The Charred Remains

Chapter 5: This Is Our Love Song

A/N: So sorry this is taking forever, but my beta and I are very busy, though her more than me. I'm picking through this chapter myself, so apologies up front on any errors I'm sure I missed, or missed brit-picking. Also, we know Jim is a huge prick, he becomes an even bigger one in this chapter with his manipulation of John and his memories. You guys are all so lovely! This story is way more popular than I had originally thought it might be. I cannot thank you all so much for making it so special! I promise things will make a lot more sense once Sherlock makes an appearance and the letters are done, but until then let's see what more Jim has to say to dear Johnny boy! I hope you enjoy though! Everyone that leaves kudos and comments on this story just makes me all warm and fuzzy. Thank you all so much, it means so, so much to me!

My Dearest John,

As you've gathered from my last letter, my new line of work has made me many enemies, but it had also given me allies. Allies who are quite loyal, though I'm not going to talk about them now, they're rather boring. I want to tell you about someone else, someone who is decidedly not boring, my biggest enemy; the most dangerous man London has ever known. He has been nothing more than a thorn in my side for a long time. He despises the work I do. He is constantly creating problems for me, trying to tear me down inch by inch; he will stop at nothing to see me completely reduced to nonentity. He is the vilest of men, and his name is, Sherlock Holmes.

He poses as a consulting detective, assisting the NSY in cases they can't seem to solve, cases I believe he was the cause of, but really, his main objective is finding new ways in which to engage my attention. He is obsessed with challenging me, watching me squirm under his keen eye and intellect. I would be lying if I said I didn't slightly enjoy it, but it was the first time someone who shared my genius engaged with me. I was delighted, at first that was, until innocent lives became involved in his plans.

Unlike myself, Sherlock is what psychologists call a Sociopath, he cares not for the lives he meddles with, which is what makes him the perfect enemy. He is a gorgeous, charming man, who makes his victims feel special. He is a very good actor, able to manipulate the feelings of those he is interacting with. He once had a woman believing they had attended uni together, had a one night stand, and shared three classes, when in reality they had never attended the same uni. He is cunning, unpredictable, elusive, intelligent, and crass. I had hoped his games would only involve me, but it wasn't long until he decided to include you.

It was about two months after the first time you and I kissed that he began a new game with me, one that intrigued me at first. But soon turned very, very deadly.

You already know the main source of my income is from fixing weapons systems for major, worldwide companies, but that isn't all I deal in. I will also go to smaller companies who desperately need my help, which is why I was working in a major financial company as a favour to an old uni friend when I got Sherlock's first message to come out and play.

I was rewriting some ancient codes in order for the computer programs to work at a higher efficiency to allow clients and employees an advanced ease of access when my mobile alerted me to an email message. The sender was unknown; the title of the message was, 'The First Pip.'

I opened the email to see a programme code along with an attachment. The code made no sense out of context, especially with the photo that came with the email. It was a picture of old trainers. As soon as I exited the email a text message arrived. The text was as follows:

The blue lagoon waits for no one; its icy depths wait to claim another.
Hurry and fix it Jim, before the lagoon takes one more.-SH

That message, accompanied by the code and photo, threw me. I had no idea what Sherlock was referring to, or what I needed to fix. I abandoned my post with the financial company and headed back to the flat. I needed to look at the code, analyse it to figure out what it was for. I could only surmise that, if I didn't solve this problem, Sherlock would hurt someone, maybe even kill them.

You were in the flat when I arrived home. I barely greeted you as I moved with purpose to my computer. I needed to figure out the code he'd sent me. I knew it was a fragment of something larger, but I needed to find some component within to point me in the right direction. I had just turned my laptop on when I felt you hovering behind me.

"Jim, is everything alright? You look…put out," you cocked your head a little as you spoke, your brows drawing together in question, one hand slightly raised as if to touch me to offer some form of comfort.

"Yes, don't worry, I'll fix it," I muttered, absorbed in my task. You really couldn't do anything to help me John, plus I didn't need your sentiment clogging up the gears of my mind. I needed to focus. I do apologise now, here, again for how nastily I had treated you that day, but I had so much on my mind.

"Well, alright, if you're sure I can't be of any help. Would you like some tea?" you started to walk towards the kitchen then. I only waved my hand in the air to dismiss you.

I had a blown up image of the trainers open on my desktop. I kept going back and forth between the picture and code. So far I could only pinpoint a part of the code, which was mainly used by computer generated heating and cooling systems. That hardly helped anything. Just as you set a cup of tea next to me, my phone beeped again. This time it was a picture of a young man sitting stock still on a bench at a bus stop. He had a large coat on, but even with the material concealing most of him, I could make out wires peeking out of the collar.

Boom.-SH

"Jesus is that man wearing a bomb?" you asked, incredulous as you snatched my phone away from me.

I growled, standing up to grab it back, "It seems so John, now just let me work. I don't have long to solve this code before he, apparently, kills that man. Go do what you do best; sit down and shut-up." I really was stressed out John, it's almost a good thing you don't remember this period as I was rather nasty to you.

Your jaws snapped shut. You turned on your heels, stalking over to the armchair where you sat down stiffly. I sighed, watching you pick up the telly remote to turn on some dull programme. You gave me one hard, cold, blue stare before focusing on the telly. I frowned, but turned back to the computer where I began to type hurriedly.

"Did you know those particular trainers stopped being made in the late 80's?" your voice startled me after a half hour of strained silence. My head snapped up to regard you curiously.

I must have had a questioning look on my face because you rolled your eyes before continuing. "Back when I was younger, those trainers were really popular, but really expensive. Every kid whose parents could afford them had them. Some kids even saved for months just to buy them. The craze didn't last long, but I remember begging my mum for a pair everyday for nearly two weeks. Don't know if that's helpful, but if you're going to save that man, I suppose you should know."

I was speechless. It took me a moment to realise what you had just said. I turned back to the photo, enlarging it a bit more. "John, you are a genius!" I exclaimed, closing the photo to open up the web browser. "Whoever owned this pair took very good care of them, worshipped them almost, so he saved himself for them. Cleaned them, made sure they never ended up in the wrong hands, but how did Sherlock get them…" I trailed off as I found what I needed. An article from when I was in high school. Thankfully the article had a photo.

"What's he got to do with the case? It says he died over twenty years ago," I jumped. I hadn't heard you sneak up behind me. I turned to look at you.

"Carl Powers. I attended school with him. He was a bully, always taunting and teasing the more intelligent students. He was an idiot himself, fantastic swimmer, but idiot human. He drowned during a swim meet, but I'd always thought there was more to the story. I'm starting to think he was murdered, and Sherlock Holmes had something to do with it." I closed the article going back to the code, it still made no sense to me other than it could be used for a heating and cooling system, and then it hit me; the pool.

"You've got that look Jim, one that says you've just been clever…" you trailed off, backing away from the desk to allow me up. I started pacing.

"The code, it's from a heating and cooling system, the message, the blue lagoon, obviously the pool…the pool where Carl Powers died. But why send me the code," I was talking to myself, completely ignorant of your presence. It was all starting to click into place. I stopped and looked at you, "That's it, there's a glitch in the code making the pool too hot. That's what the problem is," I sat back down, going through the code again, and there it was, a break in the code which wouldn't make the system stop heating the pool after it reached a certain temperature. I fixed the glitch and sent it to the email address I received it from. It took but a few minutes for a picture reply to come, the young man previously wearing a giant coat and sitting on a park bench was now running down the street, bomb free. I sighed, turning to look at you.

You had an odd look on your face, which made my triumphant smile fade. You turned away from me. I was just opening my mouth to inquire why you looked so upset when my email signaled another message, this time the title was, "The Second Pip." Just like the first email, there was a photo, part of a code, which I now knew was broken somewhere, and a message.

I was delighted now, finally someone was challenging me. I will admit I thought nothing of the people whose lives were on the line, but finally, finally someone was entertaining me. I let out a little giggle of excitement as I settled in to solve the next problem. I will admit too, that I didn't notice when you grabbed your coat and left our flat, not until I received a message to stop my heart.

I was just finishing the fourth pip, a code causing the astronomy programme to glitch, when I noticed you were missing and the tea next to me had gone cold. I sent Sherlock the corrected code, then stood to stretch the muscles in my back. I pulled my mobile out to see if you'd messaged me, but just as I turned my phone one, a message from Sherlock greeted me. I opened the message. Seeing the photo there, my mobile fell to the floor as my hand grew slack. He had you. For some irrational reason my head whipped around, scanning the flat to make sure you were there, but I knew you weren't. My heart thundered in my chest as I bent to grab my mobile, reading the message again.

Deep into the blue, unless you bring me what I want. Midnight is only the beginning.-SH

I went back to my computer; sure enough there was another email. This time the code was one I recognised. I'd just finished work on it two weeks ago for the British government. Andrew West had contacted me. He'd been having some issues with the final bit of the code. It had taken me quite a while to fix it, but I managed. I'd given him back his flash drive, only to learn he'd been killed two days later, flash drive stolen. Now the code was back, staring me in the face. I checked the clock. I only had an hour to figure out what Sherlock wanted me to do, but for the life of me John, there was nothing I could see that was wrong with the code. I started at the beginning, scanning through it three times, before, finally, at 11:45PM I saw it. There was a number sequence out of order. I quickly fixed it and grabbed my own flash drive to load the information onto before leaving. I was going to collect you myself.

I arrived at the pool at midnight. I walked into the dark, eerie area. Blue water lapped at the concrete edges. My footsteps echoed in the enclosed space. I had my hands gripped behind my back, your gun sitting snug against the small of my back. I had gotten into a nasty habit of stealing your gun, forgive me, but it's come in quite handy. I stopped midway into the pool area. My eyes scanned around, hoping to catch sight of you, but then a movement caught my attention. You stepped out from the restroom area, a large, ugly, green parka on. You had your hands in the pockets. You lifted your head to meet my gaze. My eyes widened in disbelief.

"Well, this is a turn up, isn't it Jim?" your voice wavered slightly.

I narrowed my gaze, confused, my heart racing. All I could hope was that you had nothing to do with everything that was going on. I swallowed the lump in my throat, "John?"

Before you had a chance to say more, a tall, lanky man stepped out of the shadows. He wore a dark coat, hanging down to his ankles. He had a mop of dark, curly hair atop his head. His hands were in his pockets, a sick smile curving his lips, "Jim, so nice to join your pet and me. We've been having a grand ol' time, show him Johnny," his voice was deep, sinister, just as his grey coloured eyes as they raked over you.

My hackles rose as he did that. I looked between the two of you, "I've got what you want. Let him go and I'll hand it over." I held the flash drive up, letting it catch the faint light cast from the depths of the pool.

Sherlock grinned, moving forward. He came to stand next to you. His eyes looked at the drive, and then he held his hand out, "Good boy Jim, I knew we'd have such fun together," he replied icily. I set the device into his palm, keeping my demeanor calm, while inside I was a roiling mass of hatred and rage. How dare he do such a thing to you!

He had just closed his fist around the small device when you launched yourself onto his back. He barely staggered as your arms clamped around his neck. "John!" I couldn't help but blurt, taking an involuntary step back.

"Go Jim, get out of here. I've got him," you were struggling to keep your hold on him. He was a good six inches taller than you.

Sherlock giggled, sounding like a mad man, "Oh look Jim, such a loyal pet, but…then again…" he trailed, looking manic as bouncing red dots appeared on my chest. You took one look and immediately let go, stepping back with your arms raised.

"Let him go, I've given you what you want Sherlock," I hissed, but then my eyes widened as the he tossed the flash drive into the pool.

"I don't need it Jim; I just wanted to see how far you'd go. It's good to see that the good of Britain isn't in your hands because you'd just hand it over for a nice piece of arse," his grin was sickening as he leered at me.

I growled, my hands curling at my sides before I remembered I had your gun. I reached back and grabbed it, raising it to aim at Sherlock's head. Your eyes went wide at the sight. "Jim, where did you…why…?" you couldn't seem to finish your thought.

Sherlock's eyes widened in glee, "Oh, lookie here boys, we've got a fighter," his voice lowered, turning icier as he spoke; "can you kill me faster than my snipers can take out your little pet. Should we see who wins? I'm betting I'll be the victor here Jim," his voice was a cold snarl, his mercuric eyes shimmering with the distorted light.

I had no choice but to lower the gun. I couldn't risk you. My eyes darted over your form. The parka slightly obscured the wired vest strapped to your chest. My skin crawled at the sight. I looked at Sherlock again, meeting his gaze, "I will kill you," I hissed, stepping closer to him.

Sherlock giggled, taking a step back, smoothing his hands down the suit jacket he was wearing beneath his coat, "I very much doubt you will my dear Jim, now, look after Johnny boy for me will you, I should like to come play again. Ciao for now," he raised his hand, snapping his fingers. The laser sights disappeared from your chest and mine. Sherlock was already walking away. He rounded a corner. I heard a door open, and then slam shut.

I didn't waste a second, rushing forward to tear the coat and vest from you. I threw the vest across the floor; it slid a ways away, stopping near the changing rooms. I didn't care. My hands came up to grip your waist as you started to sag towards the wall.

"We should be careful," you muttered, swaying dangerously before steadying yourself with your back against the wall.

My eyes were frantically searching your person for any signs of injury. Seeing only a small red spot, slowly turning black on your temple, I surmised you weren't horribly injured. My hands remained on your waist, holding you against the wall, "What?" I asked you, breathless, my fingers curling in the material of your jumper.

You huffed out a breath, the corner of your mouth curling in a slight smirk, "You undressing me in a darkened pool, people might talk," you muttered, blue eyes panicked, but steady, gazing into my own panicked gaze.

I gave a small snort, "People do little else," I replied quietly, my breath gently blowing against your lips. My gaze lowered there. Your tongue poked out to wet your chapped lips. I groaned at the sight before dragging my gaze back up to your face.

You gave a slight nod, as if reading my mind. I sucked in a breath as I began to slowly lean forward, giving you time to pull away if you changed your mind. Still, I'm not sure if it was adrenaline or nerves that made me so bold, but I soon fitted my lips against yours. My hands smoothed along your waist to curl around your back, pulling you tightly against my body.

You trembled in my tightened hold. A moan of pleasure was swallowed by my lips as they opened to welcome your questing tongue. My own tongue came out to meet yours, to trace along the wet, bumpy surface before curling around it. My fingers dug into your back, reassuring myself that you were still there for me to hold onto, your own arms wrapping around my hips, anchoring yourself to me. In that moment we were desperate to reassure ourselves that we lived, that we'd survived the genius games of a mad man. We stayed that way for a long while, tongues exploring and mapping each others' mouth, only pulling back when the need to breath became too much.

I looked into your eyes, my hand coming up to gently brush through your golden hair, "John," I breathed. There was so much I wanted to say, but you leaned forward, giving me a soft, chaste kiss to quiet my thoughts.

"I know Jim just…just take me home, please?" your lips were so red and swollen. I leaned forward, nipping at them before resting my forehead against yours, "I want to go home with you," you said again, your warm breath hitting my cheeks.

I nodded with my forehead still pressed to yours, "We're alive; you're alive." I couldn't think to say much else so I threaded my fingers with yours, squeezing your hand tightly and leading you out of the pool and towards home.

That's the night I realised how much you truly meant to me John. I also realised how close I'd come to losing you. I vowed to never let that happen again. No one would ever take you away from me. I needed you, and I think you needed me too. We added to each others' lives, and one without the other was unfathomable, so I took you home that night John. Nothing was ever the same since.

Rest now; our story will continue in the next letter.

Love Always,

JM.