Queen Farli wants me to explain some things about the alien... seriously? How much fake research do I have to do? :p It's magic, okay? Just kidding. I think I have an explanation that will satisfy you. It'll have to be in the next chapter, though.

This chapter is rated M for Moriarty. xp

Chapter 11: Acquaintances

X X X

Hart did not go from the Hub to the pub to pick up a date. He went because Sherlock had gone home early and he was bored. He just wanted a little drink and then to go get some sleep. Really, that was all.

No one there really grabbed his interest, anyway. The only blonde looked ten years older than himself, and the only person flirting with him was a woman whom he suspected was fishing for cab fare. After drooling over Sherlock all day, he wasn't in the mood for annoying games.

After only one drink, he settled his tab and pushed away from the bar. Maybe there was something interesting on television. He pulled open the door and turned sideways to slip past someone standing in the small, dark space between the inner and outer doors. But before he could push the second door open, the stranger had pushed him against the wall and pressed their mouths firmly together.

Never one to question attention, Hart put his arms around the stranger and kissed back, hard. The stranger was a man close to Hart's height. Not muscular, but fit. He smelled like spearmint and pipe tobacco, but not smoke. The mint was in his mouth, too. He'd probably been chewing gum or consuming a mint recently. Emanating from the stranger's hair, there was another rich smell that Hart couldn't quite identify. Some sort of shampoo or conditioner, perhaps. He was creative with his tongue; aggressive, too.

When they came apart for a moment, Hart got out "Good evening" before resuming. The stranger was in a dark suit. The collared shirt underneath felt expensive to Hart's exploring fingers. The tie was real silk. He could feel the stranger's hands slipping under the back of his jacket and then his fingers crawling up over his back.

"Would you like to go somewhere?" the stranger asked at the next opportunity.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"My limo is outside."

Hart hesitated. Stranger in the night, limousine... sounds too good to be true. "Can we take a cab? I know a nice hotel nearby."

"I'm versatile."

"I'm sure you are."

They stepped outside where, sure enough, a limousine was parked, engine purring.

"Won't be needing the limo tonight," the stranger told the man standing by the passenger door. "Take the night off."

The man nodded. "Yes, sir."

John signaled a cab and gave the name of the hotel to the driver. He got his first good look at his companion in the light of passing traffic. The stranger had light skin but dark hair and eyebrows. There was a recession to his hairline, but Hart didn't find this a drawback to the man's looks. Five o'clock shadow dusted his otherwise pale features.

"How would you like to do this?" Hart asked, keeping his voice low in case the stranger didn't care to let the cabby know what was going on.

The stranger, however, seemed completely at ease. "You don't have to tell me any more than you want to tell me," he said. His voice was soft and slow. Hart found it pleasantly relaxing.

"Do you do this often?"

"This?" the stranger smiled. "No. Not often. But I'm not unprepared."

"What should I call you?"

"Whatever you like. Pick a name."

"Jack" almost came out of John's mouth before he caught himself. Better be careful. You never know when something like this will come back to bite you. "Sherlock" crossed his mind as well, but he controlled himself. "Finn," he said.

"Nice choice. How about Sean for you?"

"That works."

They kept silent the rest of the way. Hart insisted on paying the cabby, correctly thinking that this would prompt "Finn" to insist on paying for the hotel room.

"Nice coat," Finn said, closing the door behind them. "Very Napoleonic."

"Thanks; that's what I was going for. Had it commissioned in France."

"Very nice." There was genuine admiration in his voice.

Hart set his jacket aside and kicked off his boots. "That's a sharp suit."

"Thank you. H. Huntsman."

He knew he was expected to know the name, so he gave an appreciative nod. Haven't been in this decade long enough to learn much about its fashion, he reflected.

Finn carefully laid out his jacket and shoes before unfastening his cuffs. He dropped his watch and cufflinks into one shoe.

He's so not my type, Hart thought. But that was the wonderful thing about flings.

"I've been watching you, you know," Finn said, coming closer and letting Hart pull his tie off and start on his buttons.

"Oh? In the pub?"

"Before that. I followed you there from Baker Street. We have a mutual friend."

Hart was surprised, but his hands didn't falter.

"You know, it's really not fair of you to stalk Sherlock."

"What do you mean?"

Finn shrugged out of his shirt and pulled Hart's up over his head. "Well... I was stalking him first. So you can understand my annoyance."

Hart half-smiled. I can't exactly blame him.

"So, I'm stalking Sherlock, you start stalking Sherlock, then I start stalking you. Because when I can't find Sherlock, you're going to meet up with him again eventually. And that's another thing that's unfair: You see him quite a bit. He talks to you civilly, like he does to his little stooge. It's taken me months to get close to him and you get closer in just a couple of days. You see where I'm going here?"

Glancing down at the hand in his pants, Hart replied, "Clearly."

"Not that I blame you. Everyone wants a piece of Sherlock." Finn unzipped Hart's jeans and began sliding them down. "I bet even straight-laced Watson would take it if he was offered. So I figure, what the hell? You want Sherlock, I want Sherlock. But that doesn't mean you and I can't get along, right?"

"Right."

"Good. I'm glad we understand one another." Finn leaned in and ran his lips over Hart's jaw.

Hart took a deep breath, enjoying the scents of his new companion, the stubble brushing his face, and the tension his revelations had brought. He pulled Finn back toward the bed, letting their pants and underwear fall behind them. "Whatever happens between you and Sherlock is your own business," he said, knowing he probably wouldn't feel that way if this man posed a real threat in the future. "And what happens between him and me is mine."

"And what happens between you and me is ours," Finn concluded with a satisfied smile.

"Exactly."

Finn pushed Hart back on the bed and made a trail of rough kisses down his neck and chest. Hart caressed every inch of Finn that he could reach, closing his eyes to concentrate on the arousing contact he was receiving. When it stopped for a moment he opened his eyes to see Finn breaking out the condoms. He's sure the classiest stalker I've ever had. I guess rich people get bored too, he mused.

His rational thoughts petered out when Finn began an efficient blow job. He knew he was getting close when things came to a halt again and Finn lifted Hart's legs up onto his shoulders. There was no request for permission. Hart would have granted it anyway, but it had been a while since he dealt with someone so forceful. He sighed in relief when Finn's hand picked up where his mouth had left off. His hand was firm but not rough.

Damn, I'm glad he hasn't had any luck getting to Sherlock... I doubt I could steal anyone away from this guy. Hart panted and tilted his hips so Finn could thrust deeper. "More," he panted. His request was granted instantly and waves of heat crashed over him, sweat breaking out all over his body. He felt so tight; the hand fondling him made him want to scream. He moved more urgently until the scream burst out at last.

Finn came a moment later, but he didn't stop pumping until they had both ridden out their orgasms completely. Then he crawled up beside Hart, propped up a pillow and settled next to him. "That was pretty good, wouldn't you say?"

"Excellent," Hart panted.

"Good. You decide what we do next."

"Okay." He reached for the phone. "Room two-oh-eight. Send up some ice, please. Thank you."

When he hung up, Finn was grinning. "Baby, I can't wait for part two."

Hart slid his arm around Finn and kissed him. "This night's just beginning. Plenty more to see."

X X X

Jim nuzzled Hart's neck. "Hey. Are you awake?" he asked in a tone of childlike innocence.

Hart turned a tired smile on him. "I'm afraid so."

"You look like you could use some coffee."

"That would be nice... but I should go."

"All right; if you're sure." He sat up slowly, letting the sheet slide down off his chest. He knew Hart was watching, remembering, wanting more. He slid off the bed and walked around to start picking up his clothes. "I'll have to get these pressed," he commented, picking up his now-wrinkled pants. He dressed very slowly, letting Hart catch up to him and get done first. When it was time to put on his cufflinks, he held them out to Hart. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Hart fastened the cufflinks and proceeded to help Jim on with his tie. "Thanks for last night," he said.

"Oh, my pleasure. If circumstances were different, I might say we should do this again sometime."

Hart seemed reluctant to leave. "How long have you been following Sherlock?" he asked at last.

"A while." Jim smiled a catlike smile.

"And me?"

"Since before you met him."

"You know my name, don't you?"

"You're not an easy man to track down, but yes. I know your name, Captain."

Hart looked thoughtful as he glanced around the room to be sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "Well, it's been a treat."

"It has." Jim opened the door and let Hart pass through first. "Oh, and by the way: Tell Sherlock that Jim says hello."

"Jim. All right."

X X X

"So, you just trotted on over here," John concluded.

"I went to my flat and took a shower first," Hart retorted.

Sherlock nodded. "You don't normally bother making yourself presentable in the morning. Overcompensation."

"You knew I had a one-night stand because I was neat and tidy?" Hart asked with a smirk.

"With Jim Moriarty..." John put his head in his hands. "It's too ghastly for words."

"What do you care? You never liked me. What's so bad about him anyway?"

"He's Sherlock's arch enemy, that's all."

"Don't be dramatic, John," Sherlock put in.

"I'm not! It's a fact. I mean, who did you think he was?"

Hart crossed his arms. "I can't help it. I liked him. He was the ideal one-night stand. He was posh, polite and good in bed."

"And a killer," said Sherlock.

"Oh? Well, what of it? So am I."

John and Sherlock both looked up at him questioningly.

"There's loads of things you don't know about me. But you never ask, do you?"

"It's kind of strange..." John said, staring up at the ceiling.

"What is?"

"Moriarty being good in bed. That just... doesn't compute."

"That's because you're bloody straight."

"No it isn't... I—I mean, I am straight... but that's not why. It's just that I figured he was..." John glanced at Sherlock. "...just not the type to get involved with anyone."

"Never assume. Anyway, we're not 'involved.' We met, we had sex, we parted."

"Oh, you're involved," Sherlock contradicted. "And if you ever meet again, Moriarty won't allow you to depart unscathed a second time. You can be sure of that."

"Fine. Suppose you tell me more about our mutual friend, and I'll tell you more of my past?"

"You said he smelled of tobacco, but not smoke?"

Hart sighed. "Yes. Pipe tobacco. It's nice. Used to keep some around after I quit smoking."

"And he had a limousine. Was it rented?"

"I dunno... maybe?"

"Sherlock, you've got to concentrate on the Chancellor," said John. "And whatever it is that Torchwood has you working on. You can't let Moriarty distract you."

"But he's so close. He's watching us. He just sent me a challenge—how can I ignore it?" Sherlock was ready to take anything on.

"But that's what he's counting on! He knows you can't resist trying to figure him out. He's probably got a trap waiting and ignoring his challenge is the best thing you can do."

"A trap," Sherlock repeated. The idea was very appealing. "Outsmarting traps is more fun than following clues..."

"You have a duty to your country to not be distracted from..."

"No, I don't."

John looked shocked.

"Catching Moriarty is just as important to this country as getting the Chancellor back. Anyway, you're showing very little faith in my ability to multitask."

"I'd love to test your ability to multitask," said Hart.

"Do you never stop?" asked John. "I mean, really?"

"You just wish you'd thought of it."

"Shut up," said Sherlock. "Hart, what sort of killer are you?"

"Serial opportunistic killer. Not anymore, of course. I'm all reformed now. But I'd see someone who looked like he'd make the universe a better place by leaving it and I'd take him out. Or her. Mostly men, though. So, who is Jim Moriarty?"

"That's a long story."

"I'll put the kettle back on," said John.

X X X

"Such a cool customer," Hart said in admiration. "The criminally insane are so..."

"Fun?" Sherlock suggested.

"I'd have said horrid," said John.

Sherlock, who had been going back and forth between his phone and his laptop while he and John brought Hart up to speed, leaned back in his chair. "Some interesting facts have just come to light in the Chancellor's case... and in the Torchwood problem."

John and Hart waited expectantly.

"Mr. McBride has a past that exists only four years back. Before that we have no records of jobs, residences, traffic tickets, anything. We've compiled a list of his acquaintances, and of all his coworkers, friends and neighbors, there are no relatives."

"Made-up identity," Hart concluded.

"Right. Now, Mr. Seal has contacted me to let me know that he found the phantom attachments sent to Torchwood. They did indeed originate in UNIT."

"So... UNIT's sending Torchwood on a wild goose chase?"

"There's more. Martha Collins, the woman who sent the messages, comes with her own list of acquaintances, of course. She does have family and other connections going back convincingly. But the interesting thing is that she's going out with a man in Scotland Yard. A few years back, McBride was taken in for a misdemeanor and this same officer of the Yard bailed him out."

"The Chancellor and the Torchwood case are connected," John said in surprise. "What does that mean?"

"Hold on," said Hart. "When did you say McBride had that arrest?"

"A few months after he moved to Sutton."

"He's been there a few months, but he already has a police chum who'll bail him out of the lockup? I wouldn't do that for most of my friends. Not that I have many..."

"So, he had to have known him before he came to Sutton," John concluded.

Sherlock nodded. "Well spotted. I think this officer knows McBride's true identity, as well as what's really going on."

"Do we have him brought in?"

"No. That would tell them clearly that we're getting very close. I think that what the kidnappers want is panic... so we're going to give it to them. We're going to let the world know that it's under threat of alien invasion. Then we're going to see what Officer Hughes, Ms. Collins and A. McBride do next. There's something they want out of all this. Now that we know three of the people involved, perhaps we can find out what."

"Brilliant," said Hart. Now, in the meantime can you come back to Torchwood? Watchful doesn't like talking to the rest of us. He wants 'Handsome' back."

John looked baffled, but also like he didn't want to ask.

"Certainly. I'll need to fill Jack in, anyway."

Dun dun dun... Getting closer to the bad guys. Leave a review. ^^