Hey everyone, this is my first Sherlock story so I hope I don't end up embarrassing myself. If I get anything wrong, feel free to point it out to me and I can fix it for you. Also, if anyone found this from Tumblr, You guys are amazing beyond words!

Also, to anyone who is waiting on my Kuro updates, they will happen eventually but I'm a bit stuck with those at the moment so I am using other programmes to get my creative juices flowing and such.

Summary: When John goes out on dates, Sherlock disappears When John gets home, his texts are ignored to the point of panic. When Sherlock returns, the topic is avoided. What is Sherlock keeping so secret? And will John discover that maybe, somethings are better left a secret.

Rated T - Mystery/Romance - WARNING: Slight graphic scenes, blood, MxM, Jimlock/Sheriarty, later angst.

Disclaimer: DeiDei does not own Sherlock. She is no where near smart enough to come up with any of those plot lines and foreshadowings..

CHAPTER ONE:

It's amazing how quickly things went back to normal between John and Sherlock. Sure the first couple of months were awkward, the first week was tense. But now, now it was as if the Fall had never happened. John had managed to hit it off with a girl during Sherlock's 'absence' and was still going strong with her. Their weekly dates had easily been fit into the detective's routine and he no longer bothered to interrupt his flatmate during these crucial hours away.

Sherlock slipped back into the scene easily. Still spreading his experiments across every available surface, still berating Anderson and Donovan with his snarky remarks, still consuming copious amounts of tea and coffee. Still same old Sherlock. Although, if John had to guess, he would say the consulting detective had become more.. Considerate? Appreciative? Sentimental? Or maybe he had just become more polite. Not calling everyone idiots was simply manners. Smiling in greeting is normal. But it was those small things that helped John forgive Sherlock. The sociopath had learned to socialize. Only one step but it was better than before.

It was a Friday afternoon when Sherlock's phone went off, interrupting his performance of Bach's Partita no.1. John had his weekly date that evening and Sherlock had long ago learnt not to interrupt the man whilst he was getting ready, opting instead to simply reach for the phone himself. Flashing up on the screen was a message, sent from an unknown number. For a moment, the detective considered ignoring it, but something told him otherwise. Halfway in it's decent, Sherlock pulled the phone back up and unlocked the screen, taking in the few words before him.

"We met twice, five minutes in total. He pulled a gun, I tried to blow him up. I felt we had a special something."

And I think we still do, Mr Holmes. Want to find me? I'll make it worth your while ;)

-JM

The detective simply stared blankly at the screen for a few moments, before a grin slowly crept onto his face. Sherlock felt like jumping up from the sofa, but composed himself long enough to send one word, just one, before picking his violin up to continue where he left off, briefly considering how ironic it was.

Not too far away, a young man smirked. The rippling of the water reflected against his suit, and a delightful fire burned as he looked at the small device in his hand.

James.

it read. Only one word, meaningless to many. But to James Moriarty, that one word meant everything. Sent by the only man in the world he would allow to call him that, no one else would dare to name him such. But this was Sherlock Holmes, and from him that word was special. Grin bared, he tapped at the keys and laughed.

Sherlock was not a patient man, not by far. That was only one reason as to why the consulting detective was sat squirming and twitching and shifting in his seat, downing his third tea of the hour and shouting obscenities at the screen of some obnoxious reality show, where a lot of it was quite obviously faked.

It had been exactly 63 minutes since Sherlock had received a response and 62 since he had figured it out. Now all that was left was the waiting, and God knows he hated waiting. He did his best to hide it, however. Best not to cause John any suspicion. To the other man, it would simply appear as though he was bored. Something extremely plausible considering it had been 4 days since their last case. Sherlock had taken to drumming his fingers against his violin as the minutes slowly ticked by. It was only half five. What was the detective supposed to do in the next 30 minutes?

John would've hidden his gun by now, obviously. There were no new cases and a call to Lestrade might prompt the older man to come over. And he definitely wouldn't have left by six. That left crap telly, playing his violin or checking his experiments.

There was nothing he could do with his experiments right now. It would be morning at least before he could gather any results and there was no point in starting another with such a limited time span.

He had also been playing his violin several hours a day for the past couple of days and, believe it or not, it was starting to bore him. And he didn't want to get bored of his violin. He didn't quite feel like composing either.

That left telly. Flopping down on the sofa, Sherlock half-heartedly grabbed the remote and flipped to a random channel. Briefly glancing at the screen, he noted that it was something involving demon hunters of sorts. He was about to turn it off when people started getting attacked by what he could only fathom to be a 'ghost'. Never usually one to be taken in by the paranormal, it baffled him how easily this programme had calmed his buzzing brain whilst not dulling it with senseless drivel. A small voice in the back of his head told him that it was the mystery of it that kept his attention. Whether the culprit was human or not, as long as they committed the crime and left an interesting trail. Soon enough, credits were rolling across the screen and Sherlock was shocked to discover it had interested him. Even more than that time travelling thing John insisted they watch every week. [Though he would never admit to liking either.]

'Well, that was a waste of ten minutes' he thought to himself before glancing up at the clock. The numbers surprised him, as it showed 5:58pm. How he could have spent nearly half an hour watching TV without realizing was beyond him. His thoughts were cut off as John bounded into the living room, pulling his coat on over his black dress shirt. His face was clean shaven and his aftershave gave off a calming scent without being too overpowering. Locking eyes with his flatmate, John smiled whilst simultaneously checking his pockets for his keys, phone and wallet. All were present and accounted for, of course, but it was always best to check. Sherlock returned the gesture, easily slipping back against the sofa in a more relaxed position, as if he hadn't just been leaning intentively towards the screen a couple of seconds ago. Gripping the handle loosely against his palm, the doctor turned back to the detective.

"Alright Sherlock, you know the usual. No letting strangers into the flat, no interrupting me unless it's an emergency and try not to blow anything up."

"I know John. No fires either."

"Okay, I trust you. God knows why but I do. See you in a couple of hours. That is, unless you actually plan on sleeping tonight. In that case, see you in the morning."

With Sherlock's soft "See ya" in response, John slid through the doorway and out to hail a cab. The consulting detective sat still for a moment, listening as the doctor's footsteps faded and the door shut downstairs. Seconds later, he stood abruptly, stretching out his tense muscles and heading for the shower.

Wiping the steam from the mirror, Sherlock stared critically at his reflection. His dark curls fell over milky skin in damp tendrils and his eyes were alive with excitement. The beginning of a smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth but not so much as to arouse suspicion. His cheeks were clean shaven and his nails filed and trimmed neatly [although, these were often things the detective did on a daily basis], but still something seemed missing. Since his flatmate seemed to have more experience in the matter, Sherlock brought it upon himself to recall every date he had seen John attend and the preparations beforehand. He came up to his conclusion fairly swiftly, yanking open the bathroom cabinet with more force than necessary. Inside were several bottles, each with their own brand and label, but Holmes didn't really care for that. For once he took the simplistic approach, removing the cap from each bottle and sniffing the contents, arranging them mentally in order of appeal. Eventually he found one that suited his tastes and set about splashing the liquid against his chin and rubbing part of it against his wrists. Bathroom done, it was time for clothes.

For the first time in quite some time, Sherlock was confused. What had previously seemed so simple to him had become one of the hardest tasks imaginable. However, this would not get him down, he would not be beaten by fabric! 'Think of it as a puzzle, a mystery' his mind whispered. And that was exactly what he planned to do. It wasn't a date as such, only a meeting. That ruled out anything too upper class and yet nothing too casual. And he also didn't want to wear something he wore everyday, this meeting would be special. It would also have to be comfortable, as he was currently unaware of what events would follow their talk together, something that bothered him greatly. In the end he pulled out a soft purple dress shirt that clung gently in all the right places, combined with a pair of almost black denim jeans and black shoes. It had been a while since he wore jeans, but this pair [out of the three he owned] was quite easy to manouvere in whilst still maintaining aesthetic appeal. Slipping on his trademark coat and scarf and checking his mobile was in his pocket, he briefly observed the time before rushing out to hail a cab.

The pool was empty by the time he arrived, abandoned in the darkness with barely a street lamp to guide his way. The nights were dark and cold now in London, and the visible puffs of air that escaped the detectives lips implied the coming winter months. Not particularly his favourite time of year, but the cool, crisp air felt nice against his skin. Fishing around in his pocket, Sherlock pulled out his phone, checking the message yet again even though he knew perfectly well he was in the correct location.

Remember when you first met Jim Moriarty, Mr Holmes? When you found the way to get to me? No ones ever come that close. Remember the day we discovered you had a heart?

Meet me after Johnny boy goes on his date. Take as long as you need. I'll be waiting.

-JM

The slender man took a deep and calming breath before pushing open the double doors and walking inside the darkened building. The heel of his shoes tapped quietly against the tiled floors, door after door opening with creaking and squealing hinges that echoed down empty halls. Eventually he reached the pool room where it had all started. Where he had played the game for John's life, fought mental battles against a madman whilst his flatmate stood trapped in explosives. Now that particular madman brought him a different range of emotions, things he would never have shown before the fall, but things were different for him now.

Yet again, no lights were on and no source of life could be seen. The smell of chlorine overwhelmed his senses and the minuscule beams from beyond the windows highlighted the rippling waters of the pool. Sherlock was about to say something when he sensed someone standing behind him. Within seconds, he was spun around and his back slammed against the wall, exciting a soft grunt. This was cut of swiftly as a pair of soft lips found their way to the detective's, a smooth hand gripping him gently beneath the chin. It was brief but passionate, only a moment away from reality but that was how they were. Always one to over exaggerate but repeated measures led to boredom quicker. Short and fast but mind blowing at the same time summed their relationship quite well.

The detective blinked, a slight smile creeping onto his face as he glanced at the manic grin almost directly in front of him. The reflections from the water draped across the two of them as they held their silent position, a tangle of long limbs against a tiled wall. The water made their eyes glisten slightly as they stared into the depths of each other for the first time in months. The shorter of the two had momentarily taken to stroking his fingers slowly up and down the other's cheek, circling the attractive bone beneath his eyes. The detective was the first to break the peace, his deep voice bouncing off the walls and sending shivers down the psychopaths spine.

"James.." he breathed.

"Hey Shirly"

So, what did you guys think of the first chapter? I suppose it could be read as a one-shot but if you enjoyed this, expect more chapters to come. I don't know when, how often or how many chapters there will be but hopefully you'll stick with me through my abrupt start/stop writing moments and such.

-DeiDei