Disclaimer: Nothing mine. Conan Doyle and BBC share the rights. I just play with them.

After his London trip, Jim was busy. So many things to do, so little time. Days were gone before he knew what he'd done with them. Months followed suit. Years, too. One day he blinked and wondered where his teen years had gone. Blinked again, and since that fateful again when he discovered his calling, a decade had past. At least being busy meant that he had little time to be bored. A blessing, that – the highest grace he received since he's been allowed a second chance, indeed. What has he done, you ask?

Discovered sex, for one. Apparently he came back from London sexy. Beaming with an inner radiance that attracted people like moths, if only he bothered to focus it towards them. Add to that his acting prowess (he can be anything: devilish, innocent, adorable, confident), there was no one Jim couldn't get if he fancied them. Ironically, it turned out Carl Powers was at least half-right in his accusations (not that it's sensible to accuse anyone about their preferences). Jim didn't mind the gender of his partners, he just enjoyed the game.

Manipulating people, making the unfortunate soul fall utterly for him – and consequently into his own hands – obtaining favours they wouldn't normally do, was his forte. He was fickle, naturally, leaving a number of broken hearts in his wake. It wasn't that he actually fell in love with any of them. Nobody was wonderful enough to hold his interest for long. He was just playing, and no actor can be expected to play the same role too long. Of course he dumped them (never the reverse, oh no.) The only true turn off for him was major stupidity– a quota of idiocy was, after all, inevitable. No matter the game, the bet, he'd never ever be able to seduce the pretty ditz type. He wasn't finicky about who he bedded, but he had standards.

Then there was the matter of keeping his parents, relatives, and generally older people who might make a fuss about his true interests blind and happy. Jim wasn't going to give up his place as daddy's good boy. It brought too many perks. And really, now wasn't the time to 'come out' and be disowned. There would never be a time for that, in all probability. So, he worked to be everyone's favourite. And honestly, it was easy. "Jim has so much potential," "He's so clever," "He's so dynamic." These were the things adults said about him.

Of course, there was the 'problem' that he changed career plans every six months or so. But it was only because he could become anything if he set his heart on it. He was just trying out his options before he had to choose definitively. He was still young, after all. There was no rush to settle down. His resume had everything. Never a month when he wasn't doing something, whether it was studying (from computer science to Japanese) or working. Sometimes both. Of course, it didn't help him to settle the fact that he was so smart. What would take others years, he assimilated in weeks. He never bothered with beginner courses. A couple weeks of self study and he was ready for the advanced levels.

If Jim had been simply a genius, his parents would have worried about how he could have friends. Extraordinary intellect often brought on others people's envy and hatred. But occasionally he'd invited a few boys over,and they'd been unfailingly polite. It proved that not only Jim had friends. He was friend with good lads. So, you see? "Jim really is perfect." "We are so lucky." "He seems to have skipped the rebellious phase." His parents' words, now and again. After all, Jim didn't listen to vulgar music (you can't really complain about Beethoven). He didn't frequent weird company. He didn't do drugs. ("Oh God no; not Jim.")

About his working experience, it was the same. He didn't settle, but he always had some sort of very reasonable argument to change jobs. Not just, "I'm bored with this," though that sentence was heard more than once. The boy picked up a new language in a month (actually less but he couldn't find shorter courses, and he liked having the certification). Routine bored him. It was to be expected.

The only time he never mentioned being bored was when he worked as a freelance actor – dad reckoned he just loved the applause – but even that didn't last. Mom was so happy, when he picked her maiden name for his pseudonym. Richard was chosen as homage to his dad's favourite actor – Sir Attenborough – so both his parents were flattered by the stage name. But like all his endeavours, even his stage name and acting eventually ended.

For Jim, a job was no more than a cover for his true calling. His pack. The game he so looked forward to. He needed to become better. He needed to become worthy of Sherlock. Able to create something fun. Artistic, too. Year after year, he upgraded. His pack left behind those too coward to follow his plots. He acquired new, better men (and women; let's not forget the ladies, they can be wonderfully vicious). Before he had had simple thugs. Now Jim finally could start with true crime.

Gangs already at work tried to crush his pack, but Jim showed them that he could do everything they did, only better and safer. The police always – always – was stumped on Jim's cases. Jim advertised what he could do, and offered people a choice. Did they really want to work alone and risk getting caught? Or would they follow him and have things go smoothly if only they could manage to obey?

Of course, some still didn't like the price for the advantages Jim could bring. They fought him. Well, he had tales and myths to take inspiration from. These people didn't just die. Oh no. They were found in pieces all over their turf. Or flayed. Or otherwise slaughtered in creative, flashy ways. He wanted to make an impression, after all.

Slowly but surely, his business grew. New lines of work opened up all the time, and Jim excelled in every last one, whether it was human trafficking, drugs, crime hits, or whatever else you can imagine. He was always dealing with men, after all, and they were all too easy to predict and manipulate. If it wasn't for the game to come, he'd have become bored with this too. Instead, he pressed on. He became the top dog of every crime lord out there. A celebrity in his own field. If secrecy wasn't so pivotal to their business, he'd have acquired a loud fanbase. He became loved. Hated. Feared. Wasn't it the best?