A/N:Ah, here is chapter four! Sorry it took a little longer than normal to bang this one out... I've been busy not only with stories of my own, but with life in general. As usual we played the same roles, except with me debuting as Sebastian Moran! And yes, he has a Cockney accent, and I'm not apologizing for any thing. I like to see him as serious man, who doesn't take life too seriously if that makes sense? I believe he'd have to be a bit jovial to handle Jim's special brand of crazy, hence Seb's relentless teasing. We hope you enjoy this, and would love to hear your feed back!
The Thinning Line
Chapter Four: To fly away, some where beyond the pain
Sherlock's phone is buzzing in his breast pocket, and so he drags himself as best as he can from his drug induced stupor. Heroin is still vaguely coursing through his veins, and it has left the former sociopath feeling a bit jumpy. Frowning when he see's the number lit up on his lcd screen, Sherlock snaps his phone open, growling out. "If you have called for any other reason, than to return my John to me, than you better pray to whatever Gods may exist that I do not find you, and carve your skin straight from your bones– and then the muscle, and all the nice little veins... until everything is splayed out like a road map on the pavement!"
"You're so pleasant when you're high. Really, you're lovely."
"Cut the shit, Moriarty! I am done playing games, WHERE IS HE?!" Sherlock shouts, voice deep and feral and full of hatred.
"Interesting thing, I gave him the option of calling you today. Instead he contacted your dear brother. How does that make you feel Sherlock?"
A deep, burning hatred wells up inside the detective because of Moriarty's confession, though he's more inclined to believe that the Consulting Criminal is merely inventing this, to try and goad him into anger. "Please Moriarty, these mindless games are beneath us, and you know it. You did not let John contact Mycroft, otherwise he would be safe in his keeping, and my prat of a brother would be lording it over my head."
"Call him then, if you're so sure. And he'll tell you about how he asked John three times for his location, for anything that could be used to locate him, and John said no every time."
Sherlock's anger finally boils over and he stands, sweeping his hand over the things located on top of John's night stand, for the once Consulting Detective had taken up residence in his room. "When I find you, I am going to kill you- and I promise you this, it will be slow and painful. You will beg every moment for death, and I will draw it out- keep you alive in any possible way that I can until your body finally gives out. And I will make John watch, if he has truly chosen YOU over ME."
"Oh Sherlock...he doesn't want me either. To be honest, I rather think he would choose death over either of us. But I can promise you that if you do ever find Johnny Boy and me, that you won't get to touch him once. I'll slit his pretty throat before I let that happen."
"Then trust me, if that time ever does come, I won't let you lay a single finger upon his head. He is MINE!" Sherlock growls out possessively. "And no one touches my toys, but me."
"When little boys break their toys, daddy has to take them away. And you've been so very bad with your toy. Don't expect it back anytime soon." James Moriarty trilled on the other end, sounding so very proud, and content with himself- it made Sherlock want to bash his head repeatedly against a wall, until all his brain matter spilled from his skull...
Snarling, Sherlock shoots the most murderous glare he can muster into the receiver. "I will give you One day, and if John isn't in my possession, I will hunt you down. Perhaps if you give me him, I can let you leave only slightly mutilated."
Jim laughs, because really this is all so fun! "You can try Sherlock. You've been having so much luck up to this point."
The former detective growls one final time, and as frustration overtakes him, he tosses his phone against the wall.
Moriarty giggles almost maniacally, and gets up to find the best safe house to move John to. Can never be too careful, after all. After confirming the new safe house, he walks to the blond's room and sits next to his bed; watching him sleep so deeply. Jim knows that the good doctor must be on more drugs than usual, because he is not squirming through a nightmare. For some reason, the Irishman is glad.
He's so glad that John's not suffering, even if it's for a few short hours, and he can't bring himself to wake the blond. Instead Jim sits back and just watches John, wondering what it is exactly about the unassuming ex-army doctor, that makes him doubt himself so much.
The darkness quickly begins to sift away, like sand falling through an hourglass, and John Watson opens his eyes; feeling groggy and not entirely there. He realizes distantly, that it is still the effects of the pain meds that have dulled his thoughts and senses. John stares up at the ceiling, mind wonderfully empty for the first time in weeks.
Moriarty watches Watson slowly wake up, a small smile crossing his lips at the blond's hazy expression. He looks so young, yet still so tired. In that moment, the criminal just wants to cuddle the doctor for some reason that he cannot fathom.
Turning slowly, to find his bottle of pills, John see's Moriarty sitting in a lounge chair across from his bed- staring at him with a tiny smile. It makes the blond's skin crawl, and he flushes in disgust from the memory of waking up naked, cuffed to a head board, and unceremoniously fucked until he bled. John shakes his head a little, trying to rid it of those sorts of thoughts before he murmurs a tentative, "Can I help you with something?"
Of course Jim notices the shudder, and a frown of concern falls over his face. It's obvious what's bothering John, because really what else could it be? And he finds that he wants to comfort the doctor, despite what he had said earlier that day. "Yes, you can. I want you to talk to me."
John blinks owlishly for a few moments, because it's still a little hard to focus on reality with any cohesiveness. "I...don't really have anything to say...unless, perhaps you can get me some stronger medication? Maybe sleeping pills...I've been having a hard time getting to sleep." He lies, but looks up at Moriarty innocently enough. Watson doesn't really need them to help sleep at night, he just needs them to help him sleep whenever he doesn't want to think about things...or for when he finally decides that perhaps, he'll never want to wake up.
Jim quirks an eyebrow, wondering if John really thought he would fall for that.
The blond takes in the Irishman's expression, but unlike Sherlock he can't even begin to read Moriarty. "Please..." John mumbles, thinking that the Consulting Criminal merely wants supplication, and begging before he gives him what he wants.
Moriarty's face twists into a look of disgust and he stands quickly. "Don't you ever beg me for anything!" He unexpectedly shouts, "And no, I won't give you sleeping pills to use at your discretion, or to kill yourself with! I will not let you hurt yourself, not now, not ever!"
John's mouth falls open, because honestly it was the last reaction that he could ever expect from the great psychopath Moriarty...to be shown such kindness, and compassion from a man who had no heart...when the man who had stolen his; used him, hurt him and was perfectly content in letting John stay his prisoner and toy until his body gave out. He shivers, and looks away shamefully...hating the way Moriarty's dark eyes bore little holes into the fine armor Watson was trying to create, to protect himself from the pain. "Why do you care...?" He asks hollowly, not meeting the other man's gaze, and fidgets with a loose thread on the blanket (though John doesn't remember falling asleep with one) strewn over his lap.
Huffing out a few angry breaths, before cursing under his breath Jim mumbles very quietly, "I don't know..." His expression is troubled; forehead furrowed, eyebrows drawn together into a singular line, and a frown deeply carving his lips into a bitter mask.
Moriarty's reaction almost makes John smile, but a sickening realization hits him and he grimaces instead. "You sound like Sherlock..." The blond murmurs, and looks off into the distance; gaze glossy and far away.
This time Jim storms over to Watson and grabs his jaw roughly in his hand, leaning down to snarl in the doctor's face, "Fucking say that again, Watson, I dare you!"
John flinches, and cries out- fear blowing his pupils wide, and making his nostrils flare as he tries to suck in quick breaths through his nose. "I-I'm sorry! Please...don't hurt me, I won't say it again, I promise!" He doesn't care that he sounds like a frightened child, who had woken up from a bad dream and was asking for forgiveness for wetting the bed.
Moriarty stares at the doctor for a few moments, all the rage instantly evaporating in the face of John Watson's blatant and crushing fear. He releases the older man's face, horrified with himself, and takes a few numb steps back from the bed. "I...I'm sorry..."
Placing a hand on his sore jaw, John gingerly rubs out the ache- the kind he remembers all too well. Though the Consulting Criminal was quick to instill fear in him, he was even quicker to assuage it, and that confuses John. "No...I'm sorry?" His apology is almost a question, because this whole situation has the blond feeling lost, and reeling in the dark.
Unable to think of anything to say, or look at John when his eyes are still so wide with fear, Moriarty turns towards the door and starts walking away. "We're leaving. Moran will come help you into your chair." He tosses over his shoulder.
"W-What? Where are we going?" John sputters out, because he's still a little afraid, and now even more confused.
Stopping in the doorway, Jim is still facing away from John unable to look at him; but he does reply softly. "Somewhere I know you'll be safe. The Holmes brothers need nothing but a thirty second phone call to figure out where someone is- so I'm surprised they haven't located us yet... I can only imagine this place will be swarming with British government men by morning." Moriarty clenches his fists, and turns to the older man- an indecipherable look on his pale, pointed face. "Unless you'd like to stay. Go with Mycroft and away from me."
John swallows thickly, and shakes his head- eyes widening even further in fear at the prospect of Sherlock finding him. "No!" He cries out suddenly, "Please don't let him find me Moriarty! I will do anything you ask of me, just please..."
It makes the psycopath's stomach turn unpleasantly from the panic and fear in the once proud doctor's voice, and he forces the urge to run to John and cradle him in his arms to go away before he does something stupid. "He'll never find you John. He'll never touch you again." Moriarty hesitates, before giving Watson a small smile. "And call me Jim."
Watson shivers once more, and without really thinking about it, he reaches his arms out to Moriarty. "I know Moran helps me into my wheelchair, but I'm about to have a panic attack if I stay here any longer..." He looks down shyly before continuing, "If you don't mind, could you please help me into the chair...Jim?"
Jim's small smile unconsciously grows to cover his whole face and he nods, rushing forward to let John wrap his arms around his neck. Moriarty slips his arms beneath the blonds thighs and lifts him, easily walking the few feet to his wheelchair.
Even though he had asked to be lifted to his chair, for the briefest of moments John tenses when Jim's arms touch his thighs. Muscles and Moran never bothered him, but Jim- Jim is or maybe WAS too much like the new Sherlock- and it was some what frightening. John was not given long to dwell on it though, before the younger of the two is placing him gingerly in his chair, and that's when the blond notices the wonderful smile lighting up a face he believed could only ever show cold indifference, and manic glee over something wicked.
"Are you okay John?" Jim asks when he sees John's face full of conflicting emotions.
Looking up and nodding, not really sure what else he can say or do. John is still rather confused, in fact even MORE confused, because everything he thought he knew, has been turned upside down and inside out in the last two and half walks.
Moriarty kneels in front of the blond, and meets his stormy blue eyes with concern. "John?"
He looks into Jim's eyes, dark pools that he once believed were soulless and devoid of emotion, but now John sees the rare glimmer of light that shines through them, rippling into a river of molten amber. John opens his mouth, and then closes it- not really sure how to voice such thoughts without hurting what tentative friendship they had created. "It's nothing Jim...for now, can we focus on leaving? Perhaps...I'll tell you later, when we are far from Sherlock Holmes."
Jim hesitates for a moment, but nods in the end. "Alright." He starts wheeling the doctor out of the room, but still feels worried.
Looking up, John notices the slightly pinched furrow between Jim's brow, and he wonders what emotion could have caused such a pained expression to mar the brunette's impassive face. He decides then, that maybe it was something he had said and that he should try to assuage Moriarty's doubts or fears the same way he has done for him. "Jim..." John murmurs, the name still feeling foreign and heave on his tongue. "I just want you to know, that I no longer think you are heartless- and well, it was terrifies me. Because everything has changed, and I don't know what to do..."
His eyebrows raise in surprise and his lips quirk into the softest of smiles. "You don't have to be afraid John. When we get to the new house, we'll sit and have some tea and talk about it, okay?"
John returns the soft smile, and nods. "Yes...that sounds like a wonderful idea."
Moriarty wheels the blond to the car and helps him into the backseat before climbing in next to him.
"I am starting to grow rather sleepy, the pain meds still in my system." John looks over to the brunette and asks a little shyly. "Do you mind if I sleep? You can wake me when we get to wherever you're taking me...I'm just...tired."
The Irishman smiles and puts his arms around the blond so he can lay his head on his shoulder. "Sleep as long as you want." Jim murmurs softly, and turns to look out the tinted windows at the blurred landscape of London.
John tries not to stiffen immediately at the way Moriarty's arm twines around him, but he can't help it and he knows that it probably upsets the Consulting Criminal when all he is being is friendly. He quickly relaxes though, and leans into Jim's side, and rests his head upon the man's surprisingly broad shoulder. "Thank you." The blond whispers, before closing his eyes and breathing deep the scent of Jim's cologne- it's musky and woody all at once, with a splash of something that almost smelled like smoke and chocolate.
Moriarty loosens his grip on John's shoulder when he sees how uncomfortable he is, but smiles when the doctor burrows into his side.
John's breathing evens out after a while, and the warm, intoxicating scent and feeling of the brunette lulls his into a peaceful sleep.
Jim can't resist taking a picture of the blond fast asleep on his shoulder, which he immediately sends to Sherlock's back up phone, since he trashed his other one. Then he sits back and just enjoys the warm feeling in his chest as they drove and John Watson sleeps peacefully next to him.
–
Sherlock Holmes was busy prowling through the back streets of London, deep in the seedy underbelly of this magnificent city, when his back up phone vibrates quick and succinct- a text message, he gathers. He pulls out his phone, and snarls when he sees that fucking number mocking him once more, and barely resists tossing this cell against the nearest wall as well. With a grimace, Sherlock flips open the phone, and finds a picture message waiting for him- and its contents make his skin burn, and his stomach roil. John, his sweet, beautiful toy fast asleep and lying like a child against the man he hates most in the world. "FUCK!"
The psychotic consulting detective shouts, and sends his fist slamming into the nearest wall, splitting the skin of his knuckles. "Fine...if that's the way they want to play it, so be it..." He mutters darkly to himself, and takes off. There were some men Sherlock needed to contact, and the sooner he hired them, the better.
–
Moriarty makes sure that John stays asleep as he carries him into the new safe house, walking carefully up the stairs to the doctor's new room. After laying him down and making his head is at a good, comfortable angle, Jim leaves the blond to rest and joins Moran in the kitchen. "So, tell me the local gossip." He leans against the island counter top, and smirks all the while.
Moran looks down at the slight form before him, and even though he could possibly break his employer in two, the muscled ex-soldier was far more leery of him then he could ever be of Sebastian. He clears his throat, banishing those thoughts for another time before he replies, "Not much, though one of our men found Rogers in a back alleyway this morning. Poor bloke's head was chopped clean off, and his neck was shoved up his arse...we're pretty sure it was Sherlock's doin', tryin' to send you a message."
"Hmm he's so creative. We'll have to repay the growing debt he's collecting. Where are his parents these days?"
"Last I 'eard they were vacationing in Ibiza." Moran shrugs, and levels Jim with his most unimpressed stare. "But we both know getting to the prat's parents would be easier said than done, what with Mycroft always buzzing about..."
"Oh I don't need to get them. But imagine how sad it would make mommy dearest to know what her little baby boy has been up to." Jim grins devilishly before standing up straight. "Get me the number and keep an ear out for anything having to do with Sherlock Holmes."
Sebastian hums noncommittally, but they both knew that means that he will be following Jim's orders, as soon as he walks away. "You gonna go check on the pretty lil' prisoner Jim?" The tall blond asks, tone holding a slight teasing edge to it, his flinty blue eyes glittering a tad too mischievously.
The brunette rolls his eyes dramatically. "You're the only person I'll let get away with teasing me, but I still don't like it. As a matter of fact, I was going to go kill some assassins who dislike me, and could be persuaded to kill me by a certain Holmes brother. John is sleeping any ways." Moriarty almost adds as an after thought.
Moran's lips quirk up, because despite all the harsh and biting words, always spoken in a sing-song accent, he knows Jim would never kill him. The ex-soldier was the closest thing the criminal has ever had to a friend, and too valuable to dispose of. "Still..." Seb tries to hide how his smile is widening. "Wouldn't it be grand, if pretty lil' Watson chose you over Holmes, when the time comes? Think about it Jim, how it would destroy that arrogant son of a bitch."
Moriarty hesitates, and glances over his shoulder at his subordinate- a dark look chasing through his bright amber eyes. "It'll never happen. He'd probably choose you over me, if ever that time came." He frowns at his own words, looking angry, yet some how a little forlorn all the same. "But even you would be better than Sherlock."
Seb shrugs, his blue eyes glittering with a certain kind of knowing. "I dunno, Jim- I've seen the way the lad clings to ya' when he's scared. Hell, I've touched him more times than you, an' he treats it like some disdainful chore... but he practically begs for ya' ta hold him when the nightmares get too real for 'im. I'd wager some good quid, that he'd choose you over Sherlock these days."
A little feeling of hope blooms in Jim's chest, but he quickly stamps it out as the weakness that it is; he always killed the weak- since he believed that only the strong would inherit the earth. "Once Sherlock is dead, John will leave and go back to his life and meet someone good for him." He tries to shrug nonchalantly, only vaguely believing it was convincing. "I may be better than Sherlock, but I'm not good enough for John."
Shrugging again, Moran just chooses to stay silent at that, until Jim's words really sink in. His thick eyebrows furrow, and he gives his employer a puzzled look. "Don't tell me... ya actually want the lil' doctor to...stay with you? You...ye like Mr. Watson don't ya?"
Jim's face immediately hardens and he snarls at the blond. "If I did, it would be none of your business! You shoot people, I tell you who to shoot, that's the extent of our relationship. And it does not include relationship advise!"
A smile widens along Moran's lips, a little thing equal parts taunting and wicked. "Okay Jim, no need ta get DEFENSIVE..." He chuckles lightly, ignoring the way the small Irishman is glaring, and spitting and snarling like a cat being forced to take a bath. "I was just tryin' ta puzzle you out. Ye can fuck the lad silly, or date 'im, or just off 'im for all I care." Shrugging, as was Sebastian's favorite way to dismiss situations he finishes, "Just don't go fallin' too deep Jimmy, we don't need ya acquiring any soft, little weak spots for Mad Sherlock Homes to exploit."
Moriarty remains angry and fuming for a few moments, before realizing that John would not only be his weak spot, but Sherlock's as well. What was it about the unassuming army doctor that drew mad geniuses in, he wondered? But Seb is still looking at him with a remarkably annoying look on his face so Jim manages to sneer at the blond again. "You think I would ever let myself develop a weakness? Just who the fuck do you think I am?"
Moran laughed then, long and hard with tears gathering at the edges of his eyes. "Aye, well let's just go hopin' you don't get too addle headed over some cute, blond lil thing Jim." He shakes his head, and turns away. "And before you get yer knickers all in a twist, I only tease ya cuz it's a great way to pass the time in this boring hell hole...now, shouldn't I be gatherin' some intelligence, boss?" Sebastian Moran had the gall to quirk a condescending eyebrow at his psychotic employer, who would stab a knife straight through your heart sooner than you could say, "Bob's your Uncle."
Growling in his throat, Jim Moriarty debates the merits of breaking Moran's legs, but then turns and storms out of the room- trying to shut out the light chuckling that nipped at his heels in the wake of his cowardly retreat.
E/N: I'll try to get the next one up soon!
