Jim lounged in his chair, contemplating the mechanics of his iPhone. Such a small item, infinitely tiny on the scale of the universe, but with the power to become someone's entire life. In the case of one Irene Adler, it can also bring one to their knees, literally.

"Bored!" He groaned, laying his phone down. Sebastian Moran, currently cleaning his sniper rifle, looked up.

"You just finished a heist!" He protested, exasparated. Jim shook his head.

"That was hours ago! I need stimulation NOW!" He leapt to his feet. "What are you doing tonight?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, because he knew Jim wasn't even trying to remember. "I'm going to threaten the Prime Minister's nephew at YOUR request so he gives us access to the PM's offices."

Jim sighed loudly. "So you're leaving me alone."

Sebastian set down his gun. "If you're bored, go play with your friends."

"YOU'RE my friend." Jim spun around. "I don't have any other friends… only inferiors."

"I'm sure you can think of someone who can stand you for more than ten minutes." Sebastian put away his gun. "Now, I have to go buy more tea because SOMEBODY drank it all in one night. How are you still standing after that, anyway?"

Jim waved him off. Shrugging, Sebastian grabbed his wallet and left, slamming the door behind him. Jim sat on the couch, trying to think of anyone he could talk to. Irene? Somewhere in America. Sebastian had left, and Mortimer was shot by Doctor Watson.

Watson… maybe…?

No. They weren't really on good terms after Jim strapped a bomb to the other's chest. Why he took it so personally, Jim didn't know. He only did it to get to Sherlock.

Sherlock! Of course, the Consulting Detective. Who better to talk to for a Consulting Criminal?

In the author's opinion, almost anyone else, but remember, Jim is not exactly sane.

Jim picked up his phone, which had fallen on the floor. Dialing a number, he held the phone to his ear, grinning. Then he closed the phone and abrubtly dropped it. He had a better way of contacting the man.

Tonight was going to be very not boring.

"John. Pass me my laptop." John sighed. Sherlock was lying on the couch, still as a rock, hands pressed together. John grabbed the laptop and deposited it on his flatmate's stomach.

Sherlock opened it. Going to his blog, he checked his visitor count.

"John, you said no one reads my blog?"

"Er… well-"

"That's answer enough, thank you." Sherlock stared at the screen.

In bold numbers, was "1430"

Deciding that something was off, Sherlock committed the number to memory and looked at the recent comments on his latest posts. There were very few, which made the one left by a Mr. Richard Brook stand out immediately.

"Sherly, I'm bored. How about lunch at that Italian place you're so fond of? Left you a time. See you there. 3 ;)"

Sherlock checked the time. It was 2 o'clock.

Abruptly standing up, he remarked, "Going out. Get the first aid kit ready just in case. I should be back by five. Order Chinese for dinner." He grabbed his coat, put his phone in the pocket and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

John had time to say, "First aid kit? Hang on, Sherlock-?" but then Sherlock was down the stairs and out the door.

John sat frozen, staring at the space he last saw Sherlock, then shrugged and pegged it to his flatmate just being himself and went back to reading the paper.

Well, that was interesting. Whatever shall happen to them? I was going to make this a quickfic, but it sort of ran away and now I can't stop writing. There will be more chapters, so look out for them and review each new one. Pwease? Reviews are my lifeblood.