Jim felt horrible. Maybe he could make a joke out of the whole situation. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd been on his knees in front of an ex-girlfriend. That was a bad one.

"Please, Molly. I'm begging you! You have to just let me go!"

He was in a dark and dingy hospital room some hours after he got beat up by those guys outside the bar. The worst of his physical pain had subsided, but he was only getting started. Not that he was emotionally hurt by any of this; it was just a total pain in the arse.

Molly was laughing herself into pieces. "Let you go?" she joked, "That's what happens when you take the piss out of my boyfriend!"

Nuh uh. Jim could not quite believe his ears. No way did Molly bloody Hooper, who was, he must admit, somewhat beautiful, decide to go out with some fat bastard who stands in the corner of a pub and has Up the Hammers Tattooed on his arm and is violent at the slightest provocation. There must have been some mistake.

"No way is that fat cunt your boyfriend, you have standards, Molly!" He shouted. "You went out with me!"

Molly thought for a second, and said, "Actually, you're right. I just wanted to see the look on your face. I do have his phone number though. Would you like to speak with him?"

"Damn right," Said Jim angrily. "I'm gonna give him a piece of my incredible mind."

Molly dialled the number and gave Jim the phone. He didn't even get a chance to open his mouth before fatso rudely cut him off.

"You're Jimmy boy, right?" He said, obviously drunk. "Well don't even bother comin' after me 'cause I burned down your apartment and I run like fuck."

Oh, now that's just brilliant. That's just absolutely brilliant. No, really. He didn't have to worry about the rent anymore. He thanked the mystery man and hung up on him. "Well," he said to Molly. "Guess I'll be off then! I might be homeless, but at least I don't have the nanny state breathing down my back. My worries are over!" He babbled cheerfully.

Molly was smirking. It was a strange look, and it really didn't suit her. It meant she wasn't going to say something nice. "Oh no, James." She said with a sinister tone in her voice. "Your worries are just beginning. You can come in now."

As a matter of fact, someone did enter the room. It wasn't a person Jim had been expecting to see. He was a tall figure, dark and quite imposing. He entered the room like something out of a John Wayne film. That coat going to his knees made him look like… well, a twat.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!"

Bloody Sherlock Holmes, coming and going whenever he felt like it. Jim couldn't really blame him; after all, it was he who had left Sherlock. Wait, now he was talking like they had a relationship. Shut up, Jim. Sherlock is talking now.

"How are you, James?" He asked. "Have a good time while I was away? Terribly sorry about that money thing, it's just that I ran into a bit of trouble in Uganda and those people only spoke the universal language of money. But enough about me, how have you been?"

Uganda? Was he on a tour of Africa or something?

Jim was on the verge of crying. He shouted out, "What? You leave me penniless, and now it doesn't matter because I'm homeless! All you ever think about is self, self, self! You should be more considerate. For a long time I thought I would never find someone as smart as you. I still remember that tingle I felt when I first hired that taxi driver to grab your attention. I'll never feel anything like that again! And to think I-"

"Relax." Sherlock cut him off, and then produced a handgun from inside his coat. He pointed it at Jim and said, "I want you to stand up and turn around. I'm going to say something to you. Then you are going to walk through that door behind you and go through the hospital shouting it. And I am going to laugh my hair off."

Jim snorted at this. "Your hair?" He asked smarmily. "It's going to need quite a force to lift that ten-ton weight." Jim looked at the bloody mess around his knees. "Still, how am I supposed to move when I'm in this condition?" He asked.

Sherlock simply grinned like a two-year-old.

"No rush."