The Second Life (Sherlock Holmes/John Watson MD/Jim Moriarty)

Sherlock Holmes hated parties. Always had done. Loud noisy rooms full of drunk obnoxious people pretending to like each other. Awful music. Having to socialise. Be friendly. Force oneself to 'take an interest' in the dull ordinary lives of others. It was hateful.

So when Detective Inspector Lestrade invited him to his birthday party at the police club, Sherlock naturally said no. Apologies Inspector. I don't do parties. Those were his exact words.

But Lestrade was persistant. Infuriatingly so. He nagged and pestered him at every crime scene. 'Come on Sherlock. Come to the party.' Sherlock was quite sure the Inspector didn't want him to attend that badly. It had just become a bit of an injoke with the Scotland Yard crew to ask him about it constantly. Finally he resorted to begging.

"Please Sherlock. Come on. All things I've done for you. All the cases I've put your way and you can't do this one thing for me. Come on. Please."
"But you've never invited me before," Sherlock had replied with a shrug.
"Well I've never had a party before have I? Come on! It'll be fun."
Sherlock distinctly remembered rolling his eyes at that point.

Yet one week later he found himself sat in a lonely corner of the police club nursing the same pint of lager he'd had for the past two hours. Drinking wasn't really his thing. Shame he couldn't say that for the rest of the force, by this time most of them outrageously drunk. Donovan and Anderson dancing shamelessly together to some trashy pop song.

Sherlock took a sip of his pint and sighed, wishing he was back at his flat in Montague Street. He checked the time on his watch. He'd made an appearance, gave his wishes to Lestrade and spoken to a couple of people. Surely no one would notice if he just slipped off. Besides he was gasping for a fag and smoking indoors was one of those law thingys. God this was tedious.

Dark eyes never left Sherlock's frame during that party.
He was waiting for the right moment to approach, watching everything and checking everything, ignoring every useless woman who tried to catch his attention.
It had taken him one month of undercover work to be able to get to this party, and he wasn't going to waste any second on anyone who wasn't his target.
Sherlock Holmes.
His delicious, clever, annoying arch enemy.

Who would have known he looked so fuckable from up close, he thought as he slowly circled in, making sure none of his movements was detectable.

He had planned this to the smallest details, his clothes, his attitude, his bahaviour, he didn't leave anything to fate.
He wanted Sherlock to guess his job, he wanted him to notice his sexual orientation, his interests, but of course the ones he had decided for his persona today.

He was a rich defence lawyer.
He was an old friend of Lestrade.
He was gay and dominant, looking for someone to hurt in sexual play.

It wasn't so far away from his real personality after all.
He was always looking for someone to hurt, and at the moment his target was this Sherlock Holmes.

The reason?
None.

Sherlock was hardly a nuisance at the moment, still so far away from harming his business, and mostly providing entertainment.

It wasn't enough though.
Jim wanted more.

He wanted to see him dance, he wanted to subdue him and then he wanted to burn his heart out.

The most delicious victory over a person.
Jim didn't need any other reason to do something.
Just knowing he had won was enough.

The hard part was yet to come though, the most exciting part nonetheless, it wasn't going to be easy to draw someone like Sherlock out of his shell, but Jim wasn't adverse to resorting to more violent manners if the detective decided to be too difficult.

"The famous Sherlock Holmes," he muttered once he was close, stopping a few meters from him, standing straight in his impeccable suit, his lips curling into a lascivous grin. "That beer must be worse than cold tea at this point," he commented, and looked at the crowd, giving Sherlock time to read him.

"I thought Lestrade was boasting when he said you were going to be here, a man of your brain in between such dim heads? How dreadful," he added amused, looking at him daringly, he wanted this, he wanted to let their intellects battle and fight, the idea exciting him already.

Sherlock dug the pack of cigarettes out of the inside of his jacket pocket and was just about to stand up and go for a smoke, possibly sneak off for good and not come back, when the small slight man with the black hair and black eyes approached him.

Sherlock had noticed him earlier when he made his initial scans of the room from his position in the corner. Smart suit, freshly pressed, expensive, obviously some kind of well paid job but definitely not a police officer. He just didn't have that look about him.

As the man came closer he heard the slight lilt in his accent and placed him as Irish. "Not all that famous," he mumbled modestly, glancing him up and down searchingly when he was looking elsewhere.

The suit was Saville Row. Sherlock recognised the cut. Well known tailor popular with lawyers. That fit. Along with his name dropping of Lestrade. This man was clearly a lawyer and some kind of old friend of the detective inspector. Sherlock cocked his head to one side curiously noting that he was also gay. The way he held himself, the way he spoke certain words, the over the top amount of product he used on his hair, moisturiser on his face and hands.

"Hm, it is rather dreadful," he couldn't help but agree. "Parties aren't particularly my scene."

Jim couldn't help the smirk curling on his lips at the detective's reply, he was rather surprised he had answered at all, he surely wasn't famous for being friendly. Jim was ready for anything.

"I think you are one of the few in this room who would prefer being in the company of a few dead bodies," he teased him, offering him a glass of champagne he had swiftly taken from one of the passing waiters.

"But again, criminals are much more interesting," he added, just for good measure.

Sherlock continued to stare into the distance, almost glaring at the police officers making fools of themselves on the dance floor.

Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he realised the lawyer was handing him a glass of champagne.

"No thanks," he mumbled, refusing to take it. Then he looked up at the man, frowning as he heard the rest of the words. "You seem to know a lot about me, Mister...?" He left the question open ended so the man would tell him his name.

"Jim, you can call me Jim," he said, his lips curled in a lewd smile as he offered his hand to shake. "As for knowing about you, I am simply doing my homework... I was able to send to prison a few dangerous criminals thanks to your investigations," he commented simply.

He kept the champagne for himself, sipping it slowly and with pleasure, as his eyes wondered on Sherlock. "It really wasn't hard to guess who in this room was an high functioning sociopath, really," he teased him.

Sherlock held out his hand and accepted the outstretched arm in a shake.

"Jim," he repeated. "And you already know my name." A small smile flickered across his lips and he took another sip of his now warm and rather flat pint.

"Friend of Lestrade's are you?" Sherlock asked, knowing it was customary to make small talk at this point in the conversation. All he really wanted was to go outside for a smoke, he was craving badly.

"I'm pretty sure you know all about me already, if the rumours are true," he muttered, cutting the small talk at the core, it wasn't what he was here for. "But how about you give me a demonstration? I've heard so much about your mind, I would like to know if it's true."

He leaned on his glass, while his eyes still looked straight at him, daring him to read him. "You know, I have never met anyone smarter than me, it would be quite an exciting event in my life, so how about you humour me?" he smirked, "Or you might just see it as a challenge, if you prefer," he added with a small wave of his hand.

"What?" Sherlock frowned, a little confused, his attention now completely held by Jim as he gazed up at him. "You want me to deduce you?"

Most people hated it when he did that. It made them feel freaked out, self conscious. They called him a weirdo or told him to piss off. But Jim actually wanted him to do it? He shrugged, never one to pass up an opportunity to show off.

Sherlock passed his searching glances over Jim once more before beginning, "your suit's a Maurice Sedwell. Saville Row tailors popular with lawyers. Brand new though, only came out last week, so you like to keep in with the trend. Your hair, your teeth, your nails, all immaculate. You take pride in your appearance, aren't ashamed to use beauty products. The way you stand, the way you hold youself, your hand and facial expressions. I'd say you were gay but I wouldn't want to be too presumptous. Your eyes, slightly shifty, small flickers when you talk says you're hiding something and the suggestive fact you came over to speak to me of all people. No one speaks to me, at least not by choice so it's odd. Very odd. You're not trustworthy but then, lawyers seldom are. It wouldn't surprise me if you took bribes, blackmailed jury members etc to get the result you want. You're at Lestrade's party so you must be a friend of his, yet he just walked past right now and gave you a look like he didn't quite know who you were, maybe you're not his friend after all. Maybe you're not even a lawyer."

Sherlock paused to take a breath, studying Jim's face to see how he was doing so far.

Jim listened carefully, his heart beating faster as more and more information spilled from those heart-shaped lips, at some point he was starting to think the detective would have him on the spot.
It was bloody exciting and he loved every second of it.

"All correct, more or less," he exclaimed after he finished his champagne and put it on the trailer of a waiter passing by with the dessert. He made good care not to compliment the detective just yet.

"Anything else? Because you are missing the most important piece of information... why have I come to you when everyone else hates you?" He looked surprised of his own words for a moment,"Oops, no offence intended there, I just have a bit of deductive skills myself," he added with a grin, pushing his hands in his pockets.

Sherlock couldn't help glowing with pride when he heard he'd got things correct. He loved it when he was right. He gave a small smug smile and took another sip on his pint.

"It's quite alright," he mumbled. "It's true. People do hate me. Nobody likes being...deduced. Well, except you apparently."

Sherlock frowned. "Yes, you are quite an unusual case," he admitted, giving Jim another intense stare. "You're not a client, you don't require my services as a detective. So...what...why would you be interested in talking to me?" He hated to admit he was quite baffled, but he didn't trust the look in Jim's eye and a sudden thought struck him.

"There's only two types of people whoever talk to me out of choice," Sherlock announced, locking eye contact with Jim. "Clients. And criminals. And if you're not a client then you must be..." He trailed off, leaving Jim to make his own deductions as to the rest of the sentence.

Jim smirked, looking at his shoes for a moment, acting coy as Sherlock talked. "I just enjoy a great mind when I meet one, which, let me tell you, doesn't happen often enough," he commented, and non-chalantly stepped closer, his dark eyes moving quickly on Sherlock's face.

"Do not guess, Sherlock, you are much better than that," he commented, laughing a bit at the not so veiled accusation. "You are as innocent as they say you are, it's remarkable, considering the field you work in," he muttered, and looked him over once again, giving him another chance to deduce his intentions.

"There is another reason one has to approach you, honey," he exclaimed, swinging on the balls of his feet.

Sherlock smiled slightly at Jim's evasiveness, amused that he had avoided answering the question so cleverly.

He didn't trust the man. He had decided that quite early on, although he still hadn't made up his mind about why.

And as for his other remark - that there might be another reason for Jim to approach him, Sherlock could think of none.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," he admitted with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Jim laughed once again at Sherlock's answer, he couldn't believe his ears. To think that most men went to great length just to get laid, and this one, well, this one didn't even take sex into consideration. He wasn't sure whether he should consider it utterly stupid or very wise.

"Mm, Sherlock, really, you disappoint me, that great mind of yours cannot come up with all realistic possibilities?" he asked, stepping closer once again, this time clearly in the other's comfort zone.

"Maybe I am not a client, maybe I am not a criminal, maybe the reason why I came to talk to you is-" he stopped, chuckling, that would be just too easy, wouldn't it? He wanted him to get there on his own, he wanted those cheeks to turn bright red when he finally realized.

"Let me give you a hint..." he muttered, leaning closer and stretching until he could speak in his ear.
"It involves you tied to a bed, and very much naked," he whispered, his voice low and heavy.

Sherlock stared at the man, rather baffled, his eyebrows furrowed in a small frown. He hated the feeling of being out of control and right now that was how he felt, because he was utterly oblivious to what Jim was going on about.

Run through the facts again, he told himself, when Jim clearly wasn't going to help him any further by revealing the answer. He's a lawyer or at least likes to think he is. He's gay. He's untrustworthy. He's not a client (at least not yet) and he's not a criminal (although Sherlock still couldn't rule out the possibility), yet he's made a special effort to come over to the detective's table and talk to him.

He's intelligent. Sherlock had worked that one out already. Perhaps he was bored of the clearly below par levels of IQ present in the rest of the room and had recognised in Sherlock someone of a higher intelligence with whom he might be able to get a half decent conversation (if Sherlock was in the mood and it wasn't about something irrelevant like the solar system, which he'd decided to delete once and for all only the day before).

He was just about to open his mouth to give a shorter and simpler explanation of his thoughts when the smaller man leant forward and whispered something in his ear.

Sherlock's mouth fell open slightly, aghast. He was completely shocked, but suddenly now it all made sense. That had been the reason all along. Of course. He felt so stupid for having missed it but he wasn't used to getting that kind of attention. Jim was gay. And Jim fancied him. Wanted to...wanted to...Sherlock's cheeks burned red at the thought of what Jim probably wanted to do, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably in his seat, at a total loss for words.

Jim's smirk widened as he finally saw what he had been aiming for, Sherlock's cheeks burning red, and his arrogance automatically fading. "Have I silenced the famous Sherlock Holmes?" he asked, pulling a bit away and searching for his eyes.

"Don't be shy, honey, you know you would enjoy it," he continued, licking his lips, his gaze turning quite lewd. "A bit of pain only makes the pleasure stronger..." he added, wondering briefly if Sherlock would run, this was defenitely not something he was used to, and whether Sherlock would let curiosity or fear prevail, well, that was what he wanted to see.

Sherlock sat staring at Jim, his mouth slightly open, his face aghast with shock. He still couldn't form the right words, although even if he were to speak he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say anyway.

Jim was propositioning him. Jim wanted to have sex with him. Rough, violent, slightly painful sex by the sounds of things. "I...um..." Sherlock stammered nervously. "I suppose I'm err...well...quite flattered by your interest of course but well...I must tell you I consider myself married to my work and that's really not...my...sort of...area."

He frowned, hoping Jim had understood what he was trying to say.

Jim looked at him, extremely amused by the detective's reply. "Oh honey, you could be married to the queen and I wouldn't care one bit," he commented, reaching out his hand, his fingers wrapping around Sherlock's waist. "I just want you for the night, I just want to pound into that sweet ass of yours, I am not going to ask you anything more than that..."

He leaned very close, their nose almost touching as he looked into his eyes. "Just because I am coming onto you doesn't mean I want a relationship, my dear... I am just giving you a chance to get rid of that virginity of yours... don't you think it's a bit embarrassing at your age?" he teased him malignant.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip hesitantly, discovering his heart was beating quite fast. No one had ever propositioned him in this manner before, and it was rather difficult to get his head around.

Suddenly he found that Jim was moving up close, getting into his personal space. He could feel the body heat eminating through their clothes and he stared into Jim's black eyes, now level with his.

As his new acquaintance spoke in that soft, mesmerising Irish accent of his, Sherlock found he was slightly hypnotised, unable to look away or give a smart remark or anything.

There had been a few times in his life when he'd considered having sex. There were a couple of girls at University who had been interested in him and possibly a couple of guys, but he'd always been too focused on his studies to really notice, or be bothered. He'd seen for himself the effects of love. The way it changed people, dominated their thoughts, opinions, actions. Made them do stupid crazy things. Lie, cheat, steal, murder. And he'd seen people with their hearts broken after a relationship had ended. Depressed, crying, overcome, hurt. Unable to function. Sherlock could do without any of that nonsense in his life.

But here Jim was talking about something else. Not love. Just sex. Just passion. A one night stand. Of course Sherlock was aware of these kind of situations. But again he'd heard about things going wrong. One of the people involved suddenly developing feelings for the other.

"I...I don't know Jim," he stammered. "I'm not...sure what to think..." Jim was an attractive sort, Sherlock decided. He couldn't really say whether he was his 'type' or not, because Sherlock didn't have a type. He'd never had anyone. But he could tell if someone was terribly ugly or if someone was good looking, and he'd definitely put Jim in the latter bracket.

"Honey, don't look so scared, I haven't taken out my gun yet," he teased him, eyes moving on his face as he leaned even closer, his hand coming up to touch along the other's jaw, it was just the brush of his fingertips, it hardly looked deliberate, but it traced down Sherlock's adam apple and stopped where his shirt parted on his sternum.

"It is a matter you can very well face rationally. The way I see it, my dear Sherlock, is that you have a problem. You lack a certain experience that most adults in this planet have, your knowledge of social behaviour can never therefore be complete. What I am offering is just a night of passion, a brief moment to get rid of a label, it'll make you a more complete person, not to mention a better detective. Think about it, think about the doors it could open for you..." he whispered, smirking.

"I am not here to do good, I am simply here to get something I want, because, my dear Sherlock, you are something I want," he added, his voice lowering considerably. "One night will be enough, neither of us is interested in love. I have someone to go back to, and all I can say about you is that I can hardly think you are capable of love. I hope you see, this is a perfect deal," he finished, and stepped back, tilting his head to the side in a bit of a cute gesture. "Don't be boring, Sherlock, don't be dull, it aggravates me."

Sherlock toyed absent mindedly at his bottom lip, his attention still entirely rapt, carefully weighing up Jim's offer whilst staring deep into his bottomless eyes.

He felt a small spark in his stomach as it turned over slightly. Nerves? Excitement? Fear? He wasn't sure what it was. But Jim was certainly making an interesting argument. How could he ever fully understand the way people think, what makes them tick, what motivates them, if he wasn't fully experienced.

His job was everything to him. Anything that could make him a better detective was immediately worth doing. What Jim was proposing was the ultimate experiment. A chance to find out more about human emotions, behaviours.

"I'm not boring!" Sherlock spluttered at the accusation, his voice rising slightly as he got a little angry.

He glanced around the party again. Now there were the boring people. The dull people. And Sherlock was practically out of his mind with the tedium of it all. He craved adventure. He longed for danger. He lived for new experiences. And having weighed up the pros and cons, thought about it deeply, he felt he'd came to a decision.

"I'll do it," he replied finally with an excited sparkle in his eyes, his heart beginning to race wildly. "Let's...let's do it."

Jim pulled back, a victorious smile on his lips, and he clapped his hands a few times, "Congratulations, Sherlock, I think you've come to the right decision," he exclaimed, but really, he was more impressed with himself. It was his specialty, to get into people's head, to manipulate them and make them do what he wanted, making them think it was their idea to begin with, but with this one he had definetely exceeded his own expectations.
He was elated, the rush of adrenaline caused by Sherlock's agreement, making his cheeks burn red.

"Your place or mine?" he asked then, he really wanted to go to his carefully prepared apartment, but he knew that it would sound suspicious to suggest that right away. Sherlock didn't trust him, and he didn't want to make things worse, not until he had gotten what he wanted at least.

Sherlock sat back in his seat, his tense muscles relaxing. He was glad the intense moment between them had passed, almost relieved he had finally come to a decision. He felt like it was a weight off his mind and suddenly Jim's stare wasn't quite so intense and...odd. He actually managed to give the man a bit of a smile.

He tugged his coat up over his shoulders and adjusted the large collar before finally knocking back the rest of his pint. "Not sure," he mumbled in answer to the question. His place wasn't exactly tidy at the moment, and he was already on tenuous terms with the landlord. God knows how he'd respond to him bringing back some random guy to sleep with.

"Right now though I really need a cigarette," Sherlock grinned, standing up and removing the crumpled packet from the inside pocket of his coat. "I'm gasping, don't know about you..."

"A cigarette?" he replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he motioned towards the door. Now that he knew he could get what he wanted, he couldn't stand this party any more, he needed out.

"How you manage to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, I really don't know," he commented, absent-mindedly, noticing idly that Lestrade was looking at them, probably worried for his dear detective.

Oh, he had every right to be worried, Jim wanted to break Sherlock in every possible way, and purely because it was an interesting passtime.
Sherlock had been hard to figure out, he had to research for long to find something that could work, because, how do you hurt someone who doesn't care for anything nor anyone? Kidnapping a relative or raiding their possessions was something that really couldn't work.
Sherlock didn't have anything other than his virginity and his career, and Jim's plan was going to affect both. Or so he hoped.
He was counting on Sherlock going crazy over the idea of getting fucked by the only criminal he couldn't catch.

"Hmm, I barely can," Sherlock admitted as they arrived at the double doors leading them back onto the street. "It's bloody expensive and they have these stupid law things stopping you from doing it indoors." He took one last look at the party just to check no one had noticed him slipping off without saying goodbye, then opened the doors and dived out onto the street, holding them open for Jim.

As soon as they were outside he took out one of his cigarettes and lit up, taking a long slow drag before sighing in satisfaction. "Better," he remarked with a small smile for Jim before offering out the packet. "Want one?"

Sherlock was feeling a lot better having left the party and he was actually quite looking forward to spending time with Jim. He'd pushed the sex part of it to the back of his mind and he was really just enjoying the company of someone vaguely intelligent. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent conversation with someone that wasn't work related. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he ever had. He'd never been able to find anyone who could match or even come close to him on an intellectual level. But Sherlock was secretly impressed with Jim so far. There was definitely something about him.

"So um...where did you say we were going to go?" he asked casually. "I would suggest mine but...my landlord is rather annoyed with me currently."