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Chapter Text

Despite the constant stream of annoying texts from Moriarty- ones steadfastly ignored unless they blatantly threatened someone John knew- things remained relatively calm. John's limp and tremor fluctuated until they both disappeared entirely, making it possible for the Army doctor to get back into work at a surgery. The day-to-day grind of monotony that slowly drove John into the deep pit he had been in was broken by random bursts of activity and the simple ability to work again. Also, the increase in his finances enabled John to save for a much needed holiday away from London, something he looked forward to the closer he got to the anniversary of Sherlock's death.

After clearing some of the air after Sebastian's visit, Mycroft had taken to stopping by more frequently, something that John found both amusing and irritating. While he was still angry at the man, it was slowly growing more difficult to express it. John, with his doctor's eye, could see the impact that his brother's death and John's depression had had on the proud and able man. Mycroft had lost weight, a clear indicator of the great strain the official was under.

John slowly, ever so slowly, opened up and as he let his anger go the tension in Mycroft seemed to gradually fade as well. The older male seemed truly relieved at John's improvement, lowering the amount of time John was under surveillance. While the monitoring didn't disappear entirely, John was willing to overlook it if it meant he could move around more freely. He knew that Mycroft was still suspicious John might shoot himself with his new firearm but he allowed John to keep it due to the still constant threat of the "new" criminal entity in London.

How Mycroft didn't realize Moriarty was still alive John didn't know, but it was humorous to think that the insane genius had outsmarted the pompous one. Moriarty wouldn't be nearly as conspicuous in regards to John if Mycroft knew he was alive. The texts and phone calls that interrupted the British agent were all too well timed to be anything but unsubtle mocking. Well, unsubtle to John.

The doctor was beginning to think that Moriarty was doing it to entertain John more than to annoy Mycroft. Though John was sure that the latter was still a welcomed side-effect for the megalomaniac. The messages had taken a slight turn in direction and were now offering bits of information, promising more if only John would respond back.

John never did.

He knew perfectly well what encouraging the criminal consultant got you. An image of the pavement covered in Sherlock's blood flooded his mind. John refused to go like Sherlock and allow himself to be trapped in such a terrible mess, a horrible "game" constructed by the unstable Moriarty. John would not fall like his best friend had, ego and confidence blinding him until he was standing on the ledge, looking down. It had been too late for Sherlock, but John could see the roof for what it was and stayed away.

John wouldn't play Moriarty's game. However, that didn't seem to deter the criminal consultant, instead it seemed to spur the man on. Texts became teasing, humorous even, and the constant undercurrent of malice seemed to stop all together after the meeting with Sebastian.

Nothing was mentioned about that night, and that in turn allowed John to continue his friendship with the sniper in peace. While he would have still returned the phone calls and messages from Sebastian, it would have felt strained if Moriarty had put his nose in it. The genius was most likely invading Moran's privacy about the communications but as long as it wasn't John being harassed about it the doctor was fine with that. There was little John could do about the invasion of privacy except accept what he could get and move on with his life and what little sanity he had left intact.

So, as June came threateningly closer, John began to examine his bank account and the possible escape routes he could afford out of London. While he had managed to save a good chunk of money there wasn't enough for anything extravagant, like a cruise or holiday overseas. Something close to home then, possibly a trip to Scotland where he would be far, far away from reporters and Bart's. A walking holiday maybe. Sebastian had said it could do John good to get away to the country for a bit.

John opened his laptop and searched for popular walking tours around mid-June that he could afford, hoping to find one that would keep his mind off of things that would be going on in London.

After a half-hour of scrolling, he landed on a page that offered multiple walks based on difficulty. John examined the rating levels and knew he had found the right place. He eventually settled on a grueling 120 mile long tour from Dartmoor to Exmoor, an inn-to-inn walk that mixed coastline and high moorland with picturesque villages.

If everything went well, John would miss most of the activity that the anniversary would stir up and he would be left in relative peace. The long hours spent walking would leave him too exhausted at night to stay awake dwelling and there would be no time for television or newspapers besides the ones at the inns, and those he could avoid easily.

With the dread of having to be in London on the twelfth gone, John went about the next three weeks before his trip in a better mood. He even lunched with Harry and, while his sister was still drinking, he was happily surprised when it appeared that she was making in effort to stop again. John felt himself touched at the obvious concern she showed for him.

John made it clear to everyone he knew that he would be leaving before the anniversary for a holiday and would not be back until well after it. He explained about the walking tour and his enthusiasm to get away and so, while they were still worried about him, they supported his trip.

Mycroft, the only holdout, was dubious, obviously remembering just who it was that suggested the idea to John in the first place. He couldn't do much to stop John from going though, not when John made it clear that he might relapse if he was forced to stay in London. The elder Holmes hummed and nodded in the right places but John wasn't fooled. The army doctor knew Mycroft would want to pry, so he forced a compromise. John would answer every one of Mycroft's calls on his holiday if Mycroft didn't snoop, spy, or pry into John's time away. The older man reluctantly agreed only after John promised Sebastian Moran would not be accompanying him on the trip.

With everything set and paid for, John - with his depleted bank account - packed a bag and made his way by rail to Devon a day early to see the sights and relax some before he met up with the tour group at the Totnes railway station.

Totnes was mid-size, the station building converted to serve more as a museum than anything else, with several tracks and large platforms on either side. People were standing around, filling the platform with idle gossip and laughter, and John pushed his way into the throng, hefting his bag higher on his back as he did so. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had 15 minutes to find his group, and hoped that there was another train coming through before his.

Another train did come and go, taking a large number of the people on the platform with it, and John finally found the tour group with five minutes to spare. The group wasn't that large, 10 or so with the walk's manager, but they were all younger than John, decked out in the latest hiking fashion, and made him feel out of place with his worn boots and beaten up Bergen rucksack from his army days.

The manager, a young man in his late twenties, saw him and waved, a smile spreading his lips. He bent over and pulled a clipboard from his own rucksack and clicked the pen that appeared in his hand. Group members looked up at the change in their leader and stared as John made his way over.

"John, right?" he asked as John came to a stop in front of him.

"Yep, that's me."

John offered his hand and the younger man shook it firmly, squeezing slightly before letting go and checking something off on the clipboard. John glanced at the paper for a second, seeing it was a group roster, and examined the rest of the group around him.

"Hey, I'm Brandon, the walk manager. Guys, this is John. John," Brandon pointed at random people in the group. "Carla and Charles, Lucy and Sandra, Ben, and Veronica and Mark."

Each couple nodded as they were introduced and Ben waved with a small smile.

"I'm going it alone," Ben said with a grin. "You're friends bail on you too?"

"Nope." John shook his head. "I wanted to get away and this seemed like fun."

"Walking? Fun?" The woman John thought was Veronica gave him an incredulous look. She jerked her head at her partner. "You'll get right along with this one."

John laughed and nodded his head to his rucksack on his back. "Army, guess you get used to it."

Brandon laughed. "Four years myself, and that was more than enough."

The younger man's last words hit a mark and John forced a smile on his face, remembering his comment to Mycroft the day after Sebastian's visit about his reluctance to return home from the war. He shifted his bag again and looked around the station for a distraction.

Brandon must have picked up on John's reluctance to commiserate and changed the topic. He gave John a searching look that made the doctor curious before quickly glancing away. "The train is running a little late, which is good because our last member isn't here yet."

A horn blew in the distance and the group turned to see the train slowly rolling closer down the track. Brandon cursed and quickly looked around again, trying to see the missing group member. The train grunted to a stop and passengers began to exit and then board, conductors helping individuals get luggage on or off in the melee.

Brandon sighed. "Crap! Alright everyone, get your stuff, I guess we'll be one short. I'll text him on the train."

The group climbed aboard, Charles and Mark struggling with their girlfriends' multiple luggage bags and Ben snickering at them beside John on the ground. John sighed and helped Mark with a particularly heavy bag, grunting at the weight of it.

"My god, Veronica! What the bloody hell did you pack?" Mark groaned as he heaved the bag into the car.

"Shut it, Mark! You're the one that thought walking was a good idea!"

Ben rolled his eyes and climbed in, leaving John and Brandon on the platform. Brandon sighed and reluctantly motioned for John to board, glancing around one last time. John shrugged, feeling his mobile vibrate in his pocket as his boots rung on the metal threshold. He pulled it out and glanced down at the text from Sebastian.

'Sry. Plse dnt hrt hm.'

The message was rushed, Sebastian always used entire words unless short on time, and John squinted as he tried to puzzle it out. Brandon stepped up beside him and John turned the phone slightly so the other couldn't see the screen. The doors began to close but a frenzied "Wait! Wait!" called from nearby and the nearby conductor paused the door.

John's mind flashed back to the text message and had him instinctively shouting, "No, don't!"

The conductor scowled before pushing John away. "Move aside to let the passenger on."

John groaned as he saw the panicked figure running down the platform.

"Wait! Oh, please! No no no! Please don't go! I have a ticket!"

Moriarty was in jeans and a purple tee shirt, a bag on his back and a duffel slapping against his thigh as he ran towards them, his arms straight out and hands grabbing at air in a ridiculous manner that made Brandon snicker and the conductor snort.

Moriarty latched onto the door frame and the conductor pulled the slighter man into the train. Moriarty squeaked - honest to God squeaked - and stumbled sideways, knocking into the hard side of the car with a pained grunt, causing Brandon's hand to shoot out and steady him. Moriarty blinked, one hand on the conductor and the other on the walk manager, before he regained his balance and gave both men a grateful look. Black eyes swept the space and landed on John, where the army surgeon stood leaning against the back wall, fingers rubbing at his eyes.

"Johnny!"

Moriarty squealed John's name and lunged at him, giving the doctor one lightning-fast moment to contemplate his life choices before long arms latched onto him and a thin body plastered itself against his side. John shoved at the criminal consultant, a growl escaping his throat but Moriarty was stronger than he looked and wouldn’t budge an inch.

"Oh John, I was so scared I was going to miss the train! Did you see me?" Wide, adoring eyes looked at John. "I think I ran faster than ever before. Not even that one time at Harrods when they had that sale!"

Brandon, with a twitching smile, stepped closer and stuck out his hand. "Jimmy! I'm glad you made it."

Moriarty released John long enough to shake Brandon's hand before he latched back on, pressing his head against John's tense shoulder. It made the conductor snort once again and John want to stab Moriarty in the face before tossing his body off the train.

"Me too! Johnny's been doing nothing but talk about this for the past month! You have no idea how upset I would have been if I had missed it."

John pushed at the slighter man again, wanting to get free so he could throw himself out the door, but the arms around his shoulders tightened in response. Moriarty ignored John's growing anger and gushed at Brandon excitedly, willfully ignoring the tour guide's uncertain gaze as he looked between a tense John and Moriarty.

"Get. Off," John hissed, making all three men turn to look at him.

Moriarty looked at him for a moment in incomprehension before his eyes widened and turned a bit glassy, much to John's horror.

"Oh," he said simply and released John in order to step back in embarrassment. His knuckles turned white around the duffel bag handles and he turned his head away. "Of course you'd want to come by yourself. How silly of me. I should have thought... I'm... oh dear."

Moriarty cleared his throat and quickly entered the train car behind them, dropping his bag as he fought the inner door and closed it with a hard snap. All three remaining men watched as he made his way to the opposite end and locked himself in the bathroom, several passengers looking up in confusion. Brandon and the conductor turned to John with an accusing eye, and the conductor scowled before heading in the opposite direction.

Brandon shifted uncomfortably before rubbing the back of his head. "Listen, I know it's none of my business, but he really seems to want to fix things."

John blinked, staring at the younger man in confusion before his horror rocketed to new levels. Brandon didn't seem to notice because he continued on in an embarrassed tone that left John's head throbbing in a precursor to a migraine.

"He was really excited when he called, wanted to make it some big surprise. I didn't think it would hurt anything. Just, don't be too mad, yeah? He seems like a good guy."

Brandon shuffled into the car, leaving John to silently stew in his growing hysteria. John leaned against the wall and covered his face with his hands, breathing deeply several times before he pulled out his mobile and dialed Sebastian.

"You fucking bastard," he hissed when the other man picked up.

There was a tired sigh. "He ordered me not to tell you. I let you know the instant I could, and I mean the instant. He closed the car door and I was texting you."

"The tour guide thinks we're a couple!"

Sebastian was quiet.

"Sebastian? Did you hear me?"

The sniper cleared his throat and his response was choked. "What is it with you and your genius boyfriends?"

"Sebastian!" John gaze snapped back to the car's window, checking to see if anyone inside had heard his raised voice. He hunched his shoulders and stared out the train door and watched the scenery pass by in a blur of irritated disbelief. "You're not helping! What the hell is he playing at?"

"Well..." Moran drawled, thinking his answer through carefully. "He didn't exactly tell me."

"Guess," John hissed.

Sebastian cleared his throat again. "Um... he might be trying to play with you, what with the twelfth being so close."

John closed his eyes in pain, his heart stabbing into his chest and he swallowed the tears that ran down his throat. He cleared it, similar to Moran's earlier action. "I'm hearing a 'but' though."

Moran shifted, leather of a car seat squeaking. "I think he might have a crush on you."

Hysterical giggles escaped the army doctor and he slid down the wall until he was crouched with his head in his free hand. "Please, please pull the other one."

"I am so sorry."

And damn if it didn't sound as if Sebastian honestly meant that.

_________

John Hamish Watson did not survive the war by cowering from death and freezing in uncertainty. He was an army surgeon, trained to examine and prioritize the bloodiest and most gruesome of wounds in seconds. He was trained on how to decide who lived and died while everyone around him screamed. He was trained in resourcefulness and sheer adaptability in any unknown situation.

John Watson was a very good doctor and an even better captain, both of which required large amounts of patience and determination to see something through to the end. Dealing with Moriarty would be no different than the front line as long as he approached it as one long slog through a potential minefield. He would step carefully, but swiftly, and pray to God that he got through it in one piece.

His mobile ringing brought him up short and John cringed as he saw Mycroft's number. He took a deep breath and answered it, staring at the metal of the outside door.

"Mycroft."

"You made your train." It wasn't a question, but John knew Mycroft was deducing based on the train sounds in the background rather than prying. "How is you trip so far, Doctor? Anything interesting yet?"

Moriarty running down a train platform jumped to mind, but John forced the laughter down and rubbed his face tiredly. "No, nothing much. Nice restaurants, lots of tourists, Moriarty crying in a bathroom, the usual."

Mycroft was silent for a long moment, the older man's brain trying to determine how best to process the last piece of information, and John wasn't sure if he wanted Sherlock's brother to believe him or not.

"Honestly, John. I'm trying to show interest in your holiday. If you wish to be flippant, please do so in a text. Enjoy yourself and let me know if you need anything."

John ended the call and hung his head in despair, carding hands through his hair before making a decision. He sighed one last time, rolled his shoulders and head, and checked Moriarty's dropped bag for weapons before he stood and made his way into the train car.

Everyone turned to look at him with angry expressions and John wasn't sure why until he got close enough to hear the whimpers coming from the bathroom compartment. John closed his eyes in exasperation but forced himself to stick to the plan he had come up with, at least for the time being.

He wrapped the door with his knuckles, ignoring the eyes boring into his back, and knocked once again when there was no answer.

"I'm fine, really! I just have allergies."

John sighed again. "It's me. Open up."

The whimpers stopped momentarily before picking back up. "I knew it. I knew you would be angry with me! I just wanted to surprise you. Is that so wrong?"

A nearby woman tisked at John in utter disgust.

John gritted his teeth but enveloped himself in patience, injecting as much kindness and cajoling as he could stomach into his voice, projecting it through the door for the passengers' benefit. "Listen, I'm not mad at you. I just wasn't expecting you to show up."

"You didn't even ask if I wanted to come!" Moriarty cried, sobbing out the last three words.

"You never showed any interest! How was I to know you'd want to come?"

"You could have just asked me!"

John sighed again and turned to lean against the bathroom wall. He ran a hand over his face and twisted his head to look at the door. He could see the women closest to him shift in interest and so he forced himself to speak softly. His gentle, loving words made the women beam and nod in approval and John wanted to vomit.

"I'm sorry. You're absolutely right. I should have asked you. I assumed you wouldn't want to come and I didn't take how you'd feel about being left behind into consideration. I'm so sorry, I'm glad you came. Let me in, Jimmy. It's kind of awkward when there are a thousand people glaring at me. I've got your bag."

"There are not a thousand people out there."

There were a few sniffles, not all coming from the bathroom, but the lock disengaged and the door slid open. John stared at the women nearby and they flushed before moving further back in the car, giving the two 'quarreling lovebirds' their privacy. John huffed a forced laugh at Moriarty's last comment, his head shaking in an amusement he didn't feel as he slipped through the doorway into the compact bathroom.

He shut the door, flipped the lock back, and blankly stared at the dull grey of the door's surface for a full minute. Anger coursed in John's veins as he counted the seconds, but he pushed it down alongside the hatred that was threatening to rise. After he was relatively calm, he slowly turned to face the man that had done so much to make his life hell for the past three years.

Moriarty was dry-eyed, not surprisingly, and grinning from where he sat on the cramped sink, his feet minutely swinging in the air like a mischievous little boy. The consultant's grin widened at John's blank expression, white teeth glinting in the bathroom's yellow light. John dropped the duffle and his rucksack on the floor as the train rocked and Moriarty leaned to the side to compensate, his hands gripping the sink's edge.

"Hi, Johnny. Fancy seeing you here!"

Moriarty's voice was chipper, his expression open and friendly, and John scowled and crossed his arms.

"Why are you here?"

Moriarty's smile widened and he threw his arms wide. "To see you of course! You said I could come."

"No," John drawled. "I didn't."

Moriarty frowned. "Yes, you did."

"I think I would remember if I spoke with you, Moriarty."

"Not over the phone, silly!" Moriarty waved a hand. "Sebastian. He told you to go on a holie and you said I could come if I behaved."

John wracked his brain, trying to remember his exact wording, and groaned before rubbing his aching head.

"I said to tell you to stay away from me BECAUSE you can't behave. Not if!"

Moriarty scoffed. "Semantics."

John growled before stilling. "Wait a tic..." He glared at the other male. "They think we're a couple. You told them we're a couple!"

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"Yeah, okay I did." Moriarty grinned again, pure mischievousness as he shrugged his shoulders the exact same way he had those years ago at the pool. "It was the only way to get what I want."

John did not like the sound of that. "And what is it, exactly, that you want?"

"To spend time with you of course, silly! You proved to be far less ordinary than I originally thought. Poor blind Sherlock, always seeing everything but what's close to home. You even managed to slip through Mycroft's blind spot. Congratulations on that by the way. Lovely work."

The consultant's smile gentled into something resembling normal, and John was suddenly aware of the weight of his service pistol as it pressed against his back.
"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not, my dear." Moriarty winked. "Did you like my present? I put a lot of thought into it."

"Which one?" John bit out before he thought better of it.

Moriarty laughed, delighted, and slid off the sink. He pressed himself against John's front and twisted his hands in the doctor's shirt, wrinkling it. He tilted his head and leaned close until his lips were a breath away from John's cheek. "All of them, but the gun-safe in particular."

Moriarty nipped the side of John's jaw and John pushed at the consultant's chest. Moriarty chuckled before his face sobered dangerously. "You threw away the pretty accessory I bought you. Daddy was hurt, Johnny boy."

John knew he was on dangerous footing with the insane genius and decided truthful placation would be the safest route to take with the mercurial male. "I didn't throw it away. I traded it to Sebastian, a man you employ. I can't trust a weapon you give me, Moriarty. But yes, I love the safe."

"My my, but aren't you a box of contradictions? My weapon's not good enough, but you'll take one from my second?" Moriarty tisked and ran his hands up John's arms proprietorially. "Should I be jealous, Johnny? You should know Daddy doesn't like sharing."

"I'm not yours," John bit out.

Moriarty merely smirked and straitened John's collar.

"You're getting off at the next station."

Moriarty scowled and shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Yes."

"No. I'm going on a holiday with you," the skinnier man said with a determined nod.

John groaned and knocked the back of his skull against the stall wall in frustration, smacking Moriarty's wandering hands away from his waist. "Stop that!"

"But, Johnny, we're trying to fix things! I've been absolutely awful to you the past few years, and the internet says that sex is a vital part of making up."

John pushed at the hands again and grabbed the thin wrists, yanking them up between their chests, squeezing the delicate bones in his larger grasp. He glared at Moriarty and Moriarty grinned lasciviously.

"No," John said simply as he pushed the other male away roughly. "I'm not doing this. You're getting off at the next station."

Moriarty sighed. "Fine, you win. I'll leave. You're so heartless Johnny, doing this to all those innocent people."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, dread filling his stomach.

"The bombs of course! Didn't you know?"

John sighed and closed his eyes wearily. He felt arms wrap around his neck and another nip to his jaw, and John gave up, allowing the touch momentarily.

"What do I need to do?"

Moriarty made a dissatisfied noise and pulled away, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it even further. Frustrated black eyes bore into his but Moriarty forced the building tension in his own body to relax. He resumed his previous position, pressed against John's front with thin arms around the doctor's neck, and smiled indulgently at him.

"Oh John, so self-sacrificing. Always so willing to die for others."

John felt a sharp prick at his throat and removed the safety from his weapon where it was suddenly pushed into Moriarty's side. The consultant's eyes went wide before his face lit up in a brilliant smile, glee shining in the dark gaze. Moriarty slowly removed his arms from around John's neck, and John saw the small metal rod with an end sharpened to a lethal point.

Moriarty made a show of making it disappear by slight of hand before hopping back onto the sink. He crossed his left leg over his right and slid the rod into an invisible sheath that was built into his trainers. The genius grinned at John's incredulous glare and winked.

"Always be prepared, Johnny-boy. A girl never knows when she’ll need to defend herself."

John's glare intensified as Moriarty stood up and invaded his space once more. John pressed the barrel of his weapon into the other's stomach and Moriarty giggled as he looped his hands around the back of John's neck, cupping it. He sighed happily and pressed against the doctor, ignoring the harsh dig of the gun in his belly.

"How about we play a little game, Doctor Watson. If I win, we spend the next week on holiday like any loving couple, the bombs stay, and you have to be nice to me."

John narrowed his eyes. "And if I win?"

"Then we still spend the next week together, but I'll remove all the bombs. That's a big concession Johnny. You know how I love my explosions."

John gritted his teeth as he thought about it, running the genius' wording through his head.

Moriarty realized the loophole the same time John did because he wagged a finger in the doctor’s face. "And you still have to be nice to me! Just like we're a lovey-dovey couple. The only thing that changes are the bombs."

John sighed and replaced his service weapon. "What game?"

Moriarty laughed in gaiety. "Oh, you're so much fun. This will be such fun, you'll see!"

"Moriarty," John pressed. "The game."

The criminal consultant pouted before he bounced on his toes for several seconds. A devious grin lit his face and he tapped a finger on the tip of John's nose.

"Tell me something I'm aware of that neither one of us should know."

"What?" John grimaced. "What kind of game is that?"

"A good one. Fair games are boring."

John scowled at the other before closing his eyes in frustration, letting his mind wander.

"Johnny? Don't fall asleep now."

"Quiet. I'm thinking."

"You're taking an awfully long time."

John opened a single eye in annoyance before closing it again, combing through random information in hopes of finding something that would satisfy the fickle genius clinging to him.

Several long minutes later and John was tense and frustrated. He hadn't come up with anything substantial enough and Moriarty had taken to amusing himself by running his hand through John's hair and clothing, making a mess of them. He pushed a wandering hand out of his hair as he opened his eyes and made Moriarty sulk.

"Geeze, you're a sore loser. Was it something I said?"

John began to tell Moriarty where he could go when an idea stopped him cold. Blue eyes narrowed in consideration, steady hands idly catching hold of Moriarty's perpetually meandering ones, holding them against his chest as he thought rapidly.

"No," Moriarty groaned, catching John's thoughtful expression. "No, no, no. You lost, I won."

"I never conceded," John murmured.

Moriarty tugged at his hands, frowning when John didn't release them. He pursed his lips before he leaned forward to rest his head on John's shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of the doctor's neck. The younger male nuzzled his cold nose against the doctor's pulse that was beating wildly beneath pale skin. He closed his eyes and sighed, seemingly content to remain still while John puzzled out the correct answer to their game. It took a minute but John eventually rolled his shoulders and pushed Moriarty off him. He looked at the criminal consultant, assessing and with a detached sense of cold rage.

"Neither one of them were going to tell me, were they? Not until Sherlock needed his blogger back."

A positively pleased expression crossed Moriarty's face before a scowl took over. He sighed but pulled out his mobile from a back pocket and dialed, giving curt orders to resend 'Executive Order Two' but remain on stand-by to the person who picked up.

"Executive Order Two?" John couldn't help but ask.

"My boom-booms. What a waste. Oh well, at least I finally got to see you outsmart Sherlock."

"I didn't outsmart him," John said, ignoring Moriarty's pet name for his explosives.

"Yes, you did. He went to all this trouble to make you think he was dead and you saw through it in less than ten minutes, given proper motivation. We'll make a proper detective out of you yet," Moriarty said encouragingly. "Now give us a kiss."

"What? No!"

John pushed Moriarty away, making the consultant glower and cross his arms.

"We just went over the rules ten minutes ago! We're a lovey-dovey couple, as disgustingly cute as the rest of them." Moriarty waved his hand at the closed door.

"I'm not kissing you!" John said.

"Then I'm putting the bombs back!" Moriarty stomped a foot petulantly.

John groaned, his head pounding. It was one thing to play along with the madman, pretending to be a couple in front of strangers as long as everyone was safe, but it was completely different to expect John to do so in private as well. John had never been overly demonstrative with his partners. It felt odd to shower the person he was with in romantic actions until that was the only expected reaction. It tended to raise expectations past anything sustainable. He most certainly wouldn't give into a row with a girlfriend and then happily kiss her as if nothing had happened. Especially when she had done something John would continue to find annoying.

Like inviting herself along on my solo holiday, John thought snappishly. He stilled at a muffled sound on the other side of the door, mind whirring quickly, and his lips twitched into a smirk that made the younger male shift uncomfortably.

"While I find that expression highly attractive, I doubt I'm supposed to like it when it's directed at me."

"Normal couple, huh?" The army doctor asked casually.

"Yes," Moriarty said slowly, savvy enough to realize when John was plotting.

"Have you ever been in a normal relationship? One where you weren't using the other person to get at someone else?"

Moriarty scowled and crossed his arms. "I don't see how that's relevant."

John felt his smirk deepen, noting in the back of his mind how it made Moriarty fidget, and rested back against the wall, his body loose and relaxed. He opened his arms and motioned for the other male to come closer. Moriarty was suspicious of the sudden change in demeanor, but John softened his expression into a smile and waited patiently. A minute passed in intense internal debate but Moriarty's self-preservation crumbled at the possibility of something exciting happening and he stepped into the doctor's space, a challenging glimmer in black eyes as their chests pressed together.

John closed his arms around the genius and stared at him fondly, earning a near-invisible blush in return. Moriarty twitched in restlessness but John stayed still and waited the other out. After several moments, the consultant huffed and forced himself to relax. John shifted his grip to around Moriarty's waist and pulled the criminal closer, tipping the man's head back with a finger under the chin to look him in the eye.

"Jim," John said softly, making Moriarty practically vibrate in anticipation. "I forgive you for inviting yourself along on my holiday."

He could practically see Moriarty's mind working, predicting the numerous outcomes possible and the likely actions on the genius' part to assure the most favorable one. He seemed so similar to Sherlock just then that John felt his anger fade a little, enough to see him through the next week and a half as long as Moriarty behaved himself.

John nudged the thinking criminal consultant back two steps and picked all three of their bags up, John's rucksack and Moriarty's matching skull backpack and duffle-bag that John was sure were Gucci, and unlocked the door.

"That's it?" Moriarty asked, genuinely confused. "No kiss?"

"Yep." John nodded. "I'm going to try to make this work, but I'm still angry at you. I'm not going to pretend that everything is suddenly okay. You hurt me, Jim. Don't expect me to just kiss you and make everything better."

Moriarty frowned in confusion but perked his ears at the subtle shuffling of feet that John had heard earlier. He smiled at John in appreciation before expertly layering his mask onto his face. Jim, the cheating boyfriend who thought his relationship was worth saving. Moriarty bit his lip and lowered his gaze, long eyelashes dipping down to almost sweep against pale cheekbone. He worried his hands and shuffled from foot to foot.

"I am sorry, you know," Jim said in a subdued voice, throwing it so the eavesdroppers heard.

John sighed. "I know you are, Jim, but I don't think you know what you're sorry for."

Moriarty flashed through the mask for a moment, sharp edges of contemplation before Jim worried his lip in discomfort. "I did a lot of things I know I shouldn't be proud of."

"No, you shouldn't be. But do you know what your problem is?" John pressed, letting instinct drive his words. "You think that no one can understand you, that they can't get to you on the island you've built for yourself."

Moriarty was back, the mask completely gone and in its stead only blankness, as if that was the genius' default emotion. John took a step towards Moriarty and handed the duffel bag over, hesitating to release it when long fingers brushed against his.

"I'm not as smart as you, Jim, I know that," John said with all seriousness. "But I'm a lot smarter than what people give me credit for, and I understand a lot more than you think I do."

Something sparked behind Moriarty's eyes, but John shook his head and pressed on. "When you decide to let someone in a little, you know where to find me."

John turned to leave but stopped at an iron grip on his wrist. He looked over his shoulder to stare into vacant, black eyes, flickering with the deductions that had to be nearly constantly processing in the mind behind them. Moriarty's grip tightened, squeezing until John knew there would be a bruise there later, but neither man said a word. Moriarty let go and turned to face the mirror, his face still void of expression. John sighed and reached for the door handle. Foot steps scurried back to seats, but John heard the other man's impassive words clearly enough over the noise.

"No one ever gets to me, Doctor."

John stared at the door for a long moment before sliding it open, turning to glance at Moriarty once more before stepping into the main car.

"You ever stop to think that's the problem?"

____________________________________

The other passengers let John be, and he was glad for the chance to collect his composure. He sat in the front of the car across from the bathroom, in plain view from the doorway. If Moriarty was anything like Sherlock, the criminal genius liked to control his environment as much as possible. He'd want to keep John close but as far away from others as social protocol allowed. The people in the car believed that John and Jim were fighting, but trying to work it out. They'd give the two of them space, which was what John was hoping for. He remembered how annoyed and waspish Sherlock had been whenever he was forced to deal with commoners for extended periods of time.

John pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Sebastian. "Not dead, did try to kill me though, check back later."

The encounter with Moriarty left him feeling off-kilter, worn out and tired in ways he hadn't since right before he gave up hoping Sherlock had somehow survived the fall. Dealing with so many emotions at once was draining, and John really did sometimes hate how ridiculously easy it was for him to feel. The army had given him the tools necessary to control his natural empathy to some degree, but even though he didn't usually allow his emotions to rule him, it didn't mean he could turn them off. The aftermath of Sherlock's death was proof of that.

Well, Sherlock's supposed death that was. John scowled as he stared out the window, watching the scenery.

John pushed Sherlock out of his mind, refusing to contemplate the detective's survival. If he gave in and thought about it, John knew he wouldn't be able to stop the rage that would bubble up and explode. John's temper was not a pretty thing, and he refused to inflict that on any nearby innocent. It would be difficult but John would forget about Sherlock for the next week and a half and enjoy his holiday in the country.

Even if he did have to spend it with Moriarty.

John looked up as Moriarty exited the bathroom, his face and eyes red, an effect achieved by vigorous scrubbing with hot water, and the other hesitated when he caught John's eye. He slowly approached John, insecurity in every line of his body, and John was once again reminded of how good an actor the consultant was. Jim-the-boyfriend stopped beside John's row, glanced down at the army rucksack and backpack in the seat beside John and then away to other nearby open spaces, his hand smoothing his tee shirt nervously.

The doctor watched him for another moment before he stood and stored his and Jim's bag in the overhead compartment. He retook his seat and looked at Jim with a raised eyebrow, silently motioning to the vacant space beside him. Jim quickly sat down and John turned his attention back to the window, observing Jim's reflection from the corner of his eye.

While they didn't speak or interact much, John couldn't help but notice that Moriarty's mask slipped in the silence. He was still, not fidgeting in his seat and his stare was distant and just a little bit hollow. It was unnerving when compared to the grinning, plotting genius he had seen in the bathroom only a half-hour ago.

A little while before they reached their destination, John felt the weight of Moriarty's head as it rolled onto his shoulder, and he carefully craned his head down to see the younger man asleep in the seat beside him. His eyes were closed and his head rested in the crease between the backrest and John's shoulder, his mouth open slightly as quiet huffs of breath left his mouth.

It was so ordinary a thing to do, falling asleep on someone's shoulder, that it made the doctor stop and really examine the man next to him. While John knew that Moriarty was no where near as innocent or helpless as he portrayed himself to be - his slumbering on John most likely premeditated - he also realized that the man was perfectly capable of controlling himself where it mattered. He was just as easily destructive as Sherlock, the manic behavior and millions of pounds of damage left in the wake of his 'games' only proved it. In this moment though, John could easily understand why Molly and Kitty Riley fell for him.

Moments of quiet like this were going to be rare for the next few days, John knew. Moriarty was going to do everything he could to get a response from John, even if it was anger or frustration. So while he had the time, John had to take it and build his defenses. He was on the roof but not at the ledge yet, and John had to get loose of the grip pulling him there before his feet hit air and he dropped.

But in order to do that, he had to understand Moriarty's motives, and it wasn't as if he could inquire and get a straight answer. So John leaned his head back and closed his own eyes, letting the rocking of the train calm his stormy mind.

Moriarty was neither psychopath nor a sociopath, despite all evidence provided up to that point in time, just immoral. John was surprised to find he believed that with the same conviction that he believed the same about Sherlock. But unlike Sherlock, the criminal consultant didn't have the luxury of third-party consciences like John Watson and Greg Lestrade. Sherlock didn't bother with understanding most humans because he had people like John following him around like ducklings, pulling him back from going that one step too far.

The criminal consultant didn't have that and so he learned those boundaries, what made average ordinary people tick and think and work. He learned what made people happy and sad, why they would steal or kill. Moriarty knew how to be human, and that made him more dangerous than Sherlock Holmes could ever be. Moriarty was controlling himself right now, allowing John to lead and overstep boundaries, because it got John to go along with his plans. Plans within plans that spun different webs with the same center, each thread leading back to the single core every time.

Sherlock.

Everything seemed to revolve around Sherlock Holmes for Moriarty. For John as well it would seem.

Sherlock, who John- while happy he was alive- was angry at for not trusting him with the truth. Sherlock, who let John go on believing he was dead. Sherlock, who trusted that Mycroft could protect John.

John sighed and opened his eyes, thinking he finally understood what game Moriarty was playing at and not happy about it in the least. Moriarty knew Sherlock was alive, understood the detective's reasoning for jumping, and did the logical thing by following the conclusion to its end.

Anyone who knew Sherlock knew John was his weakness - his heart Moriarty had mocked at the pool. John was the one who felt so Sherlock wouldn't have to. Moriarty understood far too well how people worked, even ones like Sherlock and Mycroft. Something happened in the months John was consumed with grieving that caused Moriarty to stop and re-prioritize, to change his end game with Sherlock. Because it was the only thing that made sense with the facts provided.

Moriarty wasn't trying to burn Sherlock's heart out any more.

He was trying to steal it.

_______________

When the tour description used the word 'inn', John thought a quaint bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere with small rooms and a smaller budget. He did not expect this.

"Oh my God, this is perfect!"

Neither had Moriarty apparently.

The minute the van pulled to a stop, Moriarty was shoving John and Ben aside, scrabbling for the door handle with a single-minded determination that made Lucy and Carla laugh. Moriarty didn't seem to mind, ignoring them in favor of hopping out and twirling around in a fast circle, his arms wide-spread.

"Johnny, you've got to see this! We're at the Dart Marina Spa! A spa!"

Jim's voice rose in pitch towards the end and John groaned in pain. Mark and Charles shot him sympathetic looks, obviously grateful their own girlfriends weren't quite as excited as Jim. Sandra whistled as she stepped down onto the ground and quickly leapt aside as Jim flung himself back inside the van, grabbed on to John's arm and physically hauled him out of the vehicle. John shouted his surprise, barely hearing the startled-Ben's comment about Jim being stronger than he looked.

"A spa, Johnny! We're staying at a spa? I thought we'd be sleeping in a tent or under a rock. The Dart Marina!" Jim whirled around again before slipping his arm through John's, his hand curling around bicep. "A spa!"

"You keep repeating that like it means something," John said flatly, prying at the hand.

Jim shot him a nasty look before he gazed dreamily up at the large hotel. He squeezed the arm he was holding. "I've been wanting a Quartz Facial for weeks! And I absolutely need a mani pedi. They give great mani pedis here."

"You've been here before?" Susan asked, pulling her bag from the back of the van.

"Mmhm," Jim nodded, turning to smile goofily at her. "The best mani pedis ever. And the food! It's surprisingly good for what you pay."

Brandon looked at Jim sideways. "The cheapest plate is £50."

"Don't bother," John shot towards the tour-guide in a weary voice, as if he'd made and lost a similar argument before. "He functions on a fundamentally different level than us normal, sane people."

"Stop exaggerating," Jim complained.

"I'm not the one with Gucci bags and an Armani shirt."

Jim made a sound of disgust and huffed in John's direction. "Shows what you know. The bags are McQueen and it's my jeans that are Armani."

John waited.

"The shirt is Westwood."

"Of course. My apologies for being an uncouth plebeian," the doctor said with a straight face.

Jim patted John's arm. "It's alright. I knew you were fashion-challenged going into it."

"Hey! There is nothing wrong with my jumpers."

"Which is reason enough why you're not allowed to buy me clothes for my birthday or Christmas. Well, not ever really."

Lucy and Ben snickered in the back and John threw them a glare over his shoulder.

"I thought Westwood was an actor. Since when does he make clothes?" Charles asked innocently.

Jim whipped his head around to stare at Charles in stark horror, his face morphing into a frightening scowl that had John quickly slapping his hand over the genius' mouth. John shook his head at Charles violently, his eyes wide in panic. Jim made angry muffled sounds behind John's hand, teeth working to get a better angle to bite, and John turned his pleading gaze on to the livid man.

"He didn't mean it, Jim," John said hurriedly, trying to stop the vitriol rant he knew was coming. "He's just a stupid man who can't tell the difference between taupe and camel. Please, let him live to see the error of his ways."

The group laughed, but John waited until Jim nodded, his eyes still narrowed, before removing his hand.

"Camel and taupe are arguably the same thing, but I see your point," Jim said calmly. He pointed a finger at Charles. "Listen caveman. Eastwood, actor. Westwood, goddess."

Veronica nodded her whole-hearted agreement, seeming to earn Jim's attention and immediate friendship. Jim detached himself from John and sauntered over to the brunette, a wide smile spreading across his face as the two began to excitedly jabber away in a language many of the other group members had no hope or want of understanding. The two began walking towards the hotel, leaving the rest of the group behind in stunned silence.

John stared after them, trying to determine if Jim actually liked Veronica or if he was simply humoring her because she didn't seem to be as fashionably-ignorant as everyone else around him. It didn't really matter though. As long as Moriarty didn't kill or maim anyone, the criminal could babble away about whatever he wanted with Veronica.

"Damn it!" Mark swore.

The group turned towards Mark who was staring into the back of the van at Veronica's many bags miserably. John walked over, reached around him, and easily lifted the three bags he was responsible for with one hand. He gave the younger man a commiserating pat on the shoulder before strolling after the gabbing couple, chuckling at Mark's hollered, "Real nice, mate!"

_____________________

Jim had indeed been to the Dart Marina before, because the manager was practically tripping over herself as she rushed to upgrade his room.

"Mister Monaghan, I didn't realize you were coming! I am so very sorry but-" she said hurriedly, her fingers zooming across the computer's keyboard. "-Number One is officially booked. I can fit you into an apartment or a Britannia room though, no extra charge."

Jim waved a hand and smiled warmly. "It's perfectly alright, Cynthia. I know this was short notice. John and I would love one of your new Britannia rooms. I've heard wonderful things about them."

"Of course!" Cynthia stuttered, glancing at John in slight confusion before returning her focus to the screen. "I'll book you into one right away."

The woman's fingers moved faster, making Veronica raise an eyebrow at Jim in admiration. John simply felt bad for her. The rest of the group was almost to the front door, their laughter loud and friendly. Jim glanced at the approaching people and leaned on the desk, tapping Cynthia's hand. Cynthia looked up, her expression flustered.

"Cynthia, I was hoping you could help me out a bit. See, my Johnny and I are on a group tour. We're walking from Dartmoor to Exmoor, seeing the sights you see, and while Johnny finds the countryside fascinating -what with the bugs and dirt and all- I'm afraid Veronica and I require maintenance. I was hoping a trip to the spa and a nice dinner out on the patio for the entire group could shore us up for the great outdoors. What do you say? I'd certainly cover the costs."

Cynthia bit her lip, pulling up the rosters for the spa and restaurant, comparing open slots before nodding resolutely. She smiled at Jim and rapidly swiped two blank cards through the key card machine, handing them to Jim.

"Number 24," She said. "Second floor and has a view of the river. It was originally booked for tomorrow, but I shifted them to another empty Britannia. I'll rearrange the spa appointments and call in a couple extras to handle the overflow. I'll have three hours blocked for your group before dinner and another four hours tomorrow evening as well. Unfortunately, I can't get you onto the patio. A wedding party booked it for their rehearsal dinner weeks ago. I can put you on the west side of the house with a sunset over the marina."

Jim nodded magnanimously. "That would be splendid! Thank you so much, Cynthia. As always, it's a pleasure visiting."

Cynthia beamed and fiddled with her hair, a blush stealing across her cheeks, making John roll his eyes. Jim glanced away from her and caught the movement, copying it as he slid himself under John's arm, wriggling determinedly until it was secure about his waist. He dropped his head onto John's shoulder and wrapped both his arms around John's waist in return. Cynthia's flush deepened as she glanced from Jim to John, turning to Veronica with a strained smile.

"And how can I assist you?"

Later, after the group had their hotel keys and were walking to their rooms, Veronica randomly turned to Jim with a deadpan expression.

"And here I thought you were one of the gayest gays I had ever seen."

The entire group ground to a halt at her words, turning to stare at her with the most blatant what-the-fuck expressions John had ever seen. Mark grabbed Veronica's hand and pulled her to him, looking at John in pained embarrassment. John, not knowing the specifics about his "boyfriend" kept quiet and shrugged. If Moriarty went to the trouble of using a long standing false identity to play the part of gay boyfriend, John didn't want to upset the man by giving contradictory information.

Jim laughed good naturedly, winking at the blunt female.

"I like women well enough," Jim said. "But at the end of the day, I prefer a nice, hard-"

"Alright then!" John cut in, a deep flush spreading over his face.

Jim gave John an evil grin and patted John's arm. "Massage, Johnny. I was going to say massage."

Tension successfully dissipated, they made it to their rooms without further incident. They oohed and ahhed at the double bedded suites, checked out the closets and childishly bounced on the mattresses. John was in Ben's doorway, watching the younger man excitedly pump his fist in the air, when he noticed Jim stroll past the open door towards the nearby stairs. John frowned before he remembered who he'd be sharing a room with and looked at the key card in his hands with trepidation.

"What's up?" Ben asked.

"I'd rather not stay in the same room as him," John said, not bothering to come up with a lie.

Ben frowned and motioned John to shut the door. He sat on the far bed, crossed his legs, and leaned his elbows on his knees. John leaned against the wall by the door, a little uneasy with the look on the other male's face.

"It's not just a simple fight, is it?" Ben asked.

John laughed, bitterness invading the sound against his will. "No."

Ben winced. "That bad?"

"He's..." John stopped himself before he said something he'd regret.

"He's what?"

The doctor shook his head. "He's just impossible."

"It can't be that bad."

"Oh, it is." John murmured. He shrugged and looked out a window. "Jim's intense. He latches onto something and that's it. Nothing you say or do stops him from doing it. Even if it hurts everyone around him."

Ben was quiet, listening to John's words with severity. It made John want to open up, to tell someone something about what he was going through, how he felt about being trapped in this situation.

"He's obsessed with my friend, and he's only wasting breath on me because it's a way to get to him."

"You're saying he's only dating you to get closer to your friend?" Ben's voice was filled with disapproval and a little bit of anger on John's behalf.

John gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged. "I'm used to it by now. Sher... Sherman tends to draw everyone's attention, without even meaning to some of the time."

"Your friend knows Jim likes him?"

The older man laughed again, shaking his head. "Oh yeah. If Sherman was interested in anyone, Jim would be the most obvious choice. He's self-destructive like that."

"But it sounds like he isn't. Interested that is."

"No." John shook his head. "He's too much a workaholic to give a relationship a chance."

"Jim know that?"

"Yep. Hasn't stopped him from provoking Sherman any chance he gets though. They don't really like each other, but they play a big part in keeping the other one functioning."

"So he can't have your friend, so he might as well have the closest thing to him he can get," Ben finished.

It was awkward, hearing a stranger put it so bluntly, but it didn't make it any less true.

John was the closest thing to Sherlock Moriarty could get right now. Mrs. Hudson was lovely, and Sherlock was fond of her, but he never really let her in. The same for Greg, and Molly was right out unless she could serve a purpose.

And while Mycroft may love his brother, enough to help him fake his own death and hide it from John, the same was not said for Sherlock. The two brothers had a mile-wide chasm between them, and John doubted there would ever be any other bridge connecting them besides John himself.

So John probably was the one person that actually meant something to the consultant detective, at least enough to warrant Moriarty's undivided attention for any extended period of time. Jim could entertain himself at the same time he played his next move, readying himself two steps ahead for when Sherlock came back.

"Jim doesn't seem the outdoorsy type."

It was such an understatement that John couldn't help but laugh once again, his head shaking with his mirth. "Outdoorsy is the last thing I would ever use to describe him. The man dresses for a week-long walk in Armani jeans and a Westwood tee shirt."

"So why is he here?"

John shrugged a shoulder. "He says he wants to fix things."

"You don't believe him."

It wasn't a question.

"I'm not what he wants. Jim wants Sherman, even though he knows perfectly well it would be nothing less than a disaster, and damn anyone who gets in his way."

The two men were quiet after John's resentment-filled confession, John running out of steam and Ben simply not knowing what to say. They remained there for several minutes, the younger man laying back on his bed and John crossing over to the other window on the far side of the room to stare onto the parking lot.

"I think you're not seeing everything there is to see."

John furrowed his brows and turned his head to look at Ben as he sat up.

Ben cracked his knuckles before shrugging his shoulders. "He doesn't seem the type to find this walk fun, at all, but he's here. I'm just saying, John, he may be interested in your friend but this seems like overkill just to keep a standby happy."

_______________

John took a deep breath and swiped his key card through the reader, watching the red light blink green before he pushed the door open slowly.

"I don't care what he thinks the job's worth! You tell him thirty thousand and not a pound more. And he better get it done on time, Sebastian, or we'll just see what he thinks when he doesn't have a fucking head."

John froze in the entrance hallway, hearing but not seeing the irate Moriarty that was further in the room. He held his breath and quietly shut the door, fingers pressing against the frame to soften the final snick of the latch bolt. The doctor stayed where he was, already regretting leaving Ben's room, and heard a deep growl emanating from around the corner.

"I don't pay you to think, Sebastian. I pay you to fucking get things done! What good are you if you can't oversee a simple operation?"

Steps sounded across the carpet as Moriarty moved about angrily, soft but forceful from annoyance. John leaned against the door, one hand on the handle and the other on his gun pressed to his lower-back just in case. The criminal consultant growled but took a deep breath, letting it out in one long exhale. When he next spoke, it was with much less rage and hostility.

"Sebastian, just get it done. If he isn't up to it cut him loose and find someone who is. This is non-negotiable."

A soft beep signaled the end of Moriarty's call but John stayed where he was, debating his options.

"Stop hovering. It's an annoying habit and I hate it."

John winced. Moriarty was in a foul mood and John wasn't sure if it would be better if he left or not. He didn't want to be anywhere near the madman in the state he appeared to be in, but John didn't want to leave him unsupervised where he could hurt people either.

Tired of waiting for John to move, Moriarty snarled and walked into view. His hair was smoothed down slightly, his shirt wrinkled on the bottom left-hand side, and the anger was barely leashed behind a thin wall of control. The sight made John grip his service weapon tighter, his eyes tracking the minute shifts in the other's stance, ready to defend himself the moment he needed to.

Moriarty's eyes slid over John's body in one quick motion, faster than Sherlock's even, before narrowing in thought. John remained still and calm, his breathing steady and even, his thumb hovering over the safety.

"Oh, don't do that," the unstable genius complained waspishly with a wave of his hand. "It's no fun when you're in panic mode."

John raised an eyebrow. "I'm not panicking," he said, staring at the other passively.

"Which is why you're no fun, you don't ever react."

John shrugged, waiting for the situation to defuse itself. The consultant huffed at John's continued silence and rolled his shoulders and neck, releasing the fury-fueled tension in his body. He turned away from John and disappeared out of view, leaving John standing alone in the entrance-way with his weapon and thoughts.

He slowly removed his hands from the doorknob and gun and padded down the hallway and into the open space of the room. He quickly took in the posh decorations throughout and the lavish king-sized bed and it's multitude of pillows pressed against the wall along-side the door. Windows lined the wall running parallel to the foot of the bed, the tree-lined river stretching out below with boats bobbing in the pontoon berths. A desk was situated along the far wall that stood by the bathroom door, dark wood gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, and had a small notebook computer open on its surface.

Moriarty crossed to the desk and shut the notebook with a finger, slipping it into the desk drawer. He rolled his shoulders once more before turning to face John, sitting on the desktop to face the doctor. The anger was gone, leaving an edgy mirth behind in its stead. The doctor kept the width of the bed between them, but moved to stand by the windows.

"So what do you think, Johnny-Boy? Not quite Tesco, but I'm sure you'll make due somehow."

The voice was pleasant enough, spoken with just the right amount of joking to convince most that it was a harmless comment, one aimed at someone not used to luxury to settle them. But John knew well enough to listen to the words and not the tone. Moriarty made a very comfortable living lying to people. Lying was as second nature to him as breathing but, from the little experience John had, John knew the man tended to lie with inflection, not the actual words spoken.

Moriarty's words were mean, meant to cut and dig into a festering wound of inferiority that only those who knew poverty bore. John was unsure of how Moriarty knew about his childhood but he did know Moriarty was trying to use it to his advantage, to gain back the control he had lost on the train. Unfortunately for the criminal consultant, John had long since made peace with what his father and his drinking had done to the family. John slid his gaze over to Moriarty and held the other man's stare for a long moment, letting him see the lack of anger or shame.

"Stop it," he said simply; settled and unstressed, bored mostly.

Moriarty frowned, undoubtedly expecting a different reaction than the one he received. He opened his mouth to speak, most likely another insult, but the ringing of 'Rule Britannia' from John's phone stopped him with a quirk of his lips.

John pulled his phone from his pocket and answered it. "Hello Mycroft."

"John. You're off the train then?"

"You know I am."

"How are the conditions at the hotel?"

John walked over to the bed, idly running his fingers up the length of the soft linen comforter until he reached the head. He was aware of the black eyes that tracked his movements, how they followed the shallow trail in the soft wool left behind by callused digits. He caressed the top pillow on his side of the bed and locked eyes with Moriarty.

"It's absolutely lovely. Everything about the place is perfect."

"I'm pleased to hear that. And your room?"

John turned to look out the window. "I've been upgraded. It turns out that the group member I'm rooming with is a valued client. He's been doing nothing but talk about the spa from the moment we arrived."

Mycroft chuckled, and John felt Moriarty's calculating stare keenly.

"I should have done this months ago. Maybe I won't wait so long next time."

"Next time?" Mycroft asked, sounding a little surprised. "I thought you were there for the walking."

John smiled and sat sideways on the edge of the bed, his hands running along the top of the comforter in wide-sweeping arcs. "I am, but this is nice too. Maybe I'll save up for a nice long stay in a room just like this. Sleep the days away."

Mycroft hummed, a thoughtful sound that reminded John of Sherlock when John said something particularly insightful. It sent a wave of nostalgia through the doctor, and John's smile softened. He noticed Moriarty shift from the corner of his vision, but kept his eyes on the river.

"You could always accompany me when I travel on holiday next."

There was a suddenly awkward silence on the other end of the phone and John chuckled.

"Relax, Mycroft." John rested his hand on his thigh. "I knew what you meant."

"Even so, I did not mean for it to sound as it did. I was in no way propositioning you."

"Calm down. You spend entirely too much of your time measuring your words, even when you don't have to."

John knew his words met their mark, for both geniuses he was communicating with, when Mycroft hummed again and Moriarty rolled his head back to stare at John thoughtfully from under eyelashes.

"Listen," John started. "If you can try to do something for me, I'll think about tagging along."

Moriarty narrowed his eyes.

"Yes?" Mycroft asked cautiously.

"I want you to try to stop being so careful with me. I'm not some porcelain doll that will break if handled wrong. I'm better now. You walking on eggshells around me is frustrating and, frankly, a little insulting."

Mycroft was quiet for a short pause before he spoke. "I will attempt to do so. I do still worry about you though."

"I know, but it feels like I'm in a box."

"Alright. If there's nothing else?"

John idly thought of Mycroft watching him sink to suicidal depths over his friend's death, all the while knowing he could end it at any time, and lying to his face about it. He thought of Moriarty, alive and well and not even fifteen feet away with machinations that would quite possibly be the end of John Watson. John thought of Sherlock, hiding away and doing whatever stupidly selfless thing he was doing, leaving John behind to suffer from normal life like a cancer victim.

He thought of all that before smiling idly. "No, that's it. Bye, Mycroft."

"Goodbye, John."

John ended the call and set his phone on the nightstand. The pillows behind him rolled a little from the action and he straightened them before laying down, flipping his shoes off as his head sank into the soft surface beneath it. He sighed in pleasure and closed his eyes, listening to Moriarty grind his teeth in annoyance at being ignored.

"Well, wasn't that sweet? Iceman has himself a girlfriend."

John felt an instinctive glare rise, but forced it behind a calm mask of indifference. He kept his eyes closed and crossed his hands over his chest, letting a little smile cross his lips.

"Jealous, Jim?"

The prod had an instantaneous, violent effect.

Moriarty lunged over the far side of the bed, landing sideways on John. The brunette swung his leg over John's body the same time his hands found John's throat, and he pushed down and forward, cutting off air and crushing the windpipe within an iron-grip. An ugly sneer twisted the criminal consultant's face as John clawed at the appendages strangling him and tried to buck the figure off with his hips.

"Let's get something straight, Watson," Moriarty hissed, leaning down to add pressure onto John's throat. "Don't think for one second that you matter. You're only breathing because I'm letting you!"

Moriarty let go when John's eyes rolled back in his head and his struggles dropped off. John coughed, rasping sounds echoing through the room as Moriarty sneered in disgust. As the genius shifted his weight to swing his body off John's, John surged upwards, a flat palm into Moriarty's stomach propelling him up and off John, knocking him sideways onto his back. John rolled with the motion, grabbing the startled criminal's wrists in his own larger hands and locked the other's kicking legs in between his before the two bodies rolled to a stop on the other side of the bed.

Moriarty bucked and shouted, his voice guttural in his fury, but John ignored it as he used his energy and strength to pin the writhing man beneath him. He forced Moriarty's legs straight, having to press his body completely against that of the criminal consultant's. The struggle lasted for minutes on end as both men refused to yield before Moriarty went limp.

The slighter man gasped harshly, exertion seeming to leave him weak and unable to continue his fight but John knew better and held on, grinding the wrists in his hands together as he worked his legs further between and around Moriarty's, pressing their chests together as he continued to cough. Moriarty snarled and lunged upwards, energy miraculously restored, and tried to flip them over. John was ready though and used his weight as leverage to force the smaller man under him deeper into the mattress, holding him there until Moriarty was genuinely too exhausted to fight back.

"Are you done?" John asked, his voice hoarse from Moriarty's attempted-strangulation.

Moriarty screamed his frustration into John's face and slammed the back of his head repeatedly against the mattress. He continued to buck halfheartedly and jerk at the hands holding his wrists with an enraged growl, white teeth flashing in threat. After several further minutes of futile struggles, Moriarty submitted and went limp beneath John's body, glaring up at the army captain with deep, black pools of discontentment.

"Are you done?" John repeated.

The criminal consultant glowered.

John shook his head and matched the other's dirty look with his own. "You know I can hold you here as long as I need to. Are you done?"

Moriarty ground his teeth but gave a terse nod. John eased his hold, half-expecting the genius to lunge up the few inches that separated their faces and smash his forehead against John's. It didn't happen, and John untangled his legs from Moriarty in careful movements as he tracked the twitches of the arms he was still grasping loosely.

"You-" John started as he rose up onto his knees over the slighter male "-are completely mad."

Something changed in Moriarty's expression, the blanket insanity lessening and becoming thoughtful for a flash of a second before he started laughing. "You're just getting that now?"

John frowned at the mimicking tone of voice, knowing there was an inside joke he wasn't aware of.

The laughter calmed into giggles as Moriarty shifted his shoulders. He pushed them up and then out, getting comfortable on the mattress, his body still stretched out under the doctor's, and he rolled his head to the side. He smiled at John sweetly as he flexed his still bound arms experimentally.

"You know, I do believe Sherlock said the same thing to me once."

"That you're mad?"

Moriarty nodded. "But then he jumped, so I didn't really take it to heart."

Gut-churning anger washed through John at the criminal's words, but John forced himself to remember that Sherlock was alive and let the emotion fade. That seemed to surprise Moriarty again because his manicured-brows furrowed thoughtfully. The lingering rage and danger drained from the man and left him looking harmless once more.

"You know," The Irish brogue was playful as its owner stretched himself like a giant cat, lifting his hips in a blatant overture. "You holding me down like this, someone might get the wrong impression."

John let go of Moriarty like he was burnt. The genius copied John's earlier action and used his hand to knock John onto his back. The lithe figure rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled the foot of space that separated their bodies to straddle a winded-John's middle. He looked down at John with a pleased smirk and ran his hands up John's chest, John's shirt riding up with the smooth motion to expose pale skin, and rested them over John's pectoral muscles.

"Not that it wouldn't be a welcomed impression," Moriarty said teasingly as he slid his ass back to rest against John's bent thighs.

"No." The answer was immediate and firm.

Moriarty pouted. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

The doctor looked at Moriarty plainly before nudging at the legs on either side of his hips. "Off."

A suffering sigh was the only response as Moriarty rolled off John, landing beside the army surgeon with an 'oomph' and a bounce. Long fingers tangled in John's shirt and brown hair tickled John's nose when Moriarty placed his head on John's shoulder. The motion made the blond stare incredulously at the other male.

"What?" Moriarty mumbled, his mouth stretching in a yawn.

"You just tried to kill me, and now you expect me to let you use me as a pillow?"

"I knew exactly how long and hard to hold before lack of oxygen caused death."

"That is not comforting in the least," John mumbled before shrugging his shoulder rapidly. "Get off."

"No."

"Yes. If you've forgotten, you booked the spa. You have about a half-hour before its your turn."

Moriarty grumbled but removed himself off of the older man, running a hand through his ruined hair. "I do need a manicure, and my face is a little dry."

"Well, there you go. Off you trot."

The genius looked at John curiously.

"What?" John asked, wary of the look.

"You just accused me of attempted murder."

"And?"

"Don't ordinary people tend to dwell on that sort of thing?"

John stood and padded over to his bag, pulling the flap open to grab a shirt. He spoke over his shoulder and glanced at Moriarty as he switched out the wrinkled shirt with the new one, his voice muffled as he tugged the collar over his head. "I have a feeling that if you thought I was ordinary, Jim, you wouldn't be bothering with me."

Moriarty hummed in agreement and rolled off his side of the bed. He opened the closet door and pulled out a button-down and jeans and quickly stripped, his back presented to John. Compact muscles rippled as he gripped his tee-shirt by the hem and lifted it, revealing faint scarring that John instantly recognized. It was difficult for the doctor to keep his silence at the proof of torture, but he managed by biting his tongue.

John watched as Moriarty undid his jeans and slowly worked the tight material off his body. The blond surgeon looked away when he belatedly realized just why there was a bit too much flesh coming into view, and busied himself with tidying his rucksack. When he heard zipping from the new pair of denim, he turned to the bed and grabbed his shoes. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and tugged them on, turning his body so he could see the other male.

Moriarty turned and picked up the button-down from where he tossed it onto the bed. The casualness that he shrugged it on with struck John as completely and oddly normal, and the doctor was reminded of the fact that, as destructive and arguably evil as Jim Moriarty was, the criminal mastermind was as much a human as the next person.

He watched nimble fingers do up the buttons quickly and efficiently. When done, the owner of said-shirt turned to check his appearance in the near-by floor length mirror resting against the wall, leaving him in profile. His sharp nose and sharper jaw-line caught in the gleaming afternoon sunlight that reflected off the surface he was gazing into. The powder-blue shirt softened the natural harshness that he seemed to exude when he wasn't bothering to contain or hide it, leaving him looking softer and even a bit fragile, like he had when he first presented himself to Sherlock and John at Bart's.

As Moriarty smoothed out a barely visible wrinkle and without looking at John, he said, "Like what you see, Johnny?"

The man wasn't baiting him, John realized after a brief hesitation. Instead, he seemed to be genuinely curious about John's attention. John remained quiet for a moment longer before standing, grabbing the key card before he headed for the door.

"They won't know what slit their throats."

_______________

The women -plus Jim- made use of the spa while the men made use of the bar, ordering drinks before heading outside to walk along the river. They discussed the boats and sights, and Brandon explained what they were going to see in the area the next day. Overall, it was a peaceful few hours for John. He was grateful for the time and space he could put between himself and Moriarty.

Fifteen minutes before dinner, the group returned to the hotel and headed for their respective rooms to change into the more formal attire they had been instructed to bring with them when they registered for the tour. John stopped by the front desk to pick up shoe polish and a rag and then took the stairs to his suite. He laid out the outfit he had purchased last minute, after deciding to invest money in a new suit.

The trousers were dark blue, the vest's front a matching shade with it's back being the same white of his dress shirt. John had left the jacket behind. It would have been too much trouble airing it out just to stuff it back into his rucksack after only needing it once, maybe twice.

John ran his fingers over the soft linen of his dress shirt as he looked to where Moriarty's laptop sat hiding in the desk drawer. The temptation to pry was strong, but John stilled when he reminded himself of who owned the thing. It wasn't all that difficult a thing to do, looking away from the desk and back to his suit, not with knowing Sherlock was alive and playing his own game.

John was growing sick of games.

He casually shrugged off his shirt and shucked his jeans before carefully sliding the skinny-legged trousers on. They were tighter than he was comfortable with, clinging to his ass in places he wasn't used to, but the salesclerk had been emphatic that that was the new style. She promised the color brought out the blue of his eyes. Though how she knew his eye color without looking away from his bum, John didn't know.

The army doctor pulled on the slightly wrinkled shirt- "No, it doesn't need to be ironed. It's meant to be that way, sir." - and slipped the small white buttons through their matching holes before doing the same for the four on each of his forearms. He pulled the cuff links he purchased on a whim out of a side pocket and fastened them through the open wrist cuffs, the 'F' and ewe staring up at him from their respective links. John grabbed the polish and rag and began to shine his dress shoes until they gleamed.

By the time he made it down to the restaurant, John was a half-hour late and the rest of the group was at the table quietly murmuring to each other. Jim was sitting on the far-side of the table in between Brandon and Lucy, facing the door and was turned towards the guide with his head bowed as he pointed at something on the man's menu. There was an empty seat on the far end of the table that was obviously reserved for John.

Lucy glanced his way and he saw her eyes widen in shock before she roughly nudged Carla who was sitting beside her. Both women's mouths fell open as he approached, catching Charles' attention and making him choke on his water.

One by one, the rest of the group, with the exception of the criminal consultant who hadn't noticed him yet, turned to see what the excitement was about and fell into a quiet stupor. It wasn't until Brandon looked up that Moriarty noticed the hush that had fallen over the table and glanced up as well.

There was a long beat of incomprehension before dark eyes widened and the genius's mouth parted in surprise. Moriarty ran his gaze over John as the doctor reached the table and licked his lips before he quickly stood in a graceful motion. He ran his hands down his own suit, smoothing the material, and cleared his throat.

"Just in time, Johnny," Moriarty said, his voice thick. "We're just about to order. I saved you a seat."

Brandon looked at Jim. "No you didn't."

Jim blindly reached over and shoved Brandon out of his chair, making several of the group members laugh. The group leader frowned from his place on the ground before he caught the expression on Moriarty's face and rolled his eyes. He grumbled out a complaint even as he got up and moved to the empty seat on the other side of the table.

Moriarty pulled out the now empty chair, his eyes never leaving the doctor's form as John finally stopped beside him. The thinly veiled hunger in the consultant's gaze made John clear his throat before he sat down, conscientious of everyone's attention as Moriarty moved the chair into its proper place and retook his vacated seat.

The table was quiet until Sandra let out a quiet wolf-whistle, sending most of the group into peals of laughter. Veronica leered at John, making Mark close his eyes in exasperation, and she winked at Jim as she ran her fingers up and down the sides of her butter knife suggestively. Moriarty, however, completely missed the innuendo as he was still engrossed in staring at John.

John cleared his throat and inched the chair away from the consultant a tiny bit. "Sorry for being late."

"If you pouring yourself into those trousers was the reason, no apologies needed," Veronica said.

Mark groaned as the group's laughter was renewed, dropped his head into his hands and hissed at her to shut up. The doctor flushed deeply and looked down at his place-setting in embarrassment. He fiddled with the silverware as the laughter continued, the metal utensils clanging as they accidentally knocked into each other.

A thin hand was placed over his own and stilled John's movements with a gentle squeeze. John looked up and noticed Moriarty's attention on his wrists and John followed the black gaze until it landed on the cuff with the ewe on it. He automatically twisted his other arm so the matching link could be seen, making the genius snort and his lips quirk slightly.

Moriarty's eyes rose until they locked with John's, and black met blue briefly before John looked away toward the discarded menu that lay on his right. He lifted it and began sorting through the various items, his eyes widening at the prices. He hissed at a particularly expensive plate and turned to shoot Brandon a look.

"How is it that we're on a walking tour and yet we're eating at a five star restaurant?"

"Four star," Jim supplied helpfully.

John paused to glance at the consultant beside him, startled that he could tell when the younger male shifted from Moriarty back to Jim. It wasn't obvious, John wouldn't normally ever realize something like that from two simple words, but something about the person beside him had John paying more attention than usual. It was probably because Moriarty was unhinged and dangerous but, still, picking up on the rapid change was unnerving.

"Thank you, Jim," John retorted sarcastically as he turned back to Brandon.

"You're welcome," the genius responded.

John rolled his eyes but didn't engage the other further, not wanting the headache that quibbling with Jim would cause. He tapped his finger on the menu and Brandon shrugged helplessly.

"I don't decide where the groups stay, that's management. I guess they figure we're saving on transport so we can splurge on food. The company covers anything up to £70, not including alcohol."

The group murmured before looking through their options more closely, discarding anything over the included price. John shook his head before examining the menu again, trying to find something cheap. There wasn't really anything that sounded appealing and he huffed quietly to himself before picking something at random.

The waitress arrived a few minutes later and the group placed their order in a counter clockwise motion around the table, putting Jim before John. When it got round to the criminal consultant, Jim smiled at her and requested a second tab be opened. Brandon frowned but the waitress nodded, already expecting the request.

"Management already opened a tab for you, Mister Monaghan."

"Thank you!" Jim's smile widened, making the younger woman return the expression.

He closed his menu, snatched the one out of John's hands, and handed them over, ignoring the annoyed sound John issued before he ordered for both of them. Jim added starters for the table and few bottles of wine that John was was sure he didn't want to know the price of.

"So," Charles said, waiting until the waitress left. "If you don't mind me asking, what is it that you do for a living, Jim?"

John was curious as well, knowing the genius couldn't very well say 'criminal consultant'. The army captain hadn't really given it much thought, what this 'Mister Monaghan' did for money, because it was most surely not what Moriarty did in real life.

Jim turned his attention to Charles. "Do you know how successful brokers and financial investors know when to trade stocks or invest in certain markets or funds?"

"No," Charles shook his head.

"They use obscenely expensive software that run complex probabilities and computations."

"And you sell them the software," Lucy chimed in.

Jim smirked. "I make the software."

"Really?" Sandra asked, leaning forward.

"I write the mathematical formulas so, yes, I pretty much make it. Designing the interface and making it look nice is someone else's job."

Jim was smug and John had a feeling that it was genuine. While the group engaged in a conversation about stock brokers, John tilted his head to the side and examined the slighter man sitting beside him. Ben noticed the look and made an inquiring noise.

"You seem surprised," Ben said, trying not to attract everyone else's attention. He nudged his chin towards Jim. "He doesn't usually brag then?"

John turned to Ben and shrugged. "No. He's smug, yes, but he doesn't ever get into details. I know he consults on I.T., but nothing specific."

"I.T.?" Jim said, overhearing the comment. "I don't consult on technology. I'm a mathematician, Johnny. I just happen to work in the I.T. field."

That was news to John, but the surgeon simply assimilated the new knowledge and continued the conversation as if he had always known. He leaned into Jim's space and bumped his shoulder against the other's before he rested his elbows on the table and grinned at Ben.

"Jim doesn't support my efforts at the lotto."

Jim scoffed disparagingly. "You have a 1 in 14 million chance of winning the lotto. Even the typical prize is 1 in 55.5 thousand. You're statistically more likely to be accidentally declared dead then you are to win anything from that Ponzi scheme."

"Accidentally declared dead?" Carla piped up, sounding incredulous.

"I did a comprehensive analysis on the statistical probability of lotteries after Johnny spent a hundred quid on tickets."

The table laughed and John shook his head. "Piss off, Jim. I won £25."

"One in 57." Jim ticked a finger. "Also, that's still a £75 loss."

Ben frowned. "It's not always about losing."

Jim snorted. "What's the point of playing something when there's no likely chance of having a positive return?"

"How about the fun of it," Ben countered.

"Fun? How much fun can you have after you waste your money away on foolish and useless things?"

"Some people don't need to be rich to enjoy life," Ben snapped. "They're happy with what they have and don't need anything else."

The table grew quiet as Ben and Jim parried words, picking up on and surprised by the fact that the two men seemed to dislike each other. John watched the interaction carefully, dreading the possibility he'd have to intervene and draw Moriarty's attention away from the group member he was arguing with.

And it was Moriarty that was arguing. John could tell from the lines of the genius' posture and the darker glint in his eyes. Vitriol temper was licking at the edges of the consultant's words and many at the table were staring at him with wide eyes, shocked at the hint of something cruel Moriarty was either having trouble hiding or forgetting to.

"Happy with what they have? Please," Moriarty scoffed again. "People always want more. If not more, then something different, newer."

"I'd imagine you're speaking from experience," Ben shot back, making John realize with a sinking stomach that there was an ulterior conversation happening between the two.

Moriarty narrowed his eyes and his jaw twitched, the expression building on his face causing the feeling in John's abdomen to explode into full-blown dread. The criminal consultant opened his mouth to retort, something John knew would be unbelievably harsh, and the army captain acted quickly. He laid his hand on Moriarty's thigh, squeezing tightly, and hoped to distract the Irishman before he could lash out.

The iron like grip, hidden by the tablecloth, served its purpose. Moriarty snapped his barely opened mouth shut and inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring with the action, and he remained quiet, even though the glare he directed at Ben didn't falter. Long thin fingers curled into loose fists on either side of Moriarty's dinner plate, short nails quietly scratching the cloth as they did so. Ben's expression darkened and he moved to speak, making the lithe muscles under John's hand bunch, but John cut him off before things went any further.

"Ben," he said firmly, drawing the younger man's attention. "That's out of line. Just agree to disagree on this one so we can have a nice dinner, please."

Ben glanced around the table and flushed at the stares he was getting. He murmured an awkward apology before nodding at John. John knew the half-hearted attempt was the best he was going to receive, so he nodded his head and removed his hand from Moriarty's thigh. He felt the leg slide away from him, out of easy reach, and wasn't sure if he should be worried or proud about that. Conversation stalled around the table until Jim revived the humorous atmosphere with a well-placed leer at to Veronica.

"I just love it when Johnny asserts himself."

Veronica hesitated before her mouth quirked and she joined in. "He good at that then? Asserting himself."

The drawled innuendo broke the tension at the table and most laughed, John being one of the only exceptions. The doctor was mortified and stared between the two helplessly as they continued drawing snorts and giggles from the other group members.

"Oh definitely. You have no idea how long it took to train him."

"Really? I'd have loved to be a fly on that wall, pick up a few tricks." Veronica's expression changed into something dirty and Mark flushed a deep red beside her.

"I as well. Sadly, Her Majesty's Royal Army doesn't like voyeurs."

The comment sent the table into another fit and John covered his face with a hand, resting his elbow beside his water glass. Jim shot him an innocent smile and patted John's other hand gently. John turned his head to look at the genius and raised an eyebrow questioningly, making Jim's smile deepen.

"I'm only teasing, Johnny. Everyone was entirely too serious and you're easy to use."

Again, John listened to the words and not the tone. Pulling them apart and dissecting them. The insult was obvious, but no one was truly listening. They heard it and laughed because it was made in a joking gesture. And it drove John mad that until a few months ago he would have done the exact same thing.

Only teasing them, John thought waspishly.

Instead of voicing his displeasure, John smiled and leaned in a little, making Jim's own stretched lips falter slightly and the genius pull away a fraction. Most wouldn't have caught the movement but John was sitting next to the man and saw it clearly. He didn't know if it was feigned or a sign of actual wariness, so he pushed it aside.

"We'll see how easy I am the next time you want to play one of your games, Jimmy," John teased. "I don't care how close you are to exploding."

Veronica's eyes widened at the double-entendre and she smacked her hand against Mark's chest and let out a sharp laugh and whistle. Brandon and several of the others were staring in shock, unsure of whether to laugh like Veronica or be mortified, but John kept his gaze focused on the man sitting at his side.

Dark humor and a little bit of surprise flashed behind black eyes before a corner of the other's thin mouth twitched upwards, a veiled acknowledgement of John's well-disguised threat. John nodded, as if happy with what the other's were interpreting as stunned silence from Jim, and sat back in his seat and rubbed his hands together.

"How long do you think before the starters arrive?"