Jim stood in the doorway, looking at the consulting detective, who was surrounded by small puzzle pieces. 'Come to bed, Sherlock,' he sighed. 'You can leave that for tomorrow.'

'Jim, this isn't something I just can "leave for tomorrow",' replied Sherlock sourly, using air quotation marks as if to support his point. 'It's pivotal to a case; if I don't figure it out, it's like letting the killer get away scot-free.'

Moving closer, the consulting criminal looked around at the spread of pieces. 'You haven't even separated the edge pieces, everyone knows that's what you do first,' he noted. He settled down in a space close to Sherlock that was devoid of jigsaw pieces, and looked at what had been managed so far. 'Look,' he said, picking up a corner piece. 'You haven't even got this out from the rest.'

Sherlock plucked the piece from his hands before placing it beside him. 'I didn't pick it out because I didn't have any others to connect it to.'

Rolling his eyes, Jim took two more edge pieces and connected them together, before adding them to the slightly less than half finished piece on the floor before them. 'You don't mind if I help you, do you?'

Sherlock waved his hands at the pieces. 'Help yourself,' he said in surrender. 'I do require some assistance.'

They sat in silence for a while, working on the puzzle. Then; 'Are you wearing my pyjamas?'

Jim looked down at the grey T-shirt and white bottoms he had on. 'I found them in your wardrobe. Besides, you barely use them, that much is obvious. Do you mind?'

'No, no, not at all,' assured the detective as he worked on fixing connected parts of the jigsaw together. 'It does seem a step down from your usual suits though.'

A hum of agreement was Jim's reply to the statement. 'Comfortable though,' he remarked.

Silence fell upon the two men again as they worked, but neither of them minded, preferring to work together without speaking. Jim watched as Sherlock's hands moved swiftly over the pieces, working frantically to piece them together.

After ten minutes or so, the detective let out a loud growl of frustration and threw down the piece in his hand, which sent a few of the pieces near its impact scattering.

'Why can't I do this?' he said.

'You need sleep, dear,' Jim cooed comfortingly. 'Go to bed, I'll finish this for you.'

He continued to move the pieces around, fitting them together. Sherlock didn't move. After a moment, he turned to look at the other man, who had a confused expression on his face. 'What?'

'Why are you here? Why are you helping me? It doesn't make any sense.'

'Things rarely make perfect sense to us,' Jim commented. 'And as for why I'm here… who knows?' he shrugged before returning to the problem at hand.

'You were bored. Why not kill someone?'

'Day off.'

'Right.' There was something else he was going to say, Jim could tell. He continued with the puzzle patiently, letting Sherlock formulate a sentence.

'Would you… I mean, I know it's unprofessional and everything but you already took my pyjamas and I was thinking you need sleep too, so-'

'Just get to the point already,' Jim said.

'Come to bed with me,' blurted Sherlock. 'Leave the puzzle until tomorrow, and come to bed.'

He considered it for a moment, before slowly rising to his feet. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' replied the taller, a little too quickly, as though he was forcing the answer out before he could change his own mind.

'Alright then, lead the way,' replied Jim.

He followed Sherlock to the bedroom, and watched as the detective threw himself onto the bed, not bothering to change. He moved to sit on the bed, shifting the covers so he could wriggle under them. They were soft, and reminded him of something comforting from his childhood, something he had not remembered in a while. He watched as Sherlock did the same, neither of them exchanging words during the process. Then, when they had stilled, both facing each other in the centre of the bed, Jim moved his hand cautiously to trace Sherlock's defined, porcelain cheekbones gently, looking closely for any signs that the gesture was uninvited. Having seen none, he let his hand wander to trail over the pale, velvet lips of the detective's. He felt as Sherlock inched closer, and was hit with warm puffs of air as the other man breathed beside him. Jim moved forward too, until they were so close their lips were almost touching.

'Jim, I-'

'Shh, Sherlock,' whispered Moriarty in reply before he moved even closer, fusing their lips together. Sherlock was frozen but Jim didn't mind, moving his fingers to wrap into the curls of the detective's mussed up hair, moving his lips in an attempt to gain some response. He pulled back after a short while, and retreated back to his side of the bed.

'Goodnight, Sherlock.'

There was a pause that bordered on lengthy before he was granted a reply. 'Goodnight, Jim.'