PRESENT DAY.

Jim slid his arm from Sherlock's waist and moved to stand in front of him. Sherlock took in every detail of the now older man. He was still as stunning now as he had been all those years ago.

"It's been a long time, Jim." he started, looking around him for somewhere to sit. He chose the sofa, it looked the least... offensive.

"I wouldn't have expected to find you somewhere like this." he gestured around the room. It really was a slum for a genius like Jim Moriarty.

Jim lowered himself onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh.

"I know, Sherly. This isn't one of my finest moments. Truth be told, I am only here..." he mimicked Sherlock's gesture round the squalor, "... to see you."

"I should say", he moved himself closer to Sherlock, pressing his thigh up closely against his former lover's, "that I would never have expected to see you here either, of course."

Sherlock took a deep breath in an effort to remain, at least outwardly, unaffected by the proximity of the Irishman. Being here, in this place, was bad enough. Being surrounded by drugs and in the presence of Jim Moriarty was seriously starting to get to him.

He swallowed visibly before responding.

"Yes, well, needs must, I suppose."

Jim nodded. He remembered well. There was so much history between them that even now, over ten years after they had last seen each other, it still felt like they had never been apart.

He still sat next to Sherlock and saw that same lost, desperate genius who would do anything... anything for the relief that cocaine brought him. He wondered how Sherlock had been coping since then. He didn't seem to be coping terribly well now, he noted as the detective shuddered at his touch.

"And what is it that you need , Sherly?" he asked, sliding a hand onto the young Holmes' thigh and hoping the use of the affectionate nickname would calm him.

It didn't. It had the opposite effect, in fact. Sherlock stood hastily and moved away from the sofa; from Jim; from the touch; from the memories.

"I..." he began, stuttering, "I just came for the coke, Jim. I paid my money for it and that's it."

Jim frowned and tutted. "Oh, Sherlock," he stood and approached the increasingly agitated Holmes, backing him up against the wall next to one of the doorways. "You know that money isn't how it works for us."

Sherlock froze, his thoughts scrambling in some desperate attempt to organise themselves. They failed.

All he could see was Jim Moriarty, dark red velvet fabric and rich deep purple flickering in antique silver.

Suddenly, he wanted. No, he needed.

More than anything else in the entire world - Even John? He pushed the thought away - he needed relief, and he needed Jim.

Jim pressed himself against Sherlock and lifted his hands, sliding them into his ex-lover's heavy coat and pushing it off.

It fell to the floor with a thud and the squalid little flat was overcome with the sounds of two men grunting and moaning.

Sherlock groaned as he felt warm hands pushing at him, fingers gliding across his skin.

Ten fiery points of contact between him and a world he had long left behind.

Each fought for dominance, but it was a fight Sherlock could never win.

Always - eventually - he would give himself to Jim Moriarty.

Sherlock awoke feeling confused and sore. It took him a moment to clear his head and remember where he was.

Unfortunately, when he did, he wished he hadn't.

"Well, hello, lover." Irish tones came from close by. Too close. A hand stroked his chest and Jim came into his field of vision, propped up on one elbow on the bed.

Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned. He really was well and truly fucked now.

"Much as I'd love to stay and chat", Jim continued, climbing out of the bed and pulling on his pants and trousers, "I have places to go, people to see, yada yada. You know how it is."

He slipped on his shirt and, leaving it partially unbuttoned, pulled on his jacket before leaning down and sliding into his shoes.

Sherlock raised himself to sitting, pulling the sheet with him to keep himself decent.

Jim laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Really, Sherly. No need to be shy now. Little late for that, isn't it?"

He rounded the bed - At least we made it to the bed, Sherlock thought - and leaned over, planting a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

"Goodbye for now, Sherlock Holmes. This was fun."

Jim turned before exiting the room, blowing a kiss to Sherlock and throwing a small box and a roll of cash - the drug payment that Sherlock had given to Surly - down on to the bed.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon."