Jim watched the doctor and nurse leave Sherlock's room and head away down the corridor before slipping inside. John would be at Baker Street for a few hours yet and Mycroft Holmes and DI Lestrade, well, they were 'preoccupied' with their own little tryst.
Sherlock looked up as the door opened and instantly shuffled himself back on the bed, as if it aided him in getting away from Jim at all.
"Sherly!" Jim cried out, "So good to see you!"
Sherlock flinched, eyeing Jim suspiciously.
"What do you want, Jim?" he asked, only half-wanting an answer and glancing to the door in the vain hope that someone; anyone would enter.
Jim rounded the bed and pulled the chair up close, sitting on it and leaning his elbows on the sheets, almost brushing up against Sherlock's legs. Sherlock was still being monitored and the wires prevented him from doing what he really wanted to do - run away.
"Now, Sherly." Jim began, lowering a hand onto Sherlock's leg, leaving them separated only by a thin white sheet and a hospital blanket. Sherlock's barely suppressed shudder didn't escape notice.
"Sherlock," he purred, slowly stroking his hand along the young Holmes' frozen thigh, "You know what I want." He cocked an eyebrow questioningly, and Sherlock dropped his head. He did know. He always knew what Jim Moriarty wanted. Jim wanted Sherlock. His fucktoy. He would always want him because they were the same. Two geniuses trapped in an ordinary, boring world.
For a time, Sherlock used to believe that they were destined to be together. Not as lovers or a real relationship. Just as partners. A mutual arrangement. Satisfactory for each of them. Better than nothing. Better than... no one.
"Things have changed." Sherlock said, as much to himself as to Jim. "I'm not that person any more." Saying that made Sherlock feel apprehensive. He knew Jim wouldn't be happy to just let it all go. After all, he was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.
Jim sat back on the chair and just looked at Sherlock. His Sherlock. Except this Sherlock wasn't his any more. He was John Watson's? Or he wanted to be. Jim took a moment to decide how he felt about that.
"John Watson." he stated, after a period of uncomfortable silence.
Sherlock's head shot up, and he glared at Jim. He would love to say that the glare was threatening but, in actuality, it was more tinged with fear. He'd been right then. He hadn't imagined it. Jim did know about John.
"He has nothing to do with this." Sherlock responded, levelling his voice and blanking his face. He did not need Jim to be reading everything he was thinking right now. He had to proceed with caution.
"Oh Sherly," Jim smiled, leaning forwards with a sneer and placing a hand on Sherlock's bare arm, "he has everything to do with this." He gave the arm a squeeze, resisting Sherlock's flinch as he tried to pull his arm free.
"It can't be allowed, Sherlock." the Irishman said calmly. "This John Watson, he's not like you. He's not like... us. He won't ever truly understand you like I do. Do you honestly think he could love you back? That he could give you what you want. What you need?"
"I know what you need, Sherlock. I have always known. Even after you left me, I always knew what you needed. I think you know too." Jim removed his hand from Sherlock and stood from the chair. He rounded the bed, looking at the floor and breathing deeply, trying to keep himself calm.
"John Watson can't be allowed to continue getting between us. You're mine, Sherlock. You're mine or you're no one's." Sherlock's eyes followed Jim's movement, tracking every pace, every twitch, every heartbeat. The man was rattled; disturbed.
"If you insist on keeping up your affiliation with Captain John Watson," Jim spat the doctor's army rank as he turned his head towards Sherlock's, from his position by the door, "be warned that there will be very serious consequences. For both of you."
Jim let his parting words hang for a moment and then disappeared out into the maze of hospital corridors.
Sherlock took a deep breath and felt the tension leave his body as Jim's footsteps grew more distant.
The sooner he got out of hospital and back to Baker Street, the better.