Author's Note: Recognize this story as well? Well, that might be because it was also STOLEN from me. So now I have been forced to post it here in order to keep anyone else from taking claim to the work that they DID NOT DO.

"No!" Sherlock snarled at Mycroft. He was pacing back and forth in their flat, steam practically pouring out of his ears.

Remaining carefully indifferent, Mycroft responded, "We have no other choice, Sherlock. He refuses to negotiate. It's either that or our tactical positions in Afghanistan are leaked to enemy forces."

"There's another option. There's always another option," Sherlock retorted, his jaw setting. "He's just playing a game. That's all this is to him: a game. I'm not letting him make John into a pawn!" He ran his hands through his hair, fluffing it out. "Just give me a minute to think. I'll figure it out." Eyes unfocused, Sherlock continued to pace around the room as he muttered under his breath, "There must be a reason that he chose John. Why John? What's so special about him? He could have had anything in exchange for those plans, and he demanded to have John. There must be a reason. But what?"

Mycroft shook his head and looked at his brother sadly. "We have nothing to hold leverage over him, Sherlock. We have been backed into the corner. Either we play this round by his rules or we lose years of counterintelligence and strategic positioning," he said matter-of-factly.

"And just how hard did you look for leverage?" Sherlock countered, rounding on his brother. In the matter of seconds, Sherlock was right in Mycroft's face. "You didn't, did you? Because this was just too convenient for you, wasn't it? You have a chance to have someone infiltrate his web. Someone you can trust. You just couldn't let this opportunity pass you by."

John, who had remained silent the moment Mycroft entered their flat, quietly said, "Sherlock, it's alright." Both brothers looked over at him in shock. "It's only a month, Sherlock. And as a veteran, I cannot allow such sensitive information to be released. I remember what it was like to serve. We barely made it through Hell and back without our enemies knowing our every position and move."

"They're using you, John. Both of them! They're forcing you to play a part in their game-" Sherlock began to protest.

Forcing a smile to his face, John cut him off, "I know, Sherlock. I know they are. But sometimes one just has to take the fall." He rose to his feet and squared his shoulders. Sherlock recoiled slightly as he saw this, and John knew that he had just successfully conveyed that his mind was made up. "Tell Moriarty he has a deal."

Mycroft visibly relaxed as he heard this. "Very well," he responded. "We'll need to make the exchange as soon as possible."

"Of course," John responded with a confirming nod. Without another word, John turned and headed up the stairs. He pulled out his rucksack – the same one he had used throughout his time in Afghanistan. Pressing his lips together, John began sifting through his meagre belongings; he would only bring what he had to with him. After all, it was only a month. He would be back in 221B before he knew it. So he packed away his favourite jumpers and several pairs of jeans and pants. He filled whatever space was left with a couple V-neck T-shirts and toiletries. Pausing a moment, John opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out his dog tags. He dropped them into his rucksack and zipped and snapped everything up. After glancing around the room once more, John slung his rucksack over his right shoulder and headed down.

"If anything happens to him, I will ruin you, Mycroft. And you know I am perfectly capable of it," Sherlock growled ominously, his voice dangerously low. John could not help but smile as he heard the threat. Sherlock did, despite himself, care about him.

Mycroft responded, "We'll keep him under surveillance as much as possible."

"Do you think Moriarty's stupid enough to let you keep surveillance on John?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "They'll both drop off the radar the moment the exchange is made. Neither of us will know where John is or what is happening to him or what he's doing for the entire month. It's part of his game!"

"Then don't let him win," Mycroft retorted.

With that, John took his cue to walk into the living room. "I'm ready," he stated. Neither brother looked at him. Instead, they were glaring at each other. Without a word, Mycroft turned on his heels and headed out the door. Turning, John went to follow when a hand grabbed his arm. He looked back to find Sherlock observing him carefully. "Be careful, John," he said softly. "He'll play with your mind. Try to make you question everything you know. You can't let him get to you, do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," John stated, gently pulling away from Sherlock. He could see the sadness in Sherlock's eyes, and he offered a smile in hopes that it would help. "Don't worry about me too much, Sherlock. Try to remember to eat and sleep, would you? I'm sure Mrs Hudson and Mycroft will keep tabs on you, but you need to take care of yourself, too. Try not to drive Lestrade insane or turn the whole Yard against you while I'm gone either."

Sherlock gave a curt nod. That was it. They refused to bid each other goodbye because they would see each other again – in a month latest. With a final smile, John turned away from Sherlock and followed Mycroft down the stairs. They headed out onto the street, a car waiting for them just outside. Opening the door, Mycroft motioned with his umbrella for John to get in. John obliged, taking off his rucksack and sliding in. He kept it in between his legs. Sliding in next to him, Mycroft closed the door. The car started down the street, and a long moment of silence passed between the two men.

"I'm so very sorry-" Mycroft started to say.

"I don't want to hear it," John snapped, cutting him off. He was definitely not pleased by the fact that he had been dragged into the middle of this game, and he was sure that Sherlock was right. Mycroft probably hadn't lifted a finger to see if he could stop the blackmail. "I'm not an idiot. I know that this is just a strategic position. You're just trying to get information about Moriarty's web. And that's fine. I'm alright with it. Really, I am. But don't offend me by implying that I'm an idiot, because whatever you're about to say is an utter lie. So get to my orders or sod off."

Mycroft frowned as he heard this. "If you would allow me to finish," he replied, giving John a pointed look. "I'm so very sorry that you had to be dragged into the middle of this. If there had been any way to keep you with my brother and gain this intelligence, we would not be in this situation." John looked over and saw the sincerity in Mycroft's eyes. "I've enjoyed these last couple of months, after all. Not having to constantly look after him has been a blessing."

"Yes, yes," John responded, unfazed. Apparently, he had not been invaluable enough. "My instructions, though. I'm going into this entire situation blind."

Nodding, Mycroft replied, "Think of this as a mission with a definite deadline. I know you have a good memory, Dr Watson, and you're going to have to use it for this. This is a very sensitive case, after all, and Moriarty is an unpredictable character. You'll never be able to tell what will send him over the edge and what will make him giddy beyond belief. So there can be no physical record of anything. You're going to have to remember anything and everything that could be of significance."

"Noted," John confirmed.

"Try to familiarise yourself with his schedule. I'm sure it will seem arbitrary at first, but I am hoping you can pick out a pattern. Keep tabs on his calls and texts as well, but don't do anything foolhardy. I can't have you caught going through his phone," Mycroft requested.

"Understood," John stated as the car pulled to a stop.

Hesitating, Mycroft said, "Most of all, try to make it out of this alive. If you are ever in doubt about whether you should do something or not, err on the side of caution. And I'm not expecting for you to remember everything with pristine accuracy. As long as you bring us back some intelligence, we will have considered this a success."

"Right," John acknowledged.

Without another word, Mycroft slipped out of the vehicle. Slinging his rucksack over his right shoulder again, John followed and found that he was next to a series of abandoned warehouses. Jim Moriarty stood in front of them with a matching nondescript black vehicle behind him. "Johnny-boy!" Moriarty called out gleefully, his eyes glistening with excitement. "I didn't expect for you to actually accept! Well, not so quickly, at least. I'm honoured. Really."

"The files," Mycroft cut in, not allowing John to speak.

Rolling his eyes, Moriarty pulled out a thumb drive. "Oh, don't be so boring, Mr Holmes," he chided, his eyes never leaving John. He snapped his fingers, and a red laser locked itself onto John's chest, just above his heart. Blood racing, John glared up at Moriarty. "It had to be done, John. I had to let Mr Holmes know he had something to lose if he let his sniper fire at me after the exchange. And I couldn't very well aim at the Ice Man himself. His sniper would have panicked and shot." Finally looking at Mycroft, Moriarty grinned. "Really, you should invest in some better trained snipers. I could give you a few recommendations if you're interested."

"The files, Mr Moriarty," Mycroft repeated coldly.

Moriarty let out a dramatic sigh. "Yes, yes," he said, striding over. He held the thumb drive out for Mycroft to take. As soon as it left his hand, Moriarty turned and roughly grabbed John by the arm. "I'll call you in a month, Mr Holmes, to tell you where to pick up Johnny-boy here," Moriarty called back in a sing-song voice as they headed towards the other car.

John never once looked back at Mycroft. He wasn't entirely sure what he would see – if Mycroft was watching him leave or was already on the phone, informing his bosses that he managed to get the plans back – and he wasn't sure he wanted to know at all. So he kept his eyes fixed ahead as Moriarty pulled him towards the vehicle. Moriarty ripped open the door and shoved John roughly inside. John hardly had a moment to situate himself before Moriarty was sitting right next to him. As soon as the door shut, the car tore out of the parking lot.

"Boring," Moriarty sighed out, flopping back dramatically on his chair. "How boring! You gave up much too willingly. I thought I would at least have to fight for you. Just a bit." Turning, Moriarty faced John and inquired, "It was the contents, wasn't it? Military plans and whatnot? I knew that would be the deciding factor… that the soldier in you would prevail."

"I'm not following orders, if that's what you're implying," John said defensively.

Grinning, Moriarty exclaimed, "Finally, he speaks!" John wondered if he had made a mistake by doing so. "And I know you weren't. Sherlock probably threw a temper-tantrum, didn't he? Oh, I would have loved to see that. But you being a willing participant is what makes this all the more interesting, Johnny-boy."

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt. John looked out to see they were in an alley with another car facing them. "What-?" he started to ask, his hand tightening on his rucksack.

"Leave it," Moriarty stated, his hand fastening on the rucksack as well. "You'll get everything back as soon as my people make sure that there are no bugs or wires on you. You'll need to change into a new outfit as well."

John knew better than to object. Instead, he opened the door and got out, grudgingly leaving his rucksack behind. He headed over to the next car, a London taxi, and opened the door. A new pair of jeans and a light blue jumper were waiting for him inside. Honestly, John didn't want to know how Moriarty knew his trouser size. John changed in the backseat. The jumper was a bit snug on him, but it was almost in a flattering way Quickly, he made sure to fold his clothes nicely, as if it would matter. As soon as he was done, Moriarty opened the other door and yanked the clothes out, shoving them into a bag and tossing them to a subordinate, who caught it effortlessly. He then turned back and slipped into the taxi next to John.

"Drive," Moriarty ordered the driver before glancing over at John. "That colour looks better on you than I thought it would. And the jumper's a huge improvement. You really should try to wear more formfitting clothes, Johnny-boy. Maybe you would actually be able to keep a woman then."

John refused to react to the jab. Moriarty might have been able to make Mycroft and Sherlock dance, but John wasn't like them; he was a soldier – an army veteran. Without a doubt, there was nothing Moriarty could do to force him to do something he didn't want. "Where are we going?" he asked, deciding to change the subject.

Moriarty sighed melodramatically, rolling his head around to look outside. "Dull. I don't see why Sherlock keeps you around at this rate. Why not ask me something vaguely interesting?" he complained.

"Because I'm not interested in entertaining you," John responded matter-of-factly.

Laughing, Moriarty whirled around to face John. "Oh! Oh, good. Yes, that's very good. You're a fighter," he exclaimed, grinning at him maniacally. "Very well. We'll make an exchange. I'll answer one of your questions if you'll answer one of mine. Honestly. I'll know if you're lying, Johnny-boy!" He sang out the last sentence gleefully.

"Deal. Where are we going?" John replied.

Moriarty frowned, clearly displeased by the question. "To your new residence. It's better if you don't know anything else about it," he answered. "How did Sherlock react to our little deal?"

"He wasn't happy about it. Almost refused to let me go because he didn't want to play your game," John responded, knowing lying would just get him on Moriarty's bad side. Moriarty grinned as he heard this. "He was also slightly mystified, so congratulations there."

Although John said the last part sarcastically, Moriarty didn't seem to notice. "Oh?" he pressed, his eyes shining. "How so? And be specific."

"He couldn't figure out why you would take me," John confessed after a long moment of silent debate. "You could have had any amount of money in exchange for that information. Hell, you could have gotten an all-expenses-paid vacation to anywhere in the world."

"So Sherlock's jealous that Daddy's got a new favourite toy?" Moriarty pressed, his voice laced with excitement. He grinned maniacally at the thought and leaned back into his chair. After another moment's pause, he continued, "Oh, this is a lot more fun. I knew he would object to the arrangement. I knew he wouldn't want to play by my rules. But he had no other option, and he couldn't come up with an escape fast enough. That must just eat him up inside." It looked to John that Moriarty was enjoying this far too much. Suddenly, Moriarty added, "Well, if you really want to know, I took you because I want to see how Sherlock gets on without you there to stroke his ego and tell him that he's pretty."

"I don't tell him that he's pretty," John snapped back.

Moriarty smirked. "You might as well. It's pathetic, really, just how hard he tries to impress you. I want to see how motivated he is when there's not even the faintest chance of him receiving your praise. I wonder just how far down he'll spiral." He murmured the last sentence as if he was just talking to himself.

"You give me too much credit. Sherlock doesn't need me to function. He's lived on his own before, and I'm sure he'll do just fine living on his own again," John bit back, shifting uncomfortably.

Clearly amused, Moriarty pressed, "And that bothers you all the more, doesn't it?" John set his jaw and glared at Moriarty, who laughed at the response. "It just burns you, doesn't it? To need someone so badly in your life but to not be needed in return. Sherlock might not have many people close to him, but he has enough. Mycroft and Mrs Hudson will keep him alive. Lestrade and I will keep him busy with cases and puzzles. And you – you'll just be gone. Useless. Unnecessary."

"Enough!" John barked, finally allowing Moriarty to get a rise out of him.

Moriarty burst out laughing, clearly pleased with John's reaction. "My turn," he sang out, and John was already beginning to hate that voice. "How long can you go without any human contact?" Looking at him in confusion, John cocked an eyebrow. "It's for future reference."

"I should be fine for a week," John answered, knowing from experience. "So I take it that you will be checking in every now and again to make sure I'm still alive?"

After a moment's pause, Moriarty replied, "It's a game, Johnny-boy, and I'm always three steps ahead. My move was to take you away from Sherlock. It's only obvious that the Ice Man's next move would be an attempt to gain something. The easiest course of action would be to use you. To see if he can infiltrate my network by having you gather information." The way Moriarty moved his head was reptilian-like in its manner. "So I'm not going to give you the opportunity. You will be brought food every three days. I've set you up with a nice television, but you'll have no access to the internet. Can't risk you making contact with the Holmes brothers, after all. And I'll swan in every now and again to give you the human contact you so desperately need to keep you from going mental."

"How generous of you," John muttered, knowing that it was, in fact, extremely generous of Moriarty to even pop in to see him once and not just let him rot there. "So how often can I expect you?"

Shrugging, Moriarty replied, "Depends on my workload. At least once a week."

"You should shoot me a text beforehand. You know, so I can get the place looking nice before you come over," John said sarcastically.

Moriarty responded, "I suppose I should warn you that you won't be getting your phone back until you're released. I'll give you a replacement phone that will only call my number. It's only in case of emergencies – and by that, I mean if you're dying. Wouldn't want to miss that, after all."

"You might want to actually keep me alive, you know. Sherlock will come after you if you don't," John threatened, not sure that would give him the desired effect.

It didn't. Grinning maniacally, Moriarty responded, "I know. Sounds much more interesting than just letting you walk away."

The taxi stopped in front of a building, and John mentally kicked himself in the arse. He should have been paying attention to where they were and the route to get to his new home, not playing 20 questions with Moriarty. Eyes widening, John realised that that had probably been Moriarty's plan all along: distract John so he wouldn't pay attention to where they were going. Slipping out of the vehicle, Moriarty waited outside and tapped his foot impatiently. John stepped out and followed Moriarty. Showing an ID at the door, Moriarty waited to be buzzed in. At least John knew he would be well taken care of. A doorman quickly opened the door for them, stepping aside and greeting Moriarty with a courteous bow. Unsure of his surroundings, John stepped closer to Moriarty as they headed for the lift. Neither of them said a word as the lift doors binged open, they stepped into the lift, Moriarty hit the number 5 button, the lift doors closed, and the lift began to move.

"Fifth floor?" John noted, looking over at Moriarty.

A smile tugged at Moriarty's lips as he heard this. "How astute of you. I see that Sherlock's skills of deduction are clearly rubbing off on you. You will be living on the fifth floor of a building in London," he replied condescendingly. When lift doors opened again, Moriarty stepped out, leading the way. "We'll have some general house rules to go over, and then I'll let yourself get acquainted with your new home."

Following him down the hall, John scanned the hallway. There were no cameras that he could see. They stopped outside of flat number 513, and Moriarty unlocked the door before slowly letting it fall open. It was a bit theatrical, but John was, despite himself, astounded when he looked inside. Wooden floors stretched out with a living room directly to the left of the main room and a kitchen to the right. A three-person sofa sat across from a large, flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Sitting in between, a wooden table that matched the wood of the floors sat on top of a Turkish rug. In the kitchen was a large island. Maple cabinets ran along the top of the wall. Underneath the hunter green granite countertop was a stove, microwave, refrigerator, and dishwasher. Two doors were in the back, and John assumed that one of them would lead to the bedroom. In between them was a large closet, which most likely contain a washer and dryer.

"Better than I expected," John confessed, stepping into the place.

Moriarty scoffed as he heard this. "Of course it is. Unlike Sherlock, I can afford it," he stated. "It's one of my many flats."

"Just how many do you own?" John pressed, thoroughly surprised.

Laughing, Moriarty replied, "That was a nice try, Johnny-boy. I own enough flats to get by. Can't stay in one place too long, after all. Never know when someone might finally catch up."

"So this is one of the humble abodes of Mr Moriarty," John said, looking around.

"Humble. Right," Moriarty echoed, scoffing. Looking around, Moriarty slunk to the side. "So house rules," he commented. John looked back at him, signalling he was paying attention. "First of all, you'll call me James when I'm here. 'Mr Moriarty' is a mouthful to begin with, and I like to relax when I'm home and not think about the day's proceedings. Hard to do that when you're calling me by my professional name. Second of all, you will not be leaving this flat under any circumstances. The front door is rigged with a special security alarm that will alert me immediately every time it opens. If you leave this flat, I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. Third of all, there is only one bedroom, and I refuse to kip on the sofa in my own house. So on the nights I decide to grace you with my presence for the entire evening, I will be sleeping in the bed. And you'll be sleeping in the bed with me. Am I understood?"

"What?" John asked, unable to process the information at all once. "You want me to sleep in the same bed as you when you're here?"

"Is that a problem?" Moriarty pressed, his eyes darkening.

Laughing out of shock, John replied, "Yes. That's a huge problem. I'm not about to kip in the same bed with my best friend's archenemy. It's not happening. I'll kip on the sofa when you're here."

"And risk you sneaking in to kill me in my sleep or try to escape whilst I'm unawares?" Moriarty retorted, frowning. There was a gleam in his eyes that John recognised. "You'll sleep in the same bed as me when I stay the nights. This isn't up for negotiation, John. Don't make me force you."

John actually felt a spike of fear shoot through him. He remembered the night at the pool vividly, and he didn't even want to think about what Moriarty could do to him in this state. Clenching his jaw, John stood up straight and looked Moriarty directly in the eyes. He refused to show any fear, knowing it would just make Moriarty feel stronger. "Fine," John responded in his military voice.

Moriarty relaxed a bit as he heard those words. "Good." Pulling a mobile phone out of his pocket, Moriarty set it on the island. "Here's your new mobile. It connects directly to mine. Use it only in cases of emergency. I don't want you to call me for chit-chats in the middle of meetings. In return, I promise you that I will answer every time you call." John looked down at the mobile to find it was the same make and model as his own. "So you don't struggle using it," Moriarty stated, as if he was reading John's mind. "Keep this on or near you at all times. Should I call, you need to answer the phone. Should I text you, you need to respond as soon as possible. Texts will not be as urgent as calls. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Of course I can," John said, picking the phone up and slipping it into his pocket.

Smiling, Moriarty turned on his heels. "I'll leave you to it then, Johnny-boy. Enjoy getting to know your new home," he called back before slipping out the front door.

John heard it lock and glanced down to find no way to unlock it from the inside. It reminded him of a kennel, and he felt trapped. Glancing around, John headed to see what remained behind the final two doors. The door on the right opened to a bathroom. There was nothing special about it, just a shower, toilet, and sink. Backing out, John opened the other door and looked in. It was a massive master bedroom with an entire wall of windows, the only source of natural light in the entire flat. Sitting on the edge of the bed, John felt the mattress sink underneath his body. It was a nice place, all things considered. John could definitely see himself making it through the month in this place. With a sigh, he collapsed back onto the bed and closed his eyes. Only 31 days left…