To the very best of times, John ...

The plane lifted off and Sherlock closed his eyes.

When he opened them again he was standing in a hallway lined with more doors. Jim leaned casually against the wall, cleaning his nails with a jackknife. "'I'm leaving on a jet plane,'" he sang softly, mockingly. "Dunno when I'll be back again ..." He snapped the knife shut and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "You really are a dreadful date, you know. It's like having dinner with someone who keeps nipping to the loo to check Tinder and snort another line."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to stride down the hall. "Tinder barely existed before you killed yourself. Thank god. This way."

Jim followed, but made a point of walking at a more casual pace, eventually forcing Sherlock to slow his step. "I took the opportunity to go through some more of your files. Janine ... now she was a lovely little piece. A woman after my own heart. You couldn't have thrown her a bone, 'Sherl'?" He tsked softly, shaking his head. "Missed opportunities are the real tragedy of life. Never been with a woman, huh? I could teach you some tricks ..."

"Enough," said Sherlock tiredly.

"Like putty in your hands ..."

"Boring!"

"A little preoccupied, are we?" Jim smirked. "Oh, that John. Always makes things so serious and sad. Such a wet blanket. Him and Mary deserve each each other. Though I have to say that scene was truly touching." Jim mock-sniffled and pretended to wipe a tear. "I had to take a moment!"

"Jealous?"

"Hardly," Jim sneered. "Look where love has got you, Sherlock. On a suicide mission both inside and out. Was it really worth it?"

Sherlock cast him a look of pity. "The fact you have to ask answers that question quite adequately. There is nothing I wouldn't do to protect John Watson and isn't that lucky for you?"

"True, true," Jim conceded, smiling. "Delivered you into my hands time and time again. And here we are!" He gazed about him as they strolled the endless hallway. "Haven't visited this wing yet. What about that Magnussen tosser? Surely you've got him stashed away in here somewhere. Probably has downright posh accommodations compared to mine. But I do pride myself on occupying the dungeon. It's sexy, really. I feel like you really care."

Sherlock threw a sidelong glance at Jim. "And what do you care about him?"

"Oh, I care very much," Jim replied sombrely. "Very much. I'd like to pay him a little visit. While I do respect that he completely put one over you. I mean, really, Sherlock. Secret vaults? John's right — you really are a drama queen."

"But …" Sherlock prodded.

Jim made a face. "But … ehhh, he's weak. I like that he respects no one, like that a great deal, but I hate that he respects money. Business." He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something foul. "So desperate … hanging around Downing Street ... wanting to be seen as legit. That's why I like you, sexy. You don't give a fuck about being legitimized. We're so far above all that rubbish. What people think about us. It's why we're consultants. If we do it well, then money is a by-product. So much money. But it's not the goal. A purist is never in it for the dosh."

"Are you jealous of him, too?" Sherlock asked, amused. "That I went and found myself another nemesis after you died?"

Jim's expression turned murderous. "I may be just an invention of your mind palace, Sherlock, but I still don't take well to being insulted. Nemesis. Please. Ms. Mary had him snivelling on his knees — can you imagine what I could do to him with a single phone call? You blew his brains out during your first major confrontation. I had to blow my own out because you couldn't manage it. Don't you dare compare us. No, I have a bone to pick with him because he put his hands on you. He wanted to have you. And you're mine, Sherlock. I won't have it." Jim adjusted his cuffs, shaking his head. "And while you were drugged, no less. Pathetic. I had the balls and the skill to take you on at full mental capacity. And I finished the job."

"But I was under duress, as previously mentioned," Sherlock added.

Jim pulled a face. "Well, yeah. Duh. Pressure points, Sherlock. Magnussen knew about those. But he was so gauche about it. No class, those newspapermen. But that came in handy when I wanted to buy stories to put out into the world. He was all too happy to take my money. Again ... all about the money. Boring."

"I imagine you were relieved when I executed him."

"Oh, yes. Though relieved isn't quite the correct word. I think perhaps proud. And horny. Extremely horny. Speaking of which … where the hell are we going?"

Sherlock opened a door and ushered Jim inside "Right. Here."

Jim stepped inside and looked around slowly. He chuckled. "Oh, Sherlock. Sherlock, Sherlock, you really are taking a trip down memory lane, aren't you?" He gazed around the replica of the room where Jim and Sherlock had had sex for the first time. "But that should be a green stripe on the wallpaper, not teal. Think Hyde Park in spring."

"Right, of course," Sherlock said, and the colour shifted appropriately.

"Nice, very nice," Jim remarked, kicking off his shoes and pausing to pluck off his socks. "Even nicer not to have Doctor Watson eavesdropping the whole time. Though obviously that was necessary." He sidled up to Sherlock and began to unbutton his shirt.

Sherlock watched impassively. "It all started here," he remarked. "With you. I imagine life would have been simpler had this not all occurred. I never would have pursued a relationship with John."

"Dull," Jim replied, sliding his hands over Sherlock's chest and making to push the shirt off his shoulders. But Sherlock brought his hands down harshly inside the V of Jim's arms and shoved his hands away. Jim rolled his head with a soft crack and looked up at Sherlock curiously. "Oh, I see. You have a different plan for us? A revenge fantasy, perhaps? Rather cliché, but, as I said even when I was alive, you can do what you like to me."

Now Sherlock was tugging off Jim's jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. "You told me to start undressing you and my hands were shaking. I remember that. And you loved it. Loved watching me surrender to you."

"I won't lie, it was glorious, Sherlock," Jim droned, allowing Sherlock to peel away the layers of clothing.

"It was all about me. You stripped me of everything: my clothes, my agency, my ... emotional and physical detachment. And it was fascinating. But I don't care to repeat the experience. Even when I came back to you the second time ... it was still about me. Trying to process what you'd done. And what happening with John. This time, James, is about you."

Jim's mouth quirked. "Is that so?"

"Well, that's the hypothesis," Sherlock said, loosening Jim's tie and lifting it over his head. "Can I have an experience with you here that had no actual basis in reality." He roughly spun Jim around and pulled his arms back behind him, slipping the tie loop over Jim's wrists and fastening it tightly.

Jim made no move to struggle, allowing Sherlock to bind him. "Interesting, detective. Care to explain your method?"

"You got me to surrender with pleasure," Sherlock, said, making sure Jim's hands were lashed together tightly, but not so tight as to be painful. "I also found that fascinating. Simple to inflict pain on a captive — but to bring them pleasure? An entirely different challenge."

"Is that what you intend for me?" Jim asked, resting his head against Sherlock's shoulder as Sherlock, keeping one hand fast on Jim's bound hands, used his free hand to stroke over the pale, firm length of his torso.

Sherlock shrugged, his long fingers tracing patterns over Jim's taut flesh, then reaching up to tease a nipple. Jim's muscles twitched almost imperceptibly. "Why not? It's not boring. And we already know that you have mastered pain. I could literally tear you limb from limb and you'd never give me the satisfaction of breaking. And a revenge fantasy exists solely for that exquisite catharsis. But I think pleasure is different for you. Does anyone really master pleasure completely? You said it was like insanity — the very nature of insanity is wildness. That which cannot be controlled. It's primal."

"You've brought me pleasure before, honey. I still remember the first time I came inside you. Watching it drip out of your hole. All stretched and gorgeous. Used."

Sherlock was still stroking Jim's nipples, chest, and stomach, sometimes teasing the trail of hair into his trousers, but not breaching the fabric just yet. He leaned down slightly to let his lips graze Jim's neck. "Yes. I have yet to make you come on my terms."

"Your terms." Jim snorted, though Sherlock again felt his body shift and strain minutely in response to the stimulus. "I'll play your game, Sherlock. After all, that's why I'm here. But I'll warn you that I've taken more lovers than you've had hot dinners. You're rather under-experienced for this."

"I'm aware of the challenge," Sherlock whispered, licking a stripe up Jim's neck. "I relish it."

"And if I win?"

Sherlock chuckled. "If you win … what?"

"If I win, you stay. Here, with me. Until you're buried so deep in the Mind Palace that you are unrecoverable. You die. We'll burn together."

"And if I win?"

Jim shrugged. "You lock me up again. Walk away. Do what you like."

Sherlock paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. He whipped Jim around to face him and the consulting criminal's eyes were bright with mirth as he bit his lip mischievously.

"You don't actually think I'm that much of an idiot, do you? This is my Mind Palace. There is no win or lose here," Sherlock said. "Only what I decide. Only I can decide if I will burn with you."

Jim shrugged, flicking his tongue against his upper lip. "Just testing, Sherlock," he droned. "Always testing. You like it when I test you. When I push you. Could you actually bear to see me break? Could your fragile worldview handle it?"

"Only in one way," Sherlock growled, pushing Jim in the direction of the bed and kneeing him down to bend over it.

Jim turned his head, pressing his right cheek into the mattress to gaze curiously at Sherlock over his shoulder.

Sherlock looked down at his prize and slid his hand over Jim's back, before reaching around to unfasten his trousers and tug them off. "It wasn't just about getting me to surrender," he said quietly, stroking his hand over Jim's pert, smooth white bottom. "And it wasn't just being the first to bed me. No, you felt something that went beyond lust. Even beyond genuine desire. It took you by surprise. I saw it in your face. When your mask dropped for just a moment while you were fucking me. Perhaps your error was in not keeping me on my front."

"'Hello, Jim,'" quoted the consulting criminal, a slow smile spreading over his face.

"Yes," Sherlock continued, tugging Jim's trousers completely off and knocking his legs apart, teasing a finger over his crack and down to fondle his balls. "You enjoyed my touch. My body. As much as you've enjoyed my mind. You wanted more. Which is why you invited me back."

Jim shuddered as Sherlock fondled him, a soft sound catching in his throat.

"Maybe I come back to you," Sherlock said, "but you need me to come back to you. You always said that you owe me. But in reality: You. Need. Me."

"No, Sherlock," Jim whispered, letting out a shuddering sigh as Sherlock spread him open and licked him tenderly. "Did you forget? I'm you. Here in the Mind Palace. I'm truly you. And you are truly me. You. Need. Me. You're looking looking for a reason to stay here forever and I'm giving it to you ... ahhh ..." Jim shuddered again as Sherlock licked him harder, pressing his tongue inside. "You're nothing without me. And you know it. Do you think the real Jim Moriarty would let you do this?"

"Of course he would," Sherlock murmured, raising his head and reaching up to fondle Jim's cock, causing the smaller man to shudder again. "If it were part of the game. He would say anything. Do anything. This may be the Mind Palace, but don't try to convince me you're not as real as the man I saw die on the roof of Bart's." Sherlock straightened up, still on his knees and took out his cock, rubbing against Jim's hole, teasing. Jim pressed his face into the mattress. Sherlock spat into his hand and rubbed it over his cock as a pretence.

"I made it my business to know Jim Moriarty. For two years after he died, I lived and breathed him. Went the places he went. Consorted with the people he knew. All that data. I saved everything. I locked it away in the deepest mental chamber I possessed. I know you, Jim. And I knew you then. The moment you let your guard drop for that second ..." Sherlock took Jim's hips in his hands and pushed into him in one long thrust causing Jim to let out a low, keening moan of satisfaction. "And I knew you'd want this more than you could ever admit. All of the people you have been with ... there is only one ... who could just pin you down —" Sherlock thrust deeply inside "— and take you."

He expected Jim to shoot a comeback or cutting remark of some kind, but he was curiously speechless. But certainly not silent. Jim rolled his hips eagerly into each hard thrust, his face pressed into the mattress, letting out more of those low, hungry moans and Sherlock allowed himself to give in for a little while. To just lose himself in the sensation and the sight of Jim Moriarty, bound and taking Sherlock's cock up his tight little arse. The sounds he was making were delicious and he fought the urge to just pound into Jim until he lost control.

Control.

Oh, that little shit.

He pulled out abruptly and when Jim protested, Sherlock spanked him firmly on the arse, then reached to untie his wrists.

"For Christ's sake, Sherlock, can you for once finish something? Or is your revenge fantasy to just give me blue balls for all eternity?"

"On your back, up by the headboard," Sherlock ordered. "Hands over your head."

Jim complied and smirked as Sherlock retied him, lashing him to the bedpost. "Can't get enough of this face, huh? Few would blame you."

Sherlock snorted. "You think you can play the wanton and get me to blow my load like a teenage boy."

Jim shrugged and smiled flirtatiously. "It's worked before."

"I'm not the blushing virgin I was the first time we were in this room."

Jim flicked the tip of his tongue against his top lip and looked at Sherlock with his best bedroom eyes. "Oh, I'm counting on it, honey."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed and nibbled at the pale length of Jim's neck and fondling his nipples into hard pebbles until Jim moaned impatiently, struggling against his bonds. And when Sherlock licked down the length of his torso, Jim pressed his head back into the pillow and sighed, "Oh, fuck yes" as Sherlock took his hard cock deep into his mouth.

Sherlock slid his large hands under Jim's bottom and fondled his buttocks and continued to suck him hard and fast while he teased Jim's hole, eventually slipping a finger in to stroke him from the inside. Jim's back arched in ecstasy as Sherlock's head bobbed on his dick. Sherlock kept up the pace until he felt Jim's body tense up in a pre-orgasmic flush, and then Sherlock stopped. Everything.

Jim's body sagged and he glared up at Sherlock, gasping, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Sherlock's mouth quirked very slightly. "Shut up. Now slick up my cock so I can screw you some more. We're going to be here for a while." And he straddled Jim's torso and shifted up so his cock brushed against Jim's lips. Jim looked up at Sherlock and smirked slightly, an unspoken expression of all right, arsehole, we'll do it your way flickering across his face, and he slowly opened his mouth, letting Sherlock slide inside.

Sherlock held onto the headboard and fucked Jim's mouth in slow, deep strokes, often to the point of choking him, but when he lifted up again, Jim sucked in a gulp of air only to greedily take Sherlock in again.

"I think I like you best this way," Sherlock gasped. "You're much more pleasant when your mouth is being kept busy. I might do this to you every day."

Jim responded by humming around his cock and doing something so extraordinary with his tongue that Sherlock had to pull out to collect his wits.

He reached down and fisted Jim's erection, stroking it until Jim squirmed and blurted out a string of very Irish invective before Sherlock spread his legs open and slipped back inside. Jim groaned, arching up as Sherlock began to move. He leaned down and kissed Jim's lips tenderly before murmuring, "If you want to come, you'll have to beg for it. Ask me nicely. Say please."

"Fuck. You," Jim whispered sweetly, giving Sherlock one of his sunniest smiles.

"Maybe later, but right now I'm rather busy fucking you," Sherlock quipped.

Jim rolled his eyes.

Several more times he raised Jim right up to the quivering point of climax, only to let him crash down again. Not that it was easy for Sherlock. But the fury on Jim's face each time it happened made it worth it. Sherlock was convinced he could go on this way for quite some time, but he could tell that the other man's resolve was threatened. And every time Sherlock reminded Jim of what he needed to say in order to find release, his disagreement held less and less vitriol.

Sherlock had found the rhythm and angle of thrust that was unravelling Jim, but would not undo him completely. Sherlock wanted to come, to let himself go in Jim's tight heat, but he didn't want it nearly as much as he wanted to win this game. He glanced down, taking in the sight of Jim's cock lying hard and heavy and leaking against his firm stomach. It wouldn't take much, Sherlock estimated. A few quick strokes to take him over the edge. He looked at Jim's face, his own expression curling into a smirk. Jim's facial expression was blank, but he couldn't maintain the dead-eyed stare he normally wore so well. Sherlock read the unconscious plea in the dark depths and the tiny muscles worrying around his mouth.

"Say it," Sherlock said softly, with a cruel smile. He was greatly enjoying Jim's helplessness, the splay of his legs as Sherlock sank into him again and again.

"Never. You'll have to come sometime, Sherlock. You can't keep this up." The reply was determined, but Jim was unable to keep the tremoring out of it.

He is doubting.

"No, but I can keep going longer than you can bear to resist." Sherlock dipped in a little deeper and twisted his hips to hit Jim in another way and his mouth twisted into a sneer when Jim cried out, then bit his lip, glaring at Sherlock.

But the glare melted into a look of helpless torment as Sherlock picked up the pace, rocking into Jim relentlessly, but still not enough. Sherlock reached down with his free hand, fingers lightly caressing Jim's upper thigh. Nearly ghosting over his erection, but always withholding the touch he craved.

Jim grunted. "Ugh, p—" He cut himself off.

"What did you say?" Sherlock gasped, taking his hand away and focusing his laser-like gaze on the other man's face. His trembling mouth.

Jim pressed his lips together defiantly, but Sherlock could feel the man's smaller body shaking underneath his weight. Sweat beaded Jim's brow. His hips eagerly rocking up to receive each thrust. So hungry.

Sherlock leaned in close and kissed Jim deeply. Jim responded with an unconscious moan that could be classified as pornographic. Their tongues tangled and danced and Sherlock sucked on Jim's lower lip before cradling his face between his hands, forcing Jim to stare up at him. Sherlock kissed him again and whispered against his mouth, "Say it. And mean it. I'll know if you're lying."

Jim grimaced, but then Sherlock felt something go loose in the body pinned under his. Sherlock had watched Jim Moriarty's face morph into a thousand different expressions, but he had never seen this one before. Not even when Jim had joyfully fucked Sherlock's brains out all that time ago.

He stared into Jim's eyes and watched a hundred emotions flicker across his face. His jaw clenched and then he took a quick, sharp breath. "Please," he whispered.

"Please, what?" Sherlock asked softly, his hips rolling gently, stroking into Jim again and again.

Jim's mouth twisted as if to argue, but instead he tossed his head in frustration and moaned, "Please let me come. For fuck's sake, Sherlock, please ..."

"That's better," Sherlock whispered. And he kissed Jim again — just long enough to taste him before he wrapped his fingers around Jim's leaking cock and stroked it in time with his thrusts and just moments later, Jim Moriarty nearly sobbed as he came, cursing Sherlock's name, and the hard, clutching ripple of his muscles around Sherlock's cock took him over as well and they both cried out with unconscious abandon as they shook apart against each other.

And then there was silence save for the sound of their panting breaths. A few moments later, Sherlock pull out and rolled off Jim, flopping onto his back.

"Yes," he gasped. "This is definitely how I want to go."

Jim turned his head to look at Sherlock. "So it's agreed."

"It is agreed. This is how we end. I've no need for anything out there."

"This changes nothing, you know," Jim droned, stretching his naked limbs, but making no move to struggle against his bonds, "between you and I. You think you won because you got me to ask nicely for an orgasm? That was just a fantasy about turning the tables."

"I won, because I got you to surrender," Sherlock remarked. "But I think of it more as evening the score."

"Traditionally, this is when we enjoy the post-coital cigarette. Don't tell me the Mind Palace is non-smoking."

"On the contrary …" Sherlock said, chuckling. He sat up, but then froze at a sound.

A phone was ringing. Outside of the Mind Palace

Jim's eyes darted to Sherlock. "Don't answer that."

"I've only been in the air four minutes," Sherlock murmured. "Something's happened."

"No, Sherlock," Jim said, more firmly, struggling to free his hands. "Don't you dare. You already made your choice."

"They made me surrender my cellphone. Only Mycroft could be calling me on the plane," Sherlock breathed, his eyes sparking with intrigue.

"Sherlock!" Jim screeched. "You promised!"

But then Sherlock disappeared and Jim was alone once again.