If you were excited to see how Sherlock will continue I'm sorry to disappoint. This chapter focuses mostly on John and Moriarty. Comments are welcomed and tremendously appreciated! :3

~Kels

Moriarty creaked open the door as silently as possible, hoping he wouldn't wake the sleeping man in the room. He took long and precise steps to the side of the bed, and tilted his head slightly to get a better look at John.

John looks so divine while he's asleep, with his expression completely off guard, not like how he chains it when he's cross, Moriarty thought, wanting so dearly that John would let his hair be unkempt all the time as it was now. He'd been trying to become close to his little pet the 3 weeks he'd been here. But whenever Moriarty tried to reach out, John would just stare off and stay mute. This had been such a disappointment; since Moriarty was so antsy all throughout Sequence 1 to be able to interact with him. But he did not break his plan; the first part had been a bit of a deprivation. Completely isolating John from the rest of the world; sort of rebooting him with solitude.

He kneelt so that his face was only a little ways above John's and softly sang, "Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, brother John, brother John?" The slumbering man began to arise, yet still didn't have a hold on his surroundings yet. Moriarty continued, "Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing. Ding, dang dong, ding dang,"

John got his awareness back and exclaimed, "What the hell?!" cutting Moriarty off from his song. Moriarty frowned as he saw the man's face contort as he loathed it. John rapidly rolled off the other side of the bed, desperate to create space between them, and landed on his feet on the floor at the other side of the bed, ready for a fight. John was fully dressed, he didn't have anything else to change into, and didn't feel comfortable being half naked in front of the cameras that were undoubtedly on him.

Moriarty slid onto the bed and stretched out comfortably in his suit. He groaned deliberately, "Relax Johnny boy! It's not like I'm going to hurt you. Honestly I don't think I could hold a candle to a private like yourself in that area."

John studied Moriarty carefully, and then said contemptuously, "I'm a doctor, not a combatant."

Moriarty gazed at John confidently delighted to see that John had actually responded, "But there's an enormous difference between a doctor, and an army doctor." He probed, "You've killed before, have you not?"

"So?" John asked accusingly, knowing Moriarty was probably going to use it against him.

Moriarty shrugged and murmured dismissively, "Nothing, nothing." He paused then added excitedly, "It's just, don't you miss it? The chase, the thrill! How could you live without it?"

"I've moved on." John told him tightly.

Moriarty shook his head regretfully and smiled, "Oh, but I don't think you have. If you had, you wouldn't be parading around with our deductive friend. Without an adventure you're crippled; quite literally at that." and he laughed.

John's eye twitched as he tried to contain himself from lashing out at Moriarty. Who the hell did he think he was anyway? Just because he could deduce a few things about a person didn't mean Moriarty knew how they felt or what kind of person they were. Or did it? He never flaunted his skills as Sherlock did; Moriarty only acted on what he observed.

Moriarty saw how he'd angered John and played with it, "How many were gone in the end, five, ten? On the battle field, or in the doctor's camp?" He asked then with more integument, "How many of them had been your friend?"

"Shut up." John growled on the boil.

"How about this, love." He snappishly sat up cross-legged, "Join me, and see how close you can get to your military kick. Stop holding back, and have some fun!"

"Can you even hear yourself?" John asked in disgust, "You're psychotic!"

Moriarty lowered his head and mumbled almost idiotically, "At least I'll admit to it, unlike Sherlock."

John seized Moriarty's collar raising him to his knees on the bed and brought them face to face, "Sherlock is nothing like you, he's not a lunatic! Do you hear me?!" John shouted definitely. "Now get Sherlock to find me, I don't care how just end this and let me out!"

Moriarty exclaimed jokingly referring to his attire, "Watch the Westwood!"

"Take your Westwood and shove it up your arse!" John contorted curtly. Moriarty studied John with an amused expression, extremely aware of how close they were and thinking of something else he'd love to shove up his arse.

Moriarty spoke softly, "Oh love, this isn't about Sherlock. Sure, it started that way; but I've changed my focus. Look at yourself for a moment will you, so riled up." Moriarty couldn't help but consider how sexy it was. Moriarty padded forward toward John, moving to stand up as he spoke, "I think you should sort out your priorities as well. Because it doesn't matter what Sherlock is doing out there while you're in here; all that's important is what's between these four steel walls for the termination of your captivity." he ended lowly in an almost commanding voice.

John fought the urge to punch Moriarty right in the eye, he could almost feel Moriarty's skull under his fist; but if he did it'd just make the madman right. It'd prove that John possessed the potential to be dangerous, even with his high moralities. That was why Moriarty had abducted him, John was sure of it; he was trying to attest he could break the man.

John slowly loosened his grip on Moriarty's collar and let his arms drop. He then said mocking Moriarty's words coldly, "But there's an enormous difference between defending a proper cause, and being a criminal."

Moriarty continued to smile for a long time before he clapped a hand on John's shoulder and told him chirpily, "See, that's why I like you Johnny boy. You're such a fiery, dutiful little soldier. Nothing could shatter you!" John watched Moriarty in surprise as he turned and strode to the exit and the door close automatically after him.

John was dumbfounded; someone like Moriarty wouldn't declare his fault; unless it was a lie.

So Moriarty isn't trying to bring up some sort of dark side in me, he was just messing with my mind, John thought. But then what, what could Moriarty possibly want from me?

A ding noise sounding in his pocket distracted John from his train of thought, announcing that he'd received a text. It had nearly startled John, texts were coming in increasingly few and far between.

The milk seems to run out quite rapidly without you here. –SH

John almost laughed at that. Though Sherlock was very strong and independent he was also pitiful in some ways.

You're hopeless. Got any new leads? Moriarty's being a bugger, as always –JW

John always tried to keep his texts light. He didn't want to distress Sherlock, even though he never actually got them. The messages seemed to be the only thing John had rule over in the circumstances, and it was very little control.

John sat down at the edge of the bed and stared at his mobile, willing it to resound in an honest reply, not just another empty dispatch. But after several minutes the phone remained silent. John sighed audibly and set it on the bedside table.

He referred to the objects in this room with him as the bed, or the table, due to the fact that he was tremendously uncomfortable in this space. None of these things were his and yet he was forced to use them. He felt as though he was visiting someone else's home, and therefore he had to be courteous to a certain degree. But whenever he saw his host that feeling was dissipated and they went back to their usual squabbling ways.

John missed his flat, he missed Mrs. Hudson's caring manner, and he missed the little comfort he got from his blog. But mostly he missed Sherlock, and at the moment John even longed the messes, ventures, and severed heads that followed the detective.