Jim leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. I try to pull away, but he tightly grips my wrists.

"Well done," he whispers before kissing me. Tears trickle down my cheeks like they always do when he does this. He stops suddenly, and I don't know if I should be relieved or scared. He pulls his face back slightly, enough so he's not touching me, but close enough that I'm uncomfortable. He moves both of my wrists to one hand and wipes my tears off with the other.

"What's wrong, darling? You cry every time I kiss you. I'm starting to think you don't enjoy this." There's a small smirk on his lips, and seeing that makes something inside me snap.

"I don't. I hate this. I hate you. I hate the way you kidnapped me, and hurt me, and do all of these awful things to me, and then you kiss me, like we're dating or something. We're not! You've kept me in that place for six months and you're twenty one years older than me! And I can't do anything about it, either! I wanted to run today, but I couldn't, because you'll just find me and hurt me even more! So, no, I don't enjoy when you kiss me, because, every time you do, I want to slap you like you do to me!" This outburst might get me into trouble, but I don't particularly care at the moment. Besides, getting mad is better than crying and helplessly struggling.

"Go ahead," he says casually, releasing my wrists and tilting his head slightly. "Slap me like you did to Sherlock." I want to, but if I do, Seb might put a bullet through my brain.

"I can't," I say, exasperation clear in my tone.

"Why not? You just said you wanted to."

"I know I did, but if I actually did it, I might wake up with a concussion or not wake up at all."

"Fair point. Never mind." He pauses for a moment. "Why did you slap Sherlock?" I don't detect any anger in his voice, only genuine curiosity.

"You said Adalia Brooke would be offended if anyone suggested her dad was gay, and he flat out said it. Just playing the role." He nods in what I think is understanding. I don't mention how it's because I was afraid I'd get in trouble for him saying I was abused.

"That thing with the trainers- was that for real?"

"Yeah, but I usually try to keep that in my head. I don't like all the attention. Wish I knew if I got it right, though, what the killer did."

"You did."

"How would you know?"

"Because I did it." I look up at him and can tell he's not lying.

"What was it, then? What poison did you use?"

"Botulinum in his eczema medication." My eyes widen.

"That's brilliant. No one would be looking for it, and, even if they were, it would still be incredibly hard to find. Oh, my gosh, that's bloody brilliant. No one thinks it's a murder, and so you don't get suspected." Even if killing someone is an awful thing to do, that's still a genius way to do it. His smirk is back, and I know whatever he's about to say will be sarcastic.

"I didn't know you thought that I was brilliant, darling. I thought that you hated me."

"I do hate you, and killing him was an awful thing for you to do. That doesn't mean I don't think you're really smart though." The car is silent for a few more minutes.

"When you go to Sherlock's flat tomorrow, don't try anything. I have cameras set up there." Great. Even when he's not with me, he's still watching.

"Sorry about this, darling, but it has to be done."

"What are you talking about?" He yanks my arm towards him and I feel a little pinch. I look at him before I slip away.

"Every time I get into a fucking car with you, I end up getting drugged." Jim slaps me and says something about manners.

When I wake up, I'm still sitting in Jim's car. I sit up groggily and look at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why aren't we home yet?"

"Because, I have something you need to do first."

"Which is?" He grins maniacally.

"You're my next hostage." I groan as I look down at the bomb strapped to my chest.

"Can I take this off?"

"No."

"But I'll read out everything just the way you put it. I'll even say it dramatically, if you want."

"Still no."

"Pleeeeeeeease? This thing is heavy."

"Are you afraid? Is that why you want to take it off? You're afraid of a few little blocks of C4?" I roll my eyes. Strangely, I'm not afraid.

"Of course not. I thought you knew me better than that." He pats me on the head.

"Then you're leaving it on. Now, I'm going to tell you what to say, and you're going to say it, exactly like I do."

"Can't we do this at the mansion? It would be a lot more comfortable, sitting on the couch instead of in the back of your car. Plus, my books are there. Now there's nothing to do while I wait." He hands me a copy of Harry Potter and the Order of The Phoenix and I shrug and take it.

"Fine. Just... promise you won't blow me up if Sherlock gets it wrong."

"I wouldn't kill you because of Sherlock's mistakes, darling. You're too much fun." He hands me a phone.

"You sure do know how to charm a girl." He smirks at me and I roll my eyes.

"Thanks."

"Sarcasm."

"Oh. Right. Call Sherlock. I'm going to type, and you're going to read off of this pager, just to make sure they don't hear my voice. Go on." I tap the only contact and call it. A female voice answers.

"Scotland Yard, how may I assist you?" I glance down at the pager.

"Put Sherlock on the phone, I'm strapped to a bomb," I read out, looking at Jim with raised eyebrows. It's true, he mouths with a shrug. I smile and shake my head as the sound of heels clicking on the floor fill the car.

"Hello," Sherlock answers.

"It's okay you've gone to the police," I read.

"Who is this? Is this you again?"

"But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him. He laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing." I look up at Jim and mouth Violence is never the answer, to which he rolls his eyes.

"You've stolen another voice, I presume. Not above taking children?"

"This is about you and me." Drama queen.

"Why isn't she crying? Is she strapped to a bomb?"

"Yes."

"Then why isn't she crying? She doesn't sound afraid."

"I can make her cry," Jim types. I look up at him with wide eyes, shaking my head. He wastes no time pulling out his knife and cutting my thigh, covering my mouth to stifle the scream.

"Sorry," he mutters in my ear.

"She's c-crying now. L-Look what you've d-done, Sherlock," I read, trying to keep myself from stuttering. Jim presses down on the cut and I let out a little yelp. God, that hurts.

"What was that?"

"The sounds of life, Sherlock. Don't worry, I can soon fix that. You solved my last puzzle in nine hours, this time you have eight." Jim ends the call and I groan.

"Eight bloody hours in this car, wearing this bomb? I don't think so."

"You don't have a choice. How bad is it," he asks gently, motioning to my thigh. I shrug.

"I've dealt with worse. Stings, though."

"That's bound to happen when you get cut with a knife, darling. I'm sorry about that, by the way. Didn't want Sherlock to think I was treating my hostages too nicely."

"Don't think he doubted that." I flip the book open and read, thoroughly ignoring the bomb strapped to me and the psycho staring thoughtfully at me. Eventually, he pries the book from my hands, me complaining the whole time, and replaces it with the phone and the pager. I grumble about how he's very lucky I'm strapped to a bomb and he has the ability to blow me up right now, or else I would punch him repeatedly. He chuckles and presses the call button.

"Hello," Sherlock answers.

"The clue's in the name. Janus Cars."

"Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"Why does anyone do anything, Sherlock? Because I'm bored and you take too long when you're left by yourself. Also, my hostage is complaining." Jim wraps his arm around my shoulders at that part. I scrunch my nose up.

"Then talk to me in your own voice."

"Patience." Jim hangs up again and hands me my book. I sigh and look up at him.

"Did you bring my reading glasses? This has been getting steadily blurrier by the minute." He slides the black glasses out of his pocket and holds them just out of my reach.

"You can have them in exchange for a kiss."

"I'll just squint." He rolls his eyes and slides them on my face, ignoring my protests about how I can do it myself. I go back to reading after that. After a few more hours, Jim takes the book from my hands.

"Come ooooooon. How many hints does he need?"

"He's solved it."

"Does this mean you're going to let me go?" He places his hand gently on my cheek.

"Sorry, darling, no. You're special. You're mine. I'm not giving you up just like that." I let out a frustrated growl as he hands me the phone again. He kisses my forehead.

"I know, I know. You don't want to be here. Just try to make the best out of it, though. Apparently it helps."

"On a scale from one to ten, this is a negative twelve, Jim. I don't see how I can make the best out of it. I mean, even when you're in a good mood you physically injure me." I press the call button and stare down at the pager.

"Hello?"

"I'm keeping this one. I rather like her. Pretty, she is. She's gorgeous. So, anyways, I've changed the rules just for her. The next one, I promise I'll give back." Jim hangs up and helps me out of the bomb vest. He places it on the floor and pulls out a needle. I back slightly away from him. I hate that stupid knockout drug.

"Hey, calm down, darling. Give me your arm." I shake my head.

"You were jus strapped to a bomb. Don't tell me you can't handle on little needle?"

"I hate needles."

"And you also hate being conscious around me. Give me your arm so you can get a few hours peace and quiet." When I make no move to give him my arm, he slides over and gently picks it up. He injects me and then holds me, humming a lullaby. I fight sleep, forcing myself to stay awake.

"Just close your eyes, love. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

"Don't wanna sleep," I say, words severely slurred.

"Go to sleep. Go on, I won't hurt you."

"No. Don't wanna sleep."

"Why not?"

"Dreams," I murmur. Jim rocks me back and forth slightly.

"Go to sleep. You'll be fine, they're just dreams."

"No."

"Go to sleep. Close your eyes. You'll have a headache if you keep trying to fight the drug."

"Stop drugging me. Not funny."

"You're right, it's not funny. It's hilarious." I try to slap him and end up hitting myself on the leg. He laughs softly, the noise echoing through my head as I fail to stay awake and slip out of consciousness.

Again, I apologize if the formatting has gone all cray-cray. Dang computer.

Here, we see a little bit of 'bonding' between Jim and Adalia- but she still hates his guts, of course. To be honest with you guys, Jim being nice to Adalia with fluffy scenes are the second best to write (second only to Jim torturing Adalia mentally).

Also, this fic has thirty-something chapters just by Baskerville, and it's going to continue past season three, so if you don't like really long fics, I'd advise you stop reading before the plot really develops.

Anything you guys want to see incorporated into this? Fluffy chapters? Torture? A little MorMor fluff? There's one simple way to get it put in the story- leave a review! As long as it's nothing above a T-rating and I think it can fit, then I'll do it!

Read and review, please!