.John was dragged outside the building and shoved into the back of a white van. Moriarty panted and sighed with relief as the van drove off. He aimed his gun at John and smiled.
"That was fun. Did you see his face when I shot him?" Moriarty asked, laughing.
John shut his eyes, trying not to remember. But, how could he not? Sherlock's face looked pale and his shoulder was bleeding uncontrollably as they rushed out.
Moriarty lowered his gun and stretched. He stared at John and smiled a bit. "I'll never forget how he looked at you. That night when I had that bomb on your chest."
John remembered that night. Moriarty had a bomb strapped to his chest and forced him to say every word that he commanded him to. Sherlock, at first, thought John had betrayed him.
His face filled with disbelief and shock and John was forced to undergo the torture.
"I noticed there was something very...special about you that day, John. Even with a bomb and a sniper, you tried to save Sherlock."
John averted his eyes away from Moriarty's, breathing heavily.
"Why do you do it, John? You remain faithful to Sherlock, even when I framed him. He only had support from you."
When he saw that John wasn't responding Moriarty sighed loudly and leaned back. "Why don't you ever look at me, Johnny boy? I guess it's like I said before, pets are very loyal to their owners."
John clenched his jaw but kept his eyes off of Moriarty. That's all he wanted from him. A reaction. Anything to let him know that he had John in the palm of his hand.
Moriarty dragged himself across the floor, sitting closer to John. His hand reached out and began stroking John's hair. John kept his eyes looking straight ahead.
Moriarty leaned and spoke by John's ear. "You're a good boy, aren't you? Sherlock's little pet. Know any good tricks, Johnny boy?"
The next thing Moriarty saw was John's head smashing into his face. Moriarty's hand flew to his nose and felt blooding trickling down. He stared at his bloody fingers and laughed.
"Good! Very good! I always loved that about you. So loyal, so brave. And everyone gives Sherlock the credit."
John spoke through gritted teeth. "Well, he is the one with the brains, after all. I just blog about it."
Moriarty put on a face of sympathy. "Poor John. Always the man on the side. How could he treat you like that?"
His hand cupped the side of John's face and traced his jawline. "Trust me. I'd have it no other way."
"You don't mean that, do you, John? Wouldn't you want someone to give you attention? To let you know how special you are to them?"
Moriarty didn't speak with a high-pitch or mocking voice like he usually did. His voice was quiet and smooth. He gently ran his hand through John's hair and down his neck.
"To just...love you?"
John's eyes found their way to Moriarty's. They stared at each other for a moment until John broke the silence. He started chuckling.
Moriarty blinked. "You find what I'm saying funny?"
"You know, you really had me going for a minute there. You truly are a maniac." John said, as he laughed.
Moriarty lost his soft eyes and calmness. His face creased with anger as he stared at the laughing doctor. He grabbed His gun and pressed it at John's forehead.
"You ought to know, John, that I'm not a man to be meddled with. If I want something, I do whatever it takes to get it. Whatever it takes."
John swallowed as he listened. Moriarty removed the gun and tossed it aside. His hands cradled John's face as he leaned closer to it.
"I wondered why Sherlock kept you under his wing all this time. But, no more. You are...beyond amazing."
John swallowed hard. "I try."
Moriarty laughed a bit and licked his lower lip. "I was planning on killing you after all of this. But you know that I can be so changeable."
"Moriarty, I really-"
"Oh, don't call me that. James is fine."
John closed his eyes and sighed. "Moriarty...I really think you should rethink this before you do anything drastic."
"I've done a lot of thinking, my dear, and I have come to a decision. I don't want to hurt you."
"That's very..."
Moriarty raised his eyebrows.
"...thoughtful."
"Don't thank me. I'm only thinking of you."
John sighed in annoyance. "Now, see? That's where the big problem is. I don't think you realize my true feelings about you."
Moriarty looked like he was holding a sob as he nodded. "I know it's a big change for you, dear John. I hardly know-"
John groaned aloud. "For the love of God, I hate you!"
Silence. Moriarty grimaced, confused. "What's that?"
"What? Did you not hear me? Have I not made myself clear? I'll gladly repeat myself. I. Hate. You. James Moriarty."
Moriarty stared at John, as if the message still wasn't clear. But, John wasn't finished.
"You think I couldn't? You strapped a bomb to my chest, threatened to shoot me, threatened to shoot my friend, and now you've taken me against my will to get to him."
Moriarty looked at John as if he were hearing this for the first time and didn't have a clue as to what he was saying.
"Now, you think you can just write me a sob story and tell me that you-"
Moriarty punched John in the jaw and grabbed his shirt collar. John felt his breath on his face and shut his eyes.
"I was always jealous of Sherlock because he had you. Not anymore. I have you now, and I don't have any intention of losing you or giving you up."
Blood seeped from John's lower lip, catching Moriarty's attention. He gently wiped it with his thumb.
"I didn't want to hurt you, my dear. I hope you know that."
The van came to a stop. John's chest tightened as the back doors of the van opened. Two men hoisted John to his feet. Moriarty got up, adjusting his tie.
"Take him inside, but be gentle with him," he commanded, running his hand along John's cheek.
"I am sick of you and your bloody body parts lying around the flat! It's disturbing and it terrifies me!" John yelled at Sherlock.
"They're not-they're experiments, John." Sherlock argued.
John rubbed his temples and sighed. "You just take advantage of me, you know that?"
"Excuse me?"
"You never care about me or how I feel about your "experiments". You always insist on doing things your own way and not giving a damn about what I think!"
"Oh, don't talk like that, John. You sound like a child when you do." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
"Me? Clearly you haven't looked in the mirror recently."
"What do you want an apology? Fine, then. I'm sorry. Satisfied?"
"No, not until you get rid of the bag of thumbs under my bed and the head in the freezer." John said, pointing at the kitchen.
"I will do no such thing. I need them for experiments, didn't you hear me?"
"It's disgusting, Sherlock!"
"Then, don't look under your bed and if you're hungry, eat at a restaurant. I don't care, John. But, don't make me give up my work."
John threw his hands in the air. "Oh, your bloody work. You know, I really get tired of that rubbish. You and your work are the only things that matter."
"Yes, they are. Did you just realize that?" Sherlock spat.
"You get all the glory and attention."
"I thought you hated publicity."
"I do, but I just wish you'd remember who makes you so popular and who helps you solve the cases."
Sherlock grimaced. "Don't tell me your talking about that stupid blog of yours."
John slammed his hand on his laptop as it sat on the table. "My stupid blog is the reason people are starting to pay better attention to you and ignoring the fact that you're a psychopath."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not a-"
"Don't say it. You know what? I'm done." John said, shaking his head.
He grabbed his coat and angrily put it on, buttoning it up. Sherlock watched as he stormed across the room, towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.
"You tell me. You're the great bloody detective."
Sherlock heard John hurry down the stairs and slam the front door. He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his curly hair.
Through the window, he saw John step between two buildings and into the darkness of the night. Sherlock threw himself on the couch and sighed.
"That went well. Bloody well. There are times where I just can't stand that Watson. Can't stand him. It's always my fault, isn't it? It drives me mad. Completely mad."
He sighed again and rubbed his forehead. "Now, I'm talking aloud to myself. I'm completely mad."
John walked with his hands in his pockets through the alley. Small puffs of white escaped his mouth as he breathed aloud.
He stopped when he heard a small noise. Slowly, he looked around but saw no one around.
Frustrated, he kicked a trashcan. He sighed and shook his head. "I can't stand it. It's maddening."
Suddenly, something wrapped around John's neck, strangling him. He let out a choked cry but it wasn't loud enough to get attention. The object around his neck felt like a leather belt. He couldn't breathe.
He fell backwards and slammed the back of his head on the cement. His vision blurred and his eyes felt heavy. Then, darkness.
~x~