Unwanted Feelings

Chapter 2

The taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant. It was small. Italian. Intimate. Sherlock had never been, but he had heard from Lestrade that the food was good. It had good reviews, and Sherlock trusted them more than the Detective-Inspector's opinion.

Sherlock walked inside and was immediately greeted by a smiling waiter. "Sherlock Holmes?" He nodded. "Right this way, Sir." Sherlock followed the boy to a table towards the back.

"Another gentleman is here, but I believe he went to the loo," the waiter explained. "I'll have your waitress come by with your drinks in a moment."

Sherlock nodded, then he sat at the table so that he was facing the door. He didn't like not knowing who was behind him, and this way he could see everything, as his back was against the wall.

After a few minutes, a familiar face sat down in front of him.

"Hello, Sherly. And how are you today?"

Sherlock eyed the spider in front of him, trying to deduce why he was there. "I'm well, Jim. And how are you?"

Jim smiled a mischievous smile as he looked over Sherlock. "You know me, I'm a busy bee."

"And yet you found time to have dinner with me." Sherlock didn't move or smile. He kept his eyes fixed on the man in front of him.

"Always good to check up, isn't it? Make sure you're not getting up to anything..." Jim eyed Sherlock's torso, and for the first time in probably his life, Sherlock felt slightly self-conscious. Jim smiled at the pink tint that had appeared on his pale cheeks.

"Have to make sure my best player doesn't get sick, don't I? That would ruin the game."

Just then, their waitress came by and took their drink orders. They both ordered waters. While Sherlock watched the waitress, Jim watched Sherlock.

"I don't see why you would care," Sherlock remarked after the waitress had left, turning his attention back to Jim. "If I'm just one of your players, you must have others."

"Loads," Jim chuckled as he buttered a roll. "But they're all ordinary," he said as he gestured to the side with his knife. "At least you pose something of a challenge. Everyone else is so easy to manipulate. At least you can think for yourself."

Sherlock watched him as he finished that roll and buttered another.

"Oh sorry, would you like one?" Jim asked, holding one out.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Well, kind of you to show up, then."

The waitress came back with their drinks and to take their orders. Sherlock ordered a simple pizza for one, and Jim eyed him, then ordered himself Chicken Alfredo.

The two sat in silence, each observing the other suspiciously, and Sherlock only broke the silence when the food arrived.

"What do you really want? If this was just a business meeting then you wouldn't have come somewhere this nice and your pupils wouldn't be dilated as they are now. This is something else."

Jim watched him with humor in his eyes as he ate his food. Sherlock ate nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on Moriarty the entire time.

"Tricky Sherlock, always figuring out secrets. I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. I've got no hidden agenda, I only wanted to see how you were doing."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Alright then. How were you watching me? You heard what I told John after we left the crime scene."

Jim smirked at him as he sat up. "You know how. You're Sherlock Holmes. You figured it out as soon as you read that text."

Sherlock sat back and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "You have cameras."

Jim nodded as he chewed and waved his hand for more. "And?"

"You have cameras in my flat and on me."

Jim nodded again. "You see, I have my ways, Sherlock. And remember, I'm not alone. I've got a whole network of people who follow my every command."

Sherlock scoffed, then he stood up. "I've got to dash. I hope you don't mind picking up the check."

With that, Sherlock walked out of the restaurant and pulled his gloves back on. He felt eyes on the back of his head, but he didn't turn around to look. He knew Moriarty was playing some game, and it irritated him that he couldn't figure it out. Yet.

- | - | - | -

Sherlock re-entered the flat and shrugged off his jacket.

"Where did you go?"

He paid John no mind and walked back to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, growing louder and louder, then they stopped and there was a knock on the door. 

"Sherlock? You alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine, John!" Sherlock called as he undressed, then crawled into bed.

John poked his head in and looked at Sherlock, who was curled up in a ball under the blankets. "Yes you're great..." he muttered as he closed the door again.

Sherlock thought in silence for a long time. He knew he wouldn't sleep, so he didn't even try. Pictures kept popping up in his head, and he kept hearing his phone buzz, but he ignored it.

He escaped to his mind palace and imagined himself playing with his old dog, Redbeard. That always calmed him down.