Jim never touched Sherlock. Never. It was sort of like he was off limits, too perfect and light to put his hands on. Like he didn't want to sully him. That didn't mean that Jim didn't half mimic putting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Oh poor Sherlock. Allowing me victories just means that you're not up to the task. And that just makes me oh so sad. I could just cry buckets of tears. Buckets!"

He couldn't help himself sometimes but be over the top. Not just because it was expected, but because it threw people off. It certainly threw Sherlock off! He wasn't insane.

He was just a high functioning psychopath. Maybe. He killed the last psychiatrist he'd had that told him that he didn't have emotion. That he played at having them. Jim had been sad after.

He figured that proved that he was wrong, which in turn made him happy. Go figure.

"Now that you've discovered where we are, shall we send that voice snippet to dear John?"