19th September 2005
Sherlock's POV
Hacking the system and texting the detective, he ends up passing out on his bed still in his street clothes. When he wakes up a few hours later, he finds that he's famished, so he gets up, shakes himself out and heads towards the kitchen.

He's unsurprised to find Jim sitting on the counter toying with a phone. It's not an uncommon habit for the psychopath.

—Some people are so dull,— it's said in ASL, with Jim's left hand while the right continues to play on the phone. —For instance, that killer you identified was nothing more than an abusive drunk who thought he was more important than he was for no reason than he was a man. He really wouldn't have liked coming across me on a bad day.—

Laughing at that thinly veiled threat, he replies, "I believe that." Startling himself because he did so both aloud and with sign.

Glancing up, the agent smiles a lot like a shark, "He wouldn't have liked coming across Pike either. Although my partner is a hell of a lot nicer than me."

"Jasper's not the psychopath, you are." He reasons, still saying it in both.

"That's a very valid point." Jim agrees, tucking the phone away. "You seem to have slept well. If I thought a murder scene would have made you feel better, I would have found one for you weeks ago."

He just blinks at the psychopath as he processes what is not being said in that statement. There is a lot not being said in that statement. Although, was it really the murder that gave him his voice, or was it the fact he wasn't actually trying? Every time he has intentionally tried, he has failed, it's only when he's not trying that he has succeeded. Huh. Well, that's definitely something to discuss with John.

John.

Right. He was thinking of asking questions. He's pretty sure Jim would not be the right person to ask. Some reason he is pretty sure that personal relationships are probably the last thing the psychopath can give good advice on. But who to ask? Jasper maybe? Except he's never heard his cousin refer to anyone that he likes in that sort of way. Jim has teased his cousin about the 'other two' which he assumes is Bond and Trevelyan, but he doesn't understand the teasing. Bond and Trevelyan are both spies, both use sex as a weapon, and they are in a relationship together. Still, he's not sure they'd be a good idea to ask either because of spies who use sex as a means to an end.

He needs a normal person to ask questions of and he doesn't have one.

"Are we friends?" he finds himself asking curiously as he heats up some of the leftovers in the microwave.

Tipping his head thoughtfully, the psychopath seems to genuinely think about the question. "I believe so. My circle of 'friends' is rather limited. Jasper, Alec, yourself, and possibly John."

Alec, he repeats, trying to figure out who that is before it clicks, Trevelyan. "You're friends with Trevelyan?"

"Of sorts, we enjoy discussing the way things explode and annoying the idiots who make equipment for us." Jim answers with a shrug, "I wouldn't say we are good friends, but still friends. My loyalty is to Jasper, and if ever given a choice between Alec and Jasper, I will always pick Pike."

That makes sense, psychopaths don't really bond well. He has done a lot of research on the topic since Jim entered his life. He's curious after all. Curiosity is the one thing he has never lost, even when everything else seemed a bit hopeless.

"Jasper, Alec, James, and John all think of you as a friend." The agent tells him as the other genius hops off the counter. "John and Jasper more than Alec and James, but you haven't known those two as long, and developing bonds for them is not much different than it is for me." Smirking, Jim offers, "I am the only psychopath in our little group." Tipping his head thoughtfully, the psychopath comments, "Bastian likes you too, wouldn't mind a rematch in the relatively near future."

He finds himself laughing again, because he has spent several days with Jim at a flat with others not speaking, and this is the first time he has heard the name of the person he played against for hours. It's just a bit amusing.

"I texted the detective." He eventually remarks, after he finishes eating.

"Interesting," Jim hums, looking at him speculatively. "I wasn't expecting you to make the first move."

He ducks his head and blushes, muttering, "I can do something they couldn't."

"Very true. Boring people are well, boring. They're so very ordinary." The psychopath complains. "It's probably a good thing Jasper got me out if the criminal aspects of my life years ago, because the criminal class is so very dull and I would have easily been bored to suicide."

"You would have taken a lot of people with you." He comments, knowing that Jim is the sort who would burn the world down for the fun of it.

Shrugging, the agent doesn't answer, which is answer enough.

"Do you think he'll accept the offer to help?" he hesitantly asks, still rather unsure of himself.

"He'd be an idiot not to." Jim tells him seriously.

They fall silent and spend the next several hours alternating between sign language and reading. He's very pleased to be speaking again, although he finds it is making his throat scratchy because the has been so long, so it's unadjusted to doing so.

He's mildly surprised when the detective shows up just before dinner, with a few folders under his arm.

"Come in," Jim tells the sergeant, dark eyes sweeping over the harried looking man.

"Good afternoon," the cop replies as he steps through the door, "I would like a word with Mr. Holmes."

Almost playfully, the psychopath asks, "Which one?"

That seems to stump the detective sergeant for only a moment before answering, "The one that walked through my crime scene yesterday. I would like to discuss how he knew what he knew."

"I observed," he states as he slides into view, head tipping to the side.

A moment later his brother slips through the door.

His brother glances between them, "Good evening detective sergeant, Sherlock, Moriarty."

He nods, not saying anything.

"Rather than stand here we should retire to the library," Mycroft suggests with a glance between them.

The four of them head towards the library. He studies the sergeant as they move, getting a feel for the dark haired detective. Married, looking at getting a divorce because he caught his wife cheating, bisexual, easy going, and ready for a promotion but not expecting one.

"Detective Sergeant Lestrade, what can our humble Sherlock do for you?" Jim asks, leaning a bit closers and reminding him of someone flirting.

Blinking, the cop's eyes flicker between them, "How did you know who the murderer was yesterday."

"I observed it," he repeats, having already answered that before.

"Yeah, but how?" There is something curious and just shy of disbelieving to the detective's voice.

"He did the same way we do, we look and know," Jim replies before he has a chance to say anything.

The four of them take seats, with psychopath perching on the edge of the detective's seat and making the cop nervous according to expression. His brother looks almost bored, and he wants to see what's in the folders.

"Do you belong to MI5 too?" Lestrade asks, looking between them expectantly.

"Not currently," he answers slowly, using both sign and aloud since he wasn't actually sure he was going to get it out.

"Is there a reason you are doing both?" The cop queries.

He opens his mouth to answer and finds his throat closing and nothing coming out. —There is no guarantee I will be able to speak.—

This is really annoying, he thinks, very, very annoying. Why can't he speak now? His throat feels a bit raw, maybe he's been speaking too much today. Fine, then he'll use sign language then.

The detective sergeant's brow furrows as he processes that.

"I belong to Five and Six," Jim answers with a lazy shrug, "Right now I'm helping with Sherlock as translator for days when he is not able to speak."

"Hmmmmm," the cop hums before holding the folder out to him, "Think you could look at these and know what happened?"

He nods slowly, getting up and taking the folders before glancing at them. Settling back in his seat, he looks through each, absently using ASL to comment that as he looks through them. Jim takes it as a sign to write it down, rising from his seating and going over to his brother's desk to pick up a notepad and pen.

His brother snorts, shaking his head.

It takes only a few minutes for him to go through the files, and his keeper writes out what he's saying before hand in him the paper to put with the file. He smiles almost bashfully at the psychopath as the agent takes the folders and hands them back to the cop.

"You're done already?" Lestrade asks in shock.

—Yes,— he replies, not bother with trying to say it aloud. —There is more than enough information to find each of them.—

"Alright, I'll take a look at it, if it ends up leading to arrests, I'll put in the paperwork to get you a consulting position for murders." The cop informs him with a nod.

He blinks, startled because he hadn't expected it to be that simple.

"It won't have the best pay, but it will be something," Lestrade remarks, glancing at each of them.

He just smiles, because it's something he can do, something other people can't. It uses his talents and differences to be useful, and someone will want him, if only for working, that's more than he can say from before all this began.


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