AN:So this is a February gift story for the month of February. Yes, its Sheriarty, i think i've said many times that i really really love this pairing and i don't even know why! Its just so nice! Anyway, do read and leave me some rewiews guys! Enjoy!

Lonely Lullaby

Jim tossed and turned in bed. It was another one of those nights where he couldn't get to sleep. All he kept seeing behind his closed eyes was crimson red blood and all he could hear was the screams of the victims that he had killed off. Yet there in the midst of all the killing and bloodshed, there was a face, the glimpse of blue grey eyes that flitted through his mind. And he could hear the deep voice that belonged to a certain consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.

He jolted awake at that, sitting up in bed as he yanked the sheets off of him, slipping out of the bed as he crossed over the large expanse of his room to sit by the seat near his window. He pulled out his phone now, looking at the glowing interface that lit his face as he sat by the window, the night dark outside. The time was about a quarter past two a.m. in the morning. Jim's finger scrolled through his contacts, hovering over the name 'Sherlylocks'.

To call or not to call…he was probably not in the right state of mind…he set the phone down on the window seat going to pace around his room. His breath loud in the silence of the room, he was the only one here in the huge mansion that was his. Nights were always spent alone. After each murder, each arson, each theft Jim was always left alone in his house to rot. What good was it to be rich but to share it with no one? To have no one that loved you or cared for you…at that his mind flitted once more to the detective…

Sherlock Holmes was just like him, alone. He was a sociopath, married to his work. No one could tear him away from it, not even John Watson, so Jim had decided to become a part of Sherlock's work once in awhile, weaving crimes that would be too hard for the Scotland Yard to solve that they would call in the consulting detective and Sherlock would solve the cases with ease, they would meet, he would analyze the situation and then Jim would weave a way out of the accusations once again.

Each time they were locked in a battle of wits, Jim found a thrill that ran through him, he knew Sherlock felt it too for sometimes when Sherlock was analyzing the crime, laying out all the facts, he would smirk as if congratulating Jim on his sheer genius at trying to twist the case just to make their little game more interesting. He strode back over to the window now, looking out into the night. His house was far away from the world, he lived in a corner all on his own and the night was lonely and black before his window. Not a star twinkled in the sky and Jim wanted company.

He could wake Sebastian up of course and order the man to come over to his house this instant. Yes, he could do that, but that wouldn't be genuine emotion or concern. That was more like a servant answering to his master's call and Jim didn't want that. So what now? He picked up his phone, sliding the button to unlock it…Call Sherlock?

Jim did just that, clicking on the contact number and putting the phone to his ear now as the dial tone rang, once, twice, three times. 'Put it down' he thought to himself. Who was he kidding Sherlock was probably busy with John if not something else.

There was a clattering sound on the other end and then a deep voice answered, calming Jim's nerves, "Hello? Who is this?" came the voice on the other end of the line. Jim was the one to hold back now, he hadn't expected Sherlock to answer to an unknown number and he hadn't been prepared to say anything at all, Jim could do no more but panic a little as he grasped for something to say.

"Hello?" the voice asked again almost angry at the call, but there was a slight hint of curiosity to it. 'He must be busy…I should go…' he thought before he finally opened his mouth, "Hello…Sherlock?" Jim whispered into the phone hearing the silence drag on, on the other end. No. He'd totally gone and blown it. See? He was meant to be alone forever it was his punishment.

"Jim? Jim Moriarty, is that you?" Jim smiled into the phone at the surprise in his dear detective's voice.

"Yes. It's me Sherlock. Were you expecting someone else?" Jim asked.

"Never said so. How did you get my number in the first place?" Sherlock's voice asked, a little irritated now.

"I'd say, consulting criminals have contacts too. I got it off John's blog…" Jim said to which he heard Sherlock grunt into the phone, "Were you asleep?" Jim asked folding his legs up to his body in comfort now as he looked out into the darkness, he didn't feel so much alone now.

"No. I'm awake. You couldn't sleep?" he hears Sherlock ask and he cannot stop himself from smiling at what he takes to be concern in the detective's voice.

"I was sleeping. But I woke up," Jim murmured, his fingers going to play on the pane of the glass on the window.

"Bad dreams?" Sherlock offered.

"You can say that," Jim replies as he clears his throat now, an idea having formed in his mind to rid himself of his loneliness, "Um…Sherlock, if you're done with your experiments and all…I was thinking maybe if you…I mean if you would like to…maybe…" he trailed off he didn't know how to put this.

"Do you want to go out for a drink?" he hears Sherlock ask over the line, his phone clutched tight to his ear now, his body is reacting like an excited schoolboy going on his first date, his stomach doing flips as he stays frozen in shocked silence.

Sherlock is seated at his table in the kitchen, the samples spread out before him, his notepad open now as he records his findings. Sherlock knew exactly what Jim was going to ask and he hadn't known really why he had gone and opened his mouth to ask the other out first. Maybe it was because he felt lonely in the apartment. John was probably out someplace again with one of the many many girls that he likes or one of the girls that likes him. Whichever it is, John wasn't at home to occupy him. His work had just about gotten boring enough and Jim's call was just the thing that he wanted.

The detective smirks to himself, Jim was sweet like this at times when he got all shocked like a little schoolgirl, staying silent on the other side of the phone line, still clearly in the aftermath of his shock that he had gone and asked him out first.

"Well do you?" Sherlock asked again trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Yes. Yes I would like that very much," he hears Jim reply, that hint of desperation in the other's voice the only thing that is telling him that Jim is very much alone just like he is right now.

"So I'll meet you at the pub downtown then?" Sherlock says.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you there Sherlock," Jim replies.

He is smiling at his phone as he ends the call and almost immediately he jumps up from his seat by the window, rushing into his walk in closet and staring at the array of clothes that he has. Different clothes for different occasions and his different roles that he took on to finish a job. For some reason he is in a dilemma as to what to wear.

"It's just going to the pub for a drink…" he muses as he pulls out jeans and a tee shirt.

"But you're going out with Sherlock!" he reminds himself pulling out black office pants and a striped dress shirt, with a matching red tie and a black jacket.

"Damn it!" he curses as he hangs the outfits next to each other, "Why can't I decide!"

The moment Sherlock has put the phone down, he jumps up from his work, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and slips it on over his purple shirt. Quickly he scribbles a note to John leaving it tagged on the other's room door as he rushes out the door of his apartment, down the stairs and into the street. He flags a cab and gets into it, telling the driver the address before the driver is racing into town central.

Sherlock pays the cabbie now and enters the pub, he's early, Jim isn't here yet. He goes into the back now taking a seat in one of the booths as he waits for Jim, who arrives shortly after him. He's dressed in classy business clothes, it's so his type that Sherlock cannot help but to smirk.

"I see you can't resist your business suits," he muses as Jim slides into the seat beside him.

"When I think of you I think of something classy," Jim says as he calls the waitress over, "A Tom Collins for me please," he says as the waitress turns her attention to Sherlock now, smiling coyly, 'Give it a break bitch, he isn't interested in people…' he thinks to himself.

"I'd like the same," the detective says and Jim smiles to himself, they do think quite similarly.

"So…she's a pretty thing isn't she?" Jim asks.

"Why? Tell me you've set your sights on her already?" Sherlock asks folding his fingers into a steeple as he waits for their drinks.

Jim shrugs, "No. Have you?"

"Married to my work," Sherlock replies.

"Your work is me," Jim remarks, "so therefore you're married to me," he purrs seeing the other shaking his head.

"You're still on with the assuming business aren't you," he asks pushing a glass over to Jim when the drinks arrive.

Jim smirks, silently sipping on the drink, the alcohol waking his body up, "What made you ask me out?" he asked, smirking coyly now.

Sherlock shrugged, "Detectives should get to know their work better," he said, chuckling. Jim for some reason did put him at ease. They were of the same type of thinking after all though Jim had used his knowledge for the worse…while he himself worked against it. Yet even then people feared his knowledge, they hated him deducing things that were personal and they would stay away from him as much as possible lest he find out some deep dark secret of theirs.

It led to him having no friends, well all accept John he guessed. The army doctor had close to nothing to hide and he was totally amazed at his skills of deduction. Jim was the only other person that was as close to someone like him that he could get to, the man didn't fear him, didn't shun him…in fact they always seemed to sought each other out.

He stiffened however when Jim rested his head on his shoulder, that minimal contact and nothing more yet Sherlock was not used to it at all. He hadn't had affection shown to him in such a manner ever before.

"Relax Sherlock," Jim murmured as he leaned on Sherlock's shoulder, he slipped his arm through the detective's, they sat there in that position for awhile in silence till Sherlock spoke up again.

"Is it…supposed to be like this?" he asked.

"Be like what?" Jim asked looking up to the other.

"I…feel like I want to put my arm around you…" Sherlock murmured as he sipped on his drink, acting the cool collected detective that he was, when in fact his once silent heart was beating erratically.

"Oh…um…sure…" Jim muttered moving to let Sherlock's arm go and feeling as the detective drew him near to his side. It was warm and Jim loved it the smell of Sherlock enveloping him. He'd never felt it before, the feeling of being wanted and Jim could not deny that he liked it a lot. He shifted a little now, so that he faced the detective.

"Jim?" Sherlock breathed as the other man leaned in close, their foreheads touching. Sherlock closed his eyes. Jim was going to kiss him, Jim was going to kiss the shit out of him and he was scared as hell, "Jim wait…" he whispered, his hand tightening around the other's waist, stopping him. Sherlock peeked an eye open seeing Jim's devilish grin.

"Tell me the great Sherlock Holmes isn't afraid of a little kiss," Jim giggled as he quickly pressed his lips to Sherlock's before the other could protest, taking the detective by surprise.

Surprisingly Jim's lips were soft and supple against his and he learned nearly as quickly how to kiss, he angled his head to the side now, his hands pressing Jim to him as he shifted in his seat to accommodate their kiss. Sherlock mimicked the motions that Jim had done to him earlier, swiping his tongue over the other's lower lip, suckling on it before he delved his tongue into Jim's mouth, tasting the sugary sweetness of the alcoholic beverage on the other's tongue.

Jim moaned against Sherlock's lips, his hands grasping onto the detective's shirt as Sherlock deepened the kiss. He had to give the man the credit, he learned really fast and Jim liked just how Sherlock kissed him, hard yet behind that he could feel the other's concern rolling off of him. As they pulled away, Jim licked his lips, relishing the taste of the detective on his lips.

"You liked that," Jim purred in satisfaction seeing the detective's pupils blown black with lust, "and I'm guessing that you want more…down there," Jim indicated waggling his brows and giggling, just knowing that Sherlock returned his eagerness in the kiss was enough to make him brave enough to ask for more. He didn't care if there was love between them or not…or so he'd like to lie to himself, he could take pleasure in the moment of that act and that was about all he wanted.

"Don't be crude, but…yes…" Sherlock growled into Jim's ear seeing the other go blushing like an innocent schoolboy.

"W-where shall we go to?" Jim asked as he dared to hope just a bit more now.

"My place, come," Sherlock said leaving some notes on the table as he took Jim by the hand and led him out of the booth going out of the pub and onto the streets. He flagged down a cab, letting Jim enter it first before he followed the other into the cab. Jim leaned on Sherlock's shoulder half falling asleep with a smile on his face in the warmth of the detective's arms.

The cab pulled up at the apartment and Jim paid the fare now as Sherlock helped him out now. He felt the detective pull him along as they climbed up the stairs and entered the apartment. Sherlock had his jacket off in seconds, hanging it on the coat rack now as he took Jim's from him.

"Come," Sherlock said linking his hand with Jim's as he pulled the other man in the direction of his room.

As Jim heard the door closing behind him it was his turn to feel afraid now, "Sherlock, wait…what if John…" he gestures a little awkwardly as he kicks off his shoes now, standing in Sherlock's room, he hadn't really prepared himself for this and he was starting to panic just a little.

"John isn't here he doesn't get back till morning, he spent his night at one of the woman's house…" Sherlock whispered as he went to the bathroom, stripping off his purple shirt now as he stood before the mirror, watching Jim looking at him in the reflection, he turned now and enveloped the other in a hug, "I'm sorry this isn't like me," he whispered, holding on tightly to Jim as though the other might disappear.

"I-It's okay…I can understand," Jim murmured into Sherlock's shoulder, kissing the smooth skin softly.

Sherlock trailed his hand along the buttons of Jim's shirt now seeking consent, watching as the other man shivered at his touch and nodded his consent. He didn't want to end up scaring the other away so he slowly undressed Jim. Pulling his shirt off slowly and letting it fall to the floor.

Jim's breath left on a sigh as the shirt fell away from him and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, feeling their bodies pressed to one another, chest to chest, skins warm against each others. He stood on tiptoe to press his lips to the detective's leaning into Sherlock's strong arms, relying on him to support him as his knees folded beneath him.

Sherlock lowered the man to the bed, their lips never leaving one another, locked in a lonely, loving kiss. Sherlock convinced himself he was doing this because it filled the void in his chest. That he was just using the man beneath him to quell his loneliness, nothing more. There was not a single emotion involved in this, especially not the emotion of love. Jim's fingers tangled in his hair now, fisting it gently as his hips ground up into him.

The detective smirked pulling apart from their kiss, a single strand of saliva that connected them breaking as he licked his lips. He trailed kisses down Jim's chest fingers tweaking the man's already erect nipples.

"Sh-Sherlock!" Jim moaned throwing his head back as Sherlock's skilled fingers rolled his nipples between callused fingers. The detective's hot tongue licked its way down his sternum, his mouth now sucking at his skin as he moved even lower. Jim parted his legs more, allowing Sherlock a new area to assault.

With ease Sherlock had the other's pants undone, coaxing Jim to lift his hips as he pulled the man's clothes off of him and let it fall off the side of the bed as he continued his conquest down Jim's body. He was surprisingly pale for someone who spent his time tracking down his victims, staking out buildings waiting for his kill.

He ran his hands up and down Jim's thighs, watching as Jim writhed in pleasure, his cheeks flushed slightly. Sherlock's heart clenched, he never felt this way towards another person, let alone another man. He wanted to protect him. To take him away from the world and keep him for his own, with a shake of his head he rid himself of those stupid emotions, bringing his lips to the other's soft skin once more.

Jim yelped in surprise when Sherlock's lips sucked his hipbone, so dearly close to his erection yet it seemed the detective was doing this on purpose, making him yearn for more, making him beg. He probably wasn't in the right state of mind for Jim found himself opening his lips begging Sherlock, "P-please take me," he whispered, watching the flash of lust again in Sherlock's eyes.

The detective's hands were on his length then, pumping him, as Jim found himself thrusting up into the tight slickness that was Sherlock's hands. He never knew that sex, if this is what it was could feel this good. Well of course he knew there was more. But even then this was enough for him.

Sherlock was growing hard watching as Jim thrusted up into his hands, the man's slender hips rocking up into him, his hands clutching to the bed sheets, knuckles turning white as his head was thrown back, neck straining, he wanted to kiss Jim so much. He licked his lips at the sight of the other before he pulled back now seeing Jim jerked awake from his sexual revere.

"Sherlock I…" Jim began, wanting Sherlock back, he didn't want it to end just yet.

"Shh, it's alright," Sherlock cooed as he pulled back, getting off the bed, "touch yourself Jim, I want you to ready yourself for me," he said, voice heavy with lust as he fumbled with his pants and boxers now.

"I…" Jim averted his eyes. He had never touched himself with another person watching him before. Yes he'd made himself cum many a time when he was alone in his room, thinking of this one person that stood before him now. But to actually touch himself while Sherlock watched…he found it rather arousing.

"Lube's in the drawer if you're wondering," Sherlock said matter of factly as he kicked off his shoes.

Jim pulled himself to the nightstand, opening the drawer and coming back with a bottle of lube, he opens it, squeezing the cool gel on to his hand before he lies back down in bed, his hands slipping between his legs now as he kneels, his ass in the air. Jim's fingers slowly find the tight ring of muscle and with a little nudging he's pushed through.

Sherlock watches his breath caught at the sight as Jim pleasured himself on his bed, slender hips rocking back onto his hand as it thrusted in and out of his body. He reached for the bottle of lube now, squeezing the cool gel onto his hand before spreading it over his hot length, it was pulsing against his own fingers as he coated it with the gel and Sherlock could barely believe that he would be doing this. He had to remind himself it wasn't an act of love as he moved in behind Jim, replacing Jim's hand with his length now as he slid into the tight heat of the other's body.

Jim didn't like the way Sherlock pushed into him slowly, gently. The way the detective treated him with such gentleness, he didn't want it. It was supposed to be rough and fast and it was supposed to be nothing to him yet Jim found that harder and harder to take, he liked it and better yet he loved the man. As Sherlock began a punishing slow rhythm of thrusting into him, Jim closed his eyes and relished the moment. A dream that he would keep in the recesses of his mind, locked away possibly forever.

Two lonely souls joined together in passion that night in the apartment of 221B. Soft pants and moans could be heard now as the two came together in the wee hours of the morning, settling down in bed now. The detective pulled the other man into his arms as they fell asleep together, differences forgotten as they were already one.

Jim heard as Sherlock's breath was steadied behind him, fast asleep, he too must've fallen asleep. Who could resist the warmth of being another's arms after being alone for so long? But he had to leave. Jim, slowly lifted Sherlock's arms away from him, slipping out now. The detective shifted, grunting in his sleep and Jim winced, stopping in his motions now. When he was sure Sherlock was still asleep, he slipped off the bed, gathering his clothes as he dressed quickly, making the bed as he went along.

He stood now dressed and ready, stepping into his shoes. Outside it was just becoming light as the birds began to chirp. A new day had arrived, the deep dark secrets of the night running away as the sun began its slow rise. Jim leaned in, brushing tendrils of Sherlock's dark hair back as he kisses the detective on the forehead now, gently, lovingly.

"Thank you Sherlock," he whispers as he caresses the man's smooth cheek, straightening his shirt, he heads out of the room now, taking his jacket off the rack as he looks around the room, John isn't back yet he realizes. He is buttoning his jacket now, as he goes down the stairs and just at that moment, John Watson is coming back, the other's blue eyes looking to him in curiosity as they pass each other on the stairs.

"Take care of Sherlock…" Jim murmurs to John as he brushes past the other, leaving through the front door. The cold wind of the wintry London air kisses his warm skin as he steps into the street, robbing him of the warmth and leaving him cold and alone once more.

When Sherlock awakens the bed is empty. Jim is nowhere in sight. His head is slightly fuzzy from the alcohol last night yet it doesn't have a strong effect on him. He can remember each and every detail of the night before how he had taken Jim. His hand reaches for the pillow beside him, going to touch it. It is cold, just like the sheets that are on that side of the bed, cleanly made. Cold.

Jim must've left a long time back, he thinks as he looks out the window, bleak sunlight shining through the clouds, it would be another rainy day. Sherlock rolls over in bed, reaching for his pants on the floor, his fingers rummaging through the pockets before fishing out his phone. He goes to his calls, the first number on the list. Jim's number the unknown caller from last night, Sherlock presses the number as he falls back into bed, making a call to Jim. He doesn't even know why he's calling Jim.

"You have reached Jim Moriarty. If it's important, leave a message. If it's not, fuck off," came the answering machine after a long wait on the dial tone. Jim wasn't answering, wherever the criminal mastermind was, he wasn't going to answer his phone.

He knew that things had gone back to the way they were, Sherlock was all alone once more. A sociopath married to his work… 'Married to me' he recalls Jim saying when he'd mentioned his work. He laughs, a bitter sound that escapes his throat, yes, Jim Moriarty was his work. But not for long, Sherlock thought to himself because he had a feeling that what had happened between them last night had changed things between them, possibly forever.

In the loneliness of his mansion, Jim Moriarty sits by the window, staring at the phone before him as it buzzes on the seat. 'Sherlylocks' reads the caller ID. It takes Jim all of his strength not to answer the stupid call. He knows what it would mean if he were to answer it. Knows that if he does, he would be giving in to his feelings and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be seen as weak, so he chooses instead to be alone.

"Put down the phone already…" Jim whispers as if that would help, his fingers, curling around the phone now as he throws it in the general direction of his bed.

The buzzing goes on for some time and Jim sits at the window still looking out, he still hears the persistent buzzing still going on and only stopping just as it begins to rain, small little drops hitting his window, looking like tears, the tears that he is unable to shed.

'One missed call. Sherlylocks.'

AN: I've actually got plans to make this into a little ficlet. Would you all like more? Do tell me, drop me a comment and i'll get to work on the next chapter as soon as possible.