A/N: Well, this is a late update isn't it? Christmas sort of got in the way so I haven't had the time to write anything, but I hope that you guys had a great Christmas!

Enjoy! :)

Jim led his assistant into the warehouse which was shrouded in darkness with only a light bulb illuminating a portion of the space. In that space, there was a single table. No chairs, just a table. Jim sauntered towards it while Evelyn kept her distance. Surely this was the end. Why else would the criminal mastermind bring her to a dark warehouse alone? She felt betrayed already. She should have never allowed herself to be brought into this mess. She knew what the consequences were - the endless burden of guilt that would never leave, the handcuffs that would cut deep into her skin, the cell that would separate her from the rest of society or maybe even the glimmering last sight of a knife covered with red droplets of blood as she falls into darkness. It was planned out for her in the start and she was so foolish when she shook his warm hand to secure her employment.

Jim reached the table and beckoned Evelyn over which a wave of his hand, but she didn't move. Her feet refused to let her go anywhere near the man who probably had a pistol under his jacket with enough bullets to make sure she was dead.

"C'mon, honey bee. Don't be afraid of Jim." he cooed.

"Give me a good reason to go any further. For all I know, you could have a hypodermic needle hidden in your sleeve." She replied, slightly cringing at the nickname he gave her.

Jim rolled his eyes and pulled up his sleeves to reveal nothing.

"I don't like to do the dirty work." He said simply, pulling them back down. "Besides, I have nothing more than a surprise for you."

Evelyn nodded her head, putting her trust in Jim not to backstab her. Literally. Although still fearful, she reluctantly wandered over to where her employer stood by the table.

"Surprises are fun aren't they, Evie?" he said enthusiastically, wrapping his arm around the small of Evelyn's back. They'd look like a couple if it weren't for the odd choice of location.

"Depends on how much a surprise it is." Evelyn droned out. She felt so uneasy with the way he held her but she had no choice but to go with it.

Placed on the table in front of them was a file. There was no hint as to what was inside it and strangely, Evelyn didn't want to know.

"I like you, Eve. I really, really do. Your commitment to me is something to be admired." Jim said nonchalantly as he stared at the folder. "I owe you."

Evelyn wasn't sure what to say or do. It didn't seem plausible hearing those words from James Moriarty.

"You owe me?" Evelyn queried, showing confusion. "I don't understand."

He turned his head to meet hers, their faces so close together that his minty breath enthralled her.

"I owe you." He repeated, but this time he said it with charm and a gleam in his eyes.

She was memorized with him as his body clad in a Westwood suit rested against hers. His dark eyes enticed her, his cologne allured her and his hand resting on her waist made her feel so protected. His gaze flickered to her red lips then back to her riveting eyes. He leaned in, his lips parting and his eyelids slowly closing. Evelyn's heart beat frantically as her own eyelids gave in and did the same. Everything about the moment was just… perfect.

Their lips barely touched, the attraction between them gradually increasing.

But her head eyes opened again and the kiss landed on her cheek as she turned her head. As much as she wanted to kiss him and give in to lust, she just couldn't.

"I like a woman with decency." Jim purred, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.

"What was this surprise you had for me?" Evelyn asked in the aim to change the subject and forget what had transpired.

Jim chuckled a tad before looking down at the folder once again. His hand was still wrapped around Evelyn's waist as if he was not disappointed with rejection. Evelyn was unsure if he was just playing games with her, testing if his Irish charm was still intact. From the way Evelyn reacted to Jim's advance, one would assume that his charm was definitely still in business.

The landlady of 221B found it much easier to move around the flat now that Sherlock had a case that didn't demand piles of papers and clutter across the floor. In fact, she found herself cleaning the flat more often; scrubbing the stained sink, polishing the damaged furniture and picking crumbs off of the carpet from John's biscuit-eating times of the day. So when the two friends return home, they'd often notice that the ever-so lovely Mrs. Hudson had taken it upon herself to relieve the flat of its mess so the two of them could breathe fresh air rather than the foul odour that diffused from the kitchen or open the refrigerator door to see food instead of a human head. It was to the doctor and his landlady's dismay that Sherlock insisted that the limbs still be kept there to avoid 'unfair results' of his experiments.

While Sherlock and John sat in a cab on their way back, Mrs. Hudson was cleaning once again, except now she took a gander into the detective's bedroom where he rarely spent his time sleeping. The landlady didn't go into his room often and when she did, it was just to avoid the maniacal outbursts her tenant had or to retrieve his dirty clothes that she so politely washed. As she swept through the dust that ran on the bedside table, she noticed a pile of brown files tied neatly with string. Mrs. Hudson hadn't seen them before and decided to examine them, knowing that it would be quite a while before Sherlock returned home.

The string untied from its loose knot and the documents that it had nicely secured in place fell onto the floor in a domino effect. Mrs. Hudson picked up the one closest to her and read the name 'Eloise'. She admired the name, thinking of what a lovely person this 'Eloise' was. But once she read what her occupation was, she suddenly thought of how people can seem lovely when really they spend their time stuffing dead animals.

Mrs. Hudson kept reading the contents of the single file, having not heard the creak of the front door as it opened slowly. Even if she had heard the door, she would have thought her two tenants had returned which would be the wrong answer because it was a woman donned in Westwood who entered the flat uninvited with her case in her right hand and a used lock pick in the other.

Sherlock hated it when cab drivers attempted to start a conversation, especially when they recognised who he was.

"So, any cases you been workin' on then?" the burly cabbie asked as he waited for the horde of businessmen walk past the car.

Sherlock ignored him to avoid a lengthy and pointless conversation that the driver would most probably insist on having.

"Sherlock, just to remind you, I'm going out with Maria tonight." John informed the man beside him. "So, please beha-"

"You said next weekend!" Sherlock moaned.

"Were you listening in on our conversation?" John asked, clearly annoyed with his flatmate and his curiosity.

"Of course. I wanted to know when you'd be free. And please let Maria know that I was being nice to Evelyn."

"I doubt it."

"I was telling her the truth, the truth that she cannot accept." Sherlock explained. "Giving someone the honest answer is being nice isn't it?"

"What truth did you tell her?"

"She loved Moriarty, but she doesn't like to know that. The similarities between them are endless, but only because she wanted to please him. The only way to please him was to, in a way, become him. Now, she's stuck not knowing who she is."

"Poor girl." The cab driver said, looking at Sherlock through the rear view window.

John almost started to believe that this cabbie was as nosy as Sherlock was, but it was unlikely. The consulting detective had just proved how prying he could be.

The case was heavy in Evelyn's hands as she searched the book shelf for any of her files. She needed them back and with Sherlock probably still at Scotland Yard, she had just enough to find them if she looked hard enough. She kept looking frantically through the shelf, causing some of the books to fall to the floor with a loud thump. Eventually, her arm grew tired and her palms became sweaty and the rifle case escaped from her grasp. It hit the floor with a louder thump anda curse left Evelyn's lips as she knew Mrs. Hudson would probably be downstairs. The woman waved her hands in a lack of care and continued going through the bookcase.

She kept hoping that what she needed was actually in the flat and not in the hands of Mycroft. But she thought again and got the feeling that Sherlock would rather keep them in his possession and not his brother's. Even if they were with Mycroft, he would keep them for himself until she gave in and accepted whatever job he offered her. He'd turn to blackmail, just like she had failed to do with him.

The bookcase eventually became empty and the books were scattered across the floor surrounding it. Evelyn ran her hand through her curled hair and looked under the tables, behind the sofa, in the cupboards in the kitchen and anywhere else where the detective could've hidden her documents but found nothing.

The noise she was making took time to reach Mrs. Hudson who was intrigued with the identities before her. She kept getting the impression that perhaps these were women that Sherlock was stalking in the aim to date. Although a plausible reason, she doubted that Sherlock would go for someone as boring as a hairdresser. Maybe the taxidermist was a better match. It was only smash of pottery that forced Mrs. Hudson out into the kitchen where she saw Evelyn on a chair, her hand skimming the top of the cabinet.

"I thought you were Sherlock with all that racket." She exclaimed, trying to force a smile whilst she wondered why Evelyn was even in the flat. "Is he back?"

Evelyn climbed down from the chair and placed it back by the kitchen table.

"No, Mrs. Hudson. He actually asked me to come here and find something for him." She lied.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure we'll find it."

"No matter. I should really get back and tell him to organise his things a bit more."

"Oh, are you working with him then?" the landlady said with a hint of excitement in her voice. "Or are you…"

"He may be a very handsome man, but there was only one man in my life." Evelyn said morosely as she walked into the living room to grab her case. "And it shall remain that way."

Not another word was said from the both of them as Evelyn rushed down the steps and into Baker Street, just before the nosy cabdriver did the same.