The silence between Jim and Sherlock lasts for a long time. Jim is laying on his cot, staring up at the ceiling when, finally, he hears a voice.

"I tried to hang myself in my room."

Jim is a bit taken aback by this. He looks up. Sherlock is standing facing Jim. Jim in turn stands up again to look him in the eye. "Now why did you do that? You're a full adult; you've got a pretty nice lifestyle. Better than mine, anyway. You have no idea how good you've got it."

"I do not have it good," Sherlock spits back at Jim, turning around. "You think just because I'm not treated like a kid that I'm living the good life? My parents hate me and each other, my brother makes my life a living hell with all his surveillance and governmental nonsense, and I deserve to be released!"

"So, your point is..."

"This place is the reason I tried to hang myself. I can live on my own, I am a self-sufficient person, but my unreasonable family thinks I need help for whatever reason. Am I so bad? Am I really a freak?" Sherlock asks, turning back around.

Jim starts to snicker a little bit, pacing back and forth repeatedly inside his cell. "You should not be asking me that, after that grand entrance you just made."

"You don't get it at all, do you? Sometimes the best way to reform is not to be under a regimen that requires that I be locked up in this space. Sometimes the best remedy is freedom. This place tries to reform me, but I do not believe I need to be reformed!"

Jim doesn't know what to say. He had been thinking the same thing for a while, but he doesn't want to make his dissonance vocal in front of this stranger. Jim turns around and faces the back of his cell.

"Look, I shouldn't be saying anything to you... You're just a kid. How would you understand anyway?"

Normally, if anyone else had said that, Jim would be raving. But for whatever reason, Sherlock's words do not anger Jim

"No, I do understand," Jim says, turning to face Sherlock, who was sitting on his bed, again. "I get it. I've been thinking that for a while. I thought acting out was a good way to get free. And you thought not acting out was. But you snapped, so even that didn't work. Maybe there is no way out."

Sherlock groans. "No-o! Don't say that! There's got to be a way for us to get out of here. Even if it's just out of corridor D and back to our normal lives! Oh, I want to get out!"

"Don't get your hopes up; you've still got three more weeks in D and countless more in B."

"How many more?"

"I guess that's ultimately up to them, no matter how much they tell you it's really up to you.

That is just about all Sherlock can take. He falls backward onto his bed and lays there with his feet still firmly on the floor for a long time. Jim notices now how tall Sherlock actually is.Eventually, Jim decides to lay down again also

This is the end of the conversation between Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty for the day. It's lights out at 10 pm, but by that time Jim and Sherlock are already asleep

The next day, everyone in the corridor wakes up to a loud alarm ringing in the hall. This is normal. But unlike on most normal days, a day in Corridor D does not begin with your door being unlocked. In fact, after the alarm, nothing happens

Jim wonders whether or not the alarm was really necessary at that rate. It didn't signify anything; it was a useless tactic for the higher-ups to show their power. Like everything else here

As Jim begins to doze off again, he hears Sherlock wake up abruptly and fall off his cot style bed. He stands up, wobbling, and then blinks a few times

"What happened?"

"Morning alarm. But nothing's happening."

"That's a bit odd," Sherlock says. But before he could deduce anything more, a guard comes around with a cart full of breakfast food. He puts a tray of food through each inmate's door slot and keeps walking

"What is this?" Jim asks out loud. "We don't get to go to the cafeteria or anything?"

"We are prisoners. This is a prison. I don't think we'll get let out all day."

"Now you're beginning to think logically, Sherlock Holmes," Jim states, staring at his plate of very unappetizing food and placing it on the floor next to his bed. Sherlock begins to eat his

"How can you eat that crap? That's what it is, you know. Nutrients to get us through the day. Fuel. Not food."

"The last time I acted out before yesterday, I was on a hunger strike for a week. It was awful. I eat whatever's in front of me now."

"Do you think that's really going to help you? Especially in here?"

Sherlock looks up at Jim for a second and looks back down at his plate. "You ever not eat for a week? That's right. When you go on a hunger strike for a straight week, which I highly doubt you will, then come back and let me know how well you handled it. Which was probably not very well."

"Alright, alright, calm down. I was just trying to unite with you against a common enemy! You know?"

"You already did that the second we began talking. Now don't ruin it and at least let me eat my breakfast in peace."

"Fine. I might actually try this food then," Jim says. He sticks his spoon into the cold mushy substance that is on his plate. "Sherlock, how can you stomach this?" he asks his fellow inmate after taking just one bite."

"It's not that bad. Better than what they force down the adults' throats."

"Wait, your food isn't good?"

"Not really. The kids' food was much better. I was there before I turned nineteen, so I know as well as you do. And we get less time to eat as well."

"I can live with that," Jim says

"By the way, I don't think I know your name," Sherlock follows Jim's last statement almost immediately.

"I am Jim Moriarty. And this food sucks!" the smaller man yells into the corridor, hoping someone would hear.

"SHUT UP!" a voice tells from somewhere down the corridor.

"Ah, you see Mr. Holmes? My voice can be heard. I thought for a few years there that nobody ever heard what I was saying.

"I see," Sherlock says, getting up from his cot and looking up at Jim Moriarty

"Do you know what time it is?" Jim asks Sherlock. "I want to figure out what our schedule is going to be."

"I already did," Sherlock says

"What?" Jim asks his cell mate, flabbergasted. "Well, what is it?"

"At nine o' clock in the morning, we get woken up for out breakfast, which is a pile of mush every day. For obvious reasons; we are violent and they don't want us to choke. We don't even need drinks with this food. Understand?"

"I think so..."

"Well after that, I think we sit here until our noon lunch ration. That will have to stay the same since they are required by law to feed us three times a day. And if you haven't noticed, there's always inspectors in here. After lunch, we sit here until our therapy sessions. Those also can't go away."

"I was sort of wishing they would."

"Really? You don't like your therapist?"

"You DO like your therapist?"

"Well, she's not bad. And she did help me a little bit. Not much, but she tries her best."

"I want to kill my therapist."

"I figured as much. Well, after therapy then we probably come back for dinner and we sit here again until lights out. Repeat every day of the week. Like an endless cycle of monotony."

"Wow. How did you know all that?"

"You didn't know just from deducing information from the guard who walked by? It's literally written all over him!"

"Okay," Jim says, leaning against his back wall. "I think I get it. You're some sort of genius. That's why they call you freak."

"Exactly."

Jim snickers a little bit. "That would explain a lot."