Even at the tender age of ten and a half Shawn knew all of the dangers of a stranger. Anybody you didn't know was a potential killer, rapist, thief. They were untrusted until you could be absolutely sure they weren't, and even then it was always good to be on the safe side. Meaning, not only looking at the cuffs of their shirt, the dirt patterns on their shoes, how clean or dirty their hands are, but also their official records – criminal, death, medical even, if needed.

Shawn was barely able to go through the first step of 'finding out as much as you can' before a cloth was pressed to his face on the edge of the street, and he lost consciousness.

A few hours later he was found bound and gagged in the back of the blackmailers' van, fully clothed and unharmed, but with a permanent wary eye that never really went away.

When his dad and later, the nice psychologist lady that was nothing like his mom asked him what he was feeling that moment they found him (relieved, happy, scared), Shawn would only scoff and answer that at that moment, all he could think about was of how he was just bored by it all.

XXX

"Okay, not that I don't appreciate all of this hospitality," Shawn blatantly stared at the waitress as she served him coffee, shooting her a flirtatious smile which she returned with a blush and a giggle, "but why am I here, really?"

Jim watched in mild interest from across the table. His stare was filled with a sort of fascination not unlike how children stare at zoo animals. He scoffed, but the creepy smile never left his lips. "I told you this morning didn't I? Well I say morning…"

The only light in the room were fluorescent lights. Through the big windows lining the walls (barred with steel close together to prevent anyone from escaping, of course), no sunlight streamed through – only the majestic landscape of a thousand flickering glows of the city of London in the middle of the night.

"Yeah, okay, that part I got. You want… me. To work. For you."

"Mhmm."

Shawn waited for a real reply, following Jim's every movement shamelessly. When it became clear that none was coming, he pressed. "…Why?"

"Because you'd make an interesting experiment," Jim said simply.

"…Experiment?"

"In the name of science, of course."

"I'm not killing anyone."

"No, no, nothing like that, unfortunately."

Shawn released a breath of relief he didn't know he was holding. "Okay… and this experiment would be…?"

"To see how Shirley would react to having another challenge thrown at him."

"Shirley? You mean – Sherlock Holmes?"

"Is there another Shirley that I should know of?"

"No it's just…" Shawn remembered that guy in the expensive-looking coat, all eyes and cheekbones and was impossible to be thought of as a child, and tried not to laugh. "Shirley?"

Jim's grin was like a shark's. "Cute, in't it? Shay Shay?"

All at once, Shawn's easy grin fell. "If we're going with nicknames then I want to call you Jimmy," he sulked, taking a large bite out of his – admittedly delicious – pancake.

When Jim didn't say anything for the next three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, Shawn saw it reason to look up cautiously, a feeling in his gut telling to him to start fearing for his life. The feeling promptly faded away when he saw the other's face.

"You look like you've swallowed a lemon," he snickered.

"Why don't you just call me Moriarty?" Jim asked, looking genuinely curious.

"Moriarty?" Shawn tried the name out like tasting orange juice, which he was, and then put the glass down, shrugging. "Too much of a mouthful."

Half-truth.

"You've never been anything but Jim to me, to be honest."

"Really?" he sang, his tone fluctuating like a rollercoaster.

"Yeah. Yeah of course. So uh…" Shawn looked around. A flat, obviously, not a hotel. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I'm going to be part of this experiment then why don't you just leave me at his doorstep? See what happens then?"

"Well, for one thing, this experiment is going to need your loyalty."

The food lay forgotten in front of him. Jim was sipping a cup of tea lazily, narrow eyes watching Shawn as he tried to make sure that he didn't hear wrong. "My… loyalty?" Shawn felt the urge to laugh. "After shipping me so far from home, across the – Atlantic Ocean?" he added the last part after taking note of a small plastic globe on top of the kitchen island, looking out of place amongst glass beakers and test tubes filled with questionable liquids.

"I told you Shay Shay. I – hate – repeating myself."

A laugh bubbled up on the edge of his lips. Maybe the concept of being in London, England hadn't sunk in yet. Maybe the idea of being so separated from all of his friends and family – Shawn's whole life, actually, still seemed laughable to him. Maybe he was just plain coo-coo like that guy from House.

Either way, Shawn could already start thinking of ways to have fun with this.

"Do not fret Sir Jimmy! When it comes to loyalty… I'm a real Hufflepuff."

XXX

Jim did not trust Shawn Spencer.

The man was good – very good, actually, brilliant even – at hiding things. He knew this ever since he found that one record of an impromptu truth test with the one question that the reporting officer kept stressing about: Are you psychic?

And Shawn obviously wasn't. There was no such thing as psychics.

He was just really, really good at acting like he was.

Brilliant.

And there was also the puzzling appearance that he had managed to take being kidnapped so well. In fact, he seem to have more trouble getting used to the idea of a criminal (or maybe it was just Jim) actually wanting something for him than the fact that he had been shipped out of his whole country on a mere whim without his knowing. An ordinary person would've fainted several times now. An ordinary person would not be having tea at three in the morning with their kidnapper so soon unless they are extremely prone to Stockholm syndrome. And even if said ordinary person had severe Stockholm, they should be shaking, sweating, and not be able to talk to Jim Moriarty, evil reincarnate extraordinaire, like the two of them were… well, not friends, exactly. Colleagues, maybe. Casual acquaintances.

But then again, it seemed like Shawn Spencer had never been an ordinary person once in his life.

So maybe that was why, the next day, when Jim came back to check on his newfound little pet after a particularly boring job, and Shawn had immediately pounced on him to demand for a phone, a computer, a TV, something to serve as a gateway to 'the outside world' (as he had so elegantly put it) besides the barred windows littered all throughout the small flat –

Jim merely raised an eyebrow and handed him one of his rarely used smart phones.

Shawn, dressed in nothing but a fluffy white bathrobe, practically squealed as he snatched the small piece of technology away from his hand, jumping to lie draped all over the couch. Jim was once again attacked by the mental image of his angel counterpart in his nest on Baker Street, lying on his own couch and sulking when Jim decided to give both sides a rest from their games.

Shawn held the phone in front of his face with two hands with a flourish and then frowned. His eyes flickered to where Jim was still standing, half-submerged in his Mind Palace.

"Jimmy," he called, tone borderline whining. "Will you kill me if I call my friends?"

Jim had never had a pet before. He was still trying to figure out what to do now beside stand in the doorway and fidget when Shawn's question registered through his ears.

"As long as you don't tell them – oh whatever, you can. They won't be able to do much anyways. Besides, you don't even know our address… Do you?" Jim asked the last part for real, watching Shawn carefully for an answer. As tempting as it was, Jim made sure not to underestimate anyone who might be a threat, or overestimate them either, like Shirley had in the past. He couldn't put it past the younger to have been able to figure out their exact location from one short look out the windows.

Shawn's face scrounged up, but Jim couldn't be sure if it was from the distaste of being underestimated (which he wasn't) or confirmation that Yes, I don't know where I am and I don't like it.

He dialed a number into the unused phone with an untraceable number, and held it to his ear.

"Gus!" he said not a second later. "Hey, yeah – Well I'm calling now, aren't I – calm down you puddle of chocolate pudding – I'm in London, if you must know – Yeah, James-Bond London – Well if Bond wasn't in London who was – Bond was in London? No, no, wait listen, Gus – Yeah – Yeah – No wait – Jules, how's Lassie – Hey-haha… No! You probably have more chance for talking to me! Julie-ey dad! How are you? You sound… tired – Okay, okay, listen dad… – I know, I know…

"But right now, believe me, okay dad? All you need to know –" Shawn's eyes flicked towards Jim before going to stare at the wall " – is that I am safe, alright? And I know you've been worried and I want to say – I want to say I love you, dad, and don't worry, okay?"

He snuck in another glimpse at Jim, and, as if he had only noticed him now, visibly jumped in his seat. Jim openly grimaced. Why couldn't he just send in someone else to monitor phone calls like these? Ordinary people say such heartfelt things sometimes; it clouds Jim's thinking process with useless sentimental bitterness.

"Listen, dad… I have to go soon." Even though he didn't. "I just wanted to let you guys know that… it's like a little trip. I'm going on a little trip, outside of town… I-I don't know, dad. I don't know when I'll be back. But listen, listen, okay…

"It's going to be okay," he said with such certainty that any lesser man than Jim would've been inclined to believe him. "Okay? Now I have to go… Bye… love ya."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it long after the call had been ended.

"…Are you happy?" he said, and the venom in his words startled Jim out of his sort of daze. His eyes opened and he stared back at Shawn, sitting cross-legged on the couch in front of him with downcast eyes and a vicious snarl.

But Jim Moriarty wasn't Jim Moriarty for nothing. He plastered the biggest, most insensitive smile he had in his arsenal and snatched the phone up from Shawn's hands in two quick strides. "Yep! "

He barely restrained himself from wincing at his own chipper tone. Shawn, though, had no such obligations.

XXX

Two weeks.

It's been two, bloody weeks.

And yes, maybe Shawn was developing a bit of the British ways from day after day of watching BBC TV shows like Merlin and Doctor Who (which actually weren't that bad) and the news – the local news, filled again with more Sherlock Holmes and his partner-in-crime Doctor Watson, and reports of actual, real crimes that were no doubt Jim's.

Now, not only being separated from his life by miles and miles of land and sea, but also being cut off from the rest of the world was taking its toll. Shawn was used to meeting new people – sometimes not entirely good people, but new people – everyday, all the time, and he relished in their various reactions (awe, skepticism, bemusement, amusement, annoyance) of him and also, though he hated to admit it, their guile. How easy they were to trick sometimes (well, except for Lassie). How much trust they put in him to solve their problems. How much he was above them because of his little 'ability'.

Two whole weeks of little to no human interaction was driving even Shawn insane. And he prided himself on being the one who drives other people insane.

The prick comes every day, at three o'clock on the dot exactly (Shawn found the irony of that being around the time of the day when he was first kidnapped), and Shawn wouldn't exactly call these little visits 'human interaction'. He would lurk around the place for an hour at least, Sebby and at least one more bodyguard outside the door, making sure that his security measures were intact and that the flat was as isolated from the rest of humanity as possible. And also to check up on his pet, of course.

Shawn didn't know which was worse – being considered an experiment or a pet.

Actually, he thought with an mixed expression of disgust and disbelief he learnt from Colin Morgan – Experiment's fine.

After two weeks inside his plushy little prison being lazy and at the same time trying not to get too out of shape (he still needed to run and fight against people in the future, he knew it, he just knew it), Shawn decided enough was enough. He was going to get out of his imposed isolation, or at least get a promise of it, or die trying. Or kill someone trying…. There was a first for everything.

"Jimmy!" he stormed up in his most Henry Spencer-way possible before the front door even fully opened. He watched from the corner of his eyes with some satisfaction as Sebby and the unnamed goon beside him tense, the latter's fingers twitching towards the gun hanging from his belt. "I demand freedom! Freedom, I say, freedom! You cannot keep me locked up in here like some animal for more time than today! I demand to be let out of this prison you call my dwelling! I demand –!"

"Okay."

"Blasphemy! Outrage! How dare you deny – Wait, what?"

"Okay," Jim repeated with a smug smirk. "Seb, take him out at six hundred o'clock tonight to that indoor shooting range uptown, would you? Teach him all you know and I won't blame you if you use less, ah, conventional methods."

Behind him, Sebby blinked wide-eyed as if asking 'Who? Me?' before his mouth opened to a faultless imitation of a fish. "Wh-wha Jim you can't be serious, I –"

A glare silenced the blonde immediately.

Shawn didn't even notice that Sebby was glaring at him from across the room for the rest of the duration of their little and, unknowingly to anyone there, last, visit.

Time seemed to slow down from there. The hour couldn't have come soon enough. Sebby was late five minutes and that irked Shawn tremendously but when they were finally out of the elevator (which was also posh beyond belief and filled with the sounds of piano and violin) and into a taxi that is called a cab, he wouldn't have noticed if somebody had puked on his new pair of retro-styled shoes (gift from Jim), but he would've probably noticed if there was one more homeless person in a particular street than the last.

Shawn was just happy to be out.

And if he knew then that he wouldn't be coming back 'home' thereafter, well, he would have just laughed harder, with twice the volume.