Note, Sherlock and Jim belong to BBC, etc etc. If you like this, please leave a review or send a message to my tumblr (kmfics) where I'll be posting updates as I write them!
The door opened with a creak as Sherlock walked slowly into the darkened room. Groping around for a light switch, he flicked it up and down a few times before groaning. Why is the power out again?He thought to himself, annoyed. Making his way slowly over to the small bed in the corner, he lay down on it, closing his eyes to keep himself from crying. He was Sherlock. He didn't show emotion. The heart was weak, and the brain was strong. This was what he had always believed, so why was he so close to tears?
He hadn't wanted to do that to John. There had been no choice. If he had given John any hint of what he was about to do, Moriarty's men would have shot him.My only friend. Sherlock though. The tears came now, one by one until he had a torrent shooting out of his eyes. He rolled over, sobbing into his pillow like a teenage girl that had just had her heart broken for the first time. He tried to restrain it, but the more he wished the tears away the faster they came, until Sherlock found himself nearly shouting into his pillow. The look on John's face when I jumped. The scream I could see coming from his mouth. Sherlock groaned, the tears finally drying up. The anguish I could see in his eyes when he visited my… my grave. I need to tell him.
"But you can't tell him." A familiar voice crooned from the darkness. "You can't tell him, because then he'll die. He gets to live with a lifetime of sorrow and regret, or you can patch up the hole in his heart and kill him. You're playing God now Sherlock, isn't it exhilarating?"
Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, a sharp contrast to the speed his mind was racing at. All thoughts of tears had disappeared, and only a shimmer on his face from the salt remained of his emotional outburst. He sat up, the bed springs creaking loudly, echoing in the darkness of the room. Without his realizing it, his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he was now able to make out shadowy outlines in the room. Scanning, he quickly found what he was looking for.
"Jim." He said in his deep baritone voice. "I wasn't sure…" his voice trailed off as he realized he had just admitted weakness to the greatest criminal the world had ever known - and his greatest enemy.
A laugh permeated the room, loud and booming, rolling outwards from the shadowy figure in the corner. "Sherly, Sherly, Sherly. Why ever would I kill myself and miss out on all this fun! The great Sherlock Holmes, sobbing into his pillow like a lovestruck schoolgirl. I wish I had a way to record this, though with your death such global news, it would most likely be seen as a fraud. Quiet like yourself."
Sherlock fought against another wave of emotion that swept over him, fought to stay in control. But it was too much. He had kept control of his emotionals since he was a child but this was too much. Moriarty had ruined everything.
He didn't realize he had been screaming until he stopped. Clenching his eyes and fists, he rocked back and forth on the bed. What is happening to me? He asked himself as he clutched at his pants with his long, slender fingers. You've just lost the only person important to you. The logical side of his brain responded. It's only natural for a person to have such an extreme outburst of emotion. But I'm not a normal person. Sherlock countered himself. The simple act of reasoning in his head began to calm him down, and his fingers and eyes slowly began to unclench.
"Sherly, Sherly, Sherly," Jim said once more in that sing-song voice of his. "What do we do now? You're alive and I'm alive, and that's just how it was supposed to be. The world thinks we're both dead, and now we have the entire world in front of us. What are you going to do?" He asked. A sense of urgency had somehow crept into his voice with the last question, and Sherlock found himself taken aback- another reaction that most people could not get out of him.
"I'm going to disappear. That's what you wanted, isn't he?" He responded, barely managing to keep his voice monotone. "You'll never have to see me again."
"Oh, but Sherly!" The voice said. "That's not what I want at all," he finished, his voice low.
Though Sherlock hadn't been looking up before, at the change in Jim's voice he quickly raised his eyes up. Jim stood directly in front of him, his chest only a few inches away from Sherlock's nose.
"What…what are you doing Jim?" Sherlock said slowly, backing up against the wall on the bed as a finger came down and started caressing his face. Sherlock's eyes began to strain against the darkness, trying to view the person in front of him more clearly, but he was still no more than a shadow.
A second hand came down to rest on Sherlock's thigh. "Jim." Sherlock repeated, trying to push the hands away. "What are you doing?" He protested, his attempts at pushing Jim away ineffective against the darkness.
"I'm giving you what you want, Sherly."
"And what would that be?"
"Me."
As though that word had changed everything, the light caresses immediately turned into something harder. Something more vigorous, something… something that Sherlock wasn't sure about anymore.
He opened his mouth to protest. "Ji-" Suddenly, Jim's mouth was over his, cutting him off. Sherlock moaned into his mouth without realizing it, his mind suddenly having lost all edge of reason. His hands came up without his mind willing them to, cupping Jim's head and pulling him closer. What am I doing? Sherlock thought to himself, trying to bring his mind back from the brink of insanity. He was about to pull away when one of Jim's hands found its way down to Sherlock's thigh, where it rested for a few seconds before slowly making its way up and underneath Sherlock's white collared shirt.
Sherlock froze, his mouth opening wide with the sensation of Jim's fingers on his bare skin. Jim took that moment to attack Sherlock's mouth once again, clutching at his waist to pull him even closer. Sherlock responded in kind, bringing both of his hands down from where they rested behind Jim's head to grasp his waist.
However, unlike Jim, whom had moved his hands upward, Sherlock slipped his fingers into the side of Jim's pants. A ripple tore through Jim's body, and it was his turn to freeze for a second. He brought his mouth away from Sherlock's and instead moved his lips to Sherlock's ear.
"Naughty, naughty, Sherly." He whispered, his lips gently caressing the outside of Sherlock's ear as he spoke.
And that was the end. Any hope that Sherlock had of stopping this was through. He brought both hands around to Jim's front, quickly shoving them under his shirt and bringing it upwards until he was able to tear it off. His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to see now, and as he looked upwards he saw something that could only be described as hunger in Jim's eyes.
As soon as Jim's shirt was off, he moved to return the favor. He was slowly that Sherlock had been, taking the time to unbutton the color before slowly moving his hands upward, tracing small circles on Sherlock's chest as he did so. Sherlock raised his hands so that Jim could get his shirt completely off, but right before his hands slipped out from the arms Jim had tightened the shirt, pulling Sherlock's arms together behind his back.
The breath caught in Sherlock's throat as Jim held his arms behind his back with one hand and continued slowly tracing circles on his chest with the other. "And what to do with you now?" He whispered seductively, removing his hand from Sherlock's chest only long enough to completely tie Sherlock's hands together behind him. "Now that I can do anything. I. Want."
Jim leaned forward until his chest was nearly touching Sherlock's. "Anything." He repeated, his mouth right in front of Sherlock's.
Sherlock ground his hips upward, a move that Jim hadn't been expecting. He moaned before catching himself. "That was the wrong answer, Sherly."
He bent forward slowly and began kissing a line down Sherlock's chest. His tongue crept out from between moist lips and began drawing circles around Sherlock's nipples, which were growing more sensitive by the second. When Jim finally flicked his tongue over it, Sherlock groaned, arching his back in an attempt to get more contact with Jim. Jim pulled back, denying Sherlock of the contact which his body so desperately craved.
Tugging his hands apart, Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to free himself, but he gave up when he felt one of Jim's fingers slowly tracing a line down from his navel to where his pants began. Suddenly, Jim reached out with his other hand and grasped Sherlock's crotch, eliciting the loudest moan yet from the tall detective.