Hello, again!

I feel like I'm coming down with a bit of the Writer's Block flu...(pray for me not to).

It's not that I don't know what to write...it's just that I feel that my 'muse' has left me (and I am NOT amused (lol see what I did there?)).

Well, anyway...

Here's the next chapter!

"Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turned to hear…Caesar is turned to hear…Moriarty! You gonna read your line or not?"

"Huh?" Jim looked up and around the classroom, still groggy from dozing (and drooling) on his desk, and saw all his classmates staring at him expectantly, "…Where are we again?"

"Act One, Scene Two." The teacher sighed, rolling his eyes as Jim began to flip through the pages of his school-issued book, "You're the Soothsayer. Your line is 'Beware the ides of March'."

"…Beware the ides of March." Jim droned, reading from the text.

He was fifteen, the new kid in class (and in school as he couldn't have very well stayed at the school he had killed a fellow student at, now could he?) and hated Shakespeare…

…not to mention being given such a tiny part in the classroom read-aloud.

"You have to say it better than that." The boy playing Julius Caesar declared, also rolling his eyes at Jim, "And louder, too."

"God." Jim groaned, now rolling his eyes, "Do I have to?"

"Try it again, Mr. Moriarty." The teacher instructed.

"Beware the—" Jim began but changed his mind mid sentence, standing up and slamming his book shut down onto his desk, "You know what? Fuck this. I'm tired of this Shakespeare bullshit. He's not that great, you know, but everybody keeps worshiping him like he's some kinda god or something. The only reason he's even famous anymore is 'cause he's always been and everybody's just too damn stubborn and scared to change!"

The fifteen or so teenagers all turned their heads to gape in shock at Jim's iconoclastic monologue, some of them offended...and others quite appreciative.

"Shakespeare is the greatest writer in the English language!" Julius Caesar countered, also standing, "You're stupid if you can't see it! I mean, who do you think you are, anyway? It's not like you could do any better…I bet you can't even think of anyone better either!"

"Sure I can...there's um…" Jim replied, folding his arms and then glancing up at the ceiling as if searching his mind, "…Oscar Wilde."

"He's not better." Caesar shook his head.

"Yes he is." Jim insisted, smiling, "He's Irish."

"He was gay, that's what he was." Some other kid in the class spoke up, "A godless homosexual sodomite."

"Maybe that's why you like him." Caesar sneered.

"Maybe it is." Jim winked at him, causing him to blush in embarrassment (and perhaps something else too) and flinch.

"Both of you sit down! That is enough." The teacher stated, slapping his book on his desk to get everyone's attention, "And Mr. Moriarty… see me after class."

Text Message Inbox:

I have a crime I need your help with.

It'll make us both very rich.

I'm planning on robbing the Bank of England.

Contact my pointman for more info.

####

'key to the city'?

Mr. M what r u talking about?

####

Sir we have your dry cleaning ready for you now.

We have no address on file to have it delivered and so you can come pick it up at your convenience.

####

I heard you were kidnapped a few weeks ago.

If that is true this message is now to your captors:

I'll pay any ransom for you to set JM free alive.

Reply back to this number ASAP.

Thank you.

####

My people say you have some kind of 'all-access' code.

We need it to shut down those websites that keep uploading our copyrighted content.

We are willing to pay whatever you ask.

-CNET

####

Where are you?

…

Reply right now!

…

Where are you?

…

Are you alright?

…

Where are you?

…

Don't try to hide from me you owe me money I'll find you!

####

Dear Mr. M,

A guard smuggled me this phone into my cell.

Can you please come break me out of prison?

I'll pay you as soon as you get me out!

Thanks!

####

I'll buy that code from you any price.

I need it so I can transfer ownership of Apple, Microsoft, Google and Wikipedia to myself.

Finally I will own the entire internet!

-Mark

####

Mr. M I know you are in possession of a certain, shall we say, 'backstage pass'.

Now I am not asking you to give this to me, I understand that it is far too valuable to just 'donate' and being the starving artist that I am I cannot afford such luxury.

However…if you would just be so kind as to use this so-called 'backstage pass' to disable the security system of the National Gallery than you would have my utmost gratitude.

Thank you,

Signor A. Ricoletti

####

What exactly did you mean by 'access to all the money and information' ?

I'm interested.

Please reply.

####

Sir will you be picking up your dry cleaning any time soon? It's been two weeks.

####

Greeting from Albania,

We can't steal money from Greece anymore…because they don't actually HAVE any anymore.

Now my gang will be needing a new source of income.

I am sending a representative to your country to purchase from you this code I have heard so much about.

####

I am willing to pay whatever amount of money you request for that code.

But first you have to prove to me that this isn't another one of your tricks.

####

My ship was just taken over by Somalian pirates. They stole my whole shipment of illegal guns!

Help me!

####

Mr. M

You seem like the kind of man who understands the need for freedom and is tired of the tyranny of rich and powerful over ordinary citizens of the world.

Therefore you should be willing to lend us your code so that we can shut down Wallstreet.

For good.

Thanks,

OWS

####

Hey, J is it true you've been arrested?

LOL!

I knew it would happen eventually!

Don't snitch on me or anything...

####

Did you know they shot Lewis dead a couple weeks ago?

You should have helped him!

####

All this time you have a code like this…

…and I get in trouble for hacking phones?

I want that code, JM.

- KRM, NC

####

MR. M

We saw the message those unhappy urban campers sent to you.

Although we sympathize, we suggest that you 'lend' us the code instead.

So that we can stop the US government's attempts to silence the internet via the SOPA/PIPA legislation.

We will disable all electronics in the USA in protest of the seizure of Megaupload.

…

jk lol

We r will does it 4 da lulz

-Anonymous

####

I tried 2 meet u the train station but it was closed 4 renovations or sumthin and I cudnt go n.

I kept callin but u didnt pick up.

R u dead or something?

Plz respond!

####

I heard you screwed my assistant, killed her, and SPILLED MY BEST LIQOUR!

I'll be speaking to our mutual associate about this.

####

I went on the other night and determined that I'm the great great great great great great great great grand niece, twice removed, of King Henry VII's son—thought to be stillborn—by Anne Boleyn.

That makes me royalty!

Steal the crown jewels for me?

-The New Prince

####

Sir, your dry cleaning is still ready to be picked up.

We've been holding it for almost a month now.

Jim was back on Molly's couch, every so often changing his reclining position or getting up and pacing around the room while the television blared and hummed in the background.

Now he was scrolling through all the text messages, calls and voicemails he had missed while he was 'away'.

Everybody was on about that stupid code, like he was actually going to give it to them.

…boring…

And when his contacts weren't yapping about the code, they were begging for his help with their various criminal exploits.

…boring…

This was why, Jim remembered, he had decided to quit the 'criminal consulting' business.

Normal criminals were just so petty and boring and annoying, he 'just couldn't take it anymore'!

And as for Sherlock Holmes…

Even the brilliant detective himself was getting ever-so boring…In fact, he wasn't even here in London for Jim to play with now that Jim was actually able to 'come out and play' with his (former now disowned) older brother being a spoilsport.

…BORING!

It took all of Jim's self control to keep from throwing his cellphone across the living room towards the kitchenette so that it knocked a cereal box off the top of the refrigerator…

…and so he threw the remote, instead.

Toby jumped up and off of the table he had been snoozing on with a start upon hearing the crash and then the dried flakes of some store-brand meant to be healthy (and prevent constipation) scatter across the tiled floor.

This proved an adequate distraction to Jim…for about ten seconds.

Where was Molly?

She had gone to work that morning (nervous as ever that someone she ran into at the hospital (or even some random person on the street) would look at her and magically just know who was staying at her flat), now at least twenty-four hours ago (actually only around six), leaving Jim to fight against the demons of boredom all alone.

Then Jim had gone to his little 'family disunion' with (the man who was now the only) James Moriarty…

…But that had only lasted around thirty minutes and there was only so much fun Jim could have wandering around a library so that left things up to Molly to entertain him.

No.

This was silly.

Jim had loads of ways to distract himself that didn't involve Molly Hooper.

He'd done well for himself without her before, he could surely do it again.

…so why was he just sitting there, idly, waiting for her?

When she first returned him Molly thought Jim was gone.

She called out his name three times (the third time much louder than she thought was safe…What if people heard? What if they knew?) and received no response.

Molly didn't see him in any of the rooms (including the kitchen where she had to clean up some spilled cereal Toby must have knocked over).

And just when she had decided he had left (her(again)) and was putting the dry cleaning she had picked up for him away in her closet…

…Jim jumped out at her.

Molly shrieked and jumped up. Tripping over her own two feet, she started to fall backwards when Jim caught her arm, pulling her back upright.

"Boo." He whispered.

"My god, Jim," Molly sighed, laughing (both out of nervousness and relief), trying to calm herself, "You really scared me...how long were you in there, anyway?"

"…I dunno." Jim shrugged (and he really didn't but it had felt like days).

"I didn't think it would take this long, picking up your dry cleaning." Molly added, lifting up the clean suits encased in protective plastic to show him, "I also went to the shops and got a few things for you too that I thought you might need."

She reached past him and into the closet, hanging the dry-cleaned clothes up next to her own, Jim (impolitely(romantically?)) not moving out of her way, making sure they were only centimeters apart and she could feel him breathing, hot on her neck.

Then, Jim released her arm and grabbed the plastic bag from her hands, quickly striding away from her to dump its contents onto her perfectly made bed.

A 'few things' that she had thought he 'might need'.

Razors, shaving cream, non-feminine smelling shampoo and deodorant, (at least they weren't store-brand)…condoms…

Jim grinned.

"A bit presumptive, are we?" He turned to Molly, holding them up with one hand.

She couldn't even meet his eye, face immediately bright pink.

"…I just thought it would be, you know…safer…" Molly explained, watching her shoes and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

(And she was right, too. She did have a medical degree, after all. And even though she worked at the hospital that didn't mean she could keep giving herself secret pregnancy tests in the bathroom…and what if they turned up positive one day? What was she gonna do then?...give herself an 'emergency abortion'?...She didn't even want to think about that…)

"And was it 'safer', Molly, to go all the way to store near Sherlock's place?" Jim asked, bending to move his head under Molly's and meet her eye, "I thought you were trying not to be recognized. That seems a bit dangerous, don't you think? A real 'walk on the wild side', I'd say..."

"How did you—" Molly started, looking up, and then remembering that there was no point in even asking.

"Easy." Jim snorted, "Too easy…I mean, of course, you didn't want him to know who this all was for, but you did want him to see…You wanted Sherlock to see what you were buying and deduce that you indeed did have a 'boyfriend'…Prove him wrong. Maybe make him jealous…"

Molly sighed (guiltily).

"It's only cause the other day—and your phone kept ringing—" She stammered, "And I said it was my boyfriend but he didn't believe me—he never believes me-I just wanted him to think—I didn't want him to figure out-"

Molly sighed again (Excuses, excuses).

"You know Sherlock doesn't do the shopping, right?" Jim reminded, "Won't be bothered with something so boring…He sends his trained puppy to the store for him. And they're not even in town today, they're out somewhere, on some case probably…"

"…Oh." Molly acknowledged, once again feeling stupid.

"God…it's all so predictable…!" Jim groaned, flopping back onto the bed, making the items bounce, "…all so boring!"

Molly approached him, cautiously.

"What do you mean?" she inquired (because she didn't think that he could possibly be referring to Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, his 'ultimate enemy' as 'boring').

"Sherlock Holmes!" Jim shouted, suddenly sitting up, grabbing the heaviest item in reach (the bottle of shaving cream) and throwing it sharply at the closet across from him.

Molly cringed and ducked out of its way.

She then hurried around to the other side of the bed so that she was out of Jim's target range.

Jim stood up.

At first Molly thought he was going to actually (politely) pick up what he had thrown and maybe even apologize…but instead he pulled one of his suits out of the closet and started to change into… in front of her.

Molly (politely(needlessly) averted her eyes.

"He's just so boring now…so normal…" Jim continued, muttering more to himself than to Molly, as he pulled off his jeans and cast them aside, "Doing the same thing everyday, going out on his little 'cases', always the same, always too easy…living in the same place with the same person…It's all his fault, that damn doctor!" he pulled on his suit pants, "Ever since Sherlock moved in with him he's been getting steadily more boring. Going lower and lower on the 'scale of interesting'…now he's practically flat-lining…I mean, what's the point in being alive, anyway, if you're just living?"

Molly, sitting turned away from him on the other side of the bed, watched him out of the corner of one eye, trying desperately not to turn her head in his direction.

He was changing shirts now, taking off one and then buttoning another, and then he was putting on the jacket.

He didn't even look in the mirror.

He didn't even need to.

And he didn't even look at her, he just stalked out of her bedroom once he was properly dressed.

She hopped up and followed him.

She couldn't believe that he was really saying this. That he actually thought Sherlock Holmes was boring now!

And if Jim thought Sherlock was 'boring'...

…what did that mean for poor, normal, Molly Hooper?

"I'm going to kill him, you know." Jim declared, turning to face Molly as if he was answering her question, "I said I'd burn him. I promised him…and I always keep my promises, right, Molly?"

"…Right…" Molly agreed, unsure of what else to say.

"I'm allowed to, now, too." Jim added, leaning against the kitchen counter, "James has set me free. 'The dog's off the chain'…"

"What?" Molly questioned, once again thoroughly confused as to what Jim was talking about.

"He disowned me." Jim stated, "My own brother—well I guess he's not that anymore, now…He's promised, from now on, to stay out of my business…just so long as I don't use the name 'Moriarty'…"

"…What are you gonna do, then?" Molly asked.

"…Oh, I don't know… kill myself, probably…" Jim said, nonchalantly.

Molly's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

Jim grinned.

"What?!" She exclaimed again.

"I need a new name…" He explained, " 'Jim Moriarty' must cease to exist, as James so expertly put it, 'Jim Moriarty is going to die'…"

"Oh." Molly sighed in relief, "You didn't mean it literally—"

"Yes I did." Jim corrected, "I did, Molly, I did... Jim Moriarty is going to die…and so is Sherlock Holmes. We're both going to die…I can't go on living like this, I just can't...it's just so boring, I'm so bored…I'm doing him a favor, really, putting him out of his misery…putting us both out of our misery…The Game is almost over now, what else is there to live for…"

"You're not going to kill yourself, don't kill yourself!" Molly cried, "That's crazy!"

"…that a problem?" Jim demanded sharply.

"Yes!" Molly affirmed, "…You can't just go around killing people, killing yourself! Don't start this stuff with Sherlock all over again. There's no way it can end well-"

"It's not supposed to 'end well'!" Jim interrupted, shouting, "That's the point, you idiot!"

"How's it supposed to end, then?" Molly asked, trying to remain calm and unaffected by Jim's shouts and insults.

"I'm going to win." Jim answered, "I'm going to finally prove, once and for all, that I'm smarter than him…"

"And then what?" Molly inquired, voice harsher than normal.

"We both die." Jim stated, "The Games's over. There's nothing left to live for…"

(Nothing left to live for? Nothing at all?...and to think that Molly had thought, just for a moment, that Jim might have actually…)

"…no!" was all Molly managed to say.

Jim shook his head in disgust, chuckling darkly.

"I shouldn't have expected you to understand..." He spat.

"But you said—" Molly began, recalling what he had said about her not being a 'bug'…if she didn't care.

(But she just couldn't help it, really, caring…)

"I threw them out, you know." Jim told her, picking up the empty vase from the countertop, "Do you know why I did that, Molly? Why?...Because they were dead! Dried out, faded. There was no point in keeping them in there anymore once they died, no point at all…So why did you, Molly, why did you keep those dead flowers in this vase?"

He shook it in her face, she cringed and turned away.

"Because they were pretty…" Molly whispered, weakly.

"…oh, cause they were pretty." Jim repeated, setting the vase back down and laughing, "How adorable. They were pretty…before they died! Once they were dead, there was no point in keeping them. But you did anyway—"

"Because you gave them to me!" Molly declared, abruptly.

Jim continued to laugh at her.

"Exactly." He sneered, "You kept them because I gave them to you. You're so…so…sentimental. It's pitiful. You—just like everybody else, everybody normal— just. don't. understand!...Nothing lasts forever, darling, everything gets old…everything dies…everyone…And all good things must come to an end."

"I know that!" Molly declared, "I know 'all good things must come to an end' and it's true. But that doesn't mean you have to be the one to end them!"

"Yes it does!" Jim countered, "I'm not some little ant, like you, marching around, blindly following orders…I'm a god, Molly, I don't let anybody else determine my destiny…I tell the story of my own life, I decide how it ends."

"Then kill yourself then!" Molly exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in defeat, "End it all!...but don't bring anyone else into it and kill them to! They didn't ask for that! They don't deserve that! Don't bring Sherlock into it…"

Jim picked up the vase again, and prepared to throw something across the room for the third time that day.

Molly flinched, ducking in anticipation and instinctively closing her eyes.

But when she opened them upon hearing no crash (and feeling no object rush by her, almost grazing her face) she saw that the vase was back on the counter and Jim was empty handed, just laughing at her, laughing at her like he always did.

"I see how it is now…" He sighed, shaking his head and smiling, "I understand…"

(And to think that Jim had thought, just for a moment, that Molly had actually…)

Molly raised herself back to her normal height, looking at Jim as if she really didn't know him at all (which she really didn't (couldn't) she decided).

"It's all about Sherlock, isn't it?" Jim continued to chuckled, "It's always been all about Sherlock…You don't 'care' about me. You only 'care' about him…. And all of this, everything, it's all been some elaborate game to you, hasn't it? It's all been some overly-complicated plan—a futile one, by the way—to get Sherlock to notice you. To take you seriously. To be jealous…And it'll never work, you know that, but you just don't 'care', do you? You'll never give up…"

"No—" Molly denied but was quickly cut off.

"I should kill you for this." Jim said, "And maybe I will, too, later…But not now. You're not even worth it, really. You're just a bug, Molly, a mouse...and in the 'grand scheme of things' you. don't. count. Killing you would be a waste of my time…and it would just get Sherlock's attention…that's what you want, isn't it, Sherlock's precious attention…I'm not going to give you what you want. And neither is he… Sherlock is mine. Get it, Molly? Mine."

"I—" Molly tried to speak again, but again was interrupted.

Jim walked past Molly, roughly pushing her out of his way so that she again stumbled backwards (he didn't catch her arm this time and pull her back up), towards the door to leave.

Molly stood there watching him go.

"Jim don't—" she attempted, for the third time, but the door slammed like thunder behind Jim and he was gone.

Left (by Jim(again)) alone in her flat, Molly was not going to cry.

She was going to watch television.

(…except, for the life of her, she couldn't find the remote.)

Once the bell had rung and all the other students had filed out, chatting amongst themselves, Jim and his drama teacher were the only ones left in the classroom.

Jim sunk into seat, as far under his desk as he could possibly go down.

"Mr. Moriarty, come here." The teacher ordered, and Jim ducked lowered, "…Now."

Jim rose, deliberately slow, rolling his eyes as he dragged his feet towards the teacher's desk.

The teacher stood, taller than him (but not by much as Jim had recently entered puberty and had grown what must have been a full foot during his 'vacation' at the mental hospital), and looked down to meet Jim's avoidant eyes.

Jim said nothing.

"Care to explain to me, Mr. Moriarty," The teacher began, sternly, "What that was all about in class today?"

"What was what all about?" Jim asked, innocently.

The teacher sighed.

"You know, Jim, I don't think you're a stupid kid…" he stated, "In fact, I know you're quite the opposite actually…"

Jim perked up upon hearing someone appreciate his intelligence…and call him by his first name.

He eyed his teacher (whom he had never paid much attention to in the past), suspiciously, evaluating him.

Khaki pants…buttoned down, tucked in shirt…nice jacket…clothes all ironed perfectly…but no wedding ring…hair blond (naturally, but still lightened a bit, judging from the roots) and a bit curly (no—wavy) and really too long for a man…and was that just the tiniest touch of eyeliner? (the class hadn't even gotten to performing yet, there was no point in wearing stage make-up…unless)…

…gay.

(Of course! He was a theater teacher, after all.)

Jim smiled.

"Thank you…" he said, looking up at his teacher, eyes still wide with feigned innocence, "…I'm glad somebody thinks I'm not stupid…I'm just so alone at this school…It's so hard being the new kid, nobody likes me here…I don't have any friends…" and there were little tears forming at the edges of his eyelids now.

The teacher eyed Jim, skeptically, raising an eyebrow as he evaluated him.

"Like I said, you're not a stupid kid, Jim." He repeated (both the sentiment and the name Jim so appreciated), "…and you really could have a future as an actor."

"Huh?" Jim inquired, taken aback, dropping his sleeve from where he was about to wipe away his tears so he could stare at the teacher, "What do you mean…?"

"Don't play with me, boy." He warned, "I've just seen you be three different people today, Jim, none of them truly yourself. I've just seen you give three performances…"

"I—" Jim started, but was interrupted.

"…and I've never seen such natural talent before in my life." His teacher smiled, warmly (proudly?).

"…Thank you…" Jim said again, this time more cautiously (sincerely?).

"I want you to join my afterschool drama club, Jim, put that talent to use." The teacher continued, "Besides, it would be a good way to make 'friends', too, get people to 'like' you when it's just 'so hard being the new kid'…"

"Okay." Jim agreed.

"I want you to join my drama club…but on one condition." The teacher clarified, "You can act as much as you want, be all the people you want to be…as long as, once in a while, I get to see the real Jim Moriarty. Promise?"

"Yes." Jim nodded, already grinning, "I promise."

Jim walked the streets of London boredly and aimlessly, towering anthills all around him, insignificant ants all around him.

Only earlier that he day he had thought that Sherlock acting 'normal' was the most disappointing thing ever…but he had been wrong.

No, it was Molly Hooper, after all this time, still trying to get her pointless 'revenge' on Sherlock Holmes for rejecting her (still trying to get Sherlock Holmes to love her)…

Why was she being so stupid?

Didn't she understand that Sherlock would never be jealous?

(The only one that was 'jealous' here was Jim (No he wasn't (yes he was...))

Didn't she understand that Sherlock would never want her?

(The only one that 'wanted' her here was Jim (No he didn't (yes he did...))

Well if Sherlock wasn't going to participate in (or even pay attention to) Molly's little 'game' of 'Oooh, look at me, look at me!' then Jim certainly wasn't going to.

He had better things to do.

…like what, exactly, again?

Sherlock Holmes.

…no wait.

Sherlock and John were gone (somewhere, Out of town on some case, probably).

So what now…?

What did Jim do when he was bored and couldn't play with Sherlock…?

Molly Hooper.

No.

This was silly.

Jim had loads of ways to distract himself that didn't involve Molly Hooper.

Besides, now that he wasn't even 'Jim Moriarty' anymore, he had to make a new life, a new name for himself.

But now that he wasn't himself anymore…just who would he be?

Jim got out his phone from his suit pocket, checking his texts gain.

'Mr. M', they said (they begged), 'help me please. I need you a consulting criminal…I need you…'

A 'consulting criminal'.

That's what he was, wasn't he? That's what he did.

It was time to get back to work.

Doyle was the second-in-command of a very notorious, very wealthy and very dangerous crew of thieves (the actual leader of this crew was never seen. ever. and did all his work through Doyle who acted as the front of his operation).

Conan was a corrupt guard at Pentonville Prison who smuggled in prisoners what ever they wanted as long as they paid enough.

Arthur was a normal British citizen-with delusions of grandeur.

…and just what were they all doing at King's Cross train station, standing still on a balcony overlooking a boarding area as other people swarmed around them all in hurry?

Well even they wanted to know that.

"...you him?" Conan finally asked, after he had seen Doyle (black suit, red shirt, no tie) standing in the same general location for about as long as he had.

"What?" Doyle asked, turning to Conan (overweight and uniformed).

"I asked if you was him." Conan answered, and then his cockney accent dropped into a whisper, "You know…Moriarty…"

"Shut up!" Doyle snapped, also whispering, "You can't say his name!"

"Oh…sorry…!" Conan apologized, "…But are you him?"

"Obviously not!" Doyle exclaimed, "Or else I would have said that you can't say my name, not his name!"

"Oh…" Conan said again, "…So you're not him…"

"Yes!" Doyle groaned.

"'Yes' you are him," Conan replied, "Or 'yes' you're not him."

"Yes I am not him!" Doyle all but shouted, still trying to keep his voice a whisper, "I am not—"

He stopped himself before he said The Name.

"Are you two, by any chance, talking about Moriarty?" Arthur inquired, approaching Conan and Doyle.

"Shut up!" Conan snapped, turning to Arthur (jeans, t-shirt, and fake designer watch), "You can't say his name!"

"Oh…sorry…!" Arthur apologized.

Doyle slapped his forehead.

"…You're both not here to see him, too…are you?" He asked, definitely fearing the inevitable answer.

"Yes." Conan answered, and then clarified, "… 'Yes' I am here to see him, I mean, not 'yes' I am not here to see him."

"I'm here to see him." Arthur answered and then turned to Conan in confused, "So wait…are you meant 'yes' you are here to see him or…?"

"Yes we are all here to see him." Doyle declared, just as Conan opened his mouth to speak.

"And by 'him' you mean-" Conan started.

"You can't say his name!" Arthur interrupted, "Shut up!"

"I wasn't going to!" Conan protested, "All I was gonna say was 'you know who'…or something else… ambiguous of that nature…"

"Oh…" Arthur said again.

Doyle sighed.

Jim, who was watching them all from his favorite bench (the same bench he always sat on ( in the same train station he always went to (in the same city he always worked in (the same)))), would have let this conversation go on longer… if he hadn't felt just so damn sorry for Doyle.

He stood up and strolled over to the three he had invited here to meet with him.

"Hello, boys." Jim greeted them, jovially, with a wave.

Arthur, Conan and Doyle all turned to look at him.

"…You're here to see Moriarty too?" Arthur questioned.

"Shut up!" Conan hissed, elbowing Arthur "You're not supposed to say his name!"

"Shut up." Doyle growled, elbowing Conan, "It is 'him'."

"Well aren't you three stooges just the most adorable lot?" Jim grinned, and then looked to each man in turn, "King Arthur…Conan the Barbarian…and Mr. Kobayashi…The holy trinity, a threesome made in heaven. I think we'll work well together…"

They stared at him blankly, confused.

"…So I am king!" Arthur exclaimed, triumphantly, "I am royalty! I knew it!"

"I'm not a barbarian…" Conan grumbled, "You know I've heard that joke hundreds of times and it's never really very funny…"

Doyle raised an eyebrow at Jim.

"You said 'the holy trinity'," He commented, "And there are three of us…but then there's you. That makes four. What about you? Who are you?"

"…why I'm the devil, of course." Jim smirked, "Who else?"

Who else?

(…'who else' indeed...)

Jim Moriarty was a 'consulting criminal'.

He was going to commit crimes.

He was going to help people commit crimes.

Because that's what he did.

He was going to break into the Bank of England for one client (Doyle's mysterious employer), break into Pentonville Prison for another (Conan's favorite bribing prisoner) and break into the Tower of London for a third (good King Arthur)…

He was going to do his job.

…but that didn't mean he was going to actually give them what they wanted.

He was just going to let them do his 'dirty work' (and keep his own hands, so soft and so lovely, clean), bribe and/or threaten all the right people so that they 'turned a blind eye' at the right moment (say went for a cup of coffee or something) and Jim could get what he wanted.

And what did he want?

…Molly Hooper?

No.

He wanted Sherlock Holmes's attention.

(Which is what Molly had wanted, too.(Which was definitely the reason that he had thought of her.))

And he wanted to convince the world his brother's (no—his(his (ex) brother had given it too him) 'all-access' code was real.

Really, it was all too easy…too boring…

This was why, Jim remembered, he had decided to quit the 'criminal consulting' business.

(Which he hadn't yet gotten around to actually doing.)

Sure, he was going to do his job.

Because, after all, that's what he did.

…but who was he?

Jim Moriarty was a 'consulting criminal' but Jim wasn't 'Jim Moriarty' anymore.

So who was he?

And so Jim joined the after school drama club.

And maybe, once in a while, his teacher did catch a glimpse (just a glimpse) of the real Jim Moriarty.

Jim quickly and effortlessly, became one of the 'popular' kids at school (despite 'drama geeks' usually being the lower sandstones on the social pyramid), all the class laughing whenever he made his jokes…all the girls cheering and all the audience applauding whenever he performed the lead roles in school plays.

Jim acted.

That's what he did.

(He had been doing it his whole life, too, he'd just been calling it 'pretending'.)

Jim was popular.

That's what he was.

But when James (and the whole school, as well) found out about the affair between a fifteen year old male student and his thirty-eight year old male drama teacher…

…Well, that all changed.

James immediately took Jim out of his new school, made sure the teacher was fired (and never again hired, either) and covered up the scandal (the school appreciated and aided with this) so that no one ever knew.

"But you just don't understand!" Jim had pleaded, "Nobody does!...Nobody but him! He understands me! He's the only one…"

Maybe he did, maybe he didn't.

Maybe Jim was lying, maybe he wasn't.

James didn't care.

"There are rules, Jim." he had said, sighing and shaking his head, "There are rules…"

But he would never say that again, now would he?

"Next!"

Jim heard the call and looked up and around from the script he had been reading over, and saw that he was the last one left seated in the row of chairs against the wall in the long hall way decorated with movie and television show posters.

He stood up and made his way into the audition room across from him.

"Name?" the woman in the doorway holding the clipboard asked him.

"Uh…Rich," He answered, feigning nervousness, "Richard…Brooke?"

"Alright," the woman nodded, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Brooke. Right this way please…"

Jim followed her.

She was a talent agent.

That's what she did.

And as for Jim…

Jim Moriarty was a 'consulting criminal'...

...but Richard Brooke was an actor.

uh oh!

Jim and Molly had a fight!

...well it's not like they could live in 'domestic bliss' forever, now could they?

('all good things must come to an end')

lol

And I'm sorry to keep asking all these strange, stalkerish questions but...

...what gender is everyone?

I assume most readers of this fic are female, given that most people who read and write fanfiction are female, most people who read 'romance' stories are female and most people who watch 'Sherlock' are female...

...but I could be wrong (it's been known to happen, lol).

So I was just wondering the gender of my readers.

And the ages, perhaps, too...if that's not too weird to ask.

Of course, don't answer if you don't feel comfortable (it's not like I'm going to stop updating or anything if you don't lol).

Idk, I just like knowing, you know?

lol