A/N: My dog's accusing stare got this chapter finished finally. She made me feel so guilty…

Jim's phone sang out with a brilliant trill, and he reached into his coat to pull it forth, squinting at the screen in the odd sunlight. The text lined up on the screen informed him of the success of the bank heist thus far. He smiled as the alarm continued to scream in the distance and turned his attention the man beside him. Sherlock stood loosely, fingers intertwined with the criminal's own even still. Whether he was conscious of it or not remained to be seen. The detective did many things without thought or awareness after all. But for now, Jim was content. The mystery only added to the delicious flavor of not knowing.

Effectively, Moriarty had accomplished many things this one day. The insipid fool who had dared give voice to a supposed "superior" security system had been rendered ridiculously impotent. Sherlock had completed his first truly criminal endeavor in interpreting and cracking the security features of the previously mentioned system and giving the findings to Jim. The shorter man had also discovered a way to calm the voices in his head…though that was still a particular oddity to be fathomed out. And lastly… He glanced down at his enveloped hand and gave the lightest of squeezes. Yes, he had also discovered something about himself that was previously unknown…and still unsounded.

Jim looked away from his detective. And caught himself. His detective? He rolled the thought over within his mind's eye. My detective. He thought of the last few weeks, and the progress he'd made towards his original goal, though the lines seemed to have blurred as to its founding purpose. He thought also of the changes he was belatedly witness to occurring within himself; even as he had observed the other man's evolution, he should have been monitoring his own as well... Critiquing one's self was always painful…but necessary here. And in his self-examination, he saw a pattern emerge…one of ownership, codependence, and yet….dominion. The detective seemed almost…possessed. Not in the sense of the spiritual, no, but in belonging. As if he truly were owned. And Jim found he did not entirely loathe or reject the idea. Owned…. Yes. Yes, he was. Is. He hid his smirk. Mine. My detective. There was no question really. Opposition was natural to those such as they. Inevitable. As he had watched Sherlock form and discard plans of his own, so too did the criminal observe the slow capitulation of the other man's resistance, each attempt coming with less and less strength. They were meant for each other. Made to fit together. Their pasts drew them forth from different positions morally; but in the beginning, they were the same. And would be again…

Jim hopped back, finally releasing the taller man's hand as he did. The detective turned to follow the motion, and the criminal indicated with his shoulder to come along before turning completely and heading for the door back down to ground level. Sherlock watched him go and turned his eyes once more to the siren call of the bank's alarm system. His eyes narrowed as he tried to locate the many police vehicles drawn to the site. Then his gaze tracked back to the retreating form of the most wonderfully confusing man in his world. Dark curls tilted, razor sharp mind focused. Choices flashed around him, past, present, and future possibilities. He blinked once, slowly. And just as Jim reached the rusted out door, the shorter man heard the crunch of shoes over gravel behind him. Moriarty's smile returned as he pulled the door open and held it aside. Dark brown met crystal gray as they stood before the blackened portal. Seconds passed around them, and something else passed between them. Neither broke; and they entered the gloom together.

They entered a suitably status-proclaiming limo minutes later when they emerged from the building. The detective entered the automobile behind Jim, and they settled in beside each other, neither having actually consciously decided on being hip to hip, but it happened all the same. Which should have seemed odd to at least one of them, given how spacious the interior was. Jim flicked out a mobile phone in the hand closest to Sherlock, motioning for the other man to take it as he spoke.

"Programmed to only let you contact myself or any others I may deem appropriate to code into it." The wild haired detective looked on in confusion at the brightly lit screen in his hand.

"I don't…"

"In case we ever need to be parted for my…business purposes. Not everyone in the world would be happy to have you along with me." Jim's voice slipped dark for a second as he finished with, "And this way, Daddy can keep in touch." But then Jim grinned and stretched his arms in front of him, attempting to position himself in such a way that told Sherlock they would be in the vehicle for a good while. He flicked off the screen lock of the phone. And no doubt this can keep even closer tabs on me, thought the detective as he examined his odd gift. But then, what did it matter anyway? He was already practically owned by this man. And he positively couldn't find reason to be concerned, no matter how much he recognized the danger. He began to fiddle with the mobile's settings as he let his mind drift.

Different. Something was different, Sherlock was musing as the limousine pulled away with the two of them comfortably stowed inside. It took but the time to actually notice the discrepancy for him to answer his own query as he gazed across at the empty seat facing him. The criminal himself was actually seated beside him instead of across. Not that he minded. Just noticed. His skin could almost feel the other's distance next to him. As if he could close his eyes and be able to seek out James Moriarty by "sense" alone. Which was preposterous, of course. And he knew that. He knew that…and yet. He closed his eyes in a whimsical effort to test the theory.

There was a sudden pressure on his shoulder, and it startled his eyes back open, though he quickly registered the source. Thinking on it now, he could well assume that not even three months ago, the thought of this criminal mastermind, his penultimate archenemy, leaning drowsily on his shoulder would have caused him no end of consternation, mental and physical. Now, it was…not uncomfortable. Nearly…pleasant. Yes. Comforting almost, as Sherlock had often felt quite alone even with Mycroft as a like-minded childhood companion. Mycroft was even less emotional than the detective himself. And so, as far as family involvement in his upbringing…Sherlock was far lacking in the human connection.

Jim though… Jim was like him…but not. It was as if the criminal had discerned a way around the total closeting of emotions that Sherlock utilized. The shorter man seemed almost like…like he felt too much at times, and so compensated by exploding in his fits of volatile anger. And though it seemed so alien to the detective, he could almost envy the other man his skill at redirecting such things outwardly into productivity. After all, Jim was a veritable emperor of his underworld. A genius without the boundaries of such trivial and mortal things as morality and fealty to others. His was a life that embodied the freedom Sherlock had always sought, yet never captured. Certainly, the detective never desired the overt harm of others, but…sometimes they simply got in the way. And no one had ever understood this. Until now. Until James.

What didn't happen next was Sherlock wrapping his arm around his enemy. Nor did he lean against the other in turn. And he certainly didn't press a soft kiss into the perfectly combed strands tickling his neck. No. These things didn't happen; but the recollections of many socially appropriate relationship behaviors ran through the detective's mind as he sat there, a human pillow. And he discarded each as it fell into his scrutiny. Finally, the detective settled on what he deemed a safe enough move, as it had already occurred with a somewhat alarming frequency that day anyway.

Jim felt the cool, slender fingers slide over the back of his hand and settle lightly, as if unsure and testing. He remained still, knowing instinctively that if he reacted at all at this moment the detective would withdraw. And shortly, the true weight of that extremity was rested on his own, caution having faded with time and patience. The car's steady rocking and white noise of its engine lulled the criminal into a peaceful state rarely experienced. Yet another anomaly particular to this human enigma he leaned against. It would be a long drive to where they were going, and so Jim drifted, eyes cast downward and observing the hand over his own. He was almost gone when one of those long fingers slowly began to trace a circle over the dorsal surface of the criminal's hand. Jim's eyes slid shut finally, and he thought conclusively, Mine.

Sherlock had felt Jim drop off into semi consciousness the second it occurred. Such was the power and command of the other man's mind that it almost had a physical presence of its own. And the detective felt the absence of its attention acutely. He glanced down, and, thinking that the other was too far gone to notice, he began to draw concentrically with a finger of the hand atop of the other man's. Simple touch, human and warm. So…different. So intriguing. Studies he had read pointed toward defects of character, and even of health, if one were deprived of this most basic of connections. He closed his eyes as if to join Moriarty in his slumber, and he thought of his own actions earlier that week with a bemused perspective.

The detective had a gift. Of the birthing nature. That is, he had a birthday gift for the man confined here in the vehicle with him. The day of which was fast approaching. October 21st. And he hoped that his instructions to the madman's agent had been explicit. Everything would have to happen with almost perfect precision to capture the right moment. But, time would tell. What was the agent's name? Moron, or something? Sean, Sebastian, something…Moron. Well, no matter. The man was one of the more frequent personal details of Moriarty, so Sherlock was sure he would see him again to ask if his request had been carried through. After all, he didn't know just how much courtesy Jim's men would extend to him since they most likely still regarded him as part of the opposing side of the law. He sighed lightly. It was an intriguing notion at any rate, his gift. Jim did so love things that burned….

It was almost noon when they reached a place that seemed cut off from the rest of humanity. In reality, it wasn't all that far out of the reach of civilization, but it was distanced enough that the helicopter wouldn't be noticed coming and going. Speaking of which, as the detective's curious gaze ran over the distinguishing features of the chopper, he realized the price tag of this one aircraft. He often forgot, and easily, how far reaching and deep Jim's financial resources were. And looking at the AW101 VVIP, he thought to himself that the man he was accompanied by never did anything half-arsed. When the criminal saw Sherlock studying their mode of transport, he smiled.

"Only the finest, my detective." Yes, that's right, Jim was trying out the label, thank you very much. "It reaches almost 320kph and ranges for about 1300 kilometers. Won't be in it for that long, though. Just going to my air strip, then we'll take a jet to our destination."

"Which is?" the detective inquired, wondering what else could possibly be in store for them that day. And Jim smiled in his secretive way as they pulled themselves into the cabin and began fastening the seatbelt harnesses over themselves.

"Czech, I think. Maybe elsewhere. Apparently, some idiots want to throw me a birthday party," came the seemingly casual reply. It was delivered with the perfect intonation of one who cared not a bit, and no one should ever think to question it. Except for Sherlock, who now had even better insight to his once-enemy's thoughts and motivations. No, not a casual statement at all. Hate underlay it. And the criminal's next words only served to confirm his deduction. "Obviously, no one has deemed it necessary…to inform people of how much I HATE birthdays!" Typically mercurial and shifting, Jim's mood had gone from deadly calm to inferno pissed in the space of a sentence. His eyes held black murder in their depths… But, just like that, he was composed again and looked across to the detective, smirking slightly. "They hope to gain favor by doing something so ordinary. I do hope they've something to take my mind off of this egregious infraction. Otherwise, I will make my own…entertainment." Sherlock's head tilted at the threat he knew was very real.

The detective understood the menace present in Jim's words. This man never spoke anything without purpose, and here he was informing Sherlock that things had the potential for ending badly tonight. Well, badly for the host perhaps. But why warn me? pondered the taller man. And it came to him swiftly, though one would never know to look at his exterior that he was so lost in his own evaluations. Hmmm, he thinks to warn me off in case my 'angelic' constitution cannot handle it? He shot a look of disbelief at the other man, but it was lost as Jim was engrossed in emailing clients from his mobile. None of those we encounter is likely to be an 'innocent' in any sense of the term, so their fate is no concern of mine, the detective concluded. Still, he thought it should have been somewhat apparent at this point that he wasn't all that opposed to Jim's nature. But, perhaps he hadn't been so transparent as he had believed? He had been told, and often, throughout his life that his countenance was made for poker tournaments.

He felt them tip a bit as the helicopter lifted from the grass, and the doors slid shut and bolted automatically. The detective ran his eyes along Jim Moriarty, planning a line of inquiry. And rather than trying to be heard over the takeoff, he pulled out the new mobile and swiped the screen on.

Jim's brow furrowed as a text alert flashed at the top of his display. Very few people actually had his direct mobile number, so he toggled out of the email app and opened the text. His eyes flicked up and met the detective's sparkling ones, inner mirth concealed not one whit. Then Jim's eyes slid back to the screen as he, in turn, smiled.

Thinking I'm still on the fence? –SH

Depends on what fence you speak of. –JM

Criminal. –SH

Ah, well. I had thought it would take a bit more adjusting is all. –JM

I can't imagine why. –SH

Other than you kidnapping, torturing, and drugging me, that is. –SH

;) –JM

What is that even of? –SH

It's an emoticon. A winking smiley. –JM

To what purpose? –SH

*sigh* To show what one is feeling or express things otherwise difficult to do in simple texts. –JM

But you're just sitting right across from me. –SH

[Yes, but if you would ju -deleted] [You could -deleted] Oh, nevermind. –JM

Anyway, I don't see what you're getting at. But feel free to continue on. I am here for the ride. –SH

And the Game. –JM

And the Game. –SH

E/N: Oh lawd, am I about to have some fun with these boys….