Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the continued support on this story! Give yourselves all a big pat on the back because you deserve it : ) Really, I appreciate all the reviews, favs, and alerts – it means so much to have your support for this story.

I hope I never disappoint with the updates. But if I do, don't hesitate to let me know (nicely of course, as criticism helps me with future works).

This next part will be divided up again. And then there will be only more part beyond the split.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything and am only borrowing most things.

Where the Lines Overlap

Chapter 009: 008 Literatures – Part One

Wednesday morning John received a nasty shock when he arrived at work. The shock was actually two-fold in nature: Sherlock was neither at his desk nor in his office and there was a new arrival around at the circulation section.

Sticking his head in Mrs. Hudson's office, he asked, "Where is Sherlock?"

"Sick dear. Sounded dreadful when he called in. Of course, he always sounds terrible, but in another way, more like a dragon who has been roused from his sleep a bit early." A buzzing in John's pocket a few seconds later confirmed Sherlock's illness today.

"Oh. Well I suppose I should take him some soup or something after work."

As if reading John's mind, even from his flat, Sherlock texted Completely unnecessary to bring wellness items or expose yourself to bacteria.

John ignored his order and answered that he would be paying a visit, like it or not, before he powered down his phone. Sherlock had been so kind to John during his head injury that weekend; it was only good form to return the favor.

Besides, they were an item and John would be completely cold hearted not to visit.

He had not realized that Mrs. Hudson had still been speaking during this entire digital exchange until he caught the name 'Moriarty.'

"What?" John asked, trying not to feel too terribly thick.

"Jim Moriarty starts today. He requested some time to speak with you specifically, I suppose in Sherlock's stead." John wondered briefly if Sherlock's absence was on purpose.

"Alright. What time?"

"Now, if you wouldn't mind," Jim smiled from the doorway, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets in such a way that made him both amiable and menacing. John wondered how long he had been standing there.

"Alright then. Later then, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Sure dear." She waved them both out of her office. Being Circulation Manager did not include a private office, John noticed as they walked over to a clearer desk behind the counter.

Jim had only been there for a short time that morning. John didn't think he would have much to say. Jim cleared a seat for John and they sat down. After a few seconds of awkward silence, John began to wonder if he was expected to begin the conversation when it was Jim who had expressly requested his presence.

John cleared his throat.

"You're wondering why I wanted to speak with you." It was not a question, but a statement of the obvious.

"Yeah, that would be it. You've hit the nail on the head." John wondered why this waste of his time was necessary and why he was tolerating it. It wasn't as if he had to answer to Jim Moriarty at the end of the day.

Moriarty looked at him, with that smile that did not reach his very shiny eyes and finally said, "I wanted to formally introduce myself to all the staff today, tell you some things about myself."

"Alright," John nodded along.

"I've just received my degree in Information and Library Science." John noted a degree hung on the wall, but could not see the date to confirm. "This is my first job out of school." Which, felt like a lie, though John couldn't prove its validity otherwise. "And I'm actually quite nervous." John was sure that was a lie.

There was no trace of nervousness or fear in Jim's face. He was not sweating, twitching, fretting or displaying any other tell. Then again, John knew that Sherlock would probably be able to notice more, were he here today.

"Oh," John said, for lack of a better answer. Should he give comfort? It would feel forced and he wasn't sure that he wanted to involve himself too much with this man. Of all the days for Sherlock to be absent! "Well I am sure you will do just fine." He made to leave, to focus only on the work to be completed for the day without Sherlock's distant but familiar presence.

"Tell me a little about yourself," Jim said, halting John's escape. John resisted the overwhelming urge to sigh loudly. Sherlock would not have allowed himself to be roped into such a situation.

"I've worked here, for Sherlock, a few months now." Spring was now beginning to give way to summer.

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes. He's…something else isn't he?" John agreed. "Something of a legend at the school. Does things his own particular way, doesn't he?" John agreed again. "You know," Jim started, leaning in a bit closer than was completely necessary, "he lectured once at the university."

"Oh?" John wondered where this conversation was really going.

"Yes. I simply couldn't get enough of his theories then. He – well his work anyway- became the topic of my research."

"Interesting." Jim sounded like an overexcited schoolgirl, who has just learned her boy group crush is coming to town. Unease gripped John's insides.

"Yes indeed."

"I have much work to do, if you'll excuse me." This time John shot of the chair, before Jim tried any other means to stop him.

"Let me know if there is ever anything I can do to help," Jim called after him. John ducked into the safety of Sherlock's office, shutting the door close for the first time since he had begun working at the library. He had cleaned it months ago, but never had a reason actually to use the door before now.

Sherlock's desk was empty and there was no reason for John to keep the door open for invitation today. John waited for his breathing and heart rate to resume their normal paces before proceeding with his work.

His fingers spent most of the day operating of their own accord, as John's mind was consumed with his odd meeting with Jim. As much as he hated jumping to conclusions, John couldn't shake the thought that Jim had ulterior motives for employment.

He sat outside at the picnic table, since the weather was for once fair, with some of Sherlock's articles to see if he could distinguish what had caught Jim's eye in research. The articles were interesting and John could see how they would be very useful.

But he still could not fully explain Jim's behavior about Sherlock. It almost seemed to be…a crush.

"Well you look quite scholarly," Mags smiled, sitting across from John. He had not heard her walk up.

"I do try. Perhaps a pair of glasses would help?" he grinned. "You know, have to keep up with Sherlock."

"Yes, that can be quite a chore sometimes." John wasn't sure if it was just the light, but there seemed to be a few more fine wrinkles around Mags' mouth. Did she look paler? More drawn? Perhaps she had been ill recently. "So, what brings you out here?"

"Just didn't fancy the break room chatter today." Mags raised an eyebrow.

"Hm. Because I was thinking it might have something to do with that new manager." John had to smile. Nothing seemed to make it past Mags either. He wondered briefly if this was what Mrs. Hudson was like young.

"Is it that obvious?"

"No. There's something not quite on with him, is there?" John glanced behind them, at the window. The elder ladies seemed charmed enough.

"No, there isn't."

"Word around the office is that he quite fancies Sherlock. Suppose you better watch your back there, Watson."

"And the source of the word would be…Mrs. Hudson?"

"The same." John glanced at his watch, realizing he needed to be returning to work in a minute.

"I'll be sure to do that." Mags nodded, dialing a number on her mobile, biting her lip as she waited for the ringing to end.

X

After work, John stopped by a store to gather a few things for Sherlock, despite his earlier warning to stay away. He had managed to duck out the back door without Jim hanging around. Just for the heck of it, John picked up a terrible, bargain bin movie that he knew was sure to get criticized by Sherlock.

He hailed a cab and texted Sherlock that he was on his way, just so that Sherlock had some warning.

Why do you insist on doing exactly what I tell you not to do? Sherlock texted back.

Because no one wants to be truly alone when they're sick. Is Mycroft going to look after you?

No, came Sherlock's tart, even through text, reply.

Exactly.

I don't have to let you in.

I'll stand outside your door and sing.

Very well. John didn't know if very well meant that he would be standing outside Sherlock's flat all night, singing – terribly he might add, or if that meant he had worn his partner down into letting him inside. Or even if Sherlock were referring to his ideas were 'very well.'

He supposed he would find out when he arrived.

X

John was relieved to see that the original elevator was functioning this time. He nodded to the surely looking desk manager and pressed the ^ button. The front doors opened again, while he was waiting and a familiar girl walked in.

"You're Sherlock's friend, right?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Yup. And you're…" He searched around for her name, though all he could remember was the awkwardness of their meeting under the crook of Sherlock's arm.

"Molly," she smiled. "Not the most exciting name, I suppose," she smiled.

"Try having a very common name. Who isn't named John? There was an apostle and a Beatle with the same name – I think my mother expected me to walk in their shoes." Molly laughed.

"What's all this then?" she asked, gesturing to his multiple bags.

"Oh, just some things for Sherlock."

"Is he ill?"

"Not life threateningly, though he acts as if he has the plague. I thought I would surprise him."

"Oh," she nodded thoughtfully, as they stepped into the elevator together. "Well that's sweet of you. How is your head?"

"Better off than it was," he told her, giving it a light rap. "Thanks for asking. You were coming home from work?" John asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"Yes. I'm an analyst, at a lab. Gets a bit boring by myself all day, so I try to go out with friends."

"Are you going out again tonight then?"

"Yes. A friend of mine needs some cheering up, so we're going to take her out for an evening on the town." She went on to explain that someone had set her up with a blind date (she didn't know if it was to be considered blind because they had never met or if her date was actually blind – as had happened before). There was a bit of loneliness that clung to Molly, John realized, despite all her plans.

They parted ways, just before he reached Sherlock's flat. He knocked, three sharp raps and waited.

"Door's unlocked," Sherlock croaked from inside, his usual low voice full of static from congestion. John let himself in, locking the door behind him. The flat was as cluttered as before, John having to step over piles of books to make his way into the sitting room.

Sherlock was seated on the loveseat with his laptop. He was wrapped in a thick robe with a blue scarf tied about his neck. John noted that a pile of tissues sat beside him and Sherlock's nose had been rubbed raw.

"You are sick, aren't you?"

"No. I've been trying to unsuccessfully breathe fire."

"Yeah, Mrs. Hudson was right when she said you sounded as terrible as a dragon," John smiled as he headed for the cluttered kitchen. It was not her exact quote.

"She was that flattering?"

"Yes, actually. I believe your absence was cause for celebration. Streamers, spot of cake, the full works." He began setting various items on a small section of the counter.

"Hah." Sherlock went to laugh, but sneezed violently instead.

"Didn't need me huh? Here, drink this." He handed Sherlock a fresh bottle of juice.

"I don't want to," Sherlock told him, though he gave the plastic lid a sharp twist.

"I don't care," quipped John, moving past Sherlock to clean the tissues away from the loveseat. He put a rubbish bin nearby, for future tissues before going off in search of a pillow and blankets.

"What are you doing, mucking about my flat?" Sherlock demanded, following John around.

"And what are you doing still standing? Go sit," John said, giving the taller man a push in the direction of the common room.

"I got along all day on my own, thank you," snapped Sherlock, his usual handsome voice sounding as if it were coming through a bad connection. He took a long, noisy drink from the juice, despite his initial protest.

"Oh really? This place is a bloody pigs sty," John teased, returning from the bedroom with a pillow and blanket. "Go sit and I'll clean up a bit.'

"I don't want to do that either."

"Too bad. Your list of things you don't want rivals the things you do. Go sit."

"You're not my mother."

"No, not unless you happen to have one of her hats around here," he grinned, following Sherlock back out to the couch with the bed things.

"Hardly." He collapsed on the couch and after much more arguing, allowed John to wrap him in a blanket and make him comfortable with a pillow or two.

After Sherlock was asleep, John began tidying up the flat – an activity that could not be completed while Sherlock was awake, as he squabbled so.

The work gave his mind time to reflect on the strange and mildly disturbing conversation with Jim at work. No matter how he reviewed the conversation, it still amounted to something vaguely resembling a crush.

"Something's bothering you," Sherlock observed from his nook in the loveseat. John nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the rag he had in his hand, and feeling quite foolish. He had not realized Sherlock was awake again.

"How could you tell?"

"You've been standing there with the rag for…ten minutes now. It's something about work?"

"Yes, but how could yo-"

"Tell? If it were your sister or mother, you would check your mobile, presumably expecting a call. The only place that you've been today is work, as far as I know." It always sounded so simple when Sherlock explained it.

"Yes, today was Jim Moriarty's first day."

"And? Did he happen to set fire to something?" John chuckled.

"No. Actually, he requested specifically to speak to me." At this, Sherlock sat up a little more in his blankets, looking quite alert, despite his illness.

"Tell me everything." He thumped the seat beside him, where they both had very fond memories the last time John visited.

Abandoning his tidying efforts, John seated himself close to Sherlock and began explaining everything that happened and everything he might have thought at the time. Sherlock, for once, was silent and listening.

"What do you think it means?" John asked when he was finished explaining.

"That he can fool Mrs. Hudson, but he cannot fool me."

"You know him, don't you? From before."

"No. I know his type. That's different."

"His type? He's a type now?"

"John, it is very important that you stay away from him."

"And if he won't stay away from me?" The problem didn't lie in John's seeking attention from Moriarty, but rather in Moriarty actively seeking John's company.

"Get creative John," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Any particular reason?"

"No." Sherlock did not elaborate and John knew better than to press him.

"Well, alright then. How about a movie?"

"What sort?"

"The worst kind."

"A bargain, I presume?"

"Only the best quality." John retrieved Sherlock's laptop, which had been opened to research – presumably for a patron, and inserted the disk.

X

Later, once the movie had been criticized – in Sherlock's usual sarcastic fashion, and John was lying in bed beside his partner, his mind continued playing over Moriarty's appearances.

It was a long time before he finally drifted off to sleep, listening to Sherlock's heavy breathing. He wasn't sure if it was the freight train sleeping next to him or his own troubled thoughts that kept him so disconcerted so far into the early morning hours.

X

The next morning, Sherlock was a touch better, but still not ready for work. John left Sherlock's flat early enough to swing by his own, change, and make it to work on time. He promised again- despite Sherlock's sleepy protests, to come by after work.

John briefly greeted Mrs. Hudson and explained Sherlock's second absence, then headed for their office for work. There was no sign of Moriarty and John wondered if he had managed to beat the circulation supervisor to work that morning.

He sat down, pressing the power button on his computer, only to discover it was already awake. The computer made a noise of protest.

John felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise.

In an effort to calm himself down, he considered that he might have left the machine on in his haste to leave the day before. No files seemed to have opened. Nothing seemed amiss.

He clicked 'Start' then 'Recent Documents' to be sure no extras had been opened or altered.

Nothing seemed disturbed. Perhaps he had simply left the machine on after all.

John glanced at the desk, trying to decide if the paperwork there had been disturbed. Perhaps a paper here or there. Could have happened when he sat down earlier.

"Good morning. Sherlock in?" Jim asked, knocking on the doorway. John was thankful that he didn't have any type of hot liquid in his hand this morning, as it would have been spilled. Jim had a nasty habit of appearing when John least expected.

"Er, no. Still, ill I'm afraid." Jim was saying something, probably polite – and only slightly creepy, but John only heard Sherlock's warning from the night before.

"I apologize, but I've got quite a bit of work lined up today," John told him. He must have interrupted something Jim was saying.

"Oh. Well, I suppose it's a good thing I powered up your computer then." Jim wished him well with his work and thankfully disappeared.

It was a few minutes before John rose, shut the door, and actually started work.

Jim.

He had not wanted to say it, to suspect him without evidence, and here he comes confessing. What was he playing at by being so up front?

John texted Sherlock the newest development, hoping to save his voice.

Looking into something was Sherlock's only reply.

"Ugh, some help you are," John whispered. He was sure to avoid Jim's lunchtime and make sure his computer was powered down completely at the end of the day.

In the hall, he passed Mrs. Hudson and Hilda – from circulation, discussing Jim.

"He's quite helpful isn't he? Turning on all the computers that way wasn't he?" Hilda was telling Mrs. Hudson, who was nodding vigorously.

Helpful was not the word that John was thinking.

Sherlock was much improved when John arrived at his flat later, this time bringing a proper overnight bag with him, just in case he spent the night again. He was not thrilled to hear the full story behind John's earlier text.

"Do you think he was snooping for something?" John asked.

"He was snooping, obviously."

"But why, Sherlock?" John asked with growing frustration.

"I'm not Jim Moriarty, thank goodness." He paused. "Perhaps it was just a rouse."

"Perhaps. He turned everyone's computers on."

"Good form?"

"I very much doubt there is anything good about Jim Moriarty."

"There isn't. I'll just continue digging until I find it." John hoped Sherlock didn't dig himself in a deep enough hole that the sand collapsed and trapped him.

X