"John Watson is an honourable man, James." The figure beneath he blankets shifted slowly but said nothing, to his sniper's surprise. "He could be of great help to you, as you are." He was prepared for some sarcasm, but his employer's snort was altogether unexpected.

"The good doctor's allegiance lies with my nemesis, Sherlock Holmes." Under the covers, the criminal shifted and winced as his body rebelled with a white-hot clench in his gut. "He will not help me. I would not take it if he gave any!"

"James!" Suddenly the towering blond soldier had both hands full of fabric and he yanked the covers back viciously. The criminal flinched, the cold draft unwelcome on his hot skin, but his insides flinched afterwards and it winded him. Blood flowed faintly and Moriarty gnashed his teeth at his assistant terrifyingly, the madness in his eyes promising unspeakable agonies once the consulting criminal could move freely. "You will take any help he gives you! Look at yourself! Do you want to be like this forever?!"

"No!" Jim Moriarty sneered at himself and he flexed muscles through the pains they gave him, and he glared at the sniper harshly. He was all soft edges and curves and weakness- he struggled to sit up, chest heavy.

Moran stiffened. "Then what is your plan, James?"

"Bring me John Watson."

Smirking to himself, Sebastian Moran let his grip on the blankets go lax, allowing his employer to reclaim them, and he brought his heels together with a click. "Right away."

"JOHN!" The deafening shout caught the doctor off-guard and, in his shock, his roommate grabbed his arm and towed him back out to the cab he'd just vacated.

"Sherlock?" John's cabbie looked surprised, but didn't question the detective's order to drive. "What's going on?!"

"We have a case!" Declared the detective shortly, his phone out and his fingers beating at the screen feverishly.

"Sherlock," John sighed and slumped back into the seat. "I'm tired. It's been a long day. I just want to get some rest. Can't you handle this by yourself, just for one night?"

"Crime never sleeps, John." The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched, as if he found his own statement funny. "Shouldn't a soldier such as yourself have more stamina? You work in a general practice, not a hospital. How much trouble could a few check-ups be?" The detective never looked at John, his attention very fixed upon his phone screen so, when the cab paused for a light, Johnthrew open the door and stepped out. "John? JOHN!"

"I'm going to bed." Giving the befuddled detective a stern look, John slammed the cab door and stepped back onto the sidewalk as the light turned green. He would have a few blocks' walk to Baker Street now, but it was preferable to spending a night playing peace-maker between Sherlock and Lestrade's team. He had had enough of people for the day, and he just wanted some time to relax.

You should have gone with him... John's conscience nagged, wagging a finger at his actions while he walked. Who knows what kind of trouble he'll get into; Lestrade might put him in an overnight cell if he lips off too much again. He had Anderson and Donovan seeing red last time he saw them.

"He can handle himself, the big baby." John snorted, turning a corner with his mind in the cab. "I'm his flatmate, not his mother."

"Trouble in paradise?" Asked a low voice, its owner coming up on John's left with a posture that screamed 'peaceful'. John's military mind recognised the man wasn't a threat right now, but something more primal nagged him that this stranger could turn hostile at any moment.

"You have no idea." John agreed, wary but open to the possibility this man was really harmless. "My flatmate is a complete and utter arse."

"It seems like everybody's flatmates are causing trouble." Chuckling, the stranger pulled out a carton of cigarettes an d, offering one to John, lit one with habitual grace. He took a long pull, turning the end flaming orange, and exhaled with something content curling the corners of his mouth upwards.

"Oh yeah?" John slowed his walk to match the other man's, liking the sympathy. "What got you out?"

"My flatmate, Jane. She's got the usual monthly blues, if you know what I mean." Taking the friendly elbow to his ribs, John laughed a little and nodded, putting his hands in his coat pockets. "She's a right terror, so I thought it'd be best to get out and leave her be. Don't want to antagonize her right now, or she'll get going and never stop."

"'Poke the tiger with the stick,'" John laughed quietly, "'she likes it in the eye.'"

"Exactly." Taking another drag, John's friend suddenly stopped and extended a hand to John. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself."

John took the hand. "John Watson."

"Sebastian Moran." Before John could start back at the familiar name, he looked down at his hand and nearly missed the sight of a syringe disappearing back into Sebastian's sleeve.

"You..." John struggled to speak, his mind fogging and his filling with cotton swabs. "bastard." He slumped against Sebastian and his eyes slipped closed.

"It's a pleasure meeting you on friendlier terms, Doctor Watson." Sebastian smiled, quickly manoeuvring the man into a waiting car. "Pleasant dreams."

"Hnnnnghh..."