Where the Heart Is

by The Emcee

Jim Moriarty beginnings obsessing over John Watson. One thing leads to another and complications ensue. But that's what John gets for surrounding himself with geniuses. Slash. Mpreg

Title: Where the Heart Is

Author: The Emcee

Rating: M

Pairing: Jim Moriarty/John Watson, Johnlock

Summary: Jim Moriarty beginnings obsessing over John Watson. One thing leads to another and complications ensue. But that's what John gets for surrounding himself with geniuses.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. There is slash and mpreg, so if you don't like, then don't read.

…

"The question that sometimes drives me hazy: Am I, or the others, crazy?"

Albert Einstein

…

Jim Moriarty had told Sherlock Holmes that he was going to burn the heart out of him, and he had had every intention of doing so. He knew from observation that John Watson was Sherlock's heart; a fact that Jim found both absurd and intriguing. John Watson was so boring, so average, and so stupid that it was absurd that he could mean anything to a man like Sherlock, yet he did. And because he meant something to Sherlock, there just had to be something more about the doctor, which made him intriguing. So, in the end, Jim took John, plucked him right off the sidewalk, and had every intention of making a fireworks display of him. Then she had interrupted and had forced him to bid farewell to Sherlock and his pet.

But after that, Jim kept a close watch on Sherlock and an even closer one on John. Jim found out, however, that observation and surveillance would only give him so much, get him so far. His obsession, he had found, had shifted to the ex-army doctor and Jim soon tired of watching videos. He wanted the real deal. And Jim Moriarty always got what he wanted, in one way or another. In the end, he decided to take John Watson just as he had before. It had been easier thanks to the tensions the Woman caused. Sherlock wouldn't notice John's absence for a little while, not until it was too late, what with his thoughts preoccupied elsewhere.

Stealing John had been pathetically easy; keeping him under lock and key had proved harder. Despite what Jim believed or thought, John was anything but average. He wasn't the boring, dim-witted fool that everyone saw; underneath it all, John was a complex individual who had the potential within him to give Sherlock a run for his money. Jim wasn't Sherlock; he'd unravel the true Doctor Watson and he'd rub it in Sherlock's face.

…

"Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave but not our hearts."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

…

John had no idea how long he had been gone from 221 B Baker Street. It felt like weeks, but he knew that that couldn't possibly be right. He knew that it had been hours since he had woken up after being knocked out cold for Lord only knew how long. Perhaps it had been a little over a day, maybe even two days, maybe even more than that, but John knew that he wasn't in the company of friends. No one had come to visit him, he heard no one walk by his cell, room, whatever, and there was no light for him to see by. There was bed, he knew that for certain, and he wasn't chained up or anything of the sort.

But he didn't feel right, not entirely at least. Whatever drug he had been given seemed to have a lingering effect on him. Every movement he made was sluggish and stiff, and his leg bothered him to high heaven. Moving it too much proved to be a mistake and when he jerked awake from nightmares of maniacal laughter and deranged, dark eyes, it hurt even more. John never made contact with anything aside from his bed, but even that was enough to cause his leg to scream out in pain when a nightmare caused him to rapidly return to the waking world. Regardless of how much his leg bothered him – was it struck or something while he had been unconscious? – John's concerns more often than not lingered on Sherlock.

Prior to be kidnapped, John had had a tiff with the consulting detective. His anger hadn't been rational, how could it be when he refused to believe that he was in love with Sherlock, and he shouldn't have gotten upset that the younger man was still pondering over Irene. After all, it wasn't as though he was in a relationship with Sherlock or anything, so what was there for him to get mad about? Except that John had been mad at the time and Sherlock honestly had no idea why, either. John's anger at Sherlock had dissipated when he woke up shrouded in darkness, unable to tell whether it was night or day, and not knowing if Sherlock was alive, dead, injured, held hostage, or anything of the sort. Of course, John hoped that Sherlock was fine, he had been when John left their flat, and he wanted for him to remain that way. He figured that he had been knocked out to lure Sherlock into a trap of something and that irritated him just a bit. Why was it always him who got kidnapped or knocked out?

A door opened and light poured in. John was forced to close his eyes; after the darkness, the light was torture. Whoever it was stood there in silence for a moment before they spoke, and when the words left their mouth, a cold dread washed over John.

"Come now, Johnny Boy. It hasn't been that long since you last saw daylight. Just three and a half days, but who, besides Daddy, is counting?" Moriarty's voice was light and playful and John's stomach twisted into a knot. He opened his eyes and peered at the man. Although he wasn't as tall as Sherlock, Jim Moriarty was more menacing and imposing than the consulting detective. An alpha in his own right, and John was left at him mercy, which the madman wasn't known to have.

"Moriarty." Jim grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Now, now, Johnny Boy. We've been friends for far too long for you to refer to me by my last name." John had to grit his teeth in order to stop the scoff that would have come out.

"We're not friends." Jim frowned, a mocking gesture, one that John could have lived without.

"But John, we've hung out loads of times. I mean, just a few months ago, we went to the pool. And now here we are, chilling like bros." John looked at Moriarty as though he had lost his mind. But John should have known that he had never been quite right in the head, even before this.

"We've never hung out, you and I. You've only ever been interested in Sherlock." Jim sighed over dramatically and shook his head.

"Tut, tut, Johnny Boy. Sherlock wasn't the only one I was interested in. At least, he's not anymore." John wasn't sure how he could interest someone like Jim Moriarty. Then again, he wasn't sure how he was a subject of interest to Sherlock, especially nowadays.

"And who has managed to capture your attention so fully, Moriarty?" Jim wagged his finger at John, a playful, mocking grin on his face.

"Ah, ah, ah, John. Didn't I tell you to call me Jim?" John glared at the Irishman, who just giggled in response before all laughter died. His face grew serious and his eyes shone with a glint that John couldn't place. Or didn't want to.

"Come now, Doctor Watson. You already know the answer, so let's quit playing dumb. Daddy isn't in the mood for playing dumb." Moriarty stepped further into the room, his silhouette outlined in light.

"I've captured your attention." A smirk spread across the younger's man and John felt his body shudder. What was it about him that brought the insanely intelligent and slightly deranged men to him? And why did they have such an effect on him?

"Right-o, John. You have proven to be far more interesting than I believed you to be. Bravo!" John didn't understand. Why would Moriarty take an interest in him when he had previously shown interest in Sherlock alone?

"Why me?" Jim grinned, a wolfish grin that made John's skin crawl. But he wanted to know the answer; at least, a part of him did.

"Because you seem so boring and ordinary on the outside. But I've been watching you, Johnny Boy, and I think there's more to you than the dull creature I thought you were. But surveillance videos will only get me so far. So, I decided to study you up close and personal. And here we are, two old chaps having a nice conversation." Moriarty had been watching him? Great. As if John didn't have enough people watching him already, what with Mycroft's constant watch and Sherlock being, well, Sherlock and never missing anything. Well, almost anything.

"And I suppose that kidnapping me and holding me hostage was the best way for you to do that." Moriarty looked almost insanely happy, which worried John to no end.

"Oh, no, no, no! You're not being held hostage. Sherlock doesn't even know you're missing." Pain stabbed at John's heart for a moment. He felt stupid, oh, so stupid, and chided himself for thinking that Sherlock might have been just a little concerned about John vanishing suddenly. Giving how distracted he had been recently, however, John could believe what Moriarty had told him.

"So I can just get up and go then and you'll let me?" Moriarty's grin turned into a smirk and John felt dread creep into his bones. He had a feeling what the answer would be.

"Of course, John. You're free to leave whenever you'd like. If you can, that is." John stilled and scrutinized the younger man. He looked very much like the self-assured consulting criminal that he actually was. Still, if he was free to leave, he'd try and do so. At least, that was the thought, but when John tried to move his legs, his bad one screamed out in protest. Aside from still feeling out of sorts, the cramp that had set into his leg was a particularly bad one, causing his movements to lag and suffer.

"Oh, I almost forgot. If you try to leave, you might get shot. Seb is feeling a bit trigger happy today, I'm afraid. Probably because you gave him a fit when he tried to pick you up. That's why your leg is bothering you. He had to keep you under control somehow and he wanted to make up for the black eye you gave him. You're quite feisty, aren't you, dearie?" John glared up at the man, who merely giggled at his pathetic attempt to get up. Sighing, feeling way too tired than he ought to, John rubbed his leg, trying to ease the cramp out of it or dull it a little. He knew that he didn't have a wound like a cut or abrasion and that it wasn't bleeding. More than likely, it had been hit or something and cramped up when John flinched from the blow. Assuming, of course, that he had flinched or reacted.

"So I'm not free to leave then?" Jim shrugged.

"It's like I said, Johnny m'boy, you might get shot. And your leg has been bothering you, so whatever chance you have at leaving is dwindled because of it." Feeling defeated, John sighed and kept rubbing at his leg. It was working, but he knew it could very easily get worse if he stopped for even once moment.

"What do you want from me, Jim?" Moriarty was practically giddy that John had used his first name. It made little sense to John.

"Daddy loves it when you say his name, Johnny. It makes him so happy and excited." John felt his stomach roll. The last thing he wanted was to excite Moriarty. An excited criminal mastermind was never a good thing. "Before I explain any further, I want your word that you won't attempt to run off before Daddy's experiment is over and done with. If you left too soon, why, I do believe that London just might be burned to the ground to get you to come back."

"You wouldn't burn down a city just for me to stay until you're through, would you?" Moriarty's dark eyes stared at John, seeing straight into his heart and soul, and John knew the answer before the man even opened his mouth to speak.

"Oh yes I would, John. I'm not against using violence to get what I want. And didn't I tell you before that I wasn't in the mood for you playing dumb?" Moriarty glared at him and John nodded, not wanting to anger the younger man any more than he already was.

"Good! Now, tell Daddy what he wants to hear. Tell him that you'll be a good little boy for him and that you won't go running off before playtime is over." John sighed heavily, knowing very well that going against the consulting criminal would result in his death or worse.

"You have my word, Jim." Giggling maniacally, Moriarty sat down beside John and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Being pulled close to the man made John want to vomit and punch something, preferably Moriarty, but he did neither of those things.

"Excellent! Just what Daddy wanted to hear." Jim's breath was hot on John's ear and sent chills down his back. "Here is what's going to happen, John. We're going to leave this dark and dreary hell hole and go somewhere more comfy, more private, and conduct our experiment there."

"And how long is this experiment going to take exactly?" Moriarty shrugged and shook John, acting as though they were old buddies from school having a nice little chat and having a good time.

"A week. Maybe longer. It depends on the information I acquire from watching you." John thought about that and swallowed, licking his lips.

"And you'll be watching my every movement at all hours of the day?" Moriarty giggled.

"Oh yes, Johnny Boy. Twenty-four hours, seven days a week."

"Will you be following me around everywhere? Even in the bathroom?"

"That's the plan, Doctor." John felt sick to his stomach and wanted nothing more than to be back at 221 B Baker Street.

…

"For we pay a price for everything we get and take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won."

Lucy Maud Montgomery.

…

Sherlock's wrist was beginning to cramp up. Not only that, but he was getting impatient. It had been a little over an hour since he had asked John for a pen and the doctor had yet to deliver the goods. He knew that John had today off and he knew that he didn't have any plans. His relationship with Sarah had ended long ago, but they remained friends. Even so, John never made plans to hang out unless it was with Sherlock, who was his number one priority of course, or Lestrade, whom he felt a kinship with thanks to Sherlock. Anyway, Sherlock had checked John's phone and laptop and he knew that the older man had nothing planned for today.

"John, I said pen." Sherlock flexed his hand, his patience wearing paper thin. Why was his flat mate ignoring him? What had Sherlock done to cause John to ignore him? Surely he had annoyed or aggravated him more so than usual? Perhaps John was making tea. He made the best tea. Sherlock always loved it when he made tea, even though he rarely ever drank it. The gesture was appreciated regardless.

Looking over at John's chair, Sherlock realized that he wasn't there. As he looked around the room, he quickly came to the conclusion that John was nowhere in the living room or, judging by the lack of noise, in the flat at all. He felt a twinge of something, disappointment, not important, bottle it away, before he got up and grabbed the pen out of his skull's left eye socket.

"John?" Frowning, Sherlock picked up John's laptop and opened it up. Typing in the password – JHWatson, how dull – he checked to see when the last time John had logged onto it. Five days ago. Had five days really passed by? Sherlock hadn't even noticed. He was too preoccupied with thoughts about Jim Moriarty and when he'd resurface to play more of him game with Sherlock. The man had been too quiet for too long, something that was unusual for him, and Sherlock knew that it'd only be a matter of time before he'd pop up out of the snow like a daisy.

Huffing, Sherlock shut the laptop off, placed it on the table, and stood up. Feeling compelled to go upstairs and poke around in John's room, Sherlock stomped up the steps and growled. He wanted to know where John was and what was so important that he left the flat without informing Sherlock about it first. John would have provided much help by giving him that pen because then Sherlock wouldn't have lost his train of thought. Not that he had actually lost it; he merely cataloged it and saved it for later, when John was around and had just been given the death glare for running off in the first place. Thinking about it now, Sherlock also needed John to go to Tesco's for some Jell-O. His latest experiment would require a lot of it.

"John!" Sherlock opened the doctor's bedroom door, knowing he wasn't going to be there, but hoping that he'd be climbing through the window or something. Now that he actually thought about it, he'd need some hot sauce for his experiment as well. But the room was empty, save for John's personal belongings. Letting out a frustrated huff, Sherlock entered the room and immediately spotted John's cell phone, lying on the nightstand plain as day. Grabbing it, Sherlock saw that there had been numerous text messages left, five missed calls, and two voice mails.

A few text messages and a phone call were from Sarah, probably calling to ask John to come in. Silly woman. She should have scheduled enough people instead of bothering his flat mate on his well deserved day off. Harry had sent John a few texts and had even left a voice mail. Judging by her voice, she was doing much better now that she had given up the bottle and had gotten back together with Clara. Good to know. John would be pleased. He functioned far better when his sister wasn't acting like an idiot. Lestrade had texted and called John and left the second voice mail. All of them had one thing in common though: they wanted to know where John was and if he was okay.

Curious.

Reading back over the text messages, the first of them were mundane and ordinary, Sherlock realized that they had all been sent five days ago. As they continued up to today, they became more worried and concerned. If they didn't know where John was, then it was quite obvious that the good doctor didn't just get up this morning and decided to go for a stroll in the park. Something must have happened to him. Dread settled in Sherlock's stomach. What if John had had a heart attack or a seizure while he was out? What if he had been hit by a car or shot by some gang banger? It was entirely possible that John could have been kidnapped, but by who? Mycroft was a possibility as was Moriarty, both of whom had taken John before. There were so many different scenarios that ran through Sherlock's mind, most of which didn't end well.

Heading back down stairs, Sherlock grabbed his phone and realized that he, too, had a few unanswered text messages from Lestrade and Mycroft. Is John okay? Why isn't he answering his phone? Are you guys on a case? Lestrade could be such a mother hen that Sherlock almost appreciated him. Almost. Mycroft's message, on the other hand, had been sent just a few minutes ago. I'm paying a visit. Odd. Mycroft rarely told him that he was coming over. He just showed up regardless of if Sherlock was at the flat or not. For him to announce that he was coming meant that something must have happened.

The door to the flat opened and Sherlock immediately knew that it was his brother. Scowling, he threw his phone on the sofa and plopped down on it, crossing his arms over his chest. He had his mind made up that he'd refuse whatever case Mycroft gave him. His brother's problems were of no concern to him.

"Sherlock. I'm going to skip the pleasantries for today on account that there has been a slight…mishap." Sherlock opened one eye to glare at his brother before he closed it again, a snarl on his face.

"Piss off, fatty." Even with his eyes closed, Sherlock knew that Mycroft was frowning in disapproval at him. Not that he cared.

"Now is not the time for childish name calling. I'm here to inform you that John's been missing for the past five days, three hours, and twenty-seven minutes." Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened them to glare at his idiot of a brother.

"I already managed to figure that out. Thank you so very much, Mycroft, for your worthless input. I'm sure there's a big cake at home with your name all over it for such an accomplishment."

"Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's number one sniper, is the one that knocked John out and placed him in a car with license plates that didn't match the vehicle. They took him to a location outside of the city. I know because my cameras lost sight of them when they left the city's perimeter. Moriarty has John, Sherlock, has had him for the past five days. Tell me you are not in the least bit interested about this recent development." Panic. Sherlock didn't panic, never panicked, but he felt like he was panicking.

John was with Moriarty. Moriarty had John and Sherlock hadn't even realized it, hadn't even thought to look into it, until Mycroft spoke up. Was he that horrible of a person to not even realize that John, his flat mate and best friend, his only friend, had been taken from him? Why hadn't he been worried or concerned? Perhaps part of him was, subconsciously, but most of Sherlock's time these past few days had been preoccupied by the Woman. And why? Was she really that great? Technically, she was just like Moriarty in terms of being on his level of intelligence, so why was she different? Besides, John was more important than she was, wasn't he? Well, if that were the case, then Sherlock would have noticed John's absence beforehand. Some friend he turned out to be...

"I already have people on it, although as it isn't a matter of national security or anything of the like, I can't keep them on this case for long. I'm letting you know because you're the only know who knows Moriarty well enough to be able to find him, and thus find John." Sherlock sat up and stared straight ahead, not even looking at anything, but thinking.

"If Moriarty had wanted me to know he had John, he would have sent a message, a clue, of some sort. Nothing's come by, I've had no contact with him, and there have been no cases involving him or his acquaintances for a little while now." Mycroft nodded and Sherlock felt annoyance bubble up because of the gesture. Just by studying his brother, Sherlock could tell that Mycroft was concerned about John and that made the consulting detective scowl. Why would Mycroft care about John? John wasn't his flat mate or best friend, he was Sherlock's. He was Sherlock's.

"Then it's clear that Moriarty was after John himself and not you." Sherlock felt angry, angry at himself for being a fool, angry at John for letting his guard down, angry at Moriarty for taking John…

"Jim Moriarty is not a disorganized man. If he wanted me to know that John was gone, he'd have given me a clue. Unless something comes up, unless someone knows something, then it's best to assume that John and Moriarty are off the grid." Sherlock stood up.

"So what are you going to do, Sherlock?" Grabbing his coat, Sherlock turned and glared at his brother.

"I'm going out to see what I can gather. I will find John, Mycroft. He will be coming home and soon. Of that, I can assure you." With his coat on, Sherlock stalked out the front door and slammed it behind him. Mycroft watched him go and sighed softly.

"I hope you do, Sherlock. I hope you do."

…

"Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it."

Ayn Rand

…

Eight days had passed since Jim had visited John in his little cell underneath the warehouse. Eight days since Jim had taken John to his own, personal flat, the one that was just for himself and no one else. It had only been three days since Sherlock had finally realized that John was gone and that Jim had him. And it had only been one day since Jim realized that he was almost done with his study of Doctor John Watson.

His Johnny Boy had been most interesting and entertaining. It only took the ex-army doctor three hours of being annoyed by Jim's constant presence to snap at Jim, something the criminal mastermind had enjoyed immensely. John looked positively striking when he was angry and stressed and throwing sarcastic or snarky comments at Jim. Though it only took a minute for worry and panic to set in when John collected himself and began fretting that he had put Sherlock's life in danger. Because if there was one thing Jim had discovered right away, it was that John didn't care so much for his own safety as he cared for others. Being a doctor, Jim knew that that was to be expected. But observing it firsthand was something else. In the end, Jim reassured John that he needn't worry.

"I'm not a stick in the mud, Johnny. I can take a jibe just as much as I can give one. Besides, I did tell you that this was all about you, didn't I?" John had nodded stiffly.

"But you could still have Sherlock killed at any moment, can't you?" Jim had grinned at him and hummed in approval.

"I could, dearie. But you have my utmost attention. Sherlie could be masturbating on your bed for all I care. I have the real deal and I'd much rather you see masturbate on my bed." Seeing John blush had been exhilarating and it made Jim burst into maniacal giggles.

But he had meant what he said and that was how Jim knew his time with the doctor was almost up. He had observed John make tea, drink tea, eat biscuits and jam, watch TV, shower, and had even walked in on him taking a piss, exclaiming loudly that he was oh, so sorry and that he had no idea that John was in the bathroom, which was a complete lie. Jim had talked to the man, listened to his answers, watch his behavior, watched him laugh, get angry, worry, ponder, and think. Spending eight days with John, one hundred and ninety-two hours, had revealed to Jim much about the blonde doctor, except for one thing.

What was John Watson like in bed?

Jim could tell that John was attracted to him, subconsciously if nothing else, and he knew why. For all of their differences, Jim and Sherlock were basically one in the same. And John definitely was attracted to Sherlock and they did bring up their favorite consulting detective a few times in the past eight days. Spotting the signs of physical attraction had been easy; dilated pupils, elevated pulse, the whole shebang. He didn't mind it though. John wasn't an ugly man, not with those blue eyes of his, and, more than likely, he had never had a male lover before, which made the idea of sleeping with the man all the more enticing. Not only that, but it'd allow him to gain more information on the man, and the more information he had, the better he knew John.

Part of Jim knew that, after that, he'd no longer have a good enough reason to keep John. Oh, he could go back on his word and keep John around, but that would only provide so much entertainment. And now that both Holmes brothers were aware that he had John, it'd only be a matter of time before they recovered John. Jim would rather give John over to them on his own terms instead of theirs. But thinking about letting John go made Jim feel something...different. New. Something he couldn't name and didn't want to bother with even though it'd still be there when they parted ways.

Around eleven thirty – or was it midnight? Jim wasn't sure – Jim made his way to the bedroom, the only bedroom that's accessible to John anyway. There was another one, a smaller one, but Jim made sure that it was padlocked so that John couldn't get into it. He wasn't going to have his little pet sleeping without him, not when it was so much fun to watch John squirm and writhe when the nightmares plagued him. John had retired earlier that evening, partly because he was tired and partly to get away from Jim, and he was laying on the bed, the sheets tangled around his lower body. His white t-shirt had ridden up, exposing his back, and he was snoring softly. The sight was endearing and seeing so much of John's skin exposed – why the hell did the man wear jumpers in the first place? – made Jim's mouth water.

Peeling off his shirt and slipping out of his pajama pants, Jim made his way over to John, cock half hard and his hands itching to touch the doctor. Taking his boxers off, Jim crawled onto the bed and tugged the sheets down off of John's body. John's pajama pants were blue flannel, soft and warm, and Jim couldn't help but run a hand over the older man's ass. Beneath him, John stirred as he slowly, oh, so slowly, began to wake up. Jim grinned and pressed closer to John, his hand moving from his ass to his back, caressing the soft, warm skin underneath the shirt. A soft groan told Jim that John was half asleep, teetering on going back to sleep. But Jim just wasn't going to have that. Oh, no.

"Johnny Boy," Jim called to him in a soft, sing song voice. John buried his face in the pillow, his arms holding onto it as he tried to go back to sleep.

"Oh, Johnny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling. They say it's time to get up and play with Daddy." John sighed and turned away from Jim. Pouting, Jim removed his hand from John's back and smacked his ass. With a yelp, John was up and wide awake. Jim grinned at him, happy that he wasn't playing dead.

"Oh, goody! You're awake." John's eyes wandered over Jim's body and his eyes widened when he saw that he was naked. Grinning, Jim forced John to lay back down and gripped the edges of his t-shirt.

"I was getting lonely, Johnny. I had no one to talk to or look at. I missed you, Johnny Boy, and I decided to come and…pay you a visit." Jim watched as John shuddered and tried to get away from him. But he wasn't going to get away.

"Jim…" Leaning down, Jim's lips brushed against John's ear and he moaned when he felt John's body react to his close proximity.

"I want you, John. I'm going to have you. I'm going to fuck you and you're going to love it and want it again." As he spoke, Jim trailed a hand down to the waist band of John's pajama pants. Slipping his hand underneath the pants and boxers, Jim wrapped his hand around John's penis and began to stroke it.

"No, I won't." Jim laughed softly and nipped John's ear. The doctor released a soft moan and his body began to relax against his will. It made Jim smile.

"Are you sure about that, sweetheart? Because it seems to me that Little John has other plans. Don't think about it too much; just let your body go with the flow." Jim placed a kiss to John's neck and the doctor inhaled sharply. Grinning, Jim nipped at the soft flesh and suckled on it, his hand continuously stroking John's cock as it got hard.

Pulling away from John's neck, Jim forced the white shirt up with one hand and gave John a piercing look. Without saying a word, John took his shirt off and Jim was pleased that the blonde had finally given in. Nipping at John's jaw, Jim withdrew his hand and tugged at the waistbands, grinning mischievously. Through half-lidded blue eyes, John stared at him, arousal mixing with fear and guilt. It was one of the most beautiful sights Jim had ever seen.

"Let's get these off of you, shall we?" Jim practically ripped the pajama bottoms and the boxers off of the man and threw them elsewhere. His eyes gazed down at John, shining with lust and mischief. The good doctor still had the muscles he had had when in the military. John's skin was soft and tan, with the occasional scar creating a beautiful distortion that made the blonde even more intriguing.

"Now there's a good lad. Let's see how long it'll take before you're begging me to take you."

Jim's mouth planted nipping kisses along John's jaw while his hands raked down his chest. Fingers tweaked nipples, turning them into hard nubs, before they wandered further down. He moved his lips to the juncture where John's neck met his shoulder and he began to suck on it with the full intention of leaving his mark. His hands traveled down to John's manhood and wrapped around it, stroking the hard flesh at an agonizingly slow pace. Looking up, Jim was pleased to see that John was having a hard time keeping quiet; soft whimpers and moans were held back even though his eyes told Jim all he needed to know. But he knew that he'd make the good doctor cry out in pleasure; it was only a matter of time.

Licking the mark he had made one last time, Jim moved his mouth downward, nipping and kissing at the tanned skin. He took John's right nipple in his mouth and sucked on it, grinning to himself as he heard the man release a shaky moan, louder than the previous ones, and he squirmed. One hand came up and played with the left nipple, pinching it and tugging on it, and John made the most delectable noises as Jim had his fun. Jim stopped sucking on John's nipple and pressed onward, going further down, his right hand trailing after him while his left stroked John's cock.

When he reached John's erection, he stroked it once more before blowing on it. John moved, his body arching up, wanting more, craving more, and Jim grinned maniacally. Jim's dark eyes looked up and met John's blue ones. Lust and need were oh, so obvious and it made Jim's cock twitch and throb at the sight. It was so much fun seeing John like that, but he wanted to see him really lose control. So he flicked his tongue out and licked the head of John's cock. The reaction he got was just what he had wanted to see.

"Ah!" John gasped and his body jerked up. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Jim licked John's cock from base to head and watched as the blonde shuddered and gasped. He gave it another lick before pulling back and looking into the half-lidded eyes of Sherlock Holmes' heart.

"Ask nicely, Johnny Boy, and I'll give you what you want," Jim said in a husky, sing-song voice that conveyed his own lust and desire. He loved seeing John struggle within himself, wanting what Jim had to offer yet trying to deny himself at the same time. Part of Jim thought that the doctor wasn't going to say anything when at last he opened his mouth.

"Please…" His brown eyes lit up and Jim grinned before taking John's cock in his mouth.

…

"Who speaks to the instincts speaks to the deepest in mankind and finds their readiest response."

Amos Bronson Alcott

…

John gasped loudly when Jim's hot mouth closed over his aching cock. Part of him knew that he shouldn't want this, couldn't want this; after all, Jim Moriarty was a consulting criminal, the most dangerous man on the planet, and hell-bent on killing Sherlock Holmes when he saw fit. Why should he want the mad Irishman? But another part of John, a large, stronger, more animalistic part of him, didn't give a damn that Jim could easily kill Sherlock and himself in just the blink of an eye; all it cared about was pleasure, the pleasure Jim was giving him and could give him, and it was going to get that pleasure whether John wanted it or not.

Feeling Jim's hot mouth and tongue wrapped around his cock, sucking him off, was amazing. Having never been with a man before, John wasn't sure what to expect. Well, that was a lie. He knew exactly what to expect, but this was Jim Moriarty and it was foolish to even attempt to expect the unexpected with the man. When he had first woken up to Jim's ministrations, he had half expected to be tortured, believing the man to be a sadist. What he had gotten was something different. Oh yes, Jim did torture him, but it wasn't pain that he had caused, it was pleasure, pleasure and frustration at not doing more. Now, however, John was getting more and all he could focus on was how good it felt.

That talented mouth and tongue were almost too much, and there had been a few times that John felt as though he were about to climax only for Jim to back off and bring him back down. It made John whine and cry out in frustration, need, and want. He wanted more, he wanted release, and he knew that Jim knew that. Just as he felt himself about to let loose, Jim pulled his mouth away from his manhood with a wet 'pop' and smirked at him, his dark eyes glinting with mischief and lust.

"You want more, don't you, Johnny Boy? Tell Daddy." John banged his head against the pillow, frustration bubbling to the surfacing and beginning to show. Panting and painfully hard, John nodded.

"Yes. Oh, God, yes." John felt Jim move so that his was hovering above him, his body covering John's, and his face close to the doctor's.

"You want me to fuck you? Is that what you want, my dear?" Jim's lips were ghosting over John's and it made his toes curl. Feeling the madman's cock rub against his own was almost unbearable.

"Yes…" Jim grinned against his lips and John groaned. Although he never thought he'd ever think or say it, John wanted Jim Moriarty and he wanted him right now.

"Please, Jim. Please fuck me." Sitting up, Jim reached over and opened the nightstand door. John's body arched up, his cock twitching and throbbing. And suddenly, Jim's lips were on his own in a rough kiss and John was kissing him back. All of his reason went out the window, all of his worries and cares were gone.

"I've got to lather you up, Johnny. Can't have Mommy too dry or Daddy won't enjoy it." John could help but laugh at that, though it came out as a more frustrated bark than anything else.

"I wouldn't have thought rape beneath you." Jim squirted lube onto his hands, coating his fingers generously before he prodded John's hole. At the feel of it, John squirmed. When the digit entered him, his body spasmed and shivered.

"It's not rape when you want it, love. And I find that, in this circumstance, rape would hinder my studies." When Jim inserted a second finger, John released a soft moan. The feel of someone's fingers inside of him was odd, different, but good. Very good. And when a third entered him and Jim brushed them against his prostate, the sensation was amazing. Removing his fingers, Jim retrieved more lube and slicked up his cock. John watched his every movement and he could tell that Jim liked that very much.

"Now, darling, this will hurt, but you'll get over it. And then the real fun will begin." Before John could even conjure a thought, Jim had thrust himself inside, causing John to gasp out loudly.

Never before had he felt such a sensation. There was pain – dear God, was there pain – but there was also pleasure as well. It wasn't something John was used to; different didn't even come close to describing it, but it wasn't unwanted. Before John to get used to Jim's cock inside of him, the Irishman pulled out, leaving John feeling empty, before thrusting back in. He cried out, unable to stop himself, but as Jim continued, his cock filling John, his hand wrapped around John's cock, his cries turned to loud moans of pleasure. His body rocked as Jim fucked him, his hips lifting off the bed to meet each and every one of Jim's thrusts. Close, he was so close now, and being surrounded by Jim, his body, his scent, his everything, was overwhelming and John loved it. And he could tell that Jim was just as overwhelmed as he was; he was panting and moaning and looked so unlike the evil man that John had been introduced to.

With one final stroke, John was coming, crying out wordlessly as his world turned white and his seed spilled across his stomach and Jim's hand. A few seconds later and he felt Jim coming deep inside of him, filling him, and releasing his own guttural moan. And then Jim was on top of him, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat that mixed in with John's. Jim's hands stroked John's sides and the doctor couldn't help but sigh contentedly at the gesture. John panted softly, his body slowly beginning to relax, and that was when he felt Jim nuzzle his neck. His heart skipped a beat and John wondered when that had started happening. Sure, his heart would pound in his chest at just the thought of Jim before all of this happened, primarily due to fear, but now it was different. He could tell that it was different, just as he knew which hand was his left and which was his right.

"Don't plan on sleeping just yet, Johnny." Jim's breath was hot on his ear and it made John shiver in excitement and anticipation. A soft chuckled resounded from the criminal and his lips brushed against John's ear.

"I plan on having you again before we get a proper night's sleep. I need to collect more…data on you." John inhaled softly as thoughts and images passed through his head, all of them lustful and kinky and exhilarating.

"Does Mommy like that? Huh? Do you like the sound of that, Mommy?" What Jim was saying wasn't even all that dirty, but it felt like it was, and John loved it. Jim's hand glided gently down his chest to his cock, the flexible digits wrapping around it, bringing it back to life.

"And next time, Mommy, you'll be screaming my name. You'll be letting the whole world know who claimed you tonight and you'll revel in it. Daddy will make sure of that."

…

"Man usually avoids attributing cleverness to somebody else unless it's an enemy."

Albert Einstein.

…

Sherlock had been searching for John for four days straight when Mycroft called him.

He had been looking everywhere in an attempt to find someone who would have some information about Moriarty. It had been tricky at first because, on occasion, Sherlock would run into someone who actually worked for the man and dodging those bullets, sometimes literally, hadn't been fun. Well, it would have been had John been with him, but John hadn't been with him and therefore it hadn't been fun. His last resort was with the homeless network, who had never let him down before. Even if they had just a small piece of information, that would've been better than nothing at all.

And then Mycroft called and Sherlock scowled and ignored it. He called again and Sherlock ignored him again. John was far more important than his brother. But when Mycroft called him again for the third time in a row, annoyance had gotten the better of Sherlock and he answered it with a snarl.

"What is the meaning of you calling me three bloody times in a row?"

"Sherlock-"

"In a row! Mycroft, in case you haven't noticed, which I know you have, I've been scouring the streets for days looking for John, unlike you. What have you been going all this time, hm? Sitting behind your desk, eating your precious cake?"

"Sherlock, I-"

"Until you actually prove useful, don't bother me. I still haven't heard any-"

"Sherlock, John was just dropped off outside your flat." Sherlock's heart stilled and everything fell silent around him. Whatever Mycroft had left to say fell upon deaf ears as Sherlock could only focus on one thing: John was home!

Ending the conversation, Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and started running back to the flat as though his life depended on it. Well, not his life, but John's. Was John okay? He wasn't hurt, was he? What did Moriarty do to him? Would he still be the same John even after nine days of being held captive by the man? Did Moriarty mess with his mind? Would John remember who he was, who Sherlock was? Would he need to go to the hospital? Had he been hurt while in the care of the madman?

Scenarios unraveled themselves as Sherlock ran as fast as his legs would take him. Scenes of John being tied up so tight that the rope embedded itself into his flesh, sucking his blood right out of him; of John being beaten by one or several of Moriarty's henchmen; of Moriarty himself torturing John, of yelling and screaming and laughing madly even though the good doctor refused to tell him anything; of John screaming and bleeding and looking pretty much dead; of John dead… That last one almost made Sherlock falter and fall, but he caught himself last minute.

The very thought of John dead, a lifeless corpse with dull blue eyes and too cold skin, shook Sherlock to his core. John couldn't die, wasn't allowed to die, because Sherlock needed him, needed more than he had ever needed anyone else and as much as that used to frighten him, losing John frightened him even more. If John died, then Sherlock would fall apart. The doctor was the only person in the world who treated him like a person and who cared about him for him and not his intellect or because he was family. As far as Sherlock was concerned, John was all he had left and he refused to lose him.

Finally, at long last, Sherlock arrived at the flat. His legs felt as though they were made of Jell-O and would give way underneath him at any second, but he cared not. Before he sat down or anything, he would see John. He would see John. Opening the door, Sherlock made his way up to the living room, every second feeling like eternity, and all sound melting away, all sound except for the loud beating of his heart. After what seemed like forever, Sherlock stepped into the living room and his eyes immediately drifted to John, who was sitting on the couch. The blonde was thinner than he had been when last Sherlock saw him, he hadn't gotten much sleep – the circles under his eyes were proof of that – and his posture indicated that he was relieved to be back home. When John's eyes met Sherlock's, he tensed up, which wasn't unexpected given who he had been with for the past nine days, but he smiled at Sherlock. And Sherlock smiled back before crossing the living room and pulling John into a fierce hug.

"John…" Sherlock sighed as he held the older man. He looked and smelled and felt like home. John hugged him back and Sherlock felt relief flood throughout his body.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was rough and dry and it crack, but Sherlock understood and didn't mind. Given what he must have gone through, John was more than entitled to having a raspy voice.

Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled away even thought he would have liked it very much to continue holding onto his flat mate, his best friend, his John. Despite his appearance, John looked very happy to see Sherlock and that made the consulting detective feel a happiness that he usually only ever felt when a decent, challenging case was handed to him. Someone coughed, a nervous, slightly unsure cough, and that was when Sherlock realized that they weren't alone. With narrowed eyes, he looked around the room and saw Mrs. Hudson, whose eyes and nose were red from crying and blowing her nose, Mycroft, who looked relieved that John was back but was clearly irritated at Sherlock, and Lestrade, who was scratching his head, clearly unsure of how to take the scene before him, but obviously just as glad as everybody else that John was back.

"Oh." Sherlock frowned – because he didn't pout – while John blushed and cleared his throat.

"'Oh' indeed, Sherlock. Care to explain why you hung up on me?" Mycroft asked him, his irritation evident in his voice. Sherlock glared at him and sat down on the couch next to John.

"No." Turning to John, Sherlock looked him over, scrutinizing every part of him.

John appeared to be unharmed, there were no bandages or medical wrappings indicating injury nor were they any scratches or bruise marks, which lifted a weight off of Sherlock's shoulders. He had lost some weight, but Sherlock had considered that Moriarty, much like Sherlock himself, didn't eat or sleep because it hindered with the work, and probably didn't feed John as much or as often as he should have. That, or John had little to no access to the kitchen, which was very possible as well, considering who had held him captive. The dark circles under John's eyes revealed that he had gotten little sleep and that the sleep he had gotten had been restless. His stiff body posture told Sherlock that John was sore, so perhaps Moriarty had done something to John, but on the first day so that the bruises and scars would fade by the time he let John go. And although John looked very much happy to be home, he also appeared a bit guilt and ashamed, judging by how he refused to match or keep eye contact for very long.

"What did Moriarty do to you, John? Why did he take you?" Mycroft sat down in John's chair while Mrs. Hudson took Sherlock's. Lestrade remained standing, though he used the mantel to rest his elbow.

"Jesus, Sherlock. The man just got home. Let him relax and thank God that he's still alive," Lestrade lightly chided him, but Sherlock paid no heed.

"John, dearie, would you like a cuppa? I could fix you up one if you'd like. I…I'm just so glad that you're back home." Mrs. Hudson choked, but her tears and sniffles were ones of joy and not sadness.

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you," John told her, giving her a small smile and a nod. She got up and went into the kitchen.

"Sherlock, we're going to have a talk about manners sooner or later. I'd rather it be sooner before mummy is told of how you've been acting lately." Sherlock scowled at Mycroft, who merely raised a brow at him.

"Later, Mycroft. I want to know what happened to John. I think our little spat can be dealt with later." John looked between Sherlock and Mycroft and the curious and worried expression on his face really did make the flat look and feel like home.

"You two had a fight? Again?" John groaned and slumped back against the couch. Sherlock turned back to him, giving the shorter man his undivided attention.

"John, tell me what happened." John looked at him and his eyes pleaded at Sherlock for something. Perhaps something happened that John didn't want to discuss in front of the others. Surely, that must have been the case. Sherlock quickly added, "Whatever you're comfortable with is fine." Although Sherlock could tell that both his brother and Lestrade were surprised and shocked at what he had said, all he cared about was the relief that flooded John's eyes.

"Not much to it, actually. Just went out for a walk to clear my head and I was picked up by one of Moriarty's men. Tried to fight him off, but he was a tough bugger who wouldn't take no for an answer. He drugged me with something and I woke up in a dark room where Moriarty paid me a visit. Told me why he had me drugged and taken to…wherever we were." John paused in his explanation and Mrs. Hudson returned with his cup of tea. Nodding his thanks, he took a sip before continuing. Sherlock's blood boiled as his mind went through all of what he had been told thus far. So far, he wasn't pleased with any of it, not one bit, and he liked the idea of giving Moriarty a black eye in the near future.

"He told me that he had been watching you, Sherlock, and myself and that he wanted to observe me more, up close and personal. I didn't want to agree but my leg was bothering me, thanks to Moran, and it wasn't as though I knew where I was. Besides, Moriarty threatened to burn London to the ground if I refused, so I accepted. After that, we went to some flat – don't ask me where because I have no idea where in the city it was or if it was even within the city or not – and Moriarty watched my every movement until I was dropped off here today." John paused, took another sip of his tea, and looked around the room before adding, "That's about it, really."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he thought. Why would Moriarty do something like that? Why would he just…observe John and let him go? What did he gain from it? He was happy that the consulting criminal hadn't harmed John, at least not too much, but it made him wonder. Glancing over at Mycroft, Sherlock saw that his brother was also perplexed about what John had told them. And it was most perplexing indeed. Moriarty would never take an interest in someone who he believed was beneath his level, so why had he taken a interest in John? Perhaps it was because he was Sherlock's flat mate and one and only friend. Perhaps it was all a mind game to get to Sherlock. The possibilities were endless when Moriarty was concerned, something that, on occasion, frustrated Sherlock, and this was one such occasion.

"I don't get why he'd do that. Why just pick John up, live with him for a few days, and let him go? Wouldn't that have been a risk, what with John living here with you, Sherlock? Surely, he should have factored in the possibility that John had picked up some of your observational habits." Lestrade asked aloud and Sherlock almost sighed out loud, but only because the Detective Inspector had made a half-decent point for once.

"It is, indeed, most curious, but we should ponder this on a later date. For now, we should be glad to have our doctor back," Mycroft said before standing up, umbrella in hand, and smiling politely at John. Sherlock glared at his brother, who simply ignored him. "Have a good evening, Doctor Watson."

"Th-thanks," John replied before Mycroft left the flat. Sherlock groaned and slumped against the couch, frowning and not pouting.

"Just when I thought he couldn't get any more complex, Moriarty does this." John shrugged and drank the rest of his tea.

"Perhaps he's just trying to get to you, Sherlock." Sherlock shrugged and turned to look at John.

"Regardless of what he's planning, I'm glad to have you back home, John." And Sherlock was, he truly was.

…

"All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered. The point is to discover them."

Galileo Galilei

…

About ten days after returning home from his stay with Jim, John began to experience lower abdominal cramps. At the time, he hadn't given much thought to it because he had eaten Chinese the night before and, on occasion, the General Tso's Chicken would cause some cramping and pain. A day or two at the most, and they'd be gone. No big deal. Except that a week passed after that and they were still bothering him. Not only that, but he had been getting nauseated every day, which definitely couldn't have been caused by the Chinese food as it had already passed through his system. Food poisoning was still a possibility though; most mild cases of food poisoning only lasted a day. But it wasn't food poisoning because it continued after one day. The flu was another possibility; after all, John did work in a clinic – Sarah had been told what had happened and had understood that John hadn't wanted to miss out on work – and it was flu and cold season. However, the flu usually passed within two to three days.

Another week went by, three weeks total since his little vacation, and he was still feeling nauseous and cramping up. It was when his nipples started hurting, even when he gently, ever gently, showered, that John decided it was time to get checked out. But not at the clinic where he worked; that's just be too awkward. He had a feeling what was wrong with him – he was a doctor after all – but he'd rather hear it from somebody else's mouth instead. That way, there'd be no self-doubt or dismissal of the issue. If someone else told him what was wrong, then it'd be concrete and solid instead of a mishap at his own hands.

So one day, on a day off, John went to another clinic, one that was further away, and was looked at. The receptionist was a nice elderly lady who had him sign the chart and told him to take a seat. Finding a seat proved a bit tricky; the clinic was busy thanks to all of the colds going around and John had to wait. Not that he minded. Okay, so he did mind, because his thoughts started spiraling out of control, thinking about things that he'd rather much not think about until he absolutely had to. After waiting for almost half an hour, John's name was finally called. Standing up, he walked over to the short, brunette who gave him a tired smile before ushering him back to the scale.

Toeing off his shoes, John stepped onto the scale and watched as the nurse took his weight. He saw that he had returned to his normal weight, which wasn't that surprising. Actually, he was happy that he had gained a little back because it helped him get through having been with Jim for nine days plus. Granted, the madman hadn't hurt him or anything, but it still freaked John out just a bit that he had been living so close with the man. Oh, and the fact that he had slept with the man twice before returning home. That had been something that he hadn't expected or wanted, not at first when Jim had started touching him. It made him feel guilty and shamed, but in the end, Jim hadn't forced him into it.

"Just sit down there, sir. The doctor should be with you shortly." John nodded and watched the girl leave the room. The wait wasn't long – five minutes at the most – and the doctor who walked in was a woman who was in her fifties with graying blonde hair. She smiled at him before she sat down at her small desk with her clip board in front of her.

"Hello…Doctor Watson. I'm Doctor Eck. I'm very pleased to met you." She offered her hand and John shook it, giving her a small smile and a nod.

"A pleasure, Doctor Eck." She scanned over the clip board, reading his information, before she turned back to him.

"So. You've been feeling nauseous and you're having cramps…" John nodded, feeling slight embarrassed and a bit exposed.

"And, uh, other things have been aching." Doctor Eck arched a brow at him.

"Really?" John chewed on his bottom lip and sighed inwardly.

"Yes. It's like I'm…I'm pregnant." Doctor Eck's eyes flooded with understanding. Standing up, she retrieved a urine cup from the cupboard above her desk.

"I understand that this can be more than a bit embarrassing, what with you being a male and all, but I must ask you to pee in this cup so that we can do a test." John took the cup from her and went into the bathroom. It wasn't long before he had enough in the cup to do the test. Stepping out of the bathroom and back into the examination room, John handed the cup over to Doctor Eck.

"Do you…do you do it here or do you send that out for it to be tested?" Doctor Eck gave John a reassuring smile. She took a test strip out of the cupboard.

"We do it here. It ought to take a couple of minutes at the most. Not that long since it's just like any other pregnancy test that can be bought at Tesco's." John felt stupid for asking.

"Right. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, John. After all, the knowledge that men can bear children has only been around since the Second World War. It's still a relatively new discovery and it's only natural to be concerned about it since the health complications can be dangerous for not only the fetus but you as well." All too soon, the strip changed color and Doctor Eck frowned.

"Huh. Inconclusive. Well then, I'll have to do an ultrasound. Would you mind pulling up your shirt and laying down on the bed please, John?" John did as she asked and laid on the bed before pulling up his shirt. He waited as she prepared the machine for use. Doctor Eck spread warm gel on his abdomen before grabbing the transducer. She moved it back and forth until an image appeared on the screen. And that was when he first saw it, the tiny fetus that was growing inside of him.

It stunned him even though he had believed that he was pregnant. How many times had he given a patient a pregnancy test? How many ultrasounds had he given? Hell, he'd seen worse than that and would probably see worse, what with Sherlock and Jim both in his life. But this was something different, something unexpected and new, something he had never thought he'd go through. And John wasn't sure if the fact that it was Jim's made it better or worse. It wasn't just that though, but how would Sherlock react?

Yes, he had told Sherlock about what he had done with Jim, and seeing the consulting detective stunned into shocked-silence was something John never wanted to see again. However, he had to tell Sherlock because it wasn't something that he could hide, especially considering how observant Sherlock was, and he hadn't wanted the younger man to guess. As John explained what had happened and answered Sherlock's question, he saw those bright blue eyes cloud with jealousy, anger, and possessiveness. It made John's body react in a way that was positively sinful and delicious. John never commented on Sherlock's reaction though; he wasn't sure if the man was even aware of how he felt. Sherlock was a brilliant man, but he wasn't very good with dealing with emotions, his or otherwise.

That being said, John was more than nervous about telling Sherlock, or, rather, Sherlock seeing that he was pregnant. Because Sherlock wasn't the world's only consulting detective for nothing; he had sharp eyes and the brain to figure it out within a matter of seconds. What would John's pregnancy do to their relationship? How would Sherlock feel about it, knowing who the father was? Would they be able to overcome this hurtle? They had been through so much already, surely they could withstand a pregnancy and a baby. And what would happen if Jim ever found out?

John paled at that thought. Would Jim just leave him be? Or would he want to be around for the baby or would he just ignore it? There was also the possibility that Jim would want to get rid of it. Just thinking about it made John sick to his stomach. He would never be able to get an abortion, not even if Jim held a gun to his head and screamed and yelled to high Heaven for him to do so. Part of John wanted Jim to be involved with the baby – he was the father after all – but another part of him wanted Jim to stay away. If he did that, then perhaps things between Sherlock and John wouldn't be so bad, assuming, of course, that they would get bad, which he hoped they wouldn't.

The walk home from the clinic went by in a blur and, before John knew it, he was standing on the stoop of the flat. Inhaling deeply, John grasped the door handle, opened the door, and stepped inside. It was quiet in the flat, which was unusual because life with Sherlock was never quiet. His footsteps seemed so loud and awkward as he made his way up the stairs and into the living room. That was where Sherlock was, sitting in his chair, reading The Times. John had thought about what he'd say to Sherlock and how he'd say it. He figured that it'd be best to treat this like a band-aid: just do it fast and get it done and over with. Taking a calming breath, John made his way to the living room.

"Sherlock-"

"You're pregnant. Yes, I know. I observed your symptoms and followed you to the clinic. Didn't take a genius to figure it out." John stared at the man feeling dumbfounded and foolish. Sherlock looked up at him, his eyes showing just as much uncertainty and fear as John felt, but there was also determination and the trademark stubbornness that John believed every Holmes' family member possessed.

"I can tell just by the look on your face that you're upset and worried about how I'd react to this. To be honest John, I never thought I'd make a good parent. I've little patience for children and I'm much like a child myself. However, should you want to, I wouldn't be opposed to raising the baby with you and act as it's father. I'm a much better choice than Moriarty anyway, so I don't see what the issue would be." John was going to protest, but Sherlock gave him a look that said, 'don't bother' and he lost his will to fight and argue. Instead, John collapsed into his chair and Sherlock was by his side in seconds.

"Are you sure? I mean, this is Jim Moriarty's baby. Are you okay with that, really oaky with it, I mean?" John looked into Sherlock's eyes, desperately wanting to hear a favorable answer. Sherlock's large hands grasped John's and they felt so warm and gentle and strong. It absolutely amazed John.

"John, I'm not going to lie to you. This is hard for me. I…I'm not good with emotions, as you know, but I'm going to try. For you. And, honestly John, this is more your baby than his." John sighed and leaned his forehead against Sherlock's. It felt nice, being so close with the man before him. One of Sherlock's hands came up and gently cupped the back of John's neck.

"What if the baby turns out to be another Jim Moriarty?" Sherlock snorted at that and John couldn't help but smile.

"Heredity isn't the only influence over a child. Environment is just as important in determining how a child will turn out, what their personality will be like. Actually, there are various factors that add into it, but you look tired and probably need the rest. Mental and emotional distress can be more tiresome than physical exertion. Aside from that, this child will be raised by us, John. You and I. And even if Moriarty's genes have decent influence in the child, I'm more than positive that it will love you too much to do anything that would disappoint you." John chuckled softly.

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Sherlock gave John a soft, genuine smile, one that made John's heart melt.

"Because everybody loves you, John. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft. They love you. And…" Sherlock looked down, his hands gripping John just a little bit tighter. "And I…I l-love you too, John. More than they do, of course."

Just like that, the world looked just a little bit brighter and much more hopeful.

…

"I have loved to the point of madness. That which is called madness. That, which to me, is the only sensible way to love."

Francoise Sagan

…

To say that Jim was surprised when he found out that John was pregnant was like saying that the Titanic had a very minor accident.

He had been keeping tabs on John even though he had told the man that his observations were over. In all honesty, Jim had never planned on stopping, but now, it was because he wanted the man. To think that Jim Moriarty, the greatest criminal master mind that ever existed, actually wanted someone else. Even better than that, that someone wasn't Sherlock Holmes! Oh, it had made him giggle for minutes on end when he realized it and Seb had looked at him as if he had gone mad. Well, Jim figured that he never been sane, but Seb wasn't as intelligent as Jim was.

As the days passed by, Jim carried on business as usual, but he always had access to John thanks to his phone and laptop. He knew what John did every second of every day. Jim also knew of the budding relationship that was beginning to come to light between his doctor and Sherlock. While he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been aware about it before hand, he still didn't like it. Realistically, he knew that he couldn't be with John; when he seriously thought about it, he knew that they were too different and that it'd never work. Oh, and there was Sherlie to consider; he'd have a hissy if Jim even gave John the once over. That made Jim want to try and be with John, but it wasn't worth it. The empire he had built wasn't worth one man.

Or so he had thought.

That had all been before he knew that John was pregnant with his child. Jim knew for certain that it was his child because he was the only man John ever slept with. Of all the things he had learned about the good doctor, Jim would have never fathomed that he'd be one of those who'd be able to bear children. But he was and he was most definitely pregnant.

For once in his life, Jim had no idea what in the bloody hell to think or do.

He never thought he'd live long enough to have children. Part of him had never desired to settled down, get married, have kids, have a house with a white picket fence and an annoying, yappy dog. Another part of him wasn't opposed to the idea of having kids. After all, he'd need someone to take over his empire and as much as he'd love to leave it to Seb, the man wasn't a genius like him. However, Jim never put too much thought into that prospect. The possibility of him living long enough to father a child had been slim to none and he had pushed the idea out of his mind. But that was before John Watson and their...their baby. Jim was a father now; he, of all people, was a father.

Jim had to sit down when that realization hit home. His thoughts were racing, creating the worst headache he had had in a long, long time. He was a father. John was pregnant. This was John's fault; the man had to have known that he could bear children. But that would have been on file and Jim read through all of the files he had on John and he knew that it wasn't there. What a moron he had been; he should have used a condom instead of thinking with his dick. Would John keep the baby, give it up for adoption, or get an abortion? Did Jim want him to do any of the above? Fuck, did Jim even want to be part of the child's life? Was he even ready to be a daddy? If he kept his distance, would John despise him for it? Did John even think about him at all? Why did he even care if John thought about him or not? How would Sherlock react? Would he reject John and the fetus? For some reason, Jim was both pleased and angry at that. Pleased because it'd mean that John would be his for the taking, but it angered him because who was Sherlock Holmes to give a person like John Watson up? As average and ordinary as he appeared, John Watson was anything but; he was something more and Jim liked that, perhaps more than he ought to.

When he finally sorted through all of his thoughts, Jim realized that two hours had passed by. His head pounded and he really needed a drink, but he had decided on a two things for sure. One, he didn't want to let John go without a fight. Aside from making the game even more entertaining, Jim liked the idea of having John as his side while watching Sherlock boil with jealous. And two, he wanted to try out the father thing. If worse came to worse, he'd be a horrible father, which wasn't nearly half as bad as most of the things he had done. At the best, he'd have John, an heir to his throne, and Sherlock would be discredited and dead. Besides, who ever said it'd be permanent? Jim could opt out any time, couldn't he? Really, who would be able to stop him? No one could stop him, not ever. So it was decided what he'd do.

Jim went to dead after taking Tylenol and having a drink. He got the best night's sleep he had ever had since leaving John's presence, something that Jim figured he'd need. In the morning when he woke up, he brought Seb up to speed on what was going on. Although Jim wasn't going to stop his work, he wouldn't be living with his right hand man for a while, depending. Oh no, instead, he was moving into 221 B Baker Street, whether John or Sherlock liked it or not. Dressing and packing what he thought he needed, Jim made his way to the modest home of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.

The look on John's face when he answered the door to Jim's knocking was something that made Jim grin and giggle like a teenage girl at a Twilight movie.

"Hello, Johnny Boy. Aren't you glad to see me?" John stared at him in a silent shock and Jim grinned at him. Blue eyes wandered from Jim's face to his bags and it was oh, so lovely to see the ex-army doctor figuring things out.

"What are you doing here, Jim? It's not like to make social visits…" John trailed off and Jim forced his way into the flat. The blonde sighed and closed the door behind him.

"Come now, darling. You already know that I'm not merely visiting." Jim turned to John and stared into those blue eyes that he had come to adore so much.

"I'm here to stay for a while! Isn't that wonderful, Johnny Boy?" From the way John bowed his head, Jim knew that the older man had figured out as much, although he had been hoping to be wrong. But Jim knew that John wasn't nearly as stupid as everyone believed. If he tried, actually tried, he'd be able to rival the great Sherlock Holmes, and maybe even Jim himself.

"And why are you staying here, exactly? It's not like you can't afford your own place. Besides, don't you live with your man Seb?" Jim gave John the once over before his dark eyes met John's, a brow arching as if he had made his point. Realization dawned on John and his eyes clouded with so many mixed emotions that Jim couldn't pin point them all. Such a sight was riveting.

"I'll have you know, Johnny, that I do, in fact, reside with Seb and the man is missing me terribly. However, sacrificed must be made when the offspring is concerned and I was never one to miss out on exciting things." Jim twitched when John adopted a look of confusion. It annoyed him that the man continuous played dumb when he was well aware of what was being said. A tiny voice inside Jim's head told him that John liked playing games with the smart men around him and Jim couldn't help but agree to that.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Jim forced himself not to roll his eyes. The man before him was incredibly frustrating and ordinary and sexy and oh, so fuckable. If Jim didn't stop there, he'd have a problem, one that John would be able to see. Not that he minded, of course.

"I'm talking about our baby, Johnny Boy. I'm going to stay with you during your pregnancy and perhaps even afterwards, depending on how I take to this child. I've had much to think about since finding out about your pregnancy and I'm willing to give it the good, old college try. After all, I've never been a real daddy before; how will I know I'm good at it if I don't try?" John gave him a look that was full of astonishment but mixed with something else, something Jim couldn't quite interpret or place. From behind them, on the steps, Sherlock cleared his voice and Jim turned to look at him, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Why hello, Sherlie! You must be so happy to see Daddy back. I know John's already told you about us and I know that you figured out that the baby's mine, so that saves a lot of time. Oh, and just for future reference, when you eavesdrop, try not to be so obvious. I could practically feel your breath as you listened to every word John and I said. That's very rude, Sherlie. Daddy's going to have to put you in time out, I'm afraid," Jim taunted in a sing-song voice. Seeing Sherlock twitch was priceless.

"Piss of, Moriarty. John, I need to speak with you. Now." Ooh, Sherlie was angry and he wanted John to kick Jim out. But John wasn't going to do that, not when Jim had expressed interest in their child. Besides, even if he told him to leave, Jim wouldn't go. John walked up the steps and into the living room with Sherlock, the consulting detective's hand pressed lightly against his back in a possessive gesture. This was going to be fun!

…

"Superman is, after all, an alien life form. He's simply the acceptable face of invading realities."

Clive Barker

…

If Sherlock thought that he hated Jim Moriarty before, he knew for certain that he definitely hated the man now. Three months had passed since Moriarty came to live with them, three unbearable, aggravating months. Oh, Sherlock was well aware that Moriarty knew what to say to annoy or anger him and he used that knowledge frequently, and try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from becoming trapped in the criminal's web. Especially when John was pulled into their arguments, which was more often than not, something Sherlock didn't appreciate one bit.

Sherlock understood, after a lot of talking, that John didn't mind Moriarty – Jim as he called him, which made Sherlock twitch. Why was he Jim and not Moriarty? – wanting to be there for his child. As John had already told Sherlock and Jim both, he didn't mind if the consulting criminal changed his mind suddenly and left. In the end, it was Jim's decision and John wasn't going to force him into anything. When John said that, a strange look crossed Moriarty's face for the briefest of seconds before vanishing. It was curious at first, but then Sherlock began to understand.

Jim Moriarty, the infamous consulting criminal, the most dangerous man on the planet, had affections for John, much like Sherlock himself. That alone was enough to put Sherlock in a foul mood for the rest of the day. What was worse was that John seemed to care for Moriarty as well; not as much as he cared for Sherlock, of course, but still. After much thought and deliberation on the matter, Sherlock wondered if it was possible for John to care for them both. Surely it was because John cared for many people. So loving two people, people who were very much alike anyway, couldn't be impossible. Even if one of those two people was Jim Moriarty, who liked sitting in Sherlock's chair, folding his news paper so that it creased and made it difficult to read proper, and liked flirting and looking and touching John way too much for Sherlock's own comfort, let alone John's.

It hurt because Sherlock seemed to be enough for the doctor most of the time. But there had been occasions, few and far between, where John desired Jim and needed him more than he desired and needed Sherlock. And as much as Sherlock hated to admit it, Jim seemed to genuinely care, perhaps even love, John in return, for he often took on a concerned look and tone of voice whenever John had to rush up to the bathroom because he was nauseated, or when John's head and back would hurt, or when certain foods made John gag and pale like he was about to lose his lunch. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, and be positively hated admitting it, Moriarty didn't appear as though he would be bad for John or the baby.

The baby…

Sherlock and Moriarty had many loud arguments over the life form growing inside John's body. What they would name him (John had found out the gender not too long ago), where he'd attend school, what he'd pursue for a living, who would be "Daddy" or "Papa" because Moriarty hinted heavily that he'd be calling John Mommy in front of their son while Sherlock argued that John, since he was a male after all, ought to be called Daddy while Sherlock would be Papa. John, much to Sherlock and Moriarty's credit and approval, took all of their arguing in stride, only having to tell them to shut it when company was over (because Lestrade was bound and determined to be called Uncle while Mycroft was just an annoying git who ate too much cake). Most of the time, he'd watch their bouts with amusement and a small smile on his face that made him look radiant. Other times, Sherlock and Moriarty would stop when John would show signs of fatigue or pains. It seemed that the one and only thing they could agree on was John's well-being. And the baby's as well, of course.

Regardless of how many arguments Sherlock had with Moriarty, John never wavered in his affections for either of them. But he put his foot down on what they'd name the baby. Hamish. It made perfect sense to both Sherlock and Moriarty, all things considered. It wasn't a very common name and it would suit the child considered who his immediate family would mostly consist of. However, that did spark controversy on the last name. Moriarty, of course, wanted Hamish to have his last name since he would be the heir to his criminal empire. Sherlock wanted it to have his last name since he and John were, technically, together. And that was where they were currently at: arguing over whose last name Hamish would take.

"It's my heir, so it should have my last name," Moriarty growled, dark eyes glaring daggers at Sherlock. Sherlock's own icy blues stared coolly back at his rival.

"As John and I are actually together, it ought to have my last name. I'd be a best option as the father figure." Moriarty snorted and sat back in Sherlock's chair.

"You, Mr. Virgin? You think that you'd make a better father than me? You've never even had sex. Do you even know what a baby looks like?" A look of disdain crossed Sherlock's face.

"Of course I know what a baby looks like. And I'll have you know that I've thoroughly researched sexual intercourse and I'm more than confident in my ability to make John climax. However, as he is pregnant and has you to put up with, I felt that it'd be better not to pressure him into anything." At that, John spoke up.

"Sherlock, you're not pressuring me into anything but-"

"How do you know you'll make him climax if you've never had sex, Sherlie? Come on, darling, don't brag about things you know nothing about. And if anything, you're the one pressuring John. Forcing him to pick your last name for our child." Sherlock scowled and Moriarty glared back at him.

"Boys, I don't feel pressured," John tried again. He was answered by Sherlock and Moriarty, neither taking their eyes off each other as they spoke.

"Hush, Johnny Boy. Daddy is scolding the disobedient child."

"John, really, there's no need to yell. I have this all under control." Moriarty snickered and Sherlock looked as though he were about to strangle him.

"Under control? You can't even control your own dirty thoughts. You've been thinking about taking John up stairs and ravishing him ever since he came home from work. Honestly, what a horny little boy you are. And poor John had no idea until I opened my mouth just now." John sighed, Moriarty wiggled his eye brows at the doctor, and Sherlock turned red, his embarrassment obvious. Sherlock hated it when Moriarty knew way more than he ought to, which was all the time. And John wasn't help either. He was supposed to be on Sherlock's side! Why wasn't he helping? His bright blue eyes turned to John.

"John, whose last name will you choose?" The blonde quirked a brow and Sherlock almost ceased being angry at him because John looked to adorable for words.

"If you two don't stop arguing, I'm going to choose my own last name. Now stop fighting both of you. You're grown men." Sherlock frowned. That wasn't what he had been expecting and it certainly didn't help his side of the argument. Moriarty pouted at John, but the older man seemed immune to both of their looks. After a few minutes of sulking, Sherlock stood up abruptly and made his way towards his bedroom. He needed to escape from the likes of Jim Moriarty and the only place he could do that was John's bedroom, where Sherlock forbade him from entering.

"Yes, run along with your tail between your legs, Sherlie! And don't forget to slam the door so we'll all know how angry you are." Sherlock stormed upstairs, but not before he heard John.

"Jim, do me a favor and shut it. You being an annoying ass is giving me a headache." That made Sherlock feel just a little bit better. He entered the bedroom and slammed the door, falling onto the bed in a huff. Sherlock was so upset that he would freely admit to himself that he was pouting. Moriarty could push him to extremes that few people ever could and it didn't help that the man wanted John just as much as Sherlock did. Soft footsteps on the steps told Sherlock that John was coming to see if he was alright and that made Sherlock's heart soar.

"Sherlock?" John opened the door gently and stepped into the room. Closing the door behind him, John made his way over to the bed and sat down beside Sherlock. They had been sharing a bed since Jim moved in, mostly because Sherlock refused to allow Jim to sleep in the same bed as John even though they both shared feelings of desire and lust.

"You should choose my last name." Sherlock didn't care that John could hear the pout in his voice. John chuckled softly and laid down beside him. Automatically, Sherlock turned to his side and wrapped himself around the doctor. There were times that Sherlock had to share John with the madman downstairs, but Moriarty would never have John like this.

"Sherlock…"

"John, even you must admit that Jim's lifestyle isn't safe, to say the least. While it's yet to be seen what kind of parent he'd make, you can't honestly think about having…joint custody or anything. Say Hamish goes and spends the weekend with him. Who's to say that he won't overhear things he shouldn't or see things he shouldn't or interact with Moriarty's people? There is a high probability that Hamish could turn out like him, so why allow him to be around that kind of environment?" Sherlock only stopped his tyrant when John's lips sealed over his own. The kiss was chaste and short, but it was sweet and addictive. More so than any drug he ever took or any cigarette he ever smoked.

"Sherlock, Jim is Hamish's father, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to let my child live with him or anything like that. I've already talked to Jim about it and he understands that I don't want Hamish to be around all of that. Sure, he'll probably be wickedly smart and will probably figure things out, but that doesn't mean I want him around it. You and I, Sherlock Holmes, will raise Hamish with Jim here, in our home because this is where he'll belong. Not with Jim in his flat with Seb, but here, where it's safe." Sherlock couldn't stop the smirk from forming on his face.

"Well, safer than anything Moriarty could offer." He rubbed John's sides and the older man smiled softly and closed his eyes, cuddling close to him. Sherlock pulled him closer, being careful not to crush the baby bump that was forming on John's body.

"Exactly. And his last name will be Watson-Holmes. End of discussion. And if you make it a point to brag loud and obnoxiously, I will change it to just Watson." Perhaps Sherlock had it wrong all along; perhaps John was his most formidable foe. He kind of liked the thought of that, though.

…

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart."

Helen Keller

…

John watched with concern as he looked out the window at Jim, who was standing on the sidewalk and yelling into his phone. Something had gone terribly wrong with a job and it was an important enough job that it had pissed the Irishman off so bad. Lately, it seemed that Jim was getting more irritable, volatile, and stressed. He'd been going outside to talk, keeping his distance from Sherlock and John, but mostly John though. While John's schedule at the clinic rarely changed now, Sherlock was usually absorbed in a case or two from Lestrade and as his concentration suffered whenever he was around Jim, he'd go upstairs to the bedroom and get his thinking done there. It all worked out for the best, John supposed, all things considered. There had even been a few days that Jim would disappear from the flat only to return looking worse for wear and on edge.

Sighing, John continued to watch the younger man, feeling a bit at a loss. Yes, he was with Sherlock now, but he couldn't help but love Jim a little as well. Aside from being the father of his unborn child, Jim wasn't so bad. He was very much like Sherlock, but John liked to think that Jim was a bit more childish and immature. Although still a very dangerous man, he never once threatened to skin John alive or blow him up when the doctor told him to shut it or chided him just like he did Sherlock. It made John realize that, regardless of what he said and did, Jim Moriarty was still very much human, just like Sherlock and just like John.

But John wasn't a fool. He knew that a romantic relationship with Jim would never work out. The man was, after all, a consulting criminal, the world's only consulting criminal, and he had built an empire on bodies and blood. He was unpredictable, violent, aggressive, ruthless, and very, very intelligent. No matter what, Jim would always be a dangerous man who lived a dangerous life. As much as he would like to, John couldn't be with him and didn't want to be with him. And while his life with Sherlock wasn't exactly safe and secure, it was still better, far better, than any life he'd have with Jim. Sherlock wasn't someone John would be embarrassed by; he wouldn't and didn't feel ashamed when they went out in public. With Jim, there would always be that feeling like he shouldn't be with him, even though John liked to think he'd move past that.

That didn't mean that he didn't want Jim in his life. After all, the man was Hamish's father and he had a right to be involved in his son's life. Not just that, but Jim really wasn't that bad of a bloke. While he was a criminal mastermind, he also had a fondness for cats, ice cream, and the Bee Gees that made him human and John liked to think of Jim as a friend. A very maniacal, more than slightly insane friend who liked to blow things and people up and who was the most dangerous person alive. Perhaps 'friend' was taking it a bit too far, but John figured that, considering who he surrounded himself with, he was allowed to take things to the extreme every once in a while.

From behind him, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him and John felt a small smile tug at his lips. Sherlock pressed himself against John and the doctor leaned back into him, reveling in the warmth the consulting detective gave him. One of his hands left his protruding belly and gently grasped one of Sherlock's wrists, his fingers caressing small patterns in the soft flesh.

"From what I've gathered, his right hand man, Moran, has been pressuring him to leave here and focus more on business. Apparently, there have been many issues and concerns about whether Moriarty is abandoning his empire for 'that whore of a doctor and the whelp in his stomach'. Their words, not my own. And Moriarty is having internal conflicts with himself because he wants to be here but he also needs to run his business." John released a humorless laugh. He had figured that it was something like that. It would explain Jim's less than savory moods and why he was always outside on the phone.

"Do you think he'll stay here?" Sherlock shrugged and John rubbed his belly absentmindedly.

"After the recent strings of mishaps that have been going on with his plans and sponsors, I highly doubt it." John nodded, unsure of how he felt about that. Jim had become a hectic part of his life, much like Sherlock and even Mycroft were, and John would miss him being around if he left. Sherlock's embrace tightened and John turned around to face him. Bright blue eyes bore into his own, soft and understanding, something which John was much appreciative of. He knew that things hadn't been easy for Sherlock and that he'd been under a lot of stress himself, but the man never wavered or faltered. His strength endured and that gave John all the strength he needed to put up with both of the geniuses under his roof.

"He's a criminal, John, with a huge empire to run. And he sits at the top of that empire alone; to run it and make sure it endures. Yes, he has men and yes, Moran is there, but none of them run it. Not just that, but there are plenty of people who'd want that and who'd be willing to take him out if they believe him to be weak and incompetent. In order to survive, he has to do what he has to do, and what he has to do is run the empire he spent most of his life to build. As much as Moriarty would like to remain here with you and Hamish – and believe me, John, he definitely wants to – he can't and he knows that. That's why he's been acting the way he's been acting. It's time for him to return to his life's work, and he knows that, John." Turning back to the window, John stared at the man who had once tried to kill him and who now wanted to stay at the flat with their son. He wasn't on his phone anymore and a cigarette dangled between his lips as he stared at passing traffic. It was in that moment that John realized that he would have to leave. Not because he wanted to, not because Sherlock wanted him to, and not because John wanted him to, but because he had to. And John had to let him go. They'd all be fine on their own anyways.

…

"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace."

Thomas Paine

…

He didn't want to leave, hadn't planned on leaving, but he did anyway. Seb had told him everything that was going on and although the sniper never really cared about how Jim did things, who came or went, or who asked for help and who did what, Jim could tell that the man was on edge. When Jim told Seb that he was going to be staying with John and Sherlie, Seb told him to have fun and not to kill anyone. His demeanor changed when Jim told him that he'd be standing in for Jim to meet clients or agents.

"I'm just your hired gun, Jim. I'm not you. No one could ever be you."

"But Sebbie, you're the only one I trust enough. Besides, who else would I give my instructions to? You're the only one who'd ever follow them to the letter." Had Hamish never come into being, Jim supposed that he would have left his business for Seb to run when he died. The man didn't want it and was more than happy to be a gun and that was why he'd be the best candidate. But that was before Hamish, before John.

That was before things started getting to the point where they'd be almost out of control. Jim hated not having control over every single aspect of his empire. Unfortunately, because of a select few people, word had gotten around that Jim had had a fling with John, that the good doctor was now pregnant with Jim's child, and that Jim was spending most of his time with them instead of running the show. Being the most dangerous man in the world and the only consulting criminal out there, Jim had made many enemies and many 'friends' who wouldn't think twice about taking his life's work from him at the first chance they got. Being away from his business to coddle a doctor and their child made Jim appear weak, incompetent, human, and like easy prey. Had it not been for Seb and the loyal men Jim had, it was very possible that he'd be dead by now.

So, when John and Sherlock were out, Jim packed his things and left, leaving nothing behind but the memory that he had been there for a little while. Sherlie had known about everything that was going on and what Jim had planned on doing, but he hadn't been his usual self about it. It kind of disappointed Jim because he did like to bicker with the disobedient child so very much. But Jim wasn't stupid or blind; he knew that John had affected the consulting detective and had kept him from bragging about his triumph. Because Jim knew that Sherlock definitely felt triumphant that he was leaving and that John was staying, but Jim also knew that Sherlock would miss him somewhat. He'd miss the excitement that Jim brought, but nothing more than that.

John had known as well that he'd be leaving. Whenever Jim would go outside to take a phone call – as much as he loved Sherlie, he didn't want him overhearing too much about his dealings – the doctor would keep an eye on him. Jim knew that part of John loved him, just like Jim loved John, but that they'd never be able to be together. Not like that. Not like John is with Sherlock. As unique as Sherlock was, he gave John a sense of safety, security, and normal, which was something Jim would never be able to provide. Leaving was the best option for all of them. Regardless of how much he'd love to live a normal life with John and Hamish and even Sherlock, that just wasn't who Jim was, that wasn't who Jim could afford to be. His business depended on him and he needed to return to his rightful place.

So he left. No mess, no hassle; just up and left.

Returning to the flat he shared with Seb had been hard and Jim had almost turned the car back around to head for 221 B. But he forced himself not to. When he entered the flat, Seb had given him a look and a nod that told Jim that he understood completely and that he wouldn't ask any questions about it. That was why Jim liked Seb so much; he actually had a head on his shoulders, unlike some people Jim knew. Setting his bags down in his room, Jim had sat down on his bed and felt hollow, sad, and angry all at once. John was seven and a half months pregnant, Hamish was almost here, but Jim couldn't stay any longer, even though he had wanted to. The ones loyal to him had been glad to have him back; those who had wanted him gone for good had acted as though they were glad but were really pissed off, not that he had cared.

It had been almost six weeks since Jim had seen the last of 221 B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes, or John Watson, and that hollow feeling was still as strong as ever. More people had died, more clients turned away unless they had exceptional ways of committing crimes, and buildings had been burned down to nothing. However, none of that made Jim feel better or more like himself. Not even going along with Seb whenever he had a job made Jim feel like his old self. Seb had noticed it, but he hadn't commented on it. Instead, he did what he always did: he made sure Jim ate, slept, and kept going. In many ways, Seb was like John, but comparing them only made things worse, so Jim avoided doing so. And although he still had tabs on John and Sherlock, Jim only checked in on them a few times a week. Distancing himself, he believed, was what was best.

That was until he had gotten news that John had gone into labor. The blonde's pregnancy had been carefully monitored by his doctors and both he and Hamish were healthy before John went into labor. But giving birth would be what would make them or break them. Would John die? Would Hamish? Would they both? When Jim had been informed that John had gone into labor and had been in labor for seven hours, Jim shot the man, all the while screaming at him for not telling him sooner. Seb had yelled at Jim for making a mess on the floor of their flat, but his words went in one ear and out the other before Jim grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the flat.

He was halfway down the stairwell before Seb's strong, muscular arms grabbed him by the waist and pulled him backwards. Jim screamed and protested as he was dragged back up to their flat, but Seb was stronger and kept a tight hold on him as he tried to talk sense into Jim.

"You have an appointment to keep, Jim! It's in an hour! We have to get ready and leave to go there!"

"Fuck you, Seb! Leave me go! Leave me go now or I'll kill you myself!"

"Jim, you're a criminal, a wanted criminal! You go into that hospital and your ass will be arrested before you can even blink!" Jim continued to struggle even as Seb threw him into the flat, slammed the door, and locked it.

"I don't care! Let me go. I want to be with John and Hamish!" Seb grabbed him and shook him, his eyes glaring into Jim's.

"Both Holmes brothers are there. If Mycroft sees you, he'll have you in cuffs and chains!"

"But what if John dies?! What if Hamish dies?! I won't stand by and let them do that!"

"If they die, they die! You can't stop that, you have no control over that!" Seb growled and let Jim go, who slumped down onto the floor, feeling worse than ever before. He wanted to be there more than anything, but Seb's words were coming through at last.

"If you miss this appointment, Jim, the man will go after you with everything he has. Our men can stop him for a little while, but he'll get through eventually. You've been putting him off for months now and his patience is wearing paper thin. You cancel on him and you'll be dead yourself." Seb sat down beside him and Jim felt himself nod numbly. The man was making sense and Jim knew it, even though he didn't like it.

"As much as I hate to admit it, both of the Holmes brothers will make sure John and your boy get the best treatment and care possible. They'll have their heads if either one of them dies. What you need to focus on is the appointment, Jim. Go and visit John and Hamish tomorrow. But not now."

Slowly, Jim got up and made himself presentable before leaving with Seb for his appointment, his mind constantly thinking about John and Hamish.

…

"There is no formula for success except perhaps an unconditional acceptance of life and what it brings."

Arthur Rubinstein

…

Sherlock's head was pounding as he waited in the waiting room with Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson. John had gone into labor seven hours, twenty-four minutes, and five seconds ago, while he was sitting in his chair at their flat. Seeing John clench up in pain, almost doubled over, made Sherlock panic for thirty seconds before he shouted for Mrs. Hudson while he helped his doctor to his feet and towards the door. With a twittering and panicking Mrs. Hudson beside them, they made their way outside, where a sleek, black car was already waiting with Mycroft inside.

The drive to the hospital seemed to take a matter of seconds. Between John's gasps and screams of pain and Mrs. Hudson's sobs, everything was loud and intense, making time pass by quickly. When they arrived at the hospital, there was already a wheelchair and a nurse waiting for them, courtesy of Mycroft and his quick thinking. Sherlock was too preoccupied with John to even think straight. So many thoughts were rushing through his mind and all at a mile a minute.

John was in labor.

The baby was coming.

Life-threatening; only one man in every one hundred thousand survived giving birth.

Death for both carrier and child was very likely; sixty-eight percent, to be precise.

Death for the child was even worse; eighty-nine percent.

The likelihood of the medical staff and professionals making a mistake was about seventy-three percent.

Medical staff hindering the birthing process and causing more problems than not was fifty-four percent.

As Sherlock held onto John's hand as they wheeled him into the hospital, he noticed that the doctor's grip was getting weaker and weaker. And then it was gone, because Sherlock wasn't allowed past a certain point because he and John weren't married. That issue could easily be resolved because the medical staff rarely ever paid much attention to who came and went, especially if they were dressed like staff. After only an hour or so of waiting, Sherlock got up, walked around until he found sufficient medical scrubs, put them on and tried to make his way to where John was. He almost succeeded, but one of the nurses spotted him and knew instantly that he wasn't n the hospital's payroll. Had it not been for Mycroft's interference Sherlock would have been escorted out of the hospital because of how loud he had been getting.

Seven hours, thirty minutes, and forty-two seconds.

Groaning out loud, Sherlock slumped in his chair and glared at the wall. He received many glares in return, but he paid them no mind. Glancing down at his phone, he groaned again. Seven hours, thirty-one minutes, and eight seconds.

"Sherlock, stop pouting. Mummy always did say that it was very unbecoming of you." Sherlock didn't even spare a glance at his brother. He merely snorted and sunk lower in his chair, defiant as hell and lashing out at anything that annoyed him. Mycroft should have been used to that by now.

"Piss off, Mycroft. I prefer your double chin over you."

"Oh, I hope John's okay. And Hamish too. The poor dears. They must be so scared…" Mrs. Hudson hiccupped, a tissue clutched in her withered hand. Her eyes and nose were beet red and fresh tears were still shining in her pale eyes.

"I can assure you, Mrs. Hudson, that John and Hamish are receiving the best care money can buy. There's little need to worry." Sherlock glared at his brother. How would he know anything about that? The prick. Seven hours, thirty-four minutes, and twenty-five seconds. The doors opened and a doctor came out.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Sherlock stood up immediately and made his way over to the shorter man with Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson trailing behind him.

"How is John? Is he alright? Is Hamish alright?" The doctor gave Sherlock a tired smile.

"He's doing just fine. Him and the baby both. John's been asking for you, for all of you, actually, and has told a few of our nurses that he'll get up and see you himself if he has to. I'd rather not take that risk. He had to have a C-section of course, so getting up and moving about isn't the best idea. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to his room."

Sherlock followed the man, feeling more than relieved and happy that John and Hamish were doing just fine. From behind him, Mrs. Hudson sobbed in relief and Mycroft gently patted her shoulders.

"There, there, Mrs. Hudson."

"I'm just so happy that…they're both…okay." The walk to the room took forever and Sherlock had to keep himself from running forward and finding John himself. But, at long, long last, the doctor paused outside a door and let them inside the room. There, on the bed and looking more worn out and drained than Sherlock had ever seen him, was John. And in his arms was Hamish, a bundle of blankets that hardly made any sound and who had a crop of dark hair on his head. When he heard them come in, John looked up and smiled at them, exhaustion evident in his face.

"Hey…" Sherlock's knees almost gave way, but he gave John a small smile and approached the bed.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" John looked down at Hamish, whose eyes were closed and who seemed to be sleeping. He looked so small and tiny that it absolutely amazed Sherlock.

"Tired. Sore. Very sore, but okay. Hamish is doing fine. We're both fine." Sherlock reached out and, hesitantly, stroked Hamish's chubby cheek with the side of his index finger. The baby squirmed just a little, but otherwise remained unaffected.

"He looks more like you than Jim." John shrugged.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Sherlock chuckled softly.

"No, he does. His facial structure resembles yours more so than his." John nodded, shaking his head but smiling all the same.

"Of course. I should have figured." Sherlock scoffed half heartedly before grasping John's hand in his own.

"You're an idiot. Don't take offense. Practically everyone is." John smiled, clearly remembering the first time Sherlock had called him an idiot. He could barely keep his eyes opened though, and before too long, a nurse came in to take Hamish away.

"Would you…Would you mind if I stayed here…with you?" Sherlock asked John. He already knew what the doctor's answer would be, but he felt as though he ought to ask anyway.

"Of course I wouldn't mind. I'd rather have you here than gone. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into if left unattended." Sherlock could here Mycroft agreeing with John, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was John and Hamish and that they were both alive and healthy.

…

"Fame will go by and, so long, I've had you, fame. If it goes by, I've always know it was fickle. So at least it's something I experience, but that's not where I live."

Marilyn Monroe

…

John watched as Jim slowly made his way into the hospital room. It was his last day in the hospital and both he and Hamish would be going home soon. Three days had passed since Hamish had been brought into the world and John had been ready to go home after just a few hours. But the doctors had insisted on keeping both him and Hamish for a few days for observation. Just in case. Sherlock had remained by his side constantly. Mycroft took Mrs. Hudson home; the poor woman needed to get some rest and Mycroft had a country to run.

When Jim walked into the room, John could see that he hadn't been doing too well. Even with his observational skills, John could tell that Jim had a large weight on his shoulders and he felt bad for the man. But as soon as Jim saw John and Hamish, his dark eyes lit up and he seemed to come alive once again.

"Hello, Johnny Boy. Miss me?" John couldn't help the small, sad smile that spread across his face.

"Surprisingly enough, yes, I did. You look like hell." Jim laughed and approached the bed.

"Yes, well, it takes muscle and brain power to be the most dangerous man in the world," Jim said and the smile slipped from his face. "I would have come sooner, but I had business to attend to."

"I know. I expected as much. Do you want to hold him?" John offered Hamish to Jim and the younger man took the baby, being careful and cautious as he held their son in his arms. The look on Jim's face was one that John had never seen before. It was probably the look that he himself had whenever he held Hamish. Sherlock had a look like it as well, but seeing it on Jim was slightly awe-inspiring. The man was a criminal master mind, and yet he was completely and totally absorbed in the small child in his arms.

"He has my hair. But he has your facial structure. He'll be taking after you more, that I can tell. Odds are that he'll have cornflake blue eyes like yours." John chuckled.

"Sherlock said the same thing." Silence fell upon them as Jim held Hamish. Their son had just fallen asleep not too long before the Irishman came into the room and he continued sleeping soundly as Jim held him.

"I'll come and visit him as often as I can. Things are calming down now, so I'll have more time to be with him." John nodded at Jim and watched them.

"You're the world's only consulting criminal. I'd be worried if you had too much free time on your hands." Jim looked up at him and smiled, laughter gleaming in his dark eyes.

"Oh, I'd be worried too, Mommy. Don't worry. Daddy is still a very busy man, but he will make time for Hamish. Won't he?" Jim cooed at their son and the scene was endearing, albeit slightly odd. Who knew that such a dangerous man would be so easily captivated by a little baby?

"He's been pretty good so far. We'll see how he is once we're home at the flat and not in the hospital." Jim stepped closer and bent down to give Hamish back to John. Taking his son in his arms, John held Hamish and smiled gently down at him.

"You two will be in danger, you know. What with Hamish being my son and you being the mother. I have men watching out for both of you, though. No harm will come to either of you." John nodded and looked up at Jim, whose eyes were starting to cloud back over.

"Will you continue going after Sherlock? I know that you said you were going to kill him, but not yet. Are you still going to?" John was hoping that the answer would be no, but Jim was Sherlock's greatest rival. In more ways than one.

"The game, I'm afraid, will have to wait. I have loose ends to tie up, Johnny m'boy. So I suppose that the best answer I can give you is, 'we'll see'." John nodded. That was better than nothing. At least he'd have more time to be with Sherlock.

"Thank you." Jim quirked a brow at John.

"What are you thanking me for, Johnny Boy?" John gave him one last sad smile.

"You changed everything, Jim. You changed." Jim gave him a sad look.

"That might not be a good thing, John. And you may not be glad that I did change." John shrugged.

"And you just might be." Jim nodded and looked away quickly.

"I'll see you soon, Johnny Boy. Don't forget that Daddy is always watching." With that, Jim Moriarty stepped out of the hospital room and left. John watched him go, their son in his arms, and a sad look on his face. It was only when Sherlock returned to the room with a nurse that the sad look disappeared.