FOREWARD FROM AUTHOR (skip if you want)

First off.

I'm sorry about inactivity.
I know this is so stereotypical and dull. But I am sorry.
I've finally left the foster home I've been in for ten months, and things are chaotic. I've my GCSEs coming up and a million other things to deal with besides. But that's okay, because I'm getting better. My depression is clearing up. And soon, I'll be able to write just like I used to.

Secondly,
I'm sorry about OOC.
I mean, it's a bit futile to apologise for this. Any fanfic is inadvertently OOC. Jim and Sherlock aren't going to passionately fuck on screen, be it in a rape fic or a vanilla fic (like this one). But I suppose the Jim we see on-screen is the psychopath version of the one we see here, the one I imagine he's really like off-screen. And Sherlock, too - Sherlock is notoriously hard to write, because I can't really write from a genius's perspective when I'm not one myself.
And I know OOC is annoying. People read the fanfics as a sort of extension of the show - and when one of the most vital elements of the show is missing, there isn't much of a point.
Psychopath Jim doesn't really work with my plot, which is why I've changed him and tried my best to justify that change. I know it's not really enough. I'm sixteen. But yes. I am sorry.

Psychopath Jim will be there in my next chapter, more to see for myself if I really can write non-OOC.

I really, really appreciate all the supportive comments I've been getting. Each and every single one of them makes my day.
I'm sorry I'm so inconsistent. There's a basic contract between writer and reader and I've been pushing that too much.

I am going to try to write more. I really am.
Please bear with me, though.

This chapter's a bit shorter than usual. But I know what to do next, and hopefully it should be there soon.

Thank you all, and I love you all.
I'm sorry for having been a mess lately.

But the Sheriarty must go on...

...

Chapter Twenty-One: Yes, Sir

...

The phone was ringing, again.

Sherlock accidentally elbowed Jim in the chest as he turned to grab it, making the criminal grunt a little and crack his eyes open. Swiping right on the green answer button, Sherlock mouthed sorry at him before speaking, his voice a little hoarse. "Hello?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

And with those two words, Sherlock's blood ran cold.

Jim must have seen the look on his face, because he sat up quickly, staring at him intently.

Sherlock forced himself to answer. "Moran."

Moriarty took a deep, shuddering breath, before slipping out of the bed to grab his clothes. Sherlock was too tense to appreciate the soft morning light on his naked form.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock tapped on the Speaker option.

"Happy New Year, Mr Holmes." Sebastian's voice rang out, laced with sarcasm. Jim swallowed, hard, but didn't turn around.

Sherlock winced as he forced himself to reply with his bitter retort. "Let's hope it's the last Moriarty sees."

Jim did turn to him at that, and just looked at him. The expression on his face was unreadable. A thousand apologies were on the tip of Sherlock's tongue, but he swallowed them.

Moran laughed softly, oblivious. His voice still seemed so mild, so bizarrely tender. "Oh, we don't just hope so, Mr Holmes. But to cut to the chase. Have you heard anything from him?"

Think fast! Sherlock's brain screeched at him. So he declared, "We're having lunch later today."

Jim blinked at him.

What?

Moran's voice dropped by several degrees. "And you didn't see fit to tell me about this?"

Play the idiot, play the idiot. "I-I'm sorry," Sherlock stammered. "I've been so – well, anxious. He must have a million tricks up his sleeve and I've no idea what to expect–"

"So what, you're just off to have lunch then," Sebastian sneered. "A nice meal and a friendly chat. And then what? How about a nice fucking while you're at it?"

Jim's teeth were worrying at his bottom lip. He looked slightly ill. Sherlock's hands were trembling a little. "N-no, sir. Nothing like that."

"What then? Did he just call you and ask for a lovely little reminiscing session, for old time's sake? Did he–"

"It's nothing like that!" Sherlock interrupted loudly. His heart was hammering. "He texted me. Obviously. The place and the time–"

"Which is?"

"Angelo's. Again."

You idiot, his brain instantly admonished. You could have chosen anywhere and it had to be there? Even Jim cringed at the answer.

There was a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. "Crowded area. A capture like last time won't be easy… And at what time is it?"

Sherlock met Jim's gaze. "One o'clock sharp."

There was a pause as Sebastian thought about it. "I could send two or three of my new men–"

"No!" Sherlock said, too quickly, then forced himself to 'explain'. "It's – it's unlikely he'll try anything now, not yet. And this location's too risky. If he gets away once, he'll know I'm working with you, and I'll become useless."

A sharp breath. "That's true."

The detective nodded to himself. "I'll report back to you after the lunch. I'll tell you everything–"

"No, I want to see this." Moran's voice was cold, firm. "I want cameras. Microphones. Everything."

Sherlock's eyes widened.

"I'm… sure that can be arranged," he made himself say, glancing worriedly at Jim, who ran a hand through his hair, stressed.

"I want a live link by midday," Sebastian ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. And next time you hear from him, I want you to contact me immediately, instead of waiting for me."

"Apologies, sir."

The title stung on his lips.

Moran's tone was unbearably smug. "I hope to hear from you soon, Mr Holmes."

"Yes, sir."

Sebastian put the phone down. The dial tone echoed in the small room.

Jim let out the breath he'd been holding. Sherlock lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

"It's all right." Moriarty muttered, sitting down beside him.

"I'm sorry about…"

"It's all right," he repeated, looking down at him.

Sherlock swallowed. "We can – we can act it out. He won't notice anything."

"I know."

An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Sighing, Jim leaned down to kiss him gently. His palm gripped his lover's naked shoulder, and when their eyes met again, they were filled with grim determination.

"I'm going to have to act like I'm insane," Moriarty whispered.

"And I have to act like I hate you," Sherlock replied.

Jim's mouth twitched. "I suppose it's easier for me than for you."

"Oh, shut up." Sherlock offered a tired smile. "You're not really insane."

Moriarty widened his eyes, manically, his familiar sing-song tone creeping into his voice. "I wouldn't be so sure, Sherrr-ly!"

The detective grinned and hit him with a pillow. With a growl, Jim batted it aside.

"Psychopath Jim is sexy, though," Sherlock murmured, the corner of his mouth curving upwards.

Moriarty sighed melodramatically. "Well, too bad you didn't see that in all those years I was trying to seduce you."

"Trying to seduce me?" Sherlock combated immediately. "You killed a bunch of people to make me solve the murders, you had me chasing after you, threatened all my friends and tried to make me kill myself – and that's seducing me?"

"Aw, don't be so harsh," Jim purred. "I knew you wouldn't actually kill yourself. And you loved it all really."

A pause. "I did," the detective admitted. "Well, besides the threatening my friends part."

"Ugh. John." Jim's voice held a note of disgust. "Thank god you got rid of him eventually."

Sherlock's heart couldn't help but squeeze a little in his chest.

John…

"Don't look at me like that," Moriarty said wearily. "He was in the way. And we're so much happier now."

"I know, I know," Sherlock said distantly. But he couldn't help but feel a trace of hurt at the thought of the man he'd once loved. In his mind's eye he saw it again, the look on John's face as he turned and walked away…

"Come ooon." Jim leaned over to kiss him again, but harder this time, more demanding. Sherlock kissed him back, just as passionate, glad for the sweet distraction.

By the time they pulled apart, John was the last thing on his mind. "You shouldn't have put your clothes back on… not yet," he murmured, with a sly smirk.

Jim rolled his eyes. "It was in case of an emergency," he explained, but offered no protest when Sherlock yanked his shirt upwards to expose his bare chest. The detective placed his hands there, loving the feeling of the smooth skin on Jim's muscles, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"We still need to shower," he pointed out.

"That we do," Jim agreed, reaching down to completely pull his shirt off. Sherlock drank in the sight of him; he could afford that, now that he wasn't on the phone with…

With Sebastian Moran.

A harsh stab of reality pierced through Sherlock, and he forced himself to focus. As much as he wished he could stay like this with his lover, there wasn't enough time right now. He glanced at the clock – they only had three hours.

"We have to hurry," he forced himself to say, sitting up. A brief look of surprise flashed on Jim's face, before the realisation dawned on him, too. "I'm sorry. We can do whatever we want later. But now…"

"No, of course. I get it." Jim stood up, offering a hand to help the detective onto his feet, neither of them bothered by his nakedness. "And we have to look the part. The suit I had when I came here…"

"I don't think it's cleaned. Sorry."

Jim waved away the apology. "Doesn't matter. It's only for a few hours."

"Right. I think it's in that drawer."

Nodding, Moriarty went to find it. Sure enough, it was tucked neatly away, and he draped it over an arm. Sherlock grabbed his own suit from the closet.

Then they turned to look at each other.

A playful smile flickered across Jim's features.

"We don't have much time, do we?"

"We don't," Sherlock echoed.

Jim pretended to think about it. "So showering together would save some time."

Sherlock struggled to keep the grin off his face. "It would, yes."

The criminal closed the gap between them, gripping Sherlock's jawline and bringing their lips together.

Then he grabbed his hand and, laughing, pulled him into the bathroom.