He spent the next day thinking, fingers steepled under his chin. He'd gone to Moriarty to pass the time. To indulge some darker urges. He didn't like to think about John that way anymore. Once he started, it was difficult to stop and it became painful. It was easier — better — to focus on the present when it came to his beloved Watson. John had Mary now. John was going to be a father. And Sherlock would likely never see him again. It hadn't been confirmed yet, but Sherlock knew that Mycroft was pushing for Sherlock to undertake the mission in Eastern Europe. The one that would most likely see him dead after six months. It was that or spend life in prison for the murder of the most repugnant human being Sherlock had had the misfortune to meet.

Murder. That was a public service if anything.

Jim had made an interesting proposition. A third option that allowed Sherlock to choose his path.

"Arrogant enough to believe I can choose my own death," he murmured. "Neat."

He'd always thought that he would die working. The mission would provide the ideal opportunity to "go down in flames," so to speak. Sherlock had lived austerely as an adult. Denying himself basic comforts such as food and sex in order to sharpen his mind. But as a youth he had been more ... wanton. Mainly in regard to substance abuse. But to die in a in imagined orgy of sex and drugs with the most interesting and dangerous man he'd ever known ... what was the saying? "There are worse ways to go." But he needed more data first.

So he decided to go back and investigate further.

Upon entering the Mind Palace, Sherlock felt the immediate urge to open a door. He stepped into the room and saw Jim, resplendent in a bespoke gray suit, seated in front of a small table with a children's board game in front of him. The frame was made of yellow plastic and had a timer built into it. The red surface was riddled with holes of various shapes. A small pile of plastic yellow pieces molded into the corresponding shapes lay next to the game.

Jim looked up at Sherlock, stone-faced. "Wanna play?" he droned.

"No," Sherlock said, but he took the chair opposite Jim anyway.

"Are you sure? It's awfully fun." Jim's fingers hovered over the timer. "More fun than the silly game you played with your brother a while back. I always thought the best part about Operation was killing the patient. This, however —" he wound the dial and it started ticking "— requires Perfection."

Sherlock watched impassively as Jim began to slot the pieces into the correct holes. Faster than should be humanly possible. His hands were a blur. He inserted all the pieces except one. Jim cradled the last piece in his hand as the game's sixty-second countdown ticked on.

"Don't you want me to put it in?"

Sherlock shrugged dismissively. "I don't care."

"You lie, you lie, you big fat liar," Jim sang, rolling the piece between his fingers.

The ticking grew louder and faster. Sherlock shifted in his seat.

"You and Mycroft used to play this as well. Mycroft was always faster. You complained that your hands were smaller and it wasn't fair. Poor little Sherlock." Jim shook his head sadly, frowning. "You got used to not being able to beat his time, but you wanted — needed — to at least get in before the buzzer. Or he'd tell you yet again how stupid you were."

The ticking was unbearably loud now, yet Jim's voice was perfectly measured and Sherlock could still hear him.

"Oh, for god's sake!" Sherlock spat, getting out of his chair and reaching for Jim's hand.

Jim hooted with amusement and snatched his arm away. "Come and get it, twerp!"

Sherlock snarled and launched himself at Jim, taking his chair over backwards, bringing them both crashing to the floor. Jim laughed hysterically as they wrestled, Sherlock desperately trying to open his closed fist to take the missing piece. The ticking sounded like a jackhammer, causing the walls to vibrate.

"GIVE IT TO ME!" Sherlock roared in a mix of fury and agony.

"Any second now!" Jim cheered, pinned under Sherlock, but still holding fast to the game piece. "She's gonna —"

Just as it felt as Sherlock's head was going to cave in, reducing the Mind Palace to mental rubble, the game buzzed merrily at its normal volume and the pieces exploded out of their slots and rained over the table and onto the floor.

"— blow." Jim finished with a whisper. He opened his palm and held up the missing piece to Sherlock. "Here you go."

"Fuck off," Sherlock cursed, rolling off and laying next to Jim on the floor, clutching his head.

"It's awful when you can't put it in, isn't it?" Jim cooed softly. "Like when I've finally got you riding me like yee-haw cowboy and you decide to go back to your cell. Bad form, Sherlock. You know I couldn't let that stand."

"It was too much. Too fast. And unlike last time —"

"— you could walk away," Jim finished, sighing. "I know. It's detestable for me, you know. I don't like not having total control."

"I cannot think of a more obvious statement," Sherlock muttered, rubbing his temples.

Jim turned his head to look at the detective and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "Oh, I think I can. How about 'Sherlock and Jimmy, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!'"

Sherlock furrowed his brow and turned to return Jim's gaze. "Were you always this ridiculous?"

Jim shrugged. "You seem to remember me this way. But there's something else you oughta remember, Sherlock. Something that gives me more control than you'd like. Even in this mind prison of yours."

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"BORING!" Jim yelled, the exclamation echoing in the room. "You have to guess. It's sexier that way. C'mon, a little foreplay never hurt anyone."

Sherlock shrugged carelessly. "I don't know. Or, more precisely, I don't care."

Jim rolled his eyes. "God, you must have been the most insufferable teenager EVER. I could smack you. I might later. Think, doofus. The pool. The hotel room. The roof. Even here — right here, right now."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together grimly.

"Ah, you know, but you're not gonna say it. Stubborn Sherlock." Jim reached over to grip Sherlock's shirt-front, using the leverage to slide his own body up close. So close their foreheads were nearly touching. Jim closed the distance so his lips brushed against Sherlock's when he whispered, "You remember all those years ago? I said we were made for each other. And you always come back to me. Always. Even after I died, you locked me away for safekeeping. Chained me up like a pet. John would never let you do that to him ..."

Sherlock shuddered. "I needed to be able to examine —"

"— you always come back," Jim interrupted. And smiled, letting the tip of his tongue flick over Sherlock's lower lip. "Sometimes you just come."

"You speak as though I had a choice," Sherlock whispered, reaching out and gripping the silk tie around Jim's neck, wrapping it around his fingers and pulling the knot tighter, but also pulling Jim closer.

Jim swallowed at the pressure on his throat and smirked. "There's always a choice, Sherlock. Though when you're on the side of the angels it's little more constricted. Mmm, speaking of which ... tie-play again? You know I kept that one until the day I died ... the one decorated with your spunk when I deflowered you. You going to choke me now? Like you did with your cock last time? I can't die a second time, so if erotic asphyxiation is your jam, I can indulge you."

Sherlock's lip curled and he made a soft growl in the back of his throat.

"Or maybe I can die a second time," Jim whispered. "Do you want to try?" He captured Sherlock's lips in a deep, tender kiss.

Sherlock made to answer, but the slow stroke of Jim's tongue inside his mouth, and warm lips against his, drove all speech from him. They gripped each other in a deadlock: Jim's hand fisted in Sherlock's shirt and Sherlock holding fast to Jim's tie, kissing languidly, unhurriedly. Until finally Sherlock let it break, breathless. "Even in my head you're still trying to kill me."

Jim licked his lips. "Of course. I spent our entire acquaintance trying to exterminate you. Well, when I wasn't being your booty call. Are you going to let me?"

"Kill me?"

"Yes. I'll make it so good." Jim nuzzled into Sherlock's neck. "Your mind palace was always the sexiest part of you. I love your cock and your sweet arse, but mainly because when I fuck them, it fucks with your head. I've been fucking your mind from the moment I learned of your existence. What's left for you out there with the ordinary people? John's ruined you."

Sherlock growled in the back of his throat.

"There it is again," Jim intoned. "That was an emotional response, Sherlock. He did that to you. Funny, isn't it? All this time he thought I'd be the one to wreck you. But no. You got attached. And you expected he'd still be there waiting for you after two long years. When you were supposedly dead." He hissed the last word. "Ordinary people put on fancy clothes and stand up in front of all the other ordinary people they know and they take a vow. You know what is, Sherlock. You were there when John said. Right by his side. As he promised himself to another."

"Until death do us part," Sherlock murmured, clutching Jim's tie a little more tightly.

"They're quitters," Jim snarled. "Death ... what is it? Nothing to people like us. Like you and me. We don't have to say the words, Sherlock. We've taken our vows. You vowed to stop me and I vowed to never let that happen. And so it goes on. I made you watch me blow out the back of my skull to prove that point. You can't stop me. And now, I don't even think you want to anymore. What are you without me?"

Sherlock grimaced. "Shut up."

"And what are you without Johnny-boy by your side? He's got Mary now. Oh, that Mary, Mary, quite contrary." Jim raised his eyebrows. "She's already tried to kill you once. Shot you point-blank and you still lived! Do you know how frustrating that is? The way you keep living."

Sherlock opened his mouth and Jim threw him a disgusted look. "Rhetorical, Sherlock. Rhetorical. Now take me somewhere more comfortable than this hard floor covered in plastic projectiles."

Sherlock looked at Jim, questioningly.

"You're going to fuck me now, aren't you? I know you are. And I'm going to let you. And then you're going to make up your mind. Unlike everyone else, I won't make you choose between me or the drugs. You can have both. One final fix for the final problem."

Sherlock took a shaky breath and closed his eyes.