Sunlight from the clear spring day poured into the room, shining upon the mess inside. Droplets of blood had dried upon a computer desk to the side, next to a Swiss Army knife with the blade still out and two empty crystal glasses. Upon the floor nearby lay a jumble of clothes and an upside down keyboard. The scene was either one of crime, or one of passion. But the two naked figures that lay on the bed cleared up that mystery.

It was the extreme dryness in her mouth that first irritated her beyond sleep as her eyes began to open and she forced her senses to come back to her. Despite a heavy soreness throughout her body, she sat up and felt around her nightstand to find her bottle of water while her eyes still adjusted to the light in the room. After downing half the bottle, the first thing her eyes were able to focus upon was the computer desk in front of the bed and she felt a sudden stab of nausea and regret. She slowly turned her head next to her and felt the nausea intensify tenfold as her eyes fell upon the form of Jim Moriarty still asleep next to her.

She quickly averted her eyes, as if her gaze could awaken him at any instant. As slowly as she could so as to keep the bed from shifting too quickly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a fist full of the silken sheets to cover her front up with.

And yet it wasn't enough as the weight on the bed began to alter, followed by the deeper breaths one takes as he is waking from a blissful slumber. She ruefully closed her eyes as if she had just awoken a dragon and was preparing (or was it hoping?) to be burnt to ashes.

"What a night," he said in the middle of a large yawn. "Don't you agree?" She responded by taking another sip from her water bottle and replacing it on the nightstand, avoiding his gaze although she felt his eyes taking in her every move. "Oh, don't be like that! I thought we made such a special connection last night."

She suppressed a strong urge to slap him across the face as she was in no mood for his snide comments today. Instead, she placed a hand upon the edge of the bed to help her up, planning on taking a shower and praying to whatever higher authority was out there that Jim was gone by the time she got back. Before she lifted herself up off the bed however, Jim's hand flew out quickly and caught her by the wrist in a tight grip.

"Wait."

It wasn't his hold that made her freeze; it was the manner in which he spoke that one word. All humor was gone from his voice, replaced with a deadly tone she dare not ignore.

What made him stop her was something he had not noticed in the exhilaration the night before: faint blemishes on her back that only appeared when the sunlight hit it a certain way, darkening certain spots. He began to lightly run his fingers over those grooves and along her spine. They appeared to be chemical burns. They had been healing well, so it must have happened not more than four or five years ago.

"Don't tell me your fellow MI6 buddies are kinkier than me," he finally said, his sardonic tone back in action.

She swallowed hard, thinking about whether to tell the truth or not. It's not like it mattered. Scars like that didn't happen accidentally.

"This isn't the first time I've been caught. Usually it ends up worse than a few broken bones," she answered absentmindedly, allowing him to feel each and every indentation and forcing her mind to focus on the monstrosity of his past actions so as to avoid temptation similar to last night's. "So it's more like there are other torturers better at their job than you." She had no idea why she had made that last remark. Perhaps she was hoping he'd lash out her, ultimately giving her the punishment she so rightly deserved for her dire regret.

She felt the weight on the bed shift as he sat up and she closed her eyes, preparing for whatever he had in store for her. He felt her hand slide from her back down to her upper thigh, maintaining slow, calculated movements. As his hand started running up her inner thigh and she felt his body brushing against her back, almost every muscle in her body clenched, willing her mind to maintain control and reject his intrusion.

"And what became of him?" he asked, his mouth closer to her ear than she thought. As he brushed his thumb across her part, she clutched the bed sheets tighter in her hand and pursed her lips, focusing entirely on making sure she made no noticeable responses to his touch.

"He…" she began, but her mind clouded over the second his thumb repeated its movement, pressing inward just slightly. "Witness protection," was all she was able to get out in between her deep breaths to reorient herself.

He understood right away. He ratted out his fellow criminals and landed himself an easy way out of punishment, rendering his crimes excusable. No wonder she held such a grudge against Mycroft.

"You know what I would have done?" he asked her softly in her ear. "I would have skinned him, limb from limb." He pushed his index and middle fingers into her, feeling the way her body was clearly betraying her mind, and bringing some of her moisture to her clit. "I would have turned him into a rug to put in front of my fireplace." He pressed down on her most sensitive spot and shattered all thoughts of restraint as she finally let out a whimper. "And then…then I'd cut up his organs and string a fucking violin with them," he whispered almost savagely into her shoulder, biting and sucking upward along her neck toward her ear. "Perhaps play you a little Vivaldi with them…"

As his fingers ran over and over the bundle of nerves, her inhibitions fled her entirely, leaving nothing but the needs and desires of her body. She found that her legs had almost naturally widened for him and her grip of the sheets covering her upper body had been abandoned, leaving her front almost entirely exposed.

"I never pegged you as the romantic type," she managed to let in between soft moans, earning a light chuckle as he took her earlobe into his mouth and lightly sucked.

As his fingers alternated between rubbing up and down and circular around her and her moans became louder and louder, she felt the slow buildup of her oncoming pleasure. She leaned herself into his touch and tilted her head back knowing how close she was to release. Just as she felt she was almost there, he removed himself from her entirely, making her feel as if he had never been there at all and it was all just some unsatisfying dream.

Jim grabbed a fistful of hair by her scalp and pulled it back, forcing a pained cry from her. "There's no one better at this than me," he sneered into her ear, referring back to her comment on his sub-par torture techniques.

He let go of her hair and swung his legs over the side of the bed also, preparing to make his exit when her anger got the best of her. She let her animalistic instinct take over and turned around, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulled his back onto the mattress, straddling his hips and holding her casted hand tightly against windpipe, ignoring the pain that shot up through the entirety of her arm.

His response was a lighthearted chuckle. "We both know you won't kill me" he managed to choke out since the pressure wasn't enough to block too much of his breathing.

"That wasn't my intention," she whispered back, letting her other hand wander down to grab hold of his manhood, which was rigid underneath her touch. Of course he got off on the dangerous and unpredicted actions of others. And for some reason, it turned her on also as she ran her knuckles down his shaft and saw him close his eyes to feel the way her skin slid along his. She adjusted herself before sinking down onto him.

As she felt him slide into her, all thoughts of her regrets faded. She hated herself for being attracted to him; she was on the good side, after all. But here was the man she had studied for years, trying to get into his head and perhaps heart, if he had one, and figuring out what drove him, what made him become this way. And during that process, he had somehow figured her out, finding that they were essentially the two sides of the same coin, and knowing she could be so easily manipulated. She felt the rising darkness within her that she had worked so hard to destroy, but it felt so good.

She glided her body from his shaft to the tip over and over, slowly but thoroughly making sure she felt every minute detail of him inside of her. His eyes were tightly shut and his mouth hung open, releasing his own groans of appreciation. She could tell he loved every second as his hands gripped at her backside tightly and his body glistened with tiny droplets of sweat. It became harder to grip him so she dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades. Despite his high pain tolerance, she felt his grip tighten around her ass, and she couldn't help but feel a little smug about the fact that Jim Moriarty had to brace himself at times while around her.

One of his hands moved back behind him and pushed his torso up so that he was in a seated position while she continued to ride him, moving a bit faster now that she felt his skin rub over her clit with every thrust. He opened his eyes and looked up at her with a devilish smirk before moving his mouth over her breast, letting his tongue lightly flick her nipple. This earned a sharp intake of breath from her as she was already almost close to climax. At this point, his tight grip assisted her deeps thrusts, pushing her in faster movements. He put his mouth upon her other breast, letting his tongue flow over her nipple with the movements of her thrusts. His thumb dug into the knife wounds from the night before and the combination of pleasure and pain sent her over the edge.

Any suppression she had ever had in regards to Jim at that moment had completely disintegrated as she practically melted into his touch. Her inebriated state the night before may have been an excuse to forget her woeful decisions last night, but nothing could excuse her completely from her submission and satisfaction with him at that moment. She leaned back, letting the waves of pleasure drown her completely, feeling numb to even an ounce of remorse.

"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart," he said when he felt her satiated body begin to slow. He shoved her back onto the bed, removing himself from her, and shifted onto his knees, swinging her legs over his shoulder and pushing into her so deeply it hurt. But as they both had already figured out, pain is what completed them. They were nothing without it, and the amplification of it was an aphrodisiac of sorts.

The way he rammed himself into her warranted her loud cries. He had even leaned forward to deepen his range, but found that her flexibility quickly allowed her to adapt to his position, despite the fact that her legs were almost parallel to her torso. He leaned upon the arm he used to support himself next to her head and continued pushing full force, closing his eyes as he let his own gratification reach him and he allowed himself to release into her.

His quivering body fell next to her on his back while one of his hands remained on her inner thigh to feel the combination of their fluids trickle down her skin the to sheets to join the mess of sweat and blood they had already created.

As they lay there collecting their breaths, he couldn't help but think how this the most unexpected thing to happen. The most he expected was a new employee, and now he found himself having sleepovers and practically missing an entire day's worth of work for sex. Not that sex wasn't important; it was merely more of a power play for him than anything.

He finally mustered the strength to get up and begin to put his trousers back on. "You know, when all this is over, I could just chop your head off and hang it on my mantelpiece…" he mused, talking more to himself than anything.

She chuckled as she sat up. "I'm flattered."

He turned away to hide the faint twitch of a smile on his face. Of course she saw that as a compliment. He suppressed his carnal urges as he picked up the tattered remains of shirt, throwing aside the now-useless piece of cloth. When he reached the blade, he picked it up and pondered over it for a second before walking over to the bed and placing it on the nightstand for her.

She raised his eyebrows at him. "Most men usually go for flowers and chocolates," she jested.

His face was void of all laughter however as he stepped toward her, wrapping his fingers around her neck. He didn't squeeze but lightly brushed up and down along the sides, feeling her heartbeat rise at his touch not from arousal but fear. "The next time I come in here, you better be finished with your job," he began slowly, his cold eyes looking directly into hers, "or dead."

With that, he turned around and walked out of the room, reminding her that he was the infamous, deadly Jim Moriarty, and nothing had changed between them.