My week of writing was not as successful as I hoped, but I still got a decent amount done, hope everyone enjoys

June 18th, 2005
Sherlock's POV
Curled up in his bed, he tries to block all the feelings and sounds out, the overwhelming grief and pain and panic and fear. The knowledge that nothing he does will ever be good enough because he is not good enough. Why is he still alive when he gets so much wrong? Nobody wants him around.

Wait, not true, John seems to want him around, even asked if he wanted to meet on Tuesday. Jim too, he thinks, though that's not one he gets. The doctor thinks of him as a patient, maybe even beginning to think of him as a friend. The agent he doesn't get. Psychopaths don't make friends, do they? He'll have to ask the only psychopath he actually knows.

Rolling out of bed, he stretches a bit. Rolling his shoulders and arching his back, twisting around until he feels the popping straight down his spine.

Closing his eyes, he considers what he wants to do. When he opens them, he glances at his clock to see how long he slept for.

Only half hour, yet he feels like he slept a lot longer.

Getting dressed in a pair of old jeans and t-shirt, he leaves the room, not even bothering to put his shoes on.

He is wandering through the flat when he hears the almost raised voices in Mycroft's study.

Curiosity is something he used to be full of, and as he hears Jim's sing-song tone, the one he automatically realizes means something is off with the psycho. He follows it, wanting to know what the problem is.

"I would suggest you not finish that line of questioning, Mycroft Holmes, because you will not like the answer," Jim manages to snarl but still retain a sing-song tone.

"Remember who you are speaking with," his brother nearly snarls back, making him blink in shock. When was the last time he can remember losing his composure?

He doesn't have to be seeing the agents face to know that his lips are curved in a smirk, it's all there in his tone. "I remember, but perhaps you should take the same advice Iceman. I'm not one of your minions, and you are definitely not the person I am loyal too."

Tilting his head, he wonders who it is Jim is loyal too. He's quite certain it's not him, they haven't known each other nearly long enough for the psychopath to have developed a bond with him. It's not John, he hasn't known him that long either. Probably not Mycroft's Anna, she owes her loyalty to his brother, and her job, but he's moderately certain that she is a sociopath. So who is it? Who could inspire loyalty in someone who lacks or has extremely stunted emotions and ability to bond?

"Are you threatening me James Moriarty?" his brother's voice grows menacing, softer, almost too quiet for him to hear without moving closer, but he doesn't know if he wants to move closer or not, his brother's office door isn't shut, they probably expected him to be out for a while longer.

"Please, why I would I bother? You are not my boss, at least in the traditional sense, officially I still work for MI6, putting me firmly under M's domain, and we both know she is not a fan of you. If we discount her, then my loyalty is to Pike. He doesn't care one way or another about you, but I can promise he'd have a problem with your treatment of your brother." There is a pause, during which he sneaks just a little closer. "Sherlock reminds me of him, a less confident, nearly broken version, but still of Pike. I plan to watch as he heals from all the damage your blatant disregard has caused, because he'll be brilliant, probably even outshine you when he does so."

"I can replace you 21." His brother threatens, and he blinks again because twenty-one? If he belongs to MI6 shouldn't the number be lower? Last he knew the double-oh's section rarely went over fifteen active specialized agents, and the rest were assigned letter-number combinations.

"Try me," Jim replies blandly, the sing-song voice lessening and almost getting down into the lower pitch. "Just because I wish to leave the active field because leg work is bor-ring, doesn't mean I fail at what I do. Also, possibly unrelated, at least in my head, just because I want in your pants doesn't mean I am going to allow you to cause my charge more problems."

There is silence for several long moments. He can almost picture his brother's expression and actually thinks about actually letting them know he is there when Jim starts speaking again.

"You're biggest mistake is trying to emulate a sociopath when you so clearly have emotions Iceman. Instead of owning up to them and using them to your advantage, you cut everyone off in your life. A choice that nearly cost you your brother's life and has probably cost you his affection and trust." The agent snorts, disdain filling the sound, "Why? To try to become the Iceman, congratulations, that was definitely not a thought out plan."

"Do you think you're any better than me wildcard?" his brother snaps.

Harsh laughter fills the air as Jim retorts, "Pike gave me that title, and I own it. It's what I did as a criminal and what I do as an agent." He hears the chairs move, "Psychopaths are born. We're naturally disconnected from the regular emotions, primarily empathy and remorse. Some psychopaths are made through extreme brain trauma. Sociopaths are made. Often times by neglect, abuse, being bullied, not connecting with anyone, and being an outcaste. Most sociopaths are highly intelligent, some even genius. A lot of them are suicidal, at least until the point where killing people because a way to feel something, anything. Think of how you have treated your brother. I barely have to look at him to know how close he is to the tipping point. Now, I am going to track that lovely cook down for food, and then figure out how much of this conversation your brother's actually heard."

A moment later, Jim appears in the door, dark eyes sweeping over him before he nods once, signing, -After you have had time to process, feel free to ask me whatever questions you want.-

He nods slowly, still working his mind over everything heard. Quietly, he retreats to his room without bothering to say anything to his brother or his minder. He gets the feeling that Jim would prefer to be a friend, or plans on trying to become friends. It makes him curious who Jasper is and how the two of them met. Just another thing he wish he knew.

Stretching out on his bed, he stares at the ceiling as his mind spins at a thousand thoughts per second. He is quickly working his way through everything he knows about Jim, Mycroft, himself, their family, looking back at his life, trying to see why the psychopath says he is nearly a sociopath but not quite. During his short time in uni, he had figured he was a high functioning sociopath, because he didn't seem to react to people the way others do and lacked the bonds. Maybe he missed something.

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