Disclaimer – You recognise it, I don't own it.

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The gun clicked.

The chamber was empty.

"You were lucky." John pulled the hammer back again, "Will you be lucky this time? Same question. Who else?"

"There isn't even a bullet in there." Moran countered, "You pulled a slight of hand."

"Really?" John calmly uncocked the gun and flipped the cylinder out.

Four holes ran all the way through the cylinder, the fifth started, but was clearly blocked by something. Obviously a bullet, as John removed it.

He put it back in and held up an empty hand to demonstrate that he hadn't palmed it. The bullet was clearly in the hole. Then he spun the cylinder once more and flipped the revolver closed.

"Shall we start again?" John asked rhetorically, "Who else?"

Suddenly he spun towards the stairs, pulling his Sig as he did so.

"Just me, TC." Ben leant casually against the doorway, "Wanted to check you were okay."

"I'm fine." John nodded putting the Sig back, "Just trying to get some answers."

"Not a-bloody-gain, TC." Ben sighed, "You got through seven people last time."

"And I wouldn't have had to do that if they'd given me the answers I was after the first time." John replied, "Besides, they all lived."

"Just!" Ben retorted, "None of them walked again. And that ammo's hard to find."

"That's why you started making it." John countered, "Anyway I need answers. Who else?"

"I won't tell you anything."

John pulled the trigger again.

Again there was just a click.

"Lucky again." John smiled, even as he cocked the gun once more, "Oh, and I forgot to introduce you. Ben, this is Colonel Sebastian Jonathan 'Tiger Jack' Moran. Moran, this is Big Ben. And that's all you get."

"A Crown Double Star, huh?" Ben raised an eyebrow.

"Well, he would be." John laughed, "If he was actually a Colonel. It's a title he gave himself. I'd say he even got a friend to put the computer files in place. Considering that he got his autobiography published."

"Bad?"

"Best laugh you'll ever have. He did his research well. But missed a few things. Invented some others. Basically a complete work of fiction. Though I particularly liked the section where he gained his nickname of 'Tiger Jack'."

"Better than yours." Moran sneered, "TC. Three Continents. So called because you've had sex with women on three different continents."

"Oh dear Lord," John put one hand over his eyes, "They got at that file."

"I told you that was a good idea." Ben was leaning on the air-con unit, laughing his head off.

"It's embarrassing." John countered, "Actually, really, really embarrassing. That's the best investigation into me Moriarty did? A peak at my Army file? And he's meant to be the best in the business. The Consulting Criminal. All he did was look at a file. That is a complete lack of proper planning."

"Piss poor performance, if you ask me." Ben nodded, "And he's supposed to be a genius?"

"Well, I never was that important to him. Calls me Sherlock's pet. I'm boring to him. Boring. Safe. Stupid. John."

"He doesn't know you at all." Ben snorted, "I told you that fake file was a good idea."

"What?" Moran stared.

"He's not called Three Continents because of women." Ben smirked, "He's called Three Continents, because that's the first thing he said. Captain John Watson Commander of the Three Continents Division."

"I was sleep deprived. Injured and leading a rag-tag band of soldiers from all over the shop. You're lucky I didn't declare I was Major Tom and ask to speak to Ground Control."

"True." Ben grinned, "Anyway, why bother questioning this one? You said the other one was low rank."

"And he was." John replied, "This one isn't. Moriarty likes playing games. This is Chess."

"Chess?" Ben frowned.

"Moriarty likes symmetry. Moran dislikes taking orders, except from those who have proven themselves smarter than him. He's the Queen to Moriarty's King." John declared.

"Like you're the Queen to Sherlock's King." Ben made the connection, "So he'll know."

"He knows." John agreed, "Now, Moran, who else?"

"I'll never tell." Moran snarled.

John pulled the trigger again.

"You're a very lucky man." John declared, "But there's only three chambers left now… So, tell me. Who else?"

"I'd tell if I were you." Ben put in, "Haven't heard that voice for a while. He's serious. The last time? Those seven I mentioned? Four of them lost both knee caps. The fifth only has the use of one limb, his left arm. The sixth is a quadriplegic. And the seventh only survived because there was a doctor nearby. To be honest I think that's what broke the eighth. Watching your friends and comrades get shot is one thing. Watching them die, that's okay. But watching them get shot and the shooter then making sure that they won't die… That's a whole 'nother story. TC won't kill you, but you'll never wipe your own backside again."

"He's just a doctor." Moran tried to dismiss Ben's comments.

"An Army Doctor. An Army Doctor who lead twenty prisoners to freedom. Having killed the guards. On his own." Ben countered, "Then he only got worse. You're not the first one he's done this to. And to be honest, I rather doubt that your boss will exactly look after you once you're no longer of any use to him. You won't be useful. But you won't be a threat either. He'll probably just leave you to rot in whatever hospital you end up in."

"He wouldn't do that." Moran protested, "He cares."

"He's a psychopath." John countered, "I mean I'm no psychiatrist. But I did my stint. And I haven't done a proper PCL-R on him, but I'm guessing he probably scores at least twenty five, which is the cut-off point, in the UK. How many times has he had sex with you? How many others? You're not important to him. Just a tool. To kill. To scratch an itch. A toy. To play with. To manipulate."

"And you're not the same to Sherlock? I heard about what he did in Dartmoor. Drugged you. Made you hallucinate. See a gigantic, fearsome hound. Just to test a theory… And he wasn't even right!"

"TC?" Ben breathed in horror.

"But you don't know about the apology." John fired back, "'It was an unjustified experiment even for myself... Doubly so for a friend. I really am extremely sorry.' And he meant it."

"He's a sociopath!" Moran declared.

"Asperger's actually." John countered, "And he's improving. But we're getting off topic. Who else? Remember, three more chambers, one bullet."

"I… I won't tell you." Moran's voice was quivering slightly now.

John just raised an eyebrow and pulled the trigger.

This time Moran flinched, eyes closing tightly.

Ben and John exchanged a quick grin. They were so very close.

"Lucky again." John remarked, "Fifty-fifty chance now. Who else?"

Moran stared down the barrel.

"No." Moran tried, "Don't do this."

"You just have to give me an answer." John reminded, "It'll all go away then."

"He'll kill me if I tell."

"And I'll do worse if you don't." John pointed out, "Imagine, unable to move. Unable to speak. A living, human doll. You'd be fed all your food. Maybe a gastric tube down your nose. A catheter so you can piss. Because you wouldn't even have that much control. Someone would wash you and dress you. I'd check you in as a John Doe. None of your money to help you. So those little machines that allow you to communicate? Well, you know how the NHS is these days. Terribly underfunded. 'Fraid you'd have to go on a list. And who knows how long that would take."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of. I knew Sherlock for less than forty eight hours. And I killed for him. It's been eighteen months. Imagine what I'd do now? I'm a military man. I've seen mass graves. I've seen mass murders. I've seen torture to a level that even your boss wouldn't be able to conceive. I've got a lot of experience to draw from. This is the least of what I'm capable of. Who else?"

"The Landlady. The Detective Inspector." Moran murmured.

"Mrs Hudson. And who?" John pressed, cocking the gun.

"Lestrade." Moran sank forward slightly in surrender.

"And where is Lestrade?"

"The Yard."

"Good. Where is your boss?"

"No." Moran protested.

John pulled the trigger.

"You're a very lucky man. But now there's only one chamber and the bullet left. Where. Is. Your. Boss?"

"A… A… At St Barts." Moran was barely audible.

"What is he planning?"

"He's going to destroy Sherlock."

"How?"

"I don't know."

John cocked the gun again.

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Please Review. For people who are trying to figure it out, Gladstone is a Webley British Bulldog Revolver.

I would also like to thank my followers and reviewers:

Aracil – Agreed. And for some reason he's getting stronger in my mind.

Angelwings23123 – You're welcome. And sorry the other wish didn't work.

Shinigami Ace – Here you go.

KohakuTheOtaku – Why be two dimensional? John just stepped off my page that day.

min23 – Hope this lived up to expectations.

Gabriel Dragonheart – I don't know where John was aiming the gun. But he knows how to do damage.

Timestitcher – I'm never quite sure that John is as clueless as he acts.

Poisonkey1 – Hope you enjoyed this.

Grey-shadow-horse – The Doctor was hiding the Soldier.

DarkJediQueen – Well, you didn't have to wait too long.

Kyer – Lions led by Donkeys. Often used to describe British Infantry, particularly from the First World War.

EmilieEvans – Well, here you go!

Thanks once again.