The door of 221B Baker Street closed with a loud slam, seeming to shake the entire building. Sherlock Holmes leaned his back against the door and let out a heavy sigh. It had been a long day - an exciting day of chasing criminals, beating people up, solving cases, and just getting into trouble. Sherlock loved days like this. Taking out the bad guys with John by his side, just the two of them against the world. It was far better than sitting around the flat all day being bored. Unfortunately, John didn't come home with him tonight. He had left immediately after their last case to go over to his girlfriend's house. Sherlock cringed slightly and pulled a face at the childish term. He leaned back in his chair in an attempt to relax. He only lasted three minutes before he got bored and decided to get up and make himself a cuppa. It wasn't often that Sherlock made his own tea, John usually did that for him, but John wasn't there and Sherlock knew that it would be a good idea for him to get something in his stomach considering he hadn't eaten all day. Yes, the great Sherlock Holmes was going to take care of himself. Apparently all of John's nagging to eat and sleep and not shoot the wall on a daily basis was actually starting to have some sort of effect on him... for now.

Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed lightly as he made his way to the kitchen. It was a rare occasion when Sherlock was in a good mood like this, but it felt oddly pleasant so who was he to question it? Upon reaching the kitchen he approached the cupboard without opening his eyes, his feet automatically taking him to where he wanted to go. He reached up and grabbed a mug, set it on the counter, and filled the kettle with water. He turned the stove on and set the kettle on top of one of the burners. It started boiling with a satisfying bubbling sound. Once the water was done he poured it into his mug and added the tea in. It sat on the counter to cool down and Sherlock turned the stove off, remembering the 30 minute lecture he had received from John when he had carelessly left it on one time and nearly burned the whole flat down. Long story short, the fire department was called and they both had a nasty cough for about to weeks after the whole incident. Sherlock smiled slightly at the memory of John, despite being sick himself, had fussed over him to drink lots of fluids and spit out anything that he may cough up. Lost in his own thoughts he reached for the kettle to put it in the sink.

"Fucking hell!" Sherlock cursed as his hand made contact with the burning hot metal. He hadn't been paying attention and he had accidentally touched the kettle itself rather than the protective handle. He immediately dropped the kettle and it fell to the ground with a loud clatter, rolling out of Sherlock's sight. He clutched his hand in pain, cradling it against his chest as he turned the cold water on. He sighed in relief as the cool water numbed the pain.

"Drop something?" Sherlock froze. He pushed the pain out of his mind and focused only on the footsteps growing closer and closer to him. He knew that voice. He knew that voice far too well.
"Here." Sherlock turned around, slower than he had intended.

"Thank you, Moriarty." Sherlock said, grabbing the kettle, making sure to grab the handle this time. He placed it in the sink and let the cold water run over it before turning it off and facing Moriarty again.

"Please, call me Jim. I do believe we are on a first name basis by now, my dearest Sherlock."

Sherlock cringed inwardly at the his name dripped off of Moriarty's tongue, like venom on the tongue of a snake. But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was that he had said my dearest Sherlock, as if he owned him. It made Sherlock uncomfortable, to say the least.

Sherlock grabbed his cup of tea, taking a small sip of it in an effort to look casual. He couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly, making a mental note not to pick things up with his right hand, the one that he had just burned. Jim smirked and grabbed the mug from his hand, placing his lips over where Sherlock's had just been and taking a swig of the tea himself. He took a step forward, his body now only inches away from Sherlock's, and placed the mug down on the counter.

"What do you say we get that hand bandaged up, yeah?" Jim said, moving away from Sherlock and heading for the bathroom. Sherlock just stared after him, unsure of what to do. Did Jim want him to follow him or stay put? As if on que, Jim poked his head around the corner.
"Coming? Don't be stubborn now, Sherlylocks." Jim teased Sherlock with the nickname he hated so much. Sherlock, not wanting to look scared but not wanting to come off as submissive, stood up straight and followed Jim in calm, confident strides.

Jim lead him into the bathroom and opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a small container of burn ointment and a roll of gauze that Sherlock didn't even know they had. Sherlock couldn't help but feel disturbed by the fact that Jim had known exactly where these items were. To his knowledge, this was the only time Jim had ever been in their apartment. Apparently he was wrong.

"Now, be a good little boy and let Daddy take care of you." Jim purred, holding his hand out.

"I can do it myself, thank you." Sherlock spat. He reached around Jim to grab the ointment but was stopped by a tight grip around his wrist. He clenched his jaw and glared down at Jim, he was seriously considering just punching his right then and there. But Sherlock had more sense than that. He knew all too well that if he disobeyed Moriarty then there would be consequences and Jim wouldn't stop until he felt Sherlock had paid for whatever he had done wrong. Sherlock just didn't need that kind of stress right now so he figured it would just be easier to play Jim's little game.

"Ah, ah, ah, Sherlock. I said don't be stubborn." With this he twisted Sherlock's wrist slightly and the pain went straight to Sherlock's injured hand. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath but stayed in place. Moriarty noticed this and smiled.

"Good. Now, let's take care of that hand." Jim ran his fingers down Sherlock's wrist and lightly over the palm of his hand, circling it once before cupping Sherlock's hand in his own. Jim reached behind him and grabbed the ointment, holding it out to Sherlock who obediently grabbed it. Jim smiled and twisted the lid off, setting it aside and dipping his fingers into the cool bluish-white gel. He looked down to Sherlock's hand and carefully spread the gel over it. Sherlock instantly relaxed at the coolness of it. He let out a quiet sigh and closed his eyes, allowing Jim to tend to his injury. His eyes snapped open as he felt Jim's cool breath skid across his palm, turning the gel colder. Jim blew on it again, not breaking eye contact with Sherlock. Sherlock couldn't help the small shiver that ran through his spine. Damn body reactions! The ointment was slowly starting to disappear on his skin, soaking into his skin to relieve the burn. He watched carefully as Jim reached behind himself and grabbed the roll of gauze. Jim swapped it for the gel that Sherlock had previously been holding and pulled on the roll until they had a fairly long strand between them. He pulled out a pocket knife and flipped it open, cutting the gauze with one swift motion. He closed the knife and returned it back to its place in his pocket. Grabbing the gauze from Sherlock, he stretched it between his fingers and looked down at Sherlock's hand. He reached out and carefully grabbed it, the palm facing up. Then, with a gentleness Sherlock would have never thought Jim capable of, wrapped the gauze gingerly around the hand, tucking in the corner so it would stay in place. He looked back up and they stared at each other.

"There we go. All patched up now, aren't we Sherly?" Jim smirked, patting him on his suit-covered chest. Sherlock looked down at his hand and flexed it, admiring how it was already starting to feel better now that Jim had tended to it. Jim cleared his throat, looking at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock simply raised and eyebrow.

"You're welcome!" Jim said dramatically. "Really Sherlock, where have your manners gone?"

"Remind me again, which one of us is currently in the process of breaking and entering?" Sherlock muttered. "I could call Lestrade right now and have you arrested for this." Jim laughed.

"Oh, but we both know you wouldn't really do that, hm Sherlock? Besides, those silly detectives wouldn't stand a chance against me." Sherlock watched him closely as the smaller man took another step towards him, only a mere two inches separating them now.
"You like playing these games, don't you Sherlock? I'm a mystery to you and as a detective, you want to solve it. You want to solve me. You can't read me the way you can read other people. Sorry love, but I'm soooo changeable!" Jim smiled as Sherlock flinched lightly when he raised his voice at the end of his sentence. Sherlock took a deep breath and looked evenly at Jim. He had been right. About everything.

"I can rid you of your boredom, Sherlock..." Jim said, quieter this time. With this, he grabbed Sherlock by his tie and pulled him down to eye level. Their noses were nearly touching and Sherlock's brain felt like it was starting to malfunction. Jim would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling the same way. Then again, Moriarty never had been one to tell the truth...

"So, what do you say Sherlock? Would you like me to cure your boredom?"