Author's Note: You can probably tell by my infrequent updates that I've reached the middle of the story which I always have trouble with. This chapter took me sooooo long to write. I was literally scraping lines together. I don't like it, but anyway... reviews appreciated. Thanks for reading =)

The itching had begun and it was unbearable. It was taking all of Samantha's willpower not to rip her stitches out just to end it all.

It had been several days since she last spoke to Mycroft and the madness from being idle was setting in. She was not permitted to leave the house until she was either fully healed or the threat of assassination had lifted. When she wasn't spending her days alone flicking through Japanese TV channels, she was spending them in insufferable company.

Nika and Jirou were either fucking or fighting. Nika's task to train the young man in a number of skills, including hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship, often led to screaming matches between the two. Moriarty, ironically, offered some sanity in this house of madness, and even at that Samantha could only stand him in short bursts. Her room at least provided privacy and solitude, but also loneliness. Having never had a home before, the feeling of homesickness was new to her. She never thought she would miss a bed or a café or a city the way she was missing them right now. She also missed John. Having a friend was strange and new to her too but she also wondered how she lived so long without one. There was Paolo, sure, but John was someone she could text on a whim when she was feeling blue, or ask out for a coffee and a chat during the week. She was probably missing these things because she had no work to distract her.

"What are you watching?" Moriarty asked cynically from where he leaned against the back of the couch.

A piff of air escaped Samantha's lips. "Some sort of high school drama thing," she replied, gesturing at the TV, "It's the only decent show on this hour of the day."

"Decent? Are you actually following it?"

"Kind of. Hiro just cheated on Jun with Midori so it just got interesting. We don't like Midori."

"You've completely lost it, haven't you?"

"Just a tad."

She sighed and checked her phone. It hadn't blipped or vibrated at all since she last spoke to Mycroft. She was starting to wonder if it was broken. Even her Facebook feed was sparse for updates and John's blog had been idle all week. It was as if all time outside this house had stopped.

Her stomach sank as Betty's photo appeared on her timeline. She was posing with another woman, both smiling and holding ice cream cones in a park. Her brow furrowed. Who was the woman she was with? Without thinking she tapped on Betty's profile and scrolled her timeline. Betty was never one for over-sharing and so her profile wouldn't answer her question.

Samantha caught herself then. What was she doing? This couldn't be jealousy, could it? She hadn't spoken to Betty in months and they were barely a thing to begin with.

"Look at that," said Moriarty, "She writes poetry."

Before Samantha could respond, the phone was plucked from her hand. She looked back in horror as Moriarty strolled toward the kitchen while reading the phone.

"I say, your girlfriend's a bit of an emo," he regarded.

"She's not my- Give that back!" She pulled herself up carefully, still stiff from the injury.

"And here's one about you!" He was emanating glee like a child on Christmas morning. "Shall I read it to you?"

"Don't you dare."

He backed away as she approached him, keeping the distance between them.

"The light in your emerald eyes dimmed that day, as you watched me walk away-" he orated, walking backwards as Samantha pursued him.

"Give me my phone," she said. She struggled to keep her voice steady as her ears burned with humiliation.

"Was it you? Was it me? Were we even meant to be?" Moriarty continued, reveling in the moment.

"I mean it!"

"If I could turn back time, I'd make you mine-"

"Mr. Moriarty!"

"My love, my light, my queen."His back hit a wall, and the last line was read with the device raised above him as Samantha reached for it. His eyes met hers then, his expression both pitying and jeering.

"You heartbreaker," he drawled.

Samantha hesitated, the words from the poem slowly sinking in.

"She…she wrote that about me?"

The moment was interrupted by the jangle of keys at the front door. Nika entered just then and shot them a disapproving glare when she noticed them. Samantha realised that having Moriarty backed against a wall was not exactly a good look. With a huff, she snapped the phone from his hand and returned to the couch. She deleted the Facebook app and her web history, feeling the heat of indignation in her face.

"We are not interrupting, I hope?" Nika said bluntly. She cast a disparaging look from Samantha to Moriarty and back.

"Interrupt away," replied Samantha. "In fact if you can grab Moriarty's full attention I'd be much obliged."

Jirou landed through the open door then, pulling a familiar suitcase and backpack with him.

"Hey, my things!" Samantha exclaimed in surprise.

"I sent for your belongings to be collected from the place you were staying before the attack," Moriarty said. "We'll probably need your mission dossier if we're going to work together."

"Of course," Samantha muttered, taking her luggage, "It's always about you."

"And maybe you could lose the attitude. It's getting boring." His tone had changed suddenly. He seemed to have switched from playful to austere in a matter of seconds. She wondered if there was any rhyme or reason to his sudden flip in demeanor, but then she noticed Nika burning a hole through his skull with her wicked cat-like eyes. It was clear to her that there was some quarrel between the two but she had neither the time nor interest to involve herself.

"I am not for your amusement," she said, taking her leave, "I'll be in my room."