t kick him while he was down. If they got out of this, it’d ruin the fun of riling him up. Besides, Sid could remember all too well how he’d done on his first job—he’d been just as spooked.

Footsteps came round the corner, and Sid finally lifted his eyes to look up at Goodfellow. Well, jig was up. Both he and Sullivan stared up at the sergeant in silence, the slightest noise from beside him suggesting the inspector was mouthing something. Goodfellow stared down at them for what felt like a lifetime.

“All clear, sir,” he finally called, sparing one last glance to Sullivan before he made his way out.

When the door shut behind him, Sullivan sagged down in relief, practically going limp against Sid as he relaxed. Sid kept his eyes on the door, body tense as he listened for their footsteps to fade away. Once it was silent again, he caught Sullivan’s head turning to look at him. Sid met his eyes, finally. He was about to say they ought to get up and moving, but then Sullivan lunged at him.

His hand scrambled against the side of Sid’s head, catching his ear before going to his neck, and he tugged the other man forward to crash their mouths together, all teeth and adrenaline. Somewhat shamefully, considering his reputation, it took Sid a solid ten seconds to realize that the inspector wasn’t attacking him; he was kissing him.

This...wasn't as much of a surprise as Sid thought it should be. After all, there had been looks, and he'd always had a feeling there was something more than sheer morality that made him Sullivan's favorite target. But all the same...things suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.

 Not that this was the time, though. It took a great deal of strength—literally, Sullivan had a hell of a grip—to pull himself back. Sullivan’s eyes were bright, and his chest heaved as he gripped Sid’s collar. Sid kept a hand on his chest, just in case he dove in again.

“We need to get out of here,” he whispered, voice clipped and nose still brushing Sullivan’s. He nodded to the window. “You go down first, and keep your head down.”

Sullivan swallowed, throat bobbing, and he seemed to come back down to earth. He nodded, then carefully stole to the window. Sid followed, watching the inspector go down before he followed. He shut the window after them—the crowbar had left it a little worse for the wear, but hopefully Sullivan would be back in business by the time anyone noticed.

Sid was quick to pull down the ladder, silently directing Sullivan to dump out the water from their cover bucket. He watched him as he did, noting the way he shook. Ooh, not good. He wasn’t handling this well—granted, the kiss kind of gave that away. As Sullivan turned back around, he nodded for him to follow after him.

Now, time for a detour.

He, of course, knew all the best ways to slip out of sight. So, with a sharp whistle, he directed Sullivan down a narrow alleyway, ladder just able to pass through with them. No windows on either side, and hardly noticeable provided they didn’t make much noise. All at once, he stopped and propped the ladder against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Sullivan hissed, voice shaking. “We need to get back to the presbytery. I need to figure out what Finley’s shoes are…”

And time to help get him grounded.

Sid was much smoother than the inspector had been, hand easily resting on the other man’s neck and thumb directing his jaw up for a deep kiss. This time, Sullivan froze, and Sid mentally cursed as the bucket went crashing to the cobblestone. But it certainly wasn’t enough to get either of them to stop.

Sullivan’s free hand gripped Sid’s collar again, tight enough to threaten to tear it, and he pushed into the kiss with all the dogged energy he’d had in the evidence room. Sid coaxed him back against the wall, one arm propped against it. Meanwhile, Sullivan’s teeth teased at Sid’s lip, tongue meeting his without a bit of hesitation.

All at once, he pulled back, breathing hard and eyes bright. “What are you doing?” he asked, belatedly.

“You were about to break. I’m getting your head on straight.” Sid paused. “Well, in a way.”

“I wasn’t about to break.”

“You’re a shit liar.” Sid’s head dove down, lips going to his jaw. “And anyway, you started it.”

Sullivan swallowed, head falling back. “It’s…adrenaline. That’s all.”

Sid snorted, right next to his ear. “Sure, tell yourself that. We can both pretend you haven’t been practically undressing me with your eyes every time you give me a once-over.” He gave the lobe of Sullivan’s ear a sharp bite—not as playful as he’d done with others, for obvious reasons, but the shuddering breath the inspector let out was very gratifying.

“This is illegal,” he finally whispered.

“Gonna arrest us yourself, then?” Sid murmured in his ear, then pulled back with a shit-eating smirk he couldn’t force down. “Oh, wait. Can’t do that right now, can you?”

Sullivan stared hard at him, then pushed forward. Sid fell back against the other wall as Sullivan dove down to his neck, biting and sucking at the skin like a man possessed. Sid, melting back, didn’t fight it in the least. Not only was it very nice, but he was pretty sure he’d seen less repression in all those priests-in-training at the Father’s old seminary.

Sullivan let out a frustrated grunt as he tried to work open Sid’s coveralls one-handedly, and he automatically brought up his other hand to get at the button. And that was when the shoe dropped—literally, in this case. He pulled back, startled back into the moment by the noise, and he stared up at Sid with pupils large enough to nearly swallow up the blue. They both breathed hard, staying still, but Sullivan finally ducked down to pick up the shoe.

“There’s something inside,” he said, trying not to sound breathless as he stood back up. Sid adjusted his collar as he watched him dig in the shoe, only to pull out a small slip of paper.

“What is it?” he asked, idly rubbing at his sure-to-be-bruising neck as Sullivan looked it over.

“Left luggage ticket,” Sullivan muttered. “For a briefcase.” He paused, eyes darting back and forth. “The expose, that must be it.” He looked up at Sid, holding the paper up. “And that briefcase is the key to my innocence.”

“Then we ought to get back to the presbytery,” Sid said, going to grab the ladder. “Might want to get yourself back into order; Mrs. M’s bound to notice otherwise, and that’s not a conversation you want to have.”

He glanced back at Sullivan, smiling a bit, but it faded as the inspector stiffly put the paper in his pocket. He cleared his throat, pointedly not looking at Sid as he smoothed his coat.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, voice quiet and short. He bent down to pick up the other shoe, and the familiar hard expression was back as he finally lifted his head. “You are being charged for theft when this is over, and I’ll be the one ensuring you go to prison. Like you deserve.”

An odd sort of pang went through Sid’s chest at that, and he stared at Sullivan for a moment before he let out a sharp breath. “And just when I thought we were chums,” he drawled out, then pushed past Sullivan to lead the way. “Keep your head down. I know a shortcut back.”

~

Funerals weren’t exactly Sid’s favorite thing, even less so when he didn’t know the deceased. But it did feel right to go to DC Albert’s. The kid had done a lot for this case, and paying his respects was the decent thing. And, for all of his faults (and there were plenty), Inspector Sullivan—reinstated and decked out with all his various medals and finery—seemed to recognize that too in the speech he gave. And, perhaps, he’d even turned over a new leaf; at least, that’s what Sid, Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy silently hoped for as he pulled Father Brown aside after the Mass. Sid was even playing with the idea of inviting him out for a pint to celebrate.

“I thought you’d like to know,” he said, voice low. “Sir Jeffrey Greensleeves has been charged with accessory to murder, and Chief Constable Busby with perverting the course of justice.”

“And Inspector Trueman?” Father Brown asked.

“Gone.”

“And that’s an end to this horrible business, I hope,” Mrs. M interjected, firm enough that any Illuminati within earshot would think twice before causing mischief.

Sullivan glanced over at her, then looked back to Father Brown. “There is something I’d like to say, Father. Grateful as I am for your assistance…”

Father Brown smiled.

“…nothing that’s happened will change my opinion of you…”

The smile faded.

“…as a somewhat dangerous and subversive influence. By rights…” Sullivan glanced over at the three huddled nearby. “…I could have you all arrested.”

“Go on, then,” Mrs. McCarthy challenged, but Sullivan was unswayed.

“If you imagine this will in any way color our future dealings, or that your meddling in police matters is any more welcome, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I see,” was all Father Brown said, placid as ever even though the disappointment was clear on his face. That alone was nearly enough to get Sid winding up his arm to knock those stupid medals right off of Sullivan’s chest. But then, the Father wouldn’t like it very much if he did. So he stayed put as Sullivan turned to walk off, having the audacity to tip his hat as he did.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Lady F. said, more than loud enough for Sullivan to hear. But the inspector needed something a little more direct after pulling off a stunt like this to the dubious associates that had saved his hide.

Sid stepped forward, hands clasped—it was the only way he’d keep from popping Sullivan in his stupid jaw. All this work, all of their sticking their necks out, and this stupid blighter was still too goddamn proud to admit that he’d needed their help. Not to mention the evidence room, and the alley, and… “Yeah, thanks for nothing, inspector. Guess I’ll see you in court.”

Sullivan paused as Sid spoke. His head tilted slightly, and he slowly turned to face them again. Sid, chin lifted, waited for the reprimand, the gloating.

Sullivan met his eyes for a moment, and he shifted back and forth, legs restless as he wrung his gloves. Finally, he said, “I’ve been informed that due to an…administrative error, the evidence in question has been mislaid.” The words came out awkward and stilted—the bloke really could not lie to save his life. But Sid (and Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy, and Father Brown) were listening all the same. It took Sid a moment to register what exactly that meant, but Mrs. M’s big smile helped clue him in as Sullivan added, “Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

Goodfellow stared.

“Sergeant.”

He caught on, too, and lived up to his name. “Oh! Right, sir. Yes, sir.”

“Which means,” Sullivan continued, ignoring Lady F.’s smirk, “we will be forced to drop all charges on this occasion.” His eyes locked on Sid’s, and Sid was careful not to smile as he fiddled with his own gloves. “But rest assured, Mr. Carter, we will not be nearly so careless in future.”

At that, Sid’s lips did turn up, just a bit, as he nodded, with one deep one added as a silent “Thank you”. Sullivan started to turn, keeping his eyes on Sid until he finally snapped his head forward.

“I want a full investigation on how this was allowed to happen, Sergeant. Heads will roll, mark my words,” he blustered. Oh, bless, he even included a little indignant shake of his gloves. Definitely laid on far too thick, but Sid was hardly going to complain about it as he shared a grin with the group.

And, maybe, he’d rethink buying Sullivan a drink next he saw him…as thanks, of course.

Chapter 2: Conclusion

[weltato]

yknow when you've enjoyed something for ages but never really seeked out the fandom or checked for fic or anything, but the very moment you do you find a ship you didn't expect to be quite so good and now that's all you can think about?

yeah, so that's happening :)

[edgarsullivans]

🫶🏻 i love all the behind the scenes photos

[hunterrrs]

my sid/sully brainworms are in overdrive

[justanothermerthurshipper]

gay people can never say "I love you". It's always gotta be some shit like "I've been informed that, due to an administrative error, the evidence in question has been mislaid"

[elvieshezza]

my boys ✨

[sarcasticteapot]

Father Brown as memes and cursed images, part nine🥳 (hopefully)

[felicia-montague]

Father Brown Feature Length Special

How great would it be for all the old cast to return for a one off special?

Mrs M, Bunty, Sid, Felicia, the other inspectors etc

Surely there’s a way we can put this to the writers and basically BEG?

Petitions? Writing campaign? A vote?

[autolycuss]

Sid and Sullivan (and intense eyecontact~)

[sidneycarter]

heyyyy do u have any hcs for sullivan & sid /cartivan??? <3

oh anon..... i have MANY i will try and filter them down for u now

EVERYONE in kembleford knows about cartivan being a thing before cartivan know its a thing... its an Open Village Secret that the police inspector and Father Brown's semi-feral adopted son have massive silly crushes on each other

As a result, every time they have one of their little flirting sessions arguments/squaring up to each other moments everyone is just rolling their eyes silently in the background

When they inevitably get together its actually Sullivan that makes the first move - for unspecified reasons everyone got very drunk at the Red Lion and Sullivan just dumped all of his feelings straight out onto sid

the next day sid goes to the police cottage to "check that sullivan has survived the hangover" haha yeah of course that's why and sullivan is MORTIFIED but can't deny any of what he said and sid is like.... oh

to start with sid is doing most of the leading because he's *ahem* far more experienced in the art of romance and other things

but sullivan's confidence really grows in the time they're together and it turns out that behind that icy facade is a very sweet and soft man

sullivan is very big on the old school romance, slow dancing, hand holding etc so when he comes round to the idea that he can have a boyfriend that loves him he goes ALL OUT

sid plays it cool but deep down is still a little bit stunned that he's managed to pull sullivan. like sully is handsome, hes accomplished, he's actually kind of funny when you get to know him and sometimes sid feels a little bit behind in his country boy ways

sullivan however loves sid's semi feral tendencies (sometimes) and goes BRIGHT RED whenever sid teases him with wiggling eyebrows an makes comments about being sullivan's bit of rough

[slusheeduck]

Dubious Associates

Sid’s always had a feeling there was a little more than just antagonistic, insufferable lawfulness when it comes to how Inspector Sullivan feels about him, and he’s proven right exactly twice: once under extreme duress, and once right as they say goodbye.

Chapter 1: Evidence

Chapter 2: Conclusions

At the end of the day, Sid was a simple sort. Yeah, yeah, it was a bit of fun when he got to go to the hoity-toity shindigs—mostly because the sorts in Lady F’s circles never knew what to make of him, though the food and booze was a close second—but a nice day, some good fishing, and a lazy smoke next to a fire were really what made life worth living in his eyes. So, as he did just that, he figured life was pretty good.

He’d just tipped his hat over his eyes for a quick rest in the sunshine—rare for a spring day in Kembleford; he needed to move somewhere warm one day—when he caught the sound of footsteps approaching his caravan. He hoped against hope that maybe the Father had decided to forgo Bucephalus, but…no. No, he knew those steps.

He groaned as they came to a stop beside him, and he was already glowering as he tipped his hat back up. “What is it?” he asked brusquely. “Fishing without a license? Illegal campfire? Loitering?” He scoffed as he sat up to look up at Inspector Sullivan properly. “Or is it just a slow day for crime?”

Sullivan took the jabs without a fight, eyes flicking over the caravan and fire while notably not looking at Sid. Unusual for him—suppose he was still a bit on edge after that Illuminati business. Sid frowned, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees as Sullivan took a breath.

“I…have some news for you. I’ve just been to the presbytery.”

All at once, Sid’s heart dropped down to his stomach. He pushed himself up to his feet. “Oh, my god. Did something happen with Father Brown?”

Sullivan quickly shook his head. “No, no. Nosy as ever, all’s well there.” He shifted back and forth, legs shifting restlessly. “I just…thought I should speak to you in person.” His eyes flicked up to finally look at him. “Off-duty.”

Sid had gone weak with relief that it wasn’t one of those visits, but that just left more questions. He set his hands on his hips, looking over Sullivan. “Well?”

The inspector stayed quiet for a moment, then took off his hat. His chin lifted, and he finally met Sid’s eyes dead-on. “I’ve taken a position in London—not one I can speak about, I’m afraid.” He paused, then added, “I’m leaving Kembleford.”

Sid’s brows drew together, and he glanced away before looking back to Sullivan. “You came all this way to tell me that? I would’ve figured it out when I could go a week without you breathing down my neck.”

Sullivan shrugged, a wry smile crossing his face. “Well, I figured you’d be happiest to hear it. And, believe it or not, I do actually enjoy delivering good news in person.”

Sid stared at him. Was that a joke? Could Sullivan joke? He knew—probably better than anyone, given what happened in the evidence room—that there was a great deal simmering below the surface of Kembleford’s most self-righteous inspector, but…

Oh.

The tense hold in his shoulders, the way he was struggling to meet Sid’s eyes, the restless shift in his legs…he was practically crackling with that same energy he’d had in the alley. A slow, slightly smug smile crossed Sid’s face, and he tilted his hat back.

“That really why you came here?” he asked.

Sullivan’s jaw clenched, hands white-knuckled as he gripped his hat. Sid stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the inspector’s but smile not lessening in the least. Sullivan’s mouth twitched, his head lifted as if he was about to start blustering or threatening, but all that came out was a hissed-out “God damn it” as he tossed his hat to the side. And, in two quick steps, his mouth crashed against Sid’s.

Like before, he was all tense energy and years of repression. His teeth found Sid’s lip, and one hand sought out the warmth of the other man’s neck. But there was no time frame this time round, so Sid had no qualms coaxing him into something a little deeper, a little slower. Yeah, a good frenzy was all well and good, but this was a goodbye, wasn’t it? Might as well give him something to really remember him by.

Sid was the one to pull back first, leaving Sullivan gasping for air. They’d wound up flush against each other, breath mingling as they stared at each other. He took care not to keep too tight a grip on Sullivan, just in case he wanted to pull back. As obvious as it was what he wanted, he wouldn’t be the first bloke to get scared at this point. But, to Sid’s great surprise—and, even more surprisingly, to his delight—he stayed right where he was, heart hammering so hard Sid could feel it in his own chest.

Without a word, Sid glanced at his caravan, head tilting toward it ever-so-slightly in a silent question. It took a moment, but finally, Sullivan gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Well. No sense waiting, then.

Sid pulled him back in for a kiss, deep and hungry and maybe just a little victorious, and expertly guided him up and through the door without breaking it. Then, with just a quick glance to ensure no nosy sorts were around, he shut the door behind them.

~

“So do you actually have a name, or is it just Inspector?”

The question was mumbled out around a fresh cigarette, and Sid looked over at Sullivan as he lit his match. Sullivan was prone beside him, eyes shut, hair mussed and face smushed against the blankets. Quite a different look than the cool, composed inspector, and by far the most relaxed Sid had ever seen him. He liked him better this way.

It took a moment for him to register that he’d been asked a question, and while he didn’t lift his head, he had his characteristic dryness as he asked, “What?”

Sid shrugged as he lit his cigarette. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past you. Though I want to know if you changed it or if you were born with it.”

Sullivan gave a deep sigh, shaking his head the little he could. Sid chuckled to himself as he took a drag, leaning back against the pillow.

“It’s Edgar.”

Sid looked down at the mumble, eyebrows raising. “No…you’re saying I could’ve been calling you Eddie this whole time?”

“I can still have you arrested, you know.”

“Not without your trousers on, you wouldn’t.”

That finally got Sullivan to raise his head, blearily looking up at Sid as he propped himself up on his elbow. Sid offered the cigarette, and Sullivan took it, taking a long drag before passing it back. He looked about.

“If you’re looking for contraband, I keep that in my other caravan.”

“Ha.” Sullivan finally pushed himself to sit up, combing at his hair before he leaned his head back against the wall. Sid had figured he wouldn’t be one for pillow talk, proud as he was. But he had to admit, he was surprised he hadn’t hopped up and left the moment they were finished with a hasty comment of getting it out of his system. He took another drag, watching as the inspector took a long breath through his nose, eyes shut.

“No train to catch?”

“Not until tomorrow. Should I leave?”

“Nah. Though you might have to hide under the duvet if Mrs. M comes round—she has a knack for popping over when I have company.”

“Does she come over often?”

Sid shakes his head. “Not if she can help it. But she currently owes me a pie for fixing up the pipes at the presbytery. If she does come round, I might even share—if you ask nicely.” He grinned up at Sullivan, whose mouth twitched. He took another drag. “This’ll stay between us, by the way. You don’t need to worry.”

“I appreciate that.”

They sat in silence for several long moments. Finally, Sullivan lifted his head and looked down at Sid. The usual tension had all but evaporated from him, leaving him loose and relaxed. His eyes were half-lidded, though the brightness of them were still present as he looked over Sid’s face. Stiltingly, awkwardly, his hand moved up to comb Sid’s hair out of his face—just a quick brush, though his fingertips lingered for a moment longer than they needed to.

Dalliances with blokes were always a touch bittersweet—what else could they be?—but this felt…different. Like there was a whole world they’d missed out on by being at each other’s throats. Not that either of them would be caught dead admitting it, of course. But maybe in another life, another time…

Ah, well. No point dwelling on that.

Sullivan seemed to come to the same conclusion, finally breaking his gaze with Sid to rub his face. “I still have some loose ends to tie up,” he said, pushing himself up off the bed. “Make sure Goodfellow can manage until my replacement comes in, get the last paperwork in…”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course you do,” Sid said, playing along with the awkward excuse. He sat up, taking a long drag as he watched Sullivan get dressed. “You should write, you know. Give us updates on the new job,” he added suddenly.

Sullivan glanced over his shoulder as he pulled his trousers on, one eyebrow arching. “I told you, it’s not the kind of job I can exactly talk about. Especially not with the likes of you.”

“I know.” Sid smiled around his cigarette. “But you’re a shit liar. I figure it’ll be good practice with MI5 or wherever it is you’re off to.”

Sullivan puffed out a laugh as he leaned down to grab his shirt. “I’ll do that if you promise to be an upstanding citizen for the next inspector. No trouble for him, not a bit.”

“I swear it,” Sid said, holding up his right hand with his fingers crossed. He looked up at it, feigning surprise. “Oh, hell, that was supposed to be the other hand.” He glanced up, catching Sullivan trying very hard to look stern as he pulled on his coat.

“I mean it,” he said. Sid waved him off as he stubbed out his cigarette, going to pull his own trousers on before pushing himself up to his feet. For a moment, the two of them stood very still, uncertain of what to say. Sullivan swallowed, then lifted his head with his usual poise.

“Well. You’ve been a nuisance, and a public menace, and nearly as much of a pain in the neck as Father Brown. With any luck, I won’t have to see you on the other side of a jail cell.” He made his way to the door, opening it and stepping down to the grass below as Sid leaned in the doorway. “But all the same…” He looked up at Sid, the softness in his face not completely erased just yet. “Goodbye, Carter.”

Sid’s mouth twitched. “See ya, Eddie. Just use the address for the presbytery for my postcard, yeah?”

Sullivan smiled, shaking his head, and lingered for just one moment more before he stepped away. Sid watched as he picked up his hat, and by the time it was on his head, he was all business as usual as he strode away.

And, bizarre as it was to admit to himself, Sid really, genuinely hoped it wasn’t the last he’d see of the inspector.

[goaliekisses]

i would like to see it…

[edgarsullivans]

Instagram post from nancy! i’d be interested to know peoples thoughts on the photos :)

[allthemurders]

ok ik there’s a lot of debate in the fandom between cartivan & edabel, but as someone who ships both, i think they should just all be in a polycule tbh

(just like,,,,, sid & sullivan, sullivan & mrs devine, mrs devine & felicia, felicia & flambeau, flambeau & father brown… basically half of kembleford is probs involved somehow hnsjfdfh)

[justanothermerthurshipper]

[elvieshezza]

Like Real People Do

Inspector Sullivan needs a shave, but an injury means he can't do it himself. Who better to ask than Sidney Carter?

Sid opens the caravan’s door and stops short on the threshold.

Inspector Sullivan stands on the crate Sid uses as a step, looking – well. Awkward’s a given whenever Sullivan’s around, but this is something else. Hat clutched in his left hand, stubbornly refusing to look Sid in the eye, a pretty blush dancing on his cheeks.

Intriguing.

“Sullivan. What is it I’m supposed to have done this time?” Sid drawls, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “Thought you were off work, anyway?” he asks, gesturing at Sullivan’s other arm.

It’s bound tightly against the man’s chest, supported in an uncomfortable looking sling that seems out of place against his suit. His coat draped over his injured side, his hand sitting loosely in the sling, not clutching a fountain pen and notebook ready to interrogate.  It all just looks… wrong.

“I am. That’s not- that’s not why I’m here.” Sullivan says, looking sheepish. Christ, Sid can feel the discomfort radiating off him in waves. The pair of them have managed a sort of truce in the past few weeks, more civil, less likely to antagonise each other.

“Oh? Then what could you possibly want with little old me?” Sid teases. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t enjoying watching the other man squirm.

Somehow, Sullivan manages to look even more uncomfortable, so Sid takes pity.

“Look, come in, would ya? No use standing out here waiting for the grass to grow.”  He turns to allow Sullivan entry, though not before seeing Sullivan’s throat bob with a bracing gulp. Nerves? Odd.

Sullivan steps through the door, then reaches to pull his coat off. The action looks awkward, ungainly with only one arm of any use. Sullivan winces, a flash of pain crossing his face, and before Sid can realise what he’s doing, he steps forward to help.

“C’mere.” He says softly, reaching to pull the coat off of his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

Sid waves it off, gestures the other man to one of the seats in the cramped space. He watches Sullivan a second, observes. He looks a little unkempt, a little less put together than he normally does.

A few strands of hair lying out of place, top button of his shirt open, no tie. But most of all, Sid notes with interest, dark stubble lining his jaw and cheeks. A far cry from Sullivan’s normal look, clean shaven and buttoned up. It’s really quite attractive.

 He opens his mouth to ask again why Sullivan’s here, but the inspector beats him to it.

“Listen, Cart- Sid. I’m sorry to do this, I really am, but I haven’t got anyone else to ask…” Sullivan trails off.

Sid waits with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t- I don’t- Would you give me a hand with shaving?” he finally blurts. “I know it’s a reach and you really don’t have to, but I can’t do it myself, and like I said, I didn’t know who else to ask.” Sullivan finishes, with a wary but hopeful glance at Sid.

Oh. Well, that’s not quite what Sid expected. At all. The strangest thing is that he doesn’t find himself opposed to the idea of it, of helping the other man shave. No, rather the opposite. To be so close to Sullivan, to hear the rush of his breath, feel the warmth of his skin under his touch. It’s tempting. Dangerously tempting.

Besides, there’s always been something between them. Something more than the petty rivalry they have on the streets. Mutual interest, mutual attraction, neither brave enough to do anything about it. Now Sid thinks about it, this seems like a perfect opportunity.

By the time Sid snaps out of his thoughts, Sullivan is rambling again.

“You really don’t have to, I shouldn’t have asked, I knew it was a stretch, I’m sorry. I’ll go-“

Sullivan rises and attempts to move towards the door, but Sid’s quicker.

“No! No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. Come and sit.” Sid says, blocking Sullivan’s path to the door.

“I really am sorry to impose on you like this. I would’ve gone to the barber, but…”  

Some of the tension eases from Sullivan, and he perches back down on the seat.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Nah, don’t blame you. Pete’s alright for trims but he’s more likely to slit your throat than give you a proper shave.”

Sullivan smiles faintly, and fiddles with the edge of the sling as Sid busies himself with digging his shaving kit out.

Besides, Sid could hardly refuse, could he? Especially since it’s mostly his fault Sullivan needs the help anyway.

“How’s the shoulder, anyway?” He asks with a hint of apology in his tone as he heats up some water.

“Sore. Stiff. Painful.” Sullivan replies with a rueful smile.

Well, it wasn’t totally Sid’s fault. Both of them had been in pursuit of Kembleford’s latest killer, feet thundering up the hardwood stairs of the country house. Sid had gone one way, Sullivan the other. Too distracted with sprinting down the long, labyrinthine hallways of the house, Sid hadn’t been entirely looking where he was going.

 In his defence, Sullivan hadn’t been looking either.

The pair of them had collided, and Sullivan had been sent flying back down the stairs, landing with all the elegance of a stampeding rhinoceros. Sid, forgetting completely what he’d been doing, had rushed to check on him, but the stubborn bastard had waved him off, instead continuing the chase and making his arrest.

Still, not even Sullivan could ignore a broken collarbone for very long – though Goodfellow had had to drag him near kicking and screaming into getting medical attention.

And now, here they are.

“I am sorry, you know?” Sid says, soaking his cleanest towel in the hot water.

“I know, Carter, you’ve said at least twelve times. Not to mention that I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

“Yeah, but still. Anyway, warm your face up with that while I change the blade.” Sid offers him the wet towel, and Sullivan takes it with surprising gentleness. He’s not sure if the obedience just stems from how awkward Sullivan is, or something altogether more interesting.

 Still, Sid intends to do a good job. He’s got out his finest shaving soap, the stuff he normally saves for Lady F’s posh events, and he’s even cracked out an aftershave that he thinks Sullivan might like.

The idea that Sullivan will soon smell like Sid sends a little thrill up his spine – no, control yourself, Carter.

“Come here, into the light.” Sid requests.

“…Okay.” Sullivan replies softly, barely more than a murmur.

The first contact of the shaving brush on Sullivan’s jaw makes the man recoil slightly. Without thinking, Sid brings his other hand up and puts it gently, so gently on the back of Sullivan’s head. He feels the short, close-cut hairs on the man’s neckline, and absently he wonders what Sullivan uses to make his hair feel so soft.

Working up a lather on Sullivan’s skin takes no time at all, even though Sid is trying to drag it out.

“Alright?” He asks as he sets the brush down, swapping it for the razor.

Sullivan’s eyes are half lidded, like he’s lost in a distant memory. He blinks and seems to realise where exactly he is.

“Oh – yes, thank you.’ He says, a little shakily.

“Right. Stay still, then. Don’t want to hurt you again.” Sid replies with a cheeky smile.

The first pass of the razor down Sullivan’s cheek is tentative, careful, barely making contact at all. He wills his hands to keep steady. The second attempt is better, more confident – blade leaving a smooth, clear trail behind.

Sid loses himself in the motion of it –  he follows the contours of Sullivan’s well-chiselled jawline with ease, careful and cautious and delicate. Down the cheeks, over the lips, on the chin. He brings his other hand up, cupping the other side of the man’s face to keep him still, and he feels Sullivan lean ever so slightly into the gentle touch.

Interesting.

Abruptly, Sid realises that this might be the only sort of physical touch Sullivan has had in a long while. He’s so professional, so proper and, Sid thinks, rather lonely. He flicks his eyes up to try and meet Sullivan’s, but they’ve gone half-lidded again, like he’s half a world away, basking in a hazy state of bliss. He’s never seen the other man so pliant. Sid feels a little shock of pride that he’s the one to have induced it.

“Tilt your head back.” Sid whispers. Sullivan complies, baring his throat without a second of hesitation. There’s an odd… vulnerability to it, like watching a hedgehog uncurl, like watching a feral cat show its belly.

Sid’s fingers rest lightly on the other side of Sullivan’s jaw. The soft thump of the man’s pulse beats a rhythm on Sid’s fingertips. Sid, moving very slowly indeed, rubs his thumb gently over Sullivan’s cheekbone, swiping away a fleck of soap left behind. The motion draws a delightful little sound from his throat, a tiny little subconscious moan that Sid’ll be thinking about on his deathbed.

He drags the razor down Sullivan’s neck, painstakingly gentle around his Adam’s apple, moving the blade away as he watches his throat bob up and down with a swallow.

He’s nearly finished, and Sid finds himself mourning it. A few more strokes, a few more passes, light and mindful and slow.

One more, and… there.

It’s over too soon. Sid sets the razor back down on the caravan’s table, but leaves his hand where it is cupping Sullivan’s face. He brings the other one up to mirror it on Sullivan’s other side.

Sullivan’s eyelashes flutter, a deep, blissful exhale, then his eyes blink open. Slowly, tentatively, his good hand settles itself on the small of Sid’s back.

Sid leans forward, careful not to crush Sullivan’s injured arm where it rests in the sling, thumb again stroking over Sullivan’s cheek as he presses his lips to Sullivan’s.

It’s slow, it’s sensual, and so deeply passionate. He is kissing Inspector Sullivan, and Inspector Sullivan is kissing back.

It seems to last an age, but unfortunately the pair of them do need to breathe, so Sid pulls back.

“Alright?” He asks again, but this time it’s through a mad grin he can’t seem to wipe off his face.

“I- er- Yes. Yes.” Sullivan laughs, peering up at Sid with startled but deeply pleased eyes.

“We should’ve done that sooner.” Sid says. Sullivan laughs, and instantly it is Sid’s favourite sound.

“I suppose I should thank you.” Sullivan whispers, hand still resting on Sid’s back.

“No need. D’you want aftershave?”

“Oh- yes, please.” Like it’s not a thinly veiled excuse to keep Sid’s dextrous hands on his face.

Sid rubs a little into his palms, and dabs gently across Sullivan’s face, feeling the smooth, silky skin courtesy of his own ministrations. He grins with pride as he manages to draw another one of those little noises from Sullivan.

They look at each other for a moment, then Sullivan stands and reaches for his coat. Sid reaches out and gently pulls his arm down, earning himself a quizzical look.

“Why don’t you stay? S’not like you’re at work – come lay down with me a while.” Sid urges, tugging the other man back.

Sullivan pauses a second, thinking, face unreadable. Just as Sid is accepting that he’s going to go, Sullivan speaks.

“Alright, then.”

A radiant, beaming smile is his reward as Sid pulls him towards the caravan’s bed. He leans in for another kiss, then another, then another.

“Sid?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

ao3