He told me to follow him into a building. It was a tall, brick fixture with a bright blue doorway looming over us."He will never find us here. I am so happy that you decided to follow, even though you had no CHOICE!" Jim shouted the final word of his sentence. My hand pressed to the gun in my coat pocket. Apparently, Jim hadn't noticed the pistol resting in my coat. He did notice me shuffle a tad bit and grabbed my hand,"You like this, don't you? You like the affection I have been giving you. I was hoping you would. Sherlock never treated you how you wanted, did he? You just wanted to be-" he paused. I was wondering what he thought I wanted to be."You just wanted to be loved," he finished. I guess I really did want to be loved, but then I didn't know who I loved. Jim, or Sherlock. I was hoping Sherlock, but then that Irene girl stepped in and ruined the image that I was almost done painting. I had to explain to Jim that I had such a love for Sherlock, but I had an even greater passion for him.
He later grabbed my hand and pulled me off to a dark room. I looked up at the walls to see oil paintings, beautiful oil paintings. He looked at me and said," I painted these for you. See the people, see their clothes. All based on you. See that one over there, the one of the dancer, I painted you for that one. I painted your gracefulness and your perfection in one picture. I made this room for you." I didn't know what to say about that. I was truly and utterly speechless.