The Phone Number Sherlock Holmes/BehindtheCurtain

Jim paused in front of the door to the St. Bart's lab. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before knocking twice on the door. There wasn't an answer, so he pushed it open.

"Ah, hello? Sherlock? Oh, there you are. I hope I'm not interrupting, but I think I left something in here."

He stared at Sherlock with hands in his pockets, waiting for a proper invitation to enter the room.

(My first time starting out like this. Hope it's alright.)

(Yeah it's cool! Can I just check before I reply...when are we setting this? Have they already met yet?)

(Of course!
I was thinking just before Jim started talking to Molly, in January.

Jim was working in the IT department a couple months before Sherlock tells Molly that Jim is gay.)

(No problem, sounds good!)



Sherlock was busy working in the lab, staring down the microscope at a dropping of ash he'd found at a crime scene. He hated being disturbed when he was concentrating, so the knock on the door and the annoying voice of the man lingering in the entrance to the lab was all rather frustrating.

He glanced up quickly then looked back down at his work. He didn't recognise the man, wasn't particularly interested.

"What is it?" he asked bluntly.

Jim smiled and stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. "Oh, this is fantastic. I've read about you in the papers, but of course they aren't reliable. Excellent pictures though. Are you working on a case right now? Can I take a look? Are you about to do something like solve a murder with a grain of sand?"

Jim paused. He had the good grace to looked ashamed as he slowly continued, "I am so sorry, you probably don't need to hear this."

He made a vague hand gesture towards the table. "I lost a flash drive somewhere around here. I don't suppose you've seen it?"

Sherlock inwardly groaned as the man came into the room, whittering on about something or other. He'd probably been reading John's blog. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, it's very important actually," he muttered, hoping the guy would get the hint and leave.

He glanced up again as he came closer and looked him up and down searchingly. Fasionable clothes, smart but casual, well groomed, product in his hair, underpants clearly visible above the waistline, tired clubber's eyes. Obviously gay, Sherlock smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"I did see a memory stick," he mumbled, pointing casually with his hand. "Over there."

"Alright thanks." Jim nodded. He walked past Sherlock to search over the objects on the table. There, about to fall off the edge, was the object in question. He picked it up, and placed it in his pocket.

He turned back to Sherlock with a smile. "What are you working on then?" He moved closer to see what Sherlock was doing.

"Nothing," Sherlock mumbled, put off by the other man's presence and the fact that he'd moved closer, invading his personal space.

"I mean...something very important," he corrected himself, realising that if he said it was 'nothing' it might encourage him to stay longer. He looked up and forced himself to smile at the man. Perhaps appearing friendly would stop him being so inquisitive. God knows how small talk worked these days.

"If the ash in this dish," and he pointed to the petris dish under the microscope, "matches with the ash found on the dead man's clothing then I know exactly who the killer is and where to find him. Quite simple really and not particularly difficult but still rather important. You see I did a monograph on 243 different types of tobacco ash and - "

Sherlock stopped himself, realising he was rambling. He cleared his throat. "Never mind."

Jim's raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. "I read your blog. I was almost disappointed that those cats weren't the murderers. It would have made for a great story." He hoped to interest the other man into talking longer.

"So, what poor sod was murdered this time then?"

"The cats," Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes slightly. "You've been reading John's blog haven't you?" he asked with some annoyance.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh this guy...nobody important, nothing particularly interesting. Not like that last one. Now that really had been...thrilling." His heart beat a little quicker as he remembered the details of the case.

Then he turned his attention briefly back to the microscope before giving a small yelp of delight. "Hmm. Thought so. It was the brother." He whipped out his phone and sent a quick text to Lestrade. "He was having an affair with the victim's wife. You'll generally find the motive for most murder is love or money, usually both. Occasionally though you get...you get something different...."

"What a shame, I was hoping the butler had done it."

"So... what other motives would someone have? Would they be like the Zodiac killer? He wasn't working for love or money." Jim eyes lit up as he grew excited with this thought.

Jim stretched his arms up behind his head. His shirt pulled up, revealing the line of skin above his hips. He looked at Sherlock's eyes and quickly looked down, grinning to himself.

(Sorry for the late replies ;-; Twas a busy weekend.)

Sherlock's eyes travelled down to the soft skin of the man's belly and frowned at it curiously, resting his eyes there perhaps a little too long before looking up into his face again. /Oh God. Is he coming on to me?/

"Um...um motive right," he muttered, stammering slightly. "Well, some people do it just for...just for fun. Because they're bored. Sorry erm...did you...tell me your name? I'm not...not so great on names."

It was difficult not to laugh at the look on Sherlock's face. /Oh, that's precious! Sherlock Holmes, completely flummoxed./ "Not a problem. I'm Jim Ryan, Menial task boy for the IT department. It's a great pleasure to meet you person."

Jim took a too-long look down Sherlock's body, lingering over his mouth for what felt like centuries. "You're taller than I had expected. Much more impressive than the paper's poorly done pictures."

He continued, intent on talking about the murder. "You would have to be very bored, and slightly insane to murder people for fun. All you would get out of it would be a dead body, and a warrant out for your arrest. You might as well take up violent video games. Unless you enjoy being chased down by the police."

Sherlock licked his bottom lip, slightly unnerved by the amount of time the man was staring at him. Jim. That was his name. He was quite sure he'd probably forget it again immediately but never mind.

It was rather difficult to concentrate with Jim's eyes boring into him and he stumbled slightly over his words. "Someone who kills for fun is not just insane, but extremely clever and intelligent. I'm not talking about your average psychopathic serial killer, I'm talking about carefully arranged pre-meditated murders where the mastermind behind it is never caught, never gets their hands dirty. These...these people do exist...um...Jim."

"Of course they exist. The sort of person who is just begging to be caught, if to prove that they can't be. Several steps up from luring you into a hole, and turning you're skin into a coat. I've always found Silence of the Lambs to be particularly interesting, although unrealistic. "

He checked his watch, looking surprised.

"Oh, damn, I have to run. My boss is going to murder me." He rummages around the table for a pen and paper. He scribbled a phone number on the scrap of paper, and placed it next to Sherlock's microscope.

"Here's my number- you should call me. I get off at six."

He broadly smiled at Sherlock before hurrying out the door.

Sherlock laughed slightly at Jim's profiling of their psychopathic just for fun killer. "Quite right," he remarked.

He checked his watch too and nodded. "Yes well I'd better - " he indicated with his hand towards the microscope, even though he'd already completed the task he needed to.

Sherlock was surprised and a little cautious when Jim left his number and it confirmed all his earlier suspicions.

"Right then," he mumbled. "Um...thanks. Catch you...later."

When Jim returned to his department, he tossed the flash drive on his desk. There was nothing of interest on it. However, he did get to sit in the head techinician's office for twenty minutes just to listen to the man ramble on about priorites and some sort of anecdote involving a parakeet and a bottle of liqour.

Jim was extremely uninterested.

He spent the rest of the day clearing viruses off several company computers. Most of them were from escort sites.

Then, he went home and waited to see if the phone would ring.

Sherlock watched Jim leave then tried to go back to work, his mind continually distracted by the sight of the scrap of paper with the phone number lying on the desk next to him. Sighing angrily, he packed up his things ready to go home. He was done here anyway.

He grabbed his coat and pulled it on over his shoulders, tied his scarf and headed towards the door, purposely leaving the number right where he'd found it. There was no way he was going to ring the guy. Why would he? Why should he? Jim was gay, that much was obvious. And Sherlock wasn't interested in relationships of any kind. He was married to his work, he kept repeating to himself.

Sherlock made his way back to Baker Street and with some annoyance noted that his mind palace had already memorised the phone number just by looking at it once. Sometimes he had no conscious control over his own mind palace, he grumbled, rolling his eyes, but it normally only did that if there was a part of his brain that deemed the information important enough to remember. The question is, why would Jim from IT's number be important?

Jim Moriarty was immensely disappointed in Sherlock Holmes. However, he wasn't surprised. He had considered that the man might just be curious enough to call him.

He had made it obvious enough that he was offering affection and sexual favors. Jim had attempted to show Sherlock that he was interested in the man's personal work, not his growing fame.

If Sherlock wasn't going to call him, Jim would simply have to chase him down.

Jim put on his favorite grey t-shirt, and nearly too-tight in the ass and hips but sexy as hell black trousers. Then, he stepped out of his flat and made his way to 221B Baker Street.

He arrived after a few minutes, and knocked heavily on the door.

A few days after meeting Jim in the lab and Sherlock was sat in the flat, bored, once again waiting for John to return from work so he could entertain himself by winding up his flatmate.

He hadn't forgotten Jim. Quite the opposite. The strange flirtatious young man had made something of an impression on the detective and he found thoughts of him surprisingly crossing his mind from time to time.

It was in one of these surprising moments that Sherlock heard the door banging. He waited a few minutes but when he realised Mrs Hudson wasn't going to answer it he groaned loudly and rolled his eyes, forcing himself up off the sofa to go and answer.

He was shocked to see Jim from IT standing on his doorstep. "Oh," he gasped slightly, taking a small step backwards. "Jim," he muttered, clearing his throat.

"Hello." Jim looked up at Sherlock with a pleased grin. "Do you like dim sum? Because I know this brilliant place not too far from here. They have this fantastic peking duck. Really got it right with that one."

He moved forward and insinuated himself closer to Sherlock. "Well, if you want to that is. I don't want to keep you from whatever murder mystery you're trying to untangle."

"I do actually," Sherlock replied, wondering when he'd last eaten. "In fact, there's a really good Chinese at the end of the road and - " He stopped himself. "That...was the one you were talking about wasn't it?"

He frowned, considering the offer and wondering why Jim from the IT department apparently had such a crush on him he wanted to take him for dinner, and what Sherlock was going to do about it.

He wasn't working on a case so there was no reason why he couldn't eat. He was rather hungry. He was bored and perhaps a tiny bit lonely although he would never admit that to anyone. Sherlock rolled his shoulders, studying Jim's face, then answered. "Yeah why not. I'll come."

He darted back inside, grabbed his coat and scarf and within a minute they were walking along Baker Street together to the Chinese restaurant.

Jim happily nodded in assent at Sherlock's question. "Yeah, that's the one."

It was an effort to keep in stride with Sherlock. Jim was forced to take more quick steps to compensate, although he was too busy thinking to notice. Despite Sherlock's general disregard for eating and breathing, he appeared to be healthy, and even filled out his clothes quite well. Jim almost had to make an effort to avoid looking at him for too long. It would have been difficult to tell that Sherlock and Mycroft had come from the same parents, from their physical appearances. Jim wasn't going to complain, however.

Jim started talking animatedly."Everyone in the department thinks that you're together with John Watson. But... I don't think you are. Of course, practically everyone I work with is a balding man stuck in a permanent mid-life crisis. Except the interns- those are all pretty young girls."

He frowned apologetically at Sherlock. "It's really none of my business. Sorry."

Sherlock was amused by the shorter man's quickened steps, it reminded him of John, and as if echoing his thoughts, John was suddenly mentioned.

"Yes, everyone does seem to think that," he admitted with a smile. "I'm not sure why exactly, because we really are just friends. I mean...you should see the amount of dates John goes on, it's ridiculous. And the girls. God they are awful. Totally stupid, half a brain cell between them, I really don't know what he sees in any of them and I just don't - "

He stopped himself mid sentence, realising he was going on.

"Apologies. Now it's my turn to ramble so it would seem," he mumbled embarrassed. John's lovelife was something of a touchy subject. Sherlock found it intensely annoying, although he couldn't quite make out why.

He was glad when they arrived at the restaurant, and Sherlock opened the door, holding it for Jim.