In front of him sat five computer screens. All set up so Jim could sit on his swirly chair and only need to turn a few degrees to see them (and no it wasn't laziness, it was efficiency - he got more done when he could see more screens). Two of the screens were on, displaying the screensaver. Although Jim's attention wasn't on the multicoloured bubbles floating around the dark screen.

No, he was gaping at the other three computers. They were completely destroyed. Bullet holes piercing straight through the screens and large chucks missing from where they'd been shot at so much. The glass was cracked, obviously, and Jim could see the wiring inside.

Suddenly, one sparked and without hesitation Jim dropped to the floor and crawled under the desk to turn all the plugs off and pull them. No way was he leaving the computers plugged into the mains in their condition.

With a frustrated huff, Jim crawls backwards and opens a draw on the left side of the desk, below the damaged computers and he pulls out the folder containing the purchase information of the desktops and all paperwork for them.

Jim stands and straightens his top as he looks at the computers again. His chest ached. His poor, beautiful computers...

He knew exactly who had done this. The only person that runs around shooting things when he's bored or angry.

Sherlock bloody Holmes.

Mad, gorgeous genius or not, Jim desperately wants to slap that man across his smug face as hard as he could possibly manage at this moment in time (which, considering his anger and heartache, would probably be quite hard and therefore painful for the berk).

Ugh. Jim wanted to wring the man's neck and shout abuse at Sherlock's cold corpse.
He didn't like how Sherlock brought out this violent streak. He was never a loud or aggressive person, not really, but Sherlock sure made him want to be at times. The man was just so infuriating! Prancing around Bart's like he owned the place and could do any damn thing he wanted. Yet he'd never been caught by someone who could actually ban him from entering the building - then again, the man probably knows the bosses or something and would get out of it with a snap of his fingers. 

Normally, Jim wouldn't give a flying rat's behind about what mad things Sherlock got up here to but this... this was unacceptable.

Jim may be a softie usually but you do not, and he repeats do not, mess with his computers. He will turn from an Irish cutie that would be the most charming lad ever if you took him home to your mother to a fowl mouthed monster that scares off that scary aunt in seconds.

Jim blinks, reminding himself that he is not an angry person. Well, he didn't want to be an angry person.

After taking a calming breath, Jim picks up the large folder he'd sat beside his computers and tucks it under his arm. He then turns on his heels and makes his way out of the door.

Jim takes a left and pulls his t-shirt down, self conscious about the way others in the department were glancing at him. Even among the 'computer nuts' Jim spent an ungodly amount of time with the wonderful machines.

He just found their company better than most humans company. Computers made sense. Humans.. well, they didn't. Not to Jim anyway. They were confusing, gave off mixed signals and liked to speak in riddles. Computers were straight to the point. They didn't mess with your head.

The stairwell down to the labs was empty and Jim was thankful, his short legs meant he didn't like to risk taking more then one step at a time (although he could easily). He'd always stumble and trip when he took them two at a time, his mind convincing him that he'd fall - it was a bit of a self fulfilling prophecy.

When Jim reaches the door to the lab, he peers in to check who was in there. As he expected, Sherlock Holmes was sat behind a microscope and was looking as sociable as a hermit. Jim wondered if that's how he appeared to others when he was on a computer.

He does a double take of the lab, checking for signs of anyone else just in case.

He was glad Molly wasn't there, too. Things had been awkward ever since she'd realised he was about as straight as a rainbow. They'd parted as friends and still chatted or exchange a text now and then but it was mainly just weird and awkward.

He felt horrid for using the poor girl in the way he did. He just thought it would be an easy way to meet someone without venturing too far from Bart's. Much like Molly, he spent 90% of his time here and despised being at home. ( His flat wasn't even a home. A home implies warmth, family and safety. His flat was an empty shell. Bleak and bare. He hated it. He envied Molly in a way - at least she had a cat to go home to)

Jim hadn't intended it to be more than a friendship but, being a human, he gave Molly all the wrong signals and the woman assumed they were dating. An idea Jim went along with to be a little less lonely for a while... because even 'computer nuts' feel like having friends now and then.

Had Jim had any actual interest in the girl, they could have been an excellent pair. Two lonely souls, just spending time with one another in a foolish attempt to convince themselves they weren't lonely.

Although, Jim supposes he is happy. With his computers. That's all he really needs. Same with Molly and her science/dead bodies. Even if, occasionally, that lonely feeling strikes. The computers, the stability of them, would always be there.

Jim takes a small breath once again, reminding himself why he was here, outside the lab. It wasn't to have deep thoughts about his life and status of happiness, that was for sure. He was here to bitch at Sherlock for being a stupid git.

Folder tucked securely under his arm, Jim pushes the door open quickly and marches right up to where Sherlock sat looking into the microscope. The taller man ignores him, as always, too absorbed in his work.

Jim's anger spikes in the way only Sherlock seemed capable of making it flare. He slams the folder down on the desk beside the microscope, directly onto the paper Sherlock had been scribbling notes on, demanding Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock blinks innocently and looks up at the angered man, taking his time about it too. Jim huffs at the action, red faced in annoyance by this point. This guy! He was unbelievable! Utterly unbelievable!

Jim gestures to the folder, trying to keep calm and passive. "You owe me £12,000 for the three very expensive computers of mine you shot!"

Yet, still, his volume gets higher at the end, anger creeping in. Jim's tone had turned harsh as he glares at the still innocent looking man before him. He can't help it. Sherlock had shothis computers!

A smirk slowly slides over Sherlock's lips. "I wondered when you'd be paying me a visit, James"

Jim grits his teeth and clenches his fists. He was so close to hitting Sherlock right in his pretty face. For one, he was acting so damn innocent about this all and two, he knew Jim hated to be called by his full name.

He was purposely trying to rattle Jim - and he was doing so perfectly. Jim is sure Sherlock took some weird twisted pleasure in seeing him on the verge of brutally beating the detective to death with the closest blunt object.

"Next time you throw a temper tantrum, destroy your own bloody equipment! I expect the money or new computers by the end of this week, Sherlock. I've had enough. This makes it a total of six computers you've destroyed! I've had e-bloody-nough" Jim takes a deep breathing after he snarls those words, calming the slight pant his breath held.

He turns on his heels and begins to leave but is stopped half way by Sherlock's deep voice.

"You spend far too much time in that room, James"

Sherlock's tone told Jim he had that overly amused smirk on his lips again. It told Jim Sherlock knew exactly how much he was getting under the other man's skin and just how much he enjoyed doing so.

Jim spins to face the other man, his arms folding over his chest automatically as he glares as menacingly as he can. "That, of all things, does not give you any right or reason to shootmy computers. They cost money Sherlock and there's no chance of me fixing them like with the first one you shot at. They're in pieces!"

Jim did know that on occasion he could be a tad overdramatic but surely Sherlock saw how this was utterly, disgustingly unacceptable. Shooting someone's property, really, no one - especially Sherlock - could be stupid enough to think it was okay.

Well. Jim didn't think that was the problem. He thinks Sherlock knows perfectly well how not okay things like this were. Jim thinks that Sherlock purposely goes out of his way to break moral rules to such extremes.

He enjoys it. He gets off on it. Breaking rules and seeing people all worked up.

"How would you feel if I wrecked this lab? With all your work? Hm?" Jim hums at the ends of his question, raising an eyebrow at the silent smirking detective.

Sherlock shrugs "Easy to reproduce, should I need to. Unlikely I would, had I already gained the data I wanted"

Jim huffs, again. "Well, sorry, some of us need to revisit certain parts of our work. We can all have memories stored in a grand mental palace"

Sherlock chuckles, finding this whole ordeal far too amusing for Jim's liking. Jim's glare hardens further and he realises how he must look to Sherlock. A great big softie trying to look like intimidating to avoid looking like the push over that he kind of was. He was attempting to look like he stood a chance in a fight. A technique that Jim knew, from his school years, did not work.

Sherlock could have him on the floor in seconds, should it comes to physical power. Then in a battle of wits where they used their mental capabilities... Well, Sherlock clearly out shined him there too.

"You really do make me laugh, James--"

"My name is Jim! J-I-M. Jim" Jim hisses the words, uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists together.

"Nope, I believe it says James Moriarty on your birth certificate" Sherlock's smirk widens.

Jim tenses his jaw and glares at the other man, trying to think of a suitable comeback. Sherlock watches him closely, those ever changing, omniscient eyes analysing him.

After a few more moments of silence, Sherlock turns back to his microscope with another small chuckle. Jim would've noted how much more Sherlock was laughing compared to usual had his laughter not been directed at him (the man never laughed so much, in Jim's experience, and it was note worthy when he did).

"Just replace the damn computers, okay?" Jim gives a small defeated sigh before he trials out of the room.

He was ready to give up. That curly haired version of the devil certainly knew how to push Jim's buttons.