All characters are property of ACD, the BBC, Moffat, and Gatiss. I just bend them to my will.

Immediately, Sherlock swept his eyes across Jim to see what more he could deduce purely out of instinct. Jim was facing away from him, looking down the wrong side the street, probably on his phone making more of those idiotic texts.

He was wearing more formal clothes today instead of that ridiculous get-up when Sherlock last saw him, clothes that were also deceivingly more expensive than they looked. He had dressed up for the date then. The slacks fit perfectly, perhaps custom made. From the back of his head, what he could see of Jim's hair was perfectly combed like before, with product. He was wearing a light pink collared shirt which highlighted his slim figure. This, of course, all fit into his previous assessment of Jim being gay, but something was off, something Sherlock couldn't place his finger on. This made him slightly uneasy, as it rarely ever happened. His eyes lingered over the man's torso trying to figure out what could be the problem. Perhaps he was too neat-looking, or he fit the gay profile too well… Sherlock shook his head. He needed to stop making excuses for not doing this and just face the mission at hand.

"Jim?" Sherlock asked, a bit more hesitantly that he would have liked. He needed to play all of this up for his audience. As this café was directly across from John's surgery, Sherlock wanted to make the most of this plan to get what he wanted: John.

The man turned around. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed, holding his arms out if expecting a hug.

Sherlock stiffly nodded, patently ignoring him. "Hello."

Jim was smiling so widely that he was showing all of his teeth, giving the impression of a piranha. When Sherlock didn't step towards Jim, Jim slowly lowered his arms, placing his hands in his pockets. He didn't look disheartened at all.

"You have no idea how much I have been looking forward to this," Jim said, without losing his smile.

"Right," said Sherlock, gesturing towards the café. "Shall we?"

Jim just smiled even wider, if that was possible, and walked ahead of Sherlock into the café. They gave their orders to a pretty young girl at the counter. Jim was so overly polite to her that Sherlock couldn't stop himself from cringing and looking away. No one was this nice. Well, John… but that was different. And John was never as syrupy-sweet as how Jim was acting.

"We will sit outside," Sherlock stated, as they were handed their food.

"Outside?" Jim asked, slightly tilting his head and raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes," Sherlock said firmly. "Lovely weather and all that."

They both looked out the window to the grey sky outside, as a woman walked by with a large overcoat on.

Jim looked back to Sherlock with a brief blank expression on his face, which Sherlock found even more unnerving than his smile. For a brief instant, Sherlock could see the wheels clicking in this man's mind. He could see the man looking through him, into him, perhaps similar to the way he did to everyone else. It shook Sherlock to his core, causing him to slightly open his mouth in surprise. The expression melted back into the smile, into the same vacant expression he had always seen.

Who was this man? Sherlock shook his head. Did he really just see what he thought he did? And what did it mean? Sherlock started to wonder if he was going insane. He didn't understand what was happening anymore. Maybe he had lost all of his ability to read people. He never observed that John liked him, which seemed like a major error on his part. That was something he had trained himself to pick up on instantly. Now this man was able to switch expressions in a manner that he had observed in only a few people in his entire life, namely himself and his brother, Mycroft.

"Of course!" Jim exclaimed, striding outside. Sherlock, for a second, was just rooted to the spot, still staring at the man. Whatever was up with him wasn't important. Sherlock was here for John. After this date, he would never see him again.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Sherlock followed out the door. This was going to be an interesting meal. He just had to get through about 20 minutes of it, though if Jim showed anything else like he just saw, it might be a bit better than he expected. Who knows what this man may be hiding? He deceived star struck Molly pretty well, though that probably wasn't too complicated to do. Sherlock glanced at his phone, trying to return his thoughts to the real problem.

It was about 5:10 now. John typically left the surgery at around 5:30. He would walk past the restaurant, see Sherlock on a proper date with Jim, and boom! Instant jealousy. When he confronted Sherlock later about his date, Sherlock would point out the irrefutable evidence of his jealousy in order to prove the feelings John had for Sherlock. John would have no choice but to accept this as the truth, and allow the beginning of some sort of relationship between them. As much as Sherlock hated the idea of being tied down in something as silly as a relationship, he knew that this would keep John from being with anyone else. Therefore, Sherlock would never get jealous himself, and he would never be this distracted from a case again. Brilliant! Sherlock smiled just thinking about it.

Jim looked at him as they sat down across from each other at one of the tables outside, apparently noticing the rare smile.

There was a minute of awkward silence, as they both started eating their curry.

Sherlock had made sure that he was facing the surgery, and that he was keeping one eye on it at all times for John's departure.

"Sooo…" Jim started, gesturing with his chopsticks towards Sherlock. "I've been hearing from everyone in St. Barts about how brilliant you are at looking at people and knowing everything about them by how they dress or whatever." Jim leaned in, looking as eager as ever.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant?"

"Yes, of course! Would you be able to show me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes mentally. This was just pathetic. He looked like a dog begging. He had 20 minutes to kill. Why not?

"Sure. Who do you want to me to deduce?"

Jim quickly looked around. "Err… How about that man walking across the street? The one with the blue coat, carrying the brown laptop bag. Terrible style, really."

Sherlock quickly found the man Jim was pointing towards, and gave him the usual sweeping gaze, picking up every minute detail about him. He was leaving the surgery and headed right before hailing a cab, which looked like it was going to take him north.

Sherlock turned back to Jim. Going for the dramatic pause, Sherlock took a bite of his food.

Jim just sat there looking expectant. Sherlock put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and gave a fake smile.

"The man is around 47. He is a janitor. He has been having money problems recently but things are looking up for him. He's married, but not very happily. He has more than one child. He likes to paint in his free time. And… that's pretty much all I can glean from him. If I were to get closer, I would be able to tell you more. Hopefully that was adequate."

Jim was silent for a second, as if he was stunned into silence. His eyes, though, were telling Sherlock a different story. They looked oddly triumphant, though in a diminished manner, like he was trying to suppress it. If Sherlock wasn't who he was, he would have never picked up on it. Even Sherlock wasn't exactly sure of what he was seeing, if he was even seeing anything. But his gut told him he was right.

"Yes, very much so," Jim replied, after taking a sip of his water. "That was most… insightful. If you could share how you came to those conclusions…"

Sherlock looked down to his food, and then back to the door of John's surgery. He normally never shared how he reached his deductions. John, like always, was the exception. He was definitely not revealing anything to Jim anytime soon. He glanced down at his phone which read 5:35. Any minute now, John would be coming out. Sherlock had to be ready.

He grabbed Jim's hand, in a sudden fit of urgency. He needed this to work. Jim looked down with surprise and smiled, hopefully forgetting his question. He threaded his fingers through Sherlock's. Sherlock had to force himself not to cringe. Jim's hand just didn't feel right. It didn't fit with his like he imagined John's would.

Sherlock could feel Jim softly stroking his palm with his thumb. Sherlock glanced back to the surgery. Any moment now John would get out. Any moment.

He turned back to Jim in an effort to look like he was enjoying himself.

He tossed ideas around in his mind as to what people normally talked about. He dreaded small talk in all forms. He looked up at the sky. Weather. That's dull enough for normal people. He believed they talked about this painfully obvious topic all the time for reasons he still didn't fully comprehend.

"Uhhh… we might have rain soon?" Sherlock asked.

Jim looked into his eyes, his thumb still stroking Sherlock's hand. He leaned in a little further. Sherlock resisted the urge to pull away.

"Yes," Jim answered, with a knowing smile. "We just might. I just love a good thunderstorm, don't you?" He paused, perhaps waiting for Sherlock to answer. When there was no reply, Jim continued breathlessly. "The sheer power contained in a single cell. It's fantastic. All that energy, all that electricity, just waiting to be released. And it wants too. It just can't wait to show the world what it can do. The destruction it can release. Especially the ones that look so harmless, but deliver the greatest devastation."

Jim leaned in even further, wrapping his other hand around Sherlock's free one that had been itching to look at his phone again. No sign of John.

"But I'm sure you of all people understand, Sherlock." Jim was staring deeply into Sherlock's eyes, acting as if Sherlock knew what he was going on about, as if trying to will Sherlock to pick up on what he was referring to.

Sherlock was sure he was starting to look like he had some sort of eye problem, as they kept jumping rapidly from Jim's face to the surgery door. Jim was acting different; this was now obvious. Once again, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he was unquestionably not the Jim that he saw at the hospital, or the one he talked to on the phone, or even the same one from earlier in this date. The way this Jim held himself was different. Even though he was leaning, he seemed to hold himself straighter, prouder, stronger. The manically intelligent gleam that Sherlock had glimpsed briefly earlier had returned to his eyes. Even the smirk that his face held was decidedly not Jim's. It was just a little too off-kilter and unnatural.

Sherlock cleared his throat and pulled his hands away from Jim's quickly, knowing that he probably had to get out of here soon. This man, whoever he was, was making him extremely uncomfortable, and that was no small feat. He might be able to stay long enough for John, but after that, he would be gone faster than he could steal a badge out of Lestrade's pocket.

Jim looked down at his hands on the table like he couldn't believe what just happened.

Snatching up his phone, Sherlock looked at the time. 5:50. It was too late, thought Sherlock, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. John should have come by now. It was Thursday and John always got out by at least 5:35, even on the busiest days. He definitely could not have just missed John either. He had been on alert for any sign of him the entire time. Sherlock was starting to get the feeling that could only be classified as worried. And Sherlock Holmes is never worried.

Sherlock nervously texted John, sending him a simple "Where are you?" text message. It was the kind that he sent all the time, when he needed John to get him tea, or his laptop. Right now he just needed John.

He looked back at Not-Jim, with a slight smile, as he vaguely thought that the situation between them could only be classified as awkward after Sherlock pulled away.

"Sorry. Important message I needed to send. It really couldn't wait."

"Oh aren't you precious!" Not-Jim exclaimed in a merry tone.

That was it. Sherlock couldn't take much more of this. With no reply yet from John, Sherlock had enough. Deciding that perhaps he could think of a different, better plan to get John, Sherlock moved his chair back to get up.

Not-Jim made a disapproving, impatient noise in his throat. "Not so fast there Sherlock. We have soooooo much more to talk about."

Sherlock stood, towering over the man. "I don't think so. I really think we're done here actually."

Not-Jim's face suddenly became hard, his mouth curving down, eyes became slits, and his eyebrows furrowed together. "And I really couldn't disagree more," he said, his voice matching his stony expression. There was venom in the words that frightened Sherlock to his core.

His expression became gleeful once again, unsettling Sherlock on how fast it could change. His hand reached into his pant pocket pulling out a beat-up phone. "That is, if you want to see Dr. John H. Watson again."

Sherlock was dumbstruck as he glanced at the phone. "John?" Sherlock finally managed, whispering. That was John's phone sitting in his hand.

"That's right. John Watson. Your little pet. The one you've been mooning over to make his entrance for the past 30 minutes? Oh he isn't coming, baby. It's just you and me." He held up the phone. "I nicked this off him yesterday. I couldn't have you contacting him with any last minute changes to your decision to a date with me. That wouldn't have been nice at all."

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth for what may have been almost a minute. He couldn't process what had just happened.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked, his hands shaking as he tightly gripped his phone to type out another text.

"Me, tell you? And ruin all the fun? See, I had this great big game planned for the two of us. It would have gone spectacularly if you had just played along. I know you would have enjoyed it as much as me, but you decided to fizzle out on the first round. Booooring. I couldn't have that. So when you called me, which I was not expecting at all by the way, I decided to skip ahead to the grand finale! I just love switching things up. I'm sooooo changeable. I think this little scene would have gone down a bit differently, perhaps with some swimming and semtex, but I'm sure you get the gist. I've changed the rules, Sherlock, and you'll need to work fast to catch up."

"Moriarty?" whispered Sherlock, as the truth finally hit him like a brick wall. His brain felt like it was moving through quicksand. The more he struggled, the harder it was to get out.

"Bingo! We have a winner! You're being frightfully slow today, Sherlock. Like with that man earlier. A little hint for you, he was definitely not a janitor. Hopefully you're not losing your touch. Your precious John won't last long if that's the case. And it won't be any fun for me either. I was rather hoping you'd be a worthy opponent. So far it's been a bit disappointing. I mean, you didn't even give me a kiss!" Moriarty laughed. "There's still time for that though, if you like."

Sherlock couldn't think of anything he wanted less. "Where is he?" Sherlock repeated, distressed.

"Oh, alright, I obviously won't tell you where John is, but you have 5 hours to figure it out. Toodles! I will definitely see you soon." Jim got up, walked past Sherlock, who was still in a daze, and headed towards a white car that had just pulled up on the curb.

"Sherlock?" Moriary suddenly called out, with one foot already in the car. Sherlock spun around to face him, with wide eyes filled with fear and confusion. "If you're really in as bad of form as I've seen today, I think you'll need another hint. I would start with the surgery." Moriarty gave another piranha smile and slid into the car as he closed the door. The car immediately drove off, getting lost in the sea of rush hour traffic. It was a very common car and Sherlock was sure the license plates would not lead anywhere.

Sherlock felt like he had received a jolt of energy and a dose of reality. John. John was out there, alive, dead, being tortured… in danger, because of his stupidity. He had to stop this. He had to. He would stop this. Sherlock felt a grim reality sink in. Nothing else mattered anymore. Moriarty wasn't going to get away with threatening him or anyone he cared about ever again.