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"You would think that a criminal of your nature would have better security," Sherlock said the moment the lights were flicked on.
To his merit, Jim didn't even flinch in shock upon finding the detective sitting in his living. Closing the door behind him, he took off his jacket and continued about his evening as though nothing was wrong. "My men called me about you earlier. I told them not to kill you," he said as he took off his coat. Standing in front of Sherlock, he cocked his head to the side, silently taking in everything.
"That's touching," Sherlock said, standing up. Something about having to stare up at that consultant criminal made him feel off kilter, not that he would ever say.
Chuckling, Jim cupped the back of Sherlock's neck, forcing him to bend until their lips met in a gentle kiss. Resting a hand on Jim's shoulder to balance himself, Sherlock went along with the slow slide of lips, happy to have the man back in his company.
Leaning back, Jim smirked at him and said, "Touching is what your brother had his men do to me. Which reminds me, he's such a better catch than you."
Sherlock knew for a fact that the man didn't mean what he said, though. One didn't spend months in the company of someone without getting to know them, not that Sherlock could ever admit to anyone just how intimately he knew Jim. No one would understand just what it was that drove him to contacting the man after helping Irene or why he allowed what was once nothing more than the occasional call to morph into something more.
He would've been better off trying to explain one of his experiments to a small child than trying to explain to everyone he knew how he and Jim simply clicked. No amount of claiming that opposites really did attract could ever make them overlook that Jim was in the business of helping people escape the law or eliminate other people. It wasn't rationale for them to be together, but that was almost part of the thrill.
Wrapping his arms around Jim's waist, Sherlock revelled in the unexplainable need to hold the other close after he suddenly vanished. "You don't have a net big enough to catch Mycroft. It'd be like catching a whale."
"Might be worth my while," Jim said, swaying in his arms.
"Well, you can always call him again."
Mouth falling open slightly as he thought, Jim considered it, since Sherlock knew that Jim didn't pretend. If he looked as though he was thinking about it, he was, and probably for reasons Sherlock would never like to hear. "I don't want to seem needy," he eventually said, running his thumb along the buttons of Sherlock's coat. "I'm just going to practice my moves on you."
"How are you? You're thinner than I remember," Sherlock said, watching him for some hint of a lie.
"Bad food," Jim joked, all smiles that never quite reached his eyes. "Holiday was nice though. Had a private room. Mycroft would talk to me from time to time when his men weren't beating me. How was your holiday?"
And whether it was because Jim had him watched as much as Mycroft did or because there was some sort of clue that gave him away, Sherlock only shrugged, not bothering to analyze Jim's questions if the man wasn't going to do that to him.
"You would've liked Baskerville. Evil scientist, minefield, hallucinogenic drugs. A hound."
"There was an actual hound?" Jim asked, a look of confusion on his face. Apparently everyone had heard the rumours about the Hound of Baskerville.
"Large dog. Nothing worth noting."
Stepping away from his embrace, Jim narrowed his eyes. "You were scared."
"That was the drug," Sherlock said dismissively.
Poised to say something, Jim remained quiet as he made his way to the kitchen. "Sounds like your holiday was about as interesting as mine."
"I thought of you."
"Oh?" Jim questioned from where he was looking through his fridge.
"Well, hallucinated that you were trying to kill me."
From the way Jim looked at him, the epitome of sentimental feelings, Sherlock couldn't help but smile back. A thought that was touching, even if it did tend to revolve around the idea of eliminating each other. Not that Sherlock would ever be so cruel as to end Jim's life. He wasn't that sort of man at the end of the day. If anything, he was more than happy to settle for sending Jim away to prison for awhile until the man inevitably got out. No one was meant to get hurt in their games. Well, no one too important, anyways.
"As long as I'm on your mind."
"Did you think of me?"
Making his way back over to Sherlock, he nodded for the man to sit down as he placed two glasses on the coffee table. Going over to his wine cabinet, he looked over the bottle carefully before pulling out one and opening it. "There is an entire room with your name scrawled across it," he said, pouring them each a glass before placing the bottle down and taking his seat next to Sherlock.
"Mycroft must think you're insane," Sherlock laughed before taking a sip of his wine.
Swirling the contents of the glass gently, Jim shrugged. "At least he's pleasant. Remind me to introduce you to my brother."
"You have siblings?"
"Two brothers," Jim said casually. "One's a colonel. The other, well, he's a stationmaster. Both named James."
It was a strange concept considering that Jim didn't seem as though he came from one. If anything, he seemed like he simply came into the world as wonderfully flawed as he was. Running his fingers through Jim's annoyingly short hair, Sherlock wondered what else he could learn about the man before the end of the night.
"Frightening. There are... three James Moriartys?"
"That you know of," Jim teased, curling up against his side.
Brushing his thumb along the buttons of Jim's shirt, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Frankly he didn't care if there were three or thirty James Moriartys. There was only one Jim and Sherlock wouldn't change that for the world, or rather, he wouldn't change that for the safety of the world. The last thing anyone needed was another, carbon copy of James Moriarty.
Carefully unbuttoning Jim's shirt, Sherlock tried to pretend ignore the way Jim was watching him. "John is gone for the evening so, if you want, I can stay here for the night," he offered, as nonchalantly as he could manage given that they had never done that before. Sure, there were attempts at spending a night together, but somehow, something always came up at the last minute.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be very interesting," Jim said as he grabbed Sherlock's wrist. Sliding the man's hand into his shirt, he tried not to wince when Sherlock's fingers dragged along one of the many bruises on his body. "Your brother left me in less than tip top shape. A bit bruised in the odd places."
"I can live with that. Sex with you isn't all that interesting anyways," Sherlock shot back, trying his best not to smile when Jim jerked away from him.
Turning his back to the consulting detective, Jim crossed his arms over his chest in a huff before looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. "You smooth talker, stop trying to get into my nice silky pants. They won't fit you as well."
"You are alright, aren't you?"
Not that he didn't take Jim's teasing for a good sign, but he knew the man well enough to know that he would put up with anything so long as he could still move. It was the same way Sherlock went about life and, from what John tended to tell him, it wasn't healthy in the slightest.
"Of course. And your brother knows absolutely nothing I don't want him too."
"What did you want him to know?"
Turning back to Sherlock, he said, "He's a bit of a prat."
"Explains the bruising," Sherlock laughed. Not that the answer put him any more at ease.
Holding Sherlock's hands between his own, Jim shook his head. "Relax. We talked business. I gave him a few names that will have him chasing his tail for a few days and some terrorists I no longer have any interest in."
"And that's all?"
"Yes. That's all," Jim said, a bit exasperated. "Why are you so worried? Afraid I might tell him that you protected Ms. Adler? That I'm also in the business of making his brother moan like a cheap whore? I'm not the type to kiss and tell, you know."
"I know. And I'm not worried."
"You're lying though."
Finishing off his wine, Sherlock stood up and stared at Jim's bedroom door. "In an obvious and mutual ploy to change the topic, I want to have sex with you. If you can deal with any pain Mycroft had you put through, you can suffer through sex as well."
Jim laughed as he stood up. Cupping the back of Sherlock's neck, he stared at him for a long moment. What he was thinking would've been impossible to figure out, although Sherlock had a fairly good feeling that it involved him from the mischievous glint in the criminal's eyes.
"You're lucky I'm a masochist for a brilliant mind," he said, dragging Sherlock off to his room.
"You may kill the feed for the time being."
"What would you like us to do about this sir?"
Gripping the handle of his umbrella, Mycroft stared blindly at the blank screen. While amusing to think that Sherlock might be able to be genuinely kind and caring toward another person, he couldn't quite rid himself of the shock that came from the idea that the other person was Moriarty. It created too many questions that Mycroft didn't have the information to answer.
Had Sherlock been going to Moriarty every time that he slipped free of the careful eye Mycroft tried to keep on him and his habits? Were they working together the entire time? He already knew that his brother had given Moriarty the Bruce-Partington plans, even if the man hadn't accepted, but was the entire Bond Air fiasco a calculated move on Sherlock's part? In the end, it really didn't matter. He had people who knew of the relationship and it would have to be dealt with immediately.
Patting the young agent on the shoulder, Mycroft smiled kindly at him. "I'll see to this matter personally. I've a game I'm certain Moriarty won't be able to refuse."
"Yes, sir."
Heading out, he clenched his jaw as those questions continued to buzz around his head. He was supposed to be about to trust his younger brother, considering the cases he tended to seek the other's help with. There were security matters that were suddenly at risk and higher ups that would be less than pleased to know that. Most importantly, Mycroft felt betrayed by his own brother, a fact that would be looked upon as a rare novelty if not for the seriousness of the matter.
Pausing near the door, he turned back toward the agent and said, "On second thought, you can do me a favour. Get me the name of that reporter who was a bit too interested in the deal we brokered with Russians. She'll be rather necessary, as will Colonel Moran."
Because he was going to make sure that James Moriarty was no longer a problem, even if it meant that costing Sherlock everything. Given how little regard his brother seemed to have for the situation he put himself into and what effect that would have on everyone, should it come to light, he was certain that Sherlock would survive his schemes just fine.