Howdy folks, it feels like it's been ages since I updated. Just a quick note, I'm totally stumped on 'Heartbeats' right now. I'm trying to get my juices flowing for that fic but I've been totally caught up in this one, and a bunch of AU Jim/John one-offs I've been fiddling with. So my apologies to anyone who reads that. It may be a while before I update it again. Anyway, please enjoy this next chapter! I really had a blast fleshing out more of the picture of what went on in those months that John was with Jim from the first fic. Don't forget to leave me some thoughts and feedback! I love hearin' it!

Also! If you're on tumblr, I'm going to start taking ficlette requests soon just to get some more Jim/John stuff out there, and it really helps me get to know people who are into the same ship as me! So come on over, I'm Gingertiss, and there's a link on my page here. I'll be accepting requests On April 1st!

Now. On to fic!

The Visage of War

Chapter Three

It's been like a terrible storm without you...

John fidgeted slightly in the passenger side seat of Greg's car. They were driving in painful silence to where Moriarty was being held. It went unspoken just how much this situation bothered the Detective Inspector, and John wasn't much more comfortable with it than him. It was a dreary day, which was fitting in John's opinion, and rain sprinkled down on the cold grey city.

The morning had gone oddly. John hadn't really been able to sleep the night before and he crawled out of bed around six. He showered, and ate something in his dressing gown and pants. Sherlock had roused and bustled about the flat but said nothing to John. His mind had clearly been focused on other things, and John hadn't been in a hurry to bring attention to what he was about to do.

He'd gone up to get dressed and had found himself pulling a box from under his bed. In it were the same clothes he'd been wearing the day Mycroft's men had apprehended Moriarty and liberated John, so to speak. He'd slipped into them and found that they fit perfectly, just like they had the first time he'd put them on. Designed and tailored to him.

And then Greg arrived not long after and here they were. Driving in tense silence through the rain to a destination that was most unsavory. Upon arrival at the precinct, John found his nerves beginning to get the better of him. He was shaking as he made his way to what looked like an interrogation room. There was a plain steel table, bolted to the ground, and two plastic folding chairs. John looked at Greg nervously, before going and taking a seat at the table.

"We'll be bringing him in shortly..." Greg announced tersely, and then he left the room, snapping the door shut behind him. True to what he said, Greg brought Jim in moments later and John felt his breath catch in his throat. Jim was in plain white prison garb and shackled at his wrists and ankles. The chains rattled as he made his way to his seat, a guard at each arm. He was shoved down into his seat and John winced a little, watching the guards shuffle out. Jim looked weary, as if he hadn't slept in days, and his body looked even more gaunt and boney in person than it had on camera. Jim waited for the door to shut before cracking a grin at John who frowned deeply in response.

"It's soooooooo good to see you Johnny." Jim said softly, folding his shackled hands on the table with a clack of metal on metal. Jim sat with perfect posture as if he were wearing a three-thousand dollar suit and not prison garb, but his sunken face showed he'd been having a hard time of things lately. John swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat and shook his head at the other man. John was finding himself at a loss for words while gazing at the husk of his former... lover (for lack of a better term) and kidnapper. Jim however, had plenty to fill the empty air with, finding himself quite verbose in the presence of a man he'd missed more than he'd ever thought possible. "You're wearing the clothes I bought you. They suit you so well. Howeveeeer, I must say that I miss your facial hair. It was so... hm.. endearing."

John watched Moriarty's chapped lips form every word as if he were savoring the way each syllable tasted. It was hardly any less intimidating than looking the psychopath in the eyes. Jim's eyes were dark, sallow, and purpling underneath from lack of sleep. John had never thought it possible for Jim to look so... deathly. John felt that lump forming again and this time he did his best to ignore it.

"Why did you do this, Jim? You should have... stayed hidden. You're bringing it all down around you... You were safe. And now Sherlock is going to stop at nothing to put you away." John scolded harshly, bringing a chuckle from Jim. It was dry and somewhat weary. Jim's face creased with a frail but genuinely amused smirk. He turned his head away from John and wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye brought on by his little outburst of giggles.

"Me, stay hidden forever? Hardly my style..." Jim replied as he calmed himself. "I love a good show... You know that John." John huffed a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, because unfortunately, he did know. He looked Jim over again and felt a mix of worry and irritation mingling in his gut. Jim was playing with fire and from the look of him, he would get burned.

"You look like death warmed ... what happened to you? Have you slept at all lately? Or eaten anything?" John asked critically, reaching out and feeling how boney Jim's wrist was. John blamed the physician in him for his fretting, but he knew that was an incredibly shallow excuse. Jim beamed and shifted his hands, covering John's hands with one of his own. His hands were clammy, as if he'd sweat out a fever the night before. John spotted some needle marks in the crook of Jim's left arm and he felt a pang of anger mixed with fear shoot through him. His emotions were betraying. He couldn't help but picture Jim shooting all kinds of nasty things into his body.

"Jim why are you doing this to yourself...?" John asked, gesturing to Jim's arm.

"Oh, ever the doctor, Johnny. It is so becoming." Jim purred, giving John's hand a feeble squeeze. JIm had done it to quiet his mind. He'd done it for two days straight while he planned his break ins. A night in jail had given him time to sweat it all out. It was a process that Jim would not be repeating soon. "I was just taking a play from your good friend Sherlock's play book. A... seven percent solution."

John sighed and started to pull his hand away, but found he couldn't. He stopped and found his thumb gently rubbing across Jim's wrist.

"Don't do it again.." John requested quietly. For some reason, it sickened John to think of JIm overdosing in a squalor drug den where no one knew how special he was. Because, like it or not John knew... Jim was like Sherlock. Jim was special. "It's a waste."

Jim gave a little half snort in response and nodded, catching John a bit off guard. He wondered if Moriarty was being serious or if he was just confirming a theory about John in his own head. John didn't have the time or the brain power to try and figure out how things worked inside Jim's head.

"Look I... I know you're going to get out of this, Jim. But by doing- By making a damn display of it? What could you possibly hope to gain by bringing all this attention to yourself?" John's eyes softened and strange hole inside him seemed to fill as Jim's expression went from gleeful to soft and warm. Though he looked like he might shatter if you tapped him too hard, Jim's eyes crinkled with a welcoming and sympathetic expression. Either he was very good at acting, or John was losing his mind because psychopathic criminals do not have a shred of warmth in them. Nothing that looks so genuine anyway...

"I wanted to see you..." Jim said softly and sincerely, squeezing John's hand again. His grip is weak, but John squeezes back while his cheeks heated with a slight blush and his brows knitted together. "I missed you. I tried to stay away. I tried so... hard. And then... I started watching CCTV footage of you. You looked so lost. I never really saw you smile. Not even when you were with Sherlock. Tell me John, why don't you smile anymore?"

John averted his eyes from Jim's face. He should have been horrified that he was being watched by this criminal, but really, he was less upset about it than he was when Mycroft did it. John had to remind himself of what Jim had done to him, remind himself that these feelings were wrong... They were based in a false world, a non-reality.

"Jim... We can't be together. What you did to me was a sick perversion of intimacy and a complete lie." John insisted quietly, drawing his hand away. "I want you to get through this trial and disappear. For both our sake."

Jim narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, making John a bit uncomfortable. Jim was observing him in a way that Sherlock often did. He could see the other man picking him apart and diving into his mind. He was scared of what Jim would find in him just like he was with Sherlock since Moriarty had escaped. The moment Jim had escaped had proved to be the most exciting and exhilarating moment John could ever recall since his return from the war.

"So... You actually have some sort of... Feelings for me. You're worried. That's... More than I ever expected, to be honest John. I'm... Touched." he mused, a small smirk on his lips. John rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, putting on the mask of denial he'd been practicing since the moment he began to regain his memories.

"Look, Jim, I... I remember everything that happened in the time that I was... In your custody... You know that..." John said in his calm and clinical 'doctor-voice'. "And I... I know what you did was sick, but I also know you have it in you to be better than all these crimes. There's a heart under there and I've had to deal with knowing a different side of you. Please don't... Don't take advantage of that... of me... anymore."

Jim's face grew serious and he frowned a little. His eyes were solemn and a sort of humanness overtook the consulting criminal. John could hardly stand to look at Jim when he appeared so vulnerable, and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Jim..." John's voice was thin and beginning to crack. He didn't want to be here anymore. He felt trapped and helpless. Without Sherlock by his side he felt vulnerable and helpless against Jim, his memories of all they'd done and all they'd been through.

"I don't want to hurt you, John." he stated with a tone of absolute finality. "I did this... all of it... to show Sherlock he was up against the impossible. I wanted to show him how much power I really have and that if I want you again, I can take you with the wave of my perfectly manicured hands."

Jim's lips pulled into a plastic grin. John shuddered, hating to see that humanness leave Jim so quickly but also he was relieved that he wasn't faced with it (and all the internal conflict it brought him) anymore. He could feel his heart rate rising as he thought of Jim just taking him. It both excited and terrified him. He should have been far more disgusted with Moriarty than he could manage. Flashes of heated kisses in tube stations, the grasping of greedy hands at his jumpers, the biting at his flesh, the mark of ownership, being taken, being possessed...

He was so caught up in his memories for a moment that it startled him when John heard the clinking of Jim's shackled feet moving under the table and then suddenly, he realized why. Jim's now shoe-less foot was sliding up his inner thigh. He forced himself to remain stoney and unresponsive, but inside, a familiar animal he'd known in war, in Uni, with Jim, was surfacing.

"I can see it in your eyes, John darling. You're excited. Right now, you're wondering just what I will do to get you again. Your pulse is racing, your pupils dilated, and your cheeks are heating up. That shade of pink is verrrrrry becoming." Jim was practically purring as his toes moved to press lightly against John's crotch, drawing a hiss of breath from John. John could feel the protest on his tongue (Stop it. Get off me. Don't touch me. You're sick. I hate you...), waiting to be spoken, but something in him held back.

"Have you told Sherlock about everything you did while with me... All the naughty little things we did in the dark?" Jim's tone was far from teasing. It was dark, husky, and dangerously serious. "Did you tell him how you helped me plan crimes... How you pulled the trigger and killed Jack Donaugh...?"

"He was flith!" John snapped in his own defense, but the memory came flooding back. Jim had encouraged him, he'd touched him and smiled and John let himself go. So he'd pulled the trigger and Jim's eyes had turned so wild while he laughed, his dark and sadistic chuckles blending in with the howling wind it sounded like a chorus of screams and John felt so alive...

Jim could see John's mind working, the memory surfacing and the turmoil it brought him. It just made him chuckle. The sound was like poisoned honey, dripping, deadly, but savory and sweet. John shuddered as Jim's foot slowly left him and slipped back into his shoe.

"That he was... A rapist, a thief, and an all arooooounnnnd... sleeeeeeeze... You shot him dead just like you shot. My. Cabby." Jim agreed. "Admit it Johnny boy... You miss it... Killing people. You can say you were 'just following orders' but... You derive pleasure from holding others lives in your hands. You're a doctor and a trained war machine. Don't you ever wonder what your life might be like had I reached you before Sherlock did?"

John felt himself going painfully rigid at the thought of having met Moriarty first. When he'd returned he'd felt lost, without purpose, and he missed the war. The spray of sand, blood, and screaming gunfire. Nights he would dream of his time there, about getting shot and invalided home... And he grieved the loss of his favorite outlet. Mycroft had seen it the moment they met. He let himself grow plain in the time before he met Sherlock. He traded his military uniform for dull civilian wear. He'd picked things like jumpers and cardigans to try and solidify it in his own mind that he was not an animal of war anymore. He was normal, useless, John H. Watson.

Sherlock had brought a sense of adventure and excitement back into his life. Some days in the beginning it was more than enough to keep him sated and happy because in comparison to his tiny flat and therapy sessions it was amazing. Then he'd been with Jim, and while he'd been unaware of who he really was, he'd never felt more alive than he did then... HIs cravings and desires were the same no matter how much of himself he remembered. They were subconscious, like a deep, black, tumultuous river surging through him that threatened to swallow anything that came too close to its banks. Whenever he thought back to his time with Jim, he still got goosebumps. Their relationship had been so taboo and that only seemed to add to the excitement he felt. He'd been taken against his will, and then made into something that let him be himself more freely than any war ever could have.

If John had wanted anything, he could have asked for it and Jim would have given it...

If he had met Jim first, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have been wearing Westwood and setting charges for the other man within days. Jim watched John reflect, loving how expressive the other man's face was and he sighed wistfully.

"John... Has it ever occurred to you that the only reason you're really so faithful to Sherlock his because he's held your attention captive for so long? You're suffering from Stock-Hollllllmessss Syndrome. And I intend to cure you." Jim whispered, leaning in closer over the table. John met Jim's eyes and swallowed uneasily.

"And just how do you plan to do that?" John couldn't stop himself from asking. He felt like there was electricity in the air around them.

"I'll do whatever it takes." Jim replied, his voice barely above a whisper. John just stared into Jim's dark eyes for what felt like hours until they were interrupted by the guards and Lestrade.

"Time's up John." Greg stated, the guards bustling in and taking Jim away. Jim blew John a kiss as he was dragged away.

"See you at the trial Johnny!" he sing-songed, leaving John stunned in his wake. John couldn't move to leave right away. It was Greg's firm grip on his shoulder that encouraged him into standing up, and finally leaving.

"What'd he have to say?" Greg inquired as John headed out of the building with him. John frowned deeply and slipped into the passenger side of Greg's car while he responded rather darkly:

"Nothing I didn't already know..."

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