This is mad, Sherlock knew it was a sensible concern, but he could only manage a halfhearted attempt at caution. After all, he cared far more about seeing James than he cared about their safety.

Perhaps that was selfish, though. The only reason he felt a little bit sick about being out in the daylight with the criminal, rather than hidden safely in the shadows, was because of the threat of Mycroft seeing them and keeping them from one another. And even then, he only cared about James's well being because he couldn't imagine being away from him.

At least, that was what Sherlock told himself. It was still unnerving to think about the fact that he was developing such a close connection with yet another person, sometimes.

Jim's response wasn't direct, but the detective was able to get something along the lines of 'easier to see you in the daytime'.

A full day had passed since the morning Sherlock had started composing for Jim. He'd gotten approximately eight hours of sleep in that time, which had been, though restful, completely dreamless. Perhaps if he'd gotten another night close with the criminal, he would have been able to hold off another meeting for just one more day. Instead, he had known minutes after waking up that he was going to need Jim again. Not that he didn't always need the criminal, but sometimes the urge to be close with him was impossible to resist.

Maybe he was just getting weaker. More attached. More sentimental. It wasn't that Sherlock planned to bother fighting any of those things at this point—he just found it interesting to see how quickly he fell into them.

To avoid conflict with John, he'd left the flat early, as soon as Jim had been ready to meet. So now here he was, making his way towards the corner the criminal had named on a sunny but frigid morning, the streets just as frustratingly crowded as usual.

Sherlock found it a little bit difficult to breath when he caught sight of James across the street. The criminal didn't miss this, and his eyes quickly found Sherlock. There was a brief exchange of smirks before both Soulmates looked away. The detective took a breath, attempting to calm his pulse.

Dammit.

Sherlock, I wouldn't dream of ever calling you something so arbitrary as 'cute', but…

You're feeling the exact same way!

Hush.

It was only after the detective was halfway across the street that he realized he had no idea how he was supposed to greet James. A handshake was far too formal, whereas a hug was just…unusual. They'd kissed already, did hugs still appear after that? He certainly wasn't going to kiss the criminal in the middle of a crowd. There would be unwanted stares and glances and he knew Jim wasn't comfortable with that sort of public display yet.

He certainly didn't want to appear cold. Logically, he would normally have done whatever Jim did, but the criminal was just as puzzled over the issue as he was, following his thoughts and adding little footnotes where necessary.

Perhaps if he put on his usual show to begin with, it would come more easily.

"You know," Sherlock started, finally closing the distance between them, his coat flowing behind him, "It would have been easier to meet at one of our flats."

To the detective's shock, Jim didn't seem to even notice that his confidence was feigned. The criminal was too busy marveling at…everything else. Sherlock still couldn't make sense of the fact that someone could find his eyes just as interesting as what he actually had to say.

"I wanted to do this…" Jim's eyes were amber in the sunlight as he tried to avoid the word he knew he needed. Normally. Not normally. Actually, that's what I'm afraid of. That the talking will stop and we'll start doing boring things like kiss every time we meet. The other night was brilliant, but I don't want—

"Every time we meet to have an unwritten expectation," Sherlock finished. To lighten the mood, he changed the subject. I'm assuming you've dealt with Mycroft's cameras.

Yes, but they'll only be down for about half an hour, Jim said grumpily, I didn't want to risk them noticing the switched footage.

The two of them started to walk, the criminal leading them down the street he'd made temporarily invisible. It was very quickly made evident to Sherlock that the sort of casual closeness they were currently practicing was alien to both of them.

There was a brief moment of silence in which they both paused to appreciate this fact. Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty were walking down the street together, side by side, trying to resist the urge to hold hands.

We can't, the criminal knew his reminder was unnecessary, but it was obvious from the panic that accompanied it that he felt a need to voice it, anyway.

Sherlock looked at James curiously, suddenly intrigued once more by his partner's fear of certain labels. The criminal hastily yet firmly locked away several memories.

"I wouldn't," the detective's tone was neutral, though he ached to be closer, "Not if you weren't comfortable."

Jim nodded, not finding any reason to continue the conversation.

"Although," Sherlock continued, "I cannot comprehend why, if wandering eyes are an issue, you decided to do this someplace so public. If we'd met somewhere safe, alone, there wouldn't have been cameras to disable, either."

The criminal frowned. It was a few steps before he answered.

"We're both mathematical minds. Scientific," he explained quietly, looking straight ahead, "You know better than I that it's best to acknowledge all variables, if an experiment is to…succeed."

Ah, Sherlock's thoughts clicked into place, You're testing if this is just intimacy. How well I can accommodate you when you're clearly uncomfortable and anxious.

Jim cringed, and the detective felt an absurd urge to tell him it was fine, that it was all fine. But this was James Moriarty, and Sherlock wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to hear things like that. Sherlock wasn't even sure he could say something like that. To anyone. Let alone Jim. It didn't seem as though ordinary sentiments could ever be good enough for the criminal. Not that he demanded anything else, but the detective felt James deserved more.

"Sherlock," the criminal interrupted his thoughts, looking over at Sherlock as their steps slowed slightly, "I don't know what I want."

The detective was sure he could feel his heart physically contract. Jim's stomach fluttered at Sherlock's infatuation, not helping either of them calm their pulses.

"Your current condition suggests otherwise," Sherlock's words were but a mumbled observation, but they made the criminal stop in his tracks.

"What?" James hissed, glancing around them, "I don't-! You can't just say-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Neither of us know what the bloody hell we're doing. But you can't deny basic biological reactions. I can feel you blush just as much as you can me."

"Sherlock," the criminal's eyes were ablaze.

"And I would prefer, if we are to spend time with one another, that we'd spend it somewhere where we can talk freely, not surrounded by thousands of potential-"

"Sherlock."

"What?" the detective frowned. He was sure he'd just been offering a solution to the problem…

James gave another quick glance around them before pulling them inside the nearest door to their right. Dust and the smell of old books tickled Sherlock's nose as he allowed himself to be dragged between shelves of what must have been used books, until they were hidden in the corner of the almost empty shop. The detective wasn't even sure he'd seen any employees when they'd walked in, but the lights were on and the door open, so…

"Listen to me," Jim growled, gaze boring into Sherlock's skull in the most pleasant way, "None of this can be seen by anyone. This Bond will ruin both of us, and you know it-"

"More than a suicide pact?" Sherlock interrupted, pleased when the criminal was both baffled and furious.

"How-? That would have been better, and you know it! You know this world is too small for the both of us, and if we're suffocated apart we most certainly will be together."

For a moment, daggers seemed to twist inside the detective's heart. Surely Jim didn't mean he wished them apart again? Of course initially it would have been easier, but now that they were Bonded, well, it didn't do much to consider hypotheticals, did it?

"No, I don't mean-" the criminal was hurting, old wounds aching from repeated abuse, both from their bearer and outside parties, "Sherlock, this is a mess. You know that death would be easier." Please tell me you understand. I can't be the only person who thinks this.

The detective pushed away a memory. Of course he knew. Of course he understood. But now was not the time to be trusting James with these things.

"This," Jim continued, gesturing vaguely between them, eyes wide and vulnerable, "No one can see this. It's a liability, Sherlock. You know no one can see us."

The detective was exasperated, "Then why tell me to meet you somewhere so public?"

"I don't…I don't know anymore!" the criminal threw his hands up, furious that he couldn't find the words to express how he was feeling, "But as long as anyone can see us, we're platonic. For our own good. For my own good."

"I mentioned that you were blushing," Sherlock said monotonously, still not able to believe that anyone as brilliant as James Moriarty could behave so tremendously stupid. He could understand John caring about the opinions of strangers, but Jim?

"Are you Catholic?" the detective asked on impulse.

"What?" Jim grimaced, "No."

"Just checking," Sherlock said simply.

"Do you think-? Oh," the criminal shook his head, "This is not what you think it is, Sherlock Holmes."

"Funny," the detective cocked an eyebrow, still amused by the way it warmed Jim's torso, despite his irritation, "It seems to be."

The criminal gaped at him

"Unless there is an alternate explanation you're keeping from me."

"Of course there is," Jim hissed.

A corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up, "So you don't mind then."

"Of course I don't mind. How could I-?"

Jim was silenced when the detective, smug and mischievous as a troublemaking child, decided to close the distance between them and kiss him.

For a moment, the criminal was taken in by the euphoria that always came with a kiss from Sherlock. Then the reality of what was actually happening hit him, and he scrambled away from the detective, wide eyed and breathing heavily.

Sherlock almost felt sorry for James, but there was a point that needed to be made.

Fury blackened Jim's gaze, and the criminal opened his mouth to speak, razor sharp words on the tip of his tongue.

He hesitated, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he read Sherlock's thoughts. Finally, he huffed, turning away and mumbling something that sounded like 'a biased demonstration'.

Sherlock sighed, taking a leisurely step towards Jim, who turned to look up at him with guarded eyes.

"See?" the detective murmured, "Nothing happened."

"That's because," Jim grumbled, glancing around, "No one saw us. This proves absolutely nothing except-"

Sherlock couldn't resist silencing him with another kiss, enjoying the way the criminal's heart seemed to both calm and jump a little bit when their lips touched.

Stop doing that! Jim broke away, and Sherlock smirked at him gently, making a few of the lines in the criminal's forehead smooth

"You know it's true," Jim locked eyes with the detective, "No matter if we're recognized or not. It's all unwanted attention. They'll ruin it for us."

Sherlock wasn't sure what to say to that. He knew the criminal was only speaking because of some past trauma, but the point stood.

Almost. Was it right to push Jim out of his comfort zone? Wasn't that asking for some kind of eventual snap? Then again, John would likely come round eventually, and the detective was so tired of loneliness…

Better to be lonely than hurt, the criminal reasoned.

Being lonely isn't entirely pleasant, either.

"That's why we have this," Jim slowly lifted his Marked hand, fingertips barely brushing against the detective's shoulder, as though he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Eventually, after another subtle glance around them, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

It was a baffling gesture. To see Jim Moriarty be so unsure about something was…incredible. The detective wondered when the last time had been when the criminal had ever been unsure. Whenever it had been, it was probably locked away somewhere with every other memory of fear, behind that unreachable door Jim always steered Sherlock away from.

You want to be afraid, the detective realized, slowly folding his arms around Jim, though they still stood a ways apart, capable of eye contact, You miss it. Yet you dread it just as much. Your prison was partially self created.

The criminal glared, You're a damn poet.

Hardly, Sherlock himself was unsure of how he felt about public displays of affection, especially when they could pose a danger to Jim's safety, so he decided any further argument would have to wait until more data was available.

Jim sighed heavily, fingers repositioning themselves on Sherlock's back.

No one's here, still, he hinted.

The detective, with a thousand thoughts still racing through his mind, pulled Jim into a third kiss.

(o0o0o0o0)

Sebastian slammed the car door shut behind him, stepping out of the vehicle that had just begun to get warm once he'd reached his destination.

Three down, the sniper thought, somewhat grim.

It was pointless to lie to himself. He was pissed. He was fucking pissed at himself, and he wished it didn't run as deeply to his core as it did.

Anger could be fun, sometimes. If it was a little scratch on the surface, it could come and go like a lit match; a quick blaze that left him feeling like he'd gotten something off his chest. This was something else. This was venom, and he knew it was streaming from something far less harmless than simple 'anger'.

Bitterness. That was the word. He was fucking bitter, because once again, Sebastian was alone. Alone except for his guns and his job. And a thick wallet he couldn't even spend because of how much he had to move.

Molly had stopped speaking to him. And Sebastian wasn't sure he'd ever felt this sort of ache before, after a breakup. Not that they'd ever been together. They were just another almost. But before, he'd always been able to pass the girl off as a bitch, or tell himself that there were a thousand of them in the world. A few drinks and a hookup later, he'd always felt better. Now he just felt empty. Maybe it was because he didn't have the friends to back him up this time.

God, and they were all probably still back in America right now, off at colleges they'd gotten football scholarships to, going to frat parties and forgetting their stupid fucking friend who wasn't good at anything except tearing things down.

Suddenly, it was simply too much to have to hold his body upright. Sebastian leaned against the roof of his car, head bowed. The empty skeletons of buildings around him didn't do much to protect him from the freezing wind, which bit at his ears and ruffled his hair.

Maybe the reason he missed Molly so much was because he was desperate. He had so few people in his life that this average girl, who watched Glee and knew more about politics than he did, seemed like the one that got away. But did it even matter why he'd liked her? Molly made him happy and made him feel like he was moving forward, not just plateauing.

She made him care about more than just guns. Sebastian hadn't felt anything when he'd pulled the trigger three times that day, sending unnamed people Moriarty had pulled into his web toppling to the ground like trees in a forest. All he could think about was how horrified Molly had seemed when she'd learned about who he was and what he did. She'd been so disgusted and it made Sebastian disgusted with himself.

He'd never really thought about what he did. But now it felt like his whole world was crashing around him. Was he wrong about everything?

Sebastian hated himself. He hated how selfish he was, and he hated how he'd had to be selfish. He hated that he wasn't sure where he was in the right, if anywhere, anymore. He hated everything. He'd never understood what people talked about when they said they felt hollow, like there was nothing good coming for them in life, like the world was fading to gray. Now he understood.

God, and he missed when things had been fucking handed to him. He still got that, but now instead of coming from people he loved, it came from people he killed.

At least he was productive. What did he have left but to do his job? In fact, he didn't even care about being careful around Moriarty anymore. He had nothing to lose. Maybe it was time to start taking risks again.

The sniper took a weary breath. It felt like he wasn't taking in air at all. Maybe that was just the cold. Pulling out his cell, he dialed Moriarty's number.

The criminal answered on the third ring, waiting for Sebastian to speak first.

"Boss, it's me," the sniper said monotonously, "I'm just calling to confirm that I took Raul, Dante, and Tony to lunch today."

"Stop it," Jim's voice sounded like he wasn't talking directly into the receiver.

"Sorry, Boss?"

"…Apologies, Sebastian," the criminal's voice sounded much clearer now, if slightly strained, "Though I am unsure why…why…"

To Sebastian's astonishment and horror, it almost sounded like Moriarty chuckled before finally gathering himself.

"I am unsure why you've decided to tell me this when you still haven't talked with the rest of them," his voice hitched slightly at the end, and something clicked in Sebastian's head.

Jesus Christ, he's probably got his boyfriend in between his knees right now. He's probably got ten people going at him right now. Fucking Christ.

But this was Sebastian's life now, wasn't it? He'd just have to learn to deal with this sort of thing. Hardened criminals didn't have time for morality.

"Just wanted to give you an update."

"Christ, Sherlock…Yes, thank you, Sebastian. Though I'm not sure why I couldn't be informed about this via text message."

Jim's breath audibly hitched, followed by a distant sounding slap. Sebastian would have been horrified, had this not been accompanied by a muffled, offended 'ow'.

In spite of himself, the sniper was almost amused. The thought of Sherlock Holmes getting slapped wasn't an entirely unpleasant one. The bastard deserved it.

"I was just taking initiative, Boss," Sebastian explained lamely.

"Mmh," Jim's voice sounded strained again, "Yes, that is divine. So long as the necessary people are taken out—ah, to lunch, then you can do as you please. Now isn't the best ti—" the criminal sounded like he was biting back a noise of some sort, "It's not the best time. Keep doing what you're doing. Payment comes after the job is done, remember. Take care."

The line clicked off, and Sebastian was left to wonder what it said that he had less close relationships than even Moriarty.

(o0o0o0o0)

"Do you think you're funny?" Jim snapped at Sherlock, voice still lowered for fear of discovery. Sebastian probably thought the criminal was weak now. He probably thought that Jim was less than him. God, this was exactly why they needed to keep these things private—

The detective smirked, eyes playful. Jim's pulse leapt and he blushed, looking away. Why did it have to be that look?

The criminal sighed, pressing his lips together and wishing he had a scarf to cover up whatever marks Sherlock had undoubtedly left on his skin.

"Borrow mine," Sherlock started to unwrap the blue cloth from around his neck, and Jim's heart almost stopped. They were not going to start borrowing clothing.

"No, Sherlock, don't-!"

Too late. The criminal caught a whiff of musk, tobacco, and cologne when Sherlock wrapped the scarf around him. Jim felt frozen in place, and he was aware that he was blushing perhaps more than he ever had as an adult. He didn't look at the detective until he finished, and wool scratched at his slightly wet neck as he slowly forced himself to turn.

"Don't do that again," Jim glared, for the sake of pride remaining angry. He did think he had a valid point.

"Just a bit of fun," Sherlock's smirk didn't reach his eyes. He was starting to realize the criminal was genuinely upset. His 'fun' hadn't affected Jim the way he'd wanted it to.

Jim bit back his own smirk at the fading purple marks on the detective's neck, commanding himself to stay focused.

"I don't want," the criminal crossed his arms, voice edged, "my employees to think I'm some sort of…weakling. That's the entire reason I've had to get a new first in command so quickly. I lost loyalty where it mattered."

"And the only way to ensure loyalty is through fear?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, turning his collar up to cover his hickies.

Jim was incredulous, "Yes! How else do you suggest I gain it? Through love? Acceptance?"

Sherlock snorted, "In your line of work? Of course not," he looked away, "I was curious whether or not you'd ever considered it."

"It's a pointless thing to consider," the criminal snapped, suddenly grumpy, "And I'm not gay, for the record, but most people seem to think there are two options, so if you don't mind I'd rather you didn't kiss me when I'm talking to an employee-"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "So as to ensure that you're not perceived as 'my faggot'. Although I feel if you cannot inspire fear or respect without hiding than perhaps you don't deserve it at all. You say they don't understand. Make them. You have endless power yet you don't bother to use it to your advantage outside of more masks."

Jim blinked, unable to believe what he was hearing. How could Sherlock possibly understand-?

"I understand perfectly," the detective moved past the criminal, "And perhaps I would more if you stopped donning masks for the one person you know would accept you without them."

"That's not-!"

"And for the record," Sherlock called over his shoulder, leaving the shop, "I'm not gay, either!"

Jim was still frozen in place for ten seconds after the detective left, heart pounding. Sherlock didn't understand. If he would just listen, then he'd-

How the bloody hell am I supposed to listen when you keep so much from me?

You keep just as much from me!

Mine is hardly so intrusive. 'Don't kiss me when we're in public.' Do you know how childish you sound?

'I need to kiss you at all times' doesn't exactly sound adult, either!

I never asked for that!

I asked you to stop!

Because you were afraid!

Why is that such a bad reason?

It's boring! You're not supposed to feel that way!

There was an unspoken last part that seemed to crush Jim's breath from his chest. You weren't supposed to feel pain.

I'm sorry, the criminal spat, That I didn't turn out to be what you wanted. You're such a hypocrite. All you love about me is my masks anyway, yet you urge me to take them off. You have unspoken expectations that I'll be what I pretend to be, underneath.

I don't know what you are underneath the mask! How the bloody hell am I supposed to know what I want?

Jim crossed and uncrossed his arms, seething and hating how good Sherlock's scarf smelled around his neck. What a stupid damn ordinary argument to be having. 'Be yourself, James.' Why the fuck did Sherlock Holmes have to say that? How the hell was he supposed to command respect while he was kissing Sherlock? Did the detective not care about how dangerous it would be to do that? 'Just wave your magic wand, James, and the whole criminal underworld will respect you regardless of your bloody sexuality.' Yes, that would work swimmingly.

Oh, God, what if Sebastian tried to hurt Sherlock, now? What if he started to unravel threads of the web, bit by bit, without Jim's noticing? What if everything collapsed underneath Jim and God he could taste blood and he was not going back to being weak. He needed to distance himself, and he needed to keep a closer watch on Moran, and he needed to practice more restraint when near Sherlock. No more of this 'Soulmates' rubbish. If they saw each other it would be behind closed, locked doors, and that would be that. Somewhere no one could see them-

"Oh, no, did 'e leave ya?"

Jim's mouth went dry, and he spun around to face a dark haired, heavyset girl in gothic clothing giving him a disgustingly sympathetic look.

"Ah, no, we're not actually-"

"Oh, don't fuss about all that," she waved him off, stepping behind the counter, "We don't get a lot of business this time of day, so me and my coworkers 'ave been watching you two."

The criminal's jaw dropped open, "You've been…watching us? How many of you are there?!" That wasn't a normal thing for teenagers to do now, was it? Watch other couples?

"Oh, don't worry about it," she infuriatingly waved him off again, not in the least bit put off by his anger, "Just a few. You should go after 'im, ya know. We all think you're cute together."

Jim was, quite literally, speechless. He wasn't sure he'd ever met a more oblivious human in his entire life. Except maybe Sherlock.

Sherlock.

"I'm not looking for your input," he sneered, and to his further annoyance, she only shrugged.

"Alright, but we totally ship the both of ya back there…"

"You what us?"

"Ship ya. You'd be very cute in a relation—holy shit! Is that a Mark?"

Jim wanted to turn invisible. Maybe he should just walk out. It wasn't as though she had any concern for social norms.

"Yes," he studied her, "It is."

"Well, now I know you've got to make up with 'im!"

"Do tell how."

"Oh, silly!" she slapped a hand on the counter, making Jim wince, "You know Soulmates never really break up! Been hearin' that from storybooks since I was born. Plus, you've still got 'is scarf!"

(o0o0o0o0)

It was five o clock before Sherlock finally made it back to 221B. He had plenty of practice with roaming London, fuming about his problems, a skill that had not diminished with age.

Of course, it was difficult to hide from personal problems when they literally shared a mind with you.

So, he'd spent the majority of his day feeding James anger and having it fed straight back to him. However, as the winter sky began to dim and Sherlock started to get closer to home, he noticed the criminal's anger ebbing, regardless of how much the detective wanted to remain upset.

God, it was bloody stupid, but he seemed to remember having a reason for being distraught. He hated how quickly it was starting to seem insignificant, but even as he thought this, with every step forward he could feel Jim's anger cooling, replaced by a pleasant calm.

Well…that was odd. Sherlock had been making a point to block the majority of the criminal's thoughts from his mind, save for general irritation, but now he wished he'd known what had tempered Jim's emotions so quickly.

…why couldn't he do that? Was he that inept that he was incapable of calming his own Soulmate? Why did he feel obligated to do that? Oh, God, he really was getting attached.

Sherlock felt a little pang of loneliness. He wished he wasn't quite so dependent, but he missed James. He wanted to apologize. It was…possible he'd been a tad too pushy, regardless of whether the criminal's discomfort stemmed from ignorance.

As he made his way up the stairs to the flat, the detective mulled over possible ways he could patch things up with Jim. The criminal didn't seem to be paying attention, whether consciously or not, Sherlock was appreciative, but that didn't make the task itself much easier. Was James even expecting an apology? Was that too ordinary a thing to do? If Sherlock hadn't known better, he might have said so, but the criminal seemed the type to appreciate sentiments, probably more than the detective.

It was difficult for Sherlock to remember the last time he'd made a legitimate apology to someone. It might've been Molly, when he'd embarrassed her at the Christmas party a year or so ago.

Forgive me, James-

Sherlock scrapped that. The criminal would know the words were recycled.

I shouldn't have pushed you when you didn't-

Eh. That one was a little too condemning. And it assumed he knew how James was feeling. Which he technically did, but this was all about principle, wasn't it?

Sherlock pushed open the door, stomach growling, and shivered. God, it didn't feel any warmer inside than it did out! Was the heat working? He'd have to look at that after he found something to eat. Wasn't as if he had any cases going, so he could afford it.

You've still got my scarf—

Christ, no. That just made him sound like a git, didn't it?

Someone cleared their throat, bringing Sherlock out of his thoughts and into the depressing reality that was not one, but two people glaring at him.

He frowned at Molly Hooper, who stood with a steely gaze, arms crossed, next to John, who looked less surprised than pissed.

After a moment of silence, Sherlock decided that they were probably waiting for him to speak.

"…Molly. Good to see you," he nodded with a tight lipped smile, and started to make his way past her with crossed fingers. He'd just started to think he was safe when she grabbed him by the arm with an iron grip, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

Damn. So close.

"Does your phone not work?" John asked indignantly, "Molly's been here since four, Sherlock. I've tried to call and-"

"My phone works fine," Sherlock sighed, "I turned it off."

"Turned it off?" Molly, with surprising strength, spun the detective to face her, "You went out with Jim Moriarty and turned your phone off? Are you trying to get killed?"

Sherlock wanted to lay down. Instead he turned to John, "You told her?"

"She showed up here," John said through gritted teeth. The detective could have sworn he saw a glint of sympathy in his friend's eyes.

"Sebastian Moran told me," Molly sounded on the verge of hysterics, "He told me about you and," she looked from Sherlock's Mark back to his face, "him."

Bloody Moran. Of course he told her. Sherlock should have known better than to trust an infatuated teenager with such touchy information. But that teenager was Jim's first in command. How he had secured that position, the detective had no idea.

"Did he?" Sherlock kept his tone neutral.

"This isn't a joke!" Molly persisted, "Sebastian works for Jim, and the fact that you trust him as well as your Soulmate makes no sense at all!"

Sherlock and John stopped to ponder this. It wasn't a terrible point, but what choice had they had? The detective needed to keep Mycroft at bay.

"I mean," Molly lowered her voice, "You have no choice with Moriarty anymore, but…but that doesn't mean you have to suddenly just…start going around the whole criminal underworld, making deals and bargains, and-"

"I did it to keep Mycroft off my arse, alright?" Sherlock interrupted, watching Molly's face relax slightly.

"So…?"

"He wants to sedate James indefinitely. Ruin my mind and essentially steal Jim's life from him. I convinced Moran to feed Mycroft false information."

"…Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" John asked cautiously.

"I can barely tell you I've spent time with James without receiving an introductory lesson on the basics of morality, and you think I'm going to tell you about a bargain I made with one of his employees?"

John's expression softened, "Jesus, Sherlock, I'm so-"

"You don't have to say anything," the detective stopped his friend midsentence, "Boring discussion to have, anyway."

There was a moment of silence, which Molly was the first to break.

"Have you been alright, then?" she asked Sherlock quietly, "I know Lestrade's been working on sorting everything out at Scotland."

"Divine," the detective wasn't even sure how serious he was being, "Though you should know this is a secret to most. Lestrade knows. Mycroft knows. Moran knows."

"Not even," Molly whispered, "Mrs. Hudson?"

John and Sherlock shook their heads.

"And it has to stay that way," the doctor added solemly, "Until something changes drastically."

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly made as if to hug him and, in a panic, Sherlock visibly stiffened, causing her to back off, "Sorry, sorry. But, you know I'll be here to help, right?"

Sherlock studied her, and John babbled something incoherent about 'you're far too kind'. The detective wished the conversation could end so that he could figure out what to say to Jim.

As if on cue, the criminal's silent attention turned to Sherlock, though a good deal less edged than it had been earlier. Jim seemed vaguely aware of and intrigued by Molly's presence, but didn't seem to be listening in quite so closely that he retained any detail of the conversation. He seemed to be in the middle of doing something else, Sherlock decided. Probably multitasking.

"…Sherlock?" Molly asked, slightly unsure. Damn. Maybe the detective needed to work on his multitasking. He met John's eyes briefly before Molly spoke again.

"Oh, sorry! You were probably talking to him, weren't you? Do you have a strong Bond? You just looked a bit blank for a second, and…" she started to trail off, twisting her hands together nervously.

"Yes…" John answered, "They were lucky. A lot of Bond strain took place before they could finally…" he gestured vaguely, "you know."

"Oh, but that never ends well!" Molly exclaimed, horrified, "You could have ended up with brain damage!"

"Was a risk I was willing to take," Sherlock mumbled, making sure to put emphasis on the correct words. He couldn't say, even if now he was offered an opportunity to break the Bond, with certainty of success, that he would be able to take it.

Something twisted in Jim's heart. Hm. So someone was listening, then.

Problem?

Certainly not.

"You're doing it again," to the detective's surprise, John was half grinning in amusement, "You're bloody awful at subtlety, Sherlock."

The detective huffed quietly.

"It's so fascinating!" Molly glowed, "I've never met anyone with a Bond that strong before, that they could actually talk to one another. Long while back a friend of a friend had emotions, but things always got so messy when they fought and then they ended up ruining a wedding-"

When she realized she wasn't going to get more than two blank stares and a semi interested nod from John, Molly cut herself off.

"Well, time I left then, is it?" she started towards the door.

"Oh, Molly, you know you can-" John began, and Sherlock stepped to his side, delivering a swift but effective kick to the foot. The doctor shot him a look that said behave yourself.

"No, no," Molly shook her head, aware that staying would only mean more awkwardness for all of them, "Ah, I've got some…things to tend to. But you stay safe. Give me a ring if you need anything!"

"What about not getting myself killed?" the detective asked suddenly.

Molly looked down, "…Oh. Well…he was kind to me when we were dating, even though he needn't have been, and I think he probably likes you more anyway. Besides, you're Soulmates. You know that sort of thing doesn't happen by accident."

Sherlock and John watched the door shut in silence, and finally, the doctor spoke.

"You know, she brings up a good point," he suggested quietly, "What happens when you two get into a fight? And don't say you won't, because all couples do, no matter how bloody logical-"

"We fought this morning," the detective reported nonchalantly, making John raise his eyebrows.

"You-? So you were with him?"

"Of course I was. It was obvious enough for you to assume, earlier."

"Well…" John mused, "It was bloody obvious. Were you two fighting just now?"

Sherlock worried his lip in between his teeth, "Mm…don't think so." Were we?

Come to your room.

The detective blinked in surprise. Don't blush don't blush don't blush.

"…Do I want to know?" John flawlessly read Sherlock's facial expression. Of all the correct deductions he could make…

"Ah…" the detective stammered, "It's not what you think-" Was James in his room? His room? God, James was in his room.

"Sherlock, I'm going to try very hard not to think about it," John raised his hands in surrender, "My date cancelled, so I'm going to order in. Do you want anything? It's bloody freezing in here and I could use something hot."

The detective raised an eyebrow, and John rolled his eyes.

"Christ, you're a child, Sherlock."

Speed would be appreciated, James thought earnestly, spiking Sherlock's pulse.

"Later, maybe," the detective waved John off, starting towards his room. If John had seen even a glimpse of the smirk spreading on Sherlock's face, Sherlock could only pray it would be assumed he was still being childish.

A/N: Ahhh so much has happened! First fight, maybe James making a little bit of progress with his issues, Sebastian being a sad little ignorant koala, Sherlock making up with John a little bit and perhaps learning a little bit about what consent means in a relationship. We'll see what happens in the bedroom next chapter, now won't we? ;)