Twelve days passed. Jim knew because he was keeping track. He knew because they were some of the best days he'd ever had. They were so good that they were nearly perfect. Everything on the criminal side of his life was going off without a hitch—even with the Holmes brothers poking their noses where they didn't belong. It was winter break, so he didn't have to go to the University to keep up his alter ego's job. Instead, he was spending every moment he could with John.

John who still had stitches in his arm and often needed a hand with some such something around and not around his apartment. John who still, no matter how many times he insisted, called him 'Mr. Moriarty.' John who liked his tea with milk and three sugars. John who had night terrors when he slept—both about the war and about things he brought home from the war. John who had eyes like blue lightning when he laughed. John who'd gone to the movies with him three days earlier and had nearly grabbed his hand partway through. John who had the sweetest blush he'd ever seen on a man. John who Jim wanted to bend over every surface and fu—

"You're far too chipper," the object of his enthrallment muttered, shaking his head as he shifted the bag of groceries in his stitched arm, using the other hand to balance on his cane. "It's odd. Knock it off."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, a grin spreading across his face, shuffling his own bags—John'sbags—as they walked along.

John rolled his eyes, "that smile is definitely not a good sign. Down right eerie, it is. Mischievous."

"Oh, I do loveit when you're perceptive, Johnny boy." Jim chuckled, a small zing of delight warming him even in the frigid weather, his voice dropping to a low, husky invitation. "Do it again."

That blush was there again. Hot, tantalizing and just under his skin. Jim could just eat him up.

"So, why the smirk, you barmy git? What are you so upbeat about?" The blonde decidedly ignored the blatant come-on, much to Jim's chagrin.

"Just thinking something exceptionally wicked," he supplied, and John's lips quirked up. "And it's a wonderful day. Why wouldn't I be happy?"

Jim failed to mention that he was thinking about how to rip anyone that ever hurt John to pieces. Failed to mention that he fully intended to make them suffer. Failed to mention that he was doing it because John was currently the only thing his mind could truly focus on. Failed to mention that everyday he spent with John was wonderful. Failed to mention that everyday he spent with John one less crime was committed on his part. Failed to mention all of this because his Johnny was a good man. Because he didn't think the blue-eyed angel would appreciate it. Might even hate Jim for it.

"A morning at the Tesco is wonderful? I'd hate to see what a bad day is for you," he muttered, stepping up onto the curb and wincing. "And considering this weather, I'm starting to consider the fact that you might be half-mad. Wonderful day, indeed."

Moriarty came to a stop, his shoes crunching in the snow. "I knew we should've taken a cab. Your leg hurts, doesn't it?"

"Cramping up like a sodding bitch," John grunted in response, his gait far more severe as he limped. "It's not a big deal—"

Jim could've hit himself. He'd been so rapt in John that he hadn't even noticed his pain. So focused on him that he hadn't noticed—

"I'm getting a taxi."

"Mr. Moriarty!" John's eyes widened, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Don't be ridiculous. We're right around the corner. It'd just be silly, now."

The determined look on his face nearly made John melt, but he offered a chiding yet gentle smile instead. Moriarty looked angry. Frustrated. The doctor wouldn't risk calling him cute out loud, but it was what he was. His brow was furrowed in what was certainly supposed to be a scowl, but what was definitely a pout, took root on his face, and John shifted his weight off of his bad leg so that he could face him.

"Come on, then." He ushered, jerking his head. "You can make it up with tea and biscuits."

This seemed to move him. His guilt eased and was easily replaced with something akin to affection. That, even in pain, John could be more worried about Jim's feelings that his own welfare. It was stupid, but admirable. Jim loved it.

They walked along, snow crunching beneath their boots. The silence was comfortable. Companionable. John edged a touch closer to Jim, their shoulders brushing. The brunette instantly knew that if their hands had been free, perfectly roughened fingers would be laced with his.

"Thank you," John muttered, soft and sincere into the biting winds.

"For what?" He asked, faintly stunned.

John shot him a dry but content look. "For being so kind. For being concerned for my well-being. It's not often that I—"

"You're welcome, John." Jim cut him off, tone filled to the brim with fondness. "Try and get used to it."

John started to laugh, but nearly choked on it as they rounded the corner. They both came to a slow stop as they spotted the man on the stoop. His checks were flush from the cold, and he shivered even under the thick coat he was wearing. There were dark circles under his hazel eyes, and he was at least a week unshaven. His hair hung in his face, slightly wet from the snow. Jim could only imagine how long he'd been sitting there.

There was a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he exhaled into the cold. He didn't notice them staring, not at first. Jim was tempted to pull John aside before he could. Before the blonde man decided to let his abuser back into his life. Before John gave in. Just as he'd always inevitably done. It was too late, though. Too late as Seb glanced their way, light eyes consumed with relief.

"John," he spoke, voice rough and strained as he stumbled to his feet, snow falling off of his shoulders. "Hi."

"Sebastian," Jim glanced over at his neighbor, surprised to hear such strength. "What are you doing here?"

There was a flash of guilt that faded into an almost coyness as he offered his lover a smile. "I'm here to see you, darling. To talk to you—"

"What exactly do you have to talk to me about, Sebastian?" John's voice shook very minutely, and Jim grimaced.

"—Are those your bags?" The ex-sniper took a final puff on his fag before stamping it out. "Lemme get them."

He reached out, trying to take the load off. He was smiling that charming smile of his, and Jim could see how John had fallen for a man so treacherous as this. The disarming way about him. The caged up tiger that prowled just under tan skin and toned muscle. Jim even found him attractive—and if things had been different, if John wasn't around and Sebastian Moran had been working for him, he was sure something might have come of it. But it never would because John was in the picture, and the only thing Jim wanted to do with Sebastian was throttle him. And rip him apart. And watch the light leave his eyes.

As it was, he was nearly snarling at him as he went to grab the bag out of John's hands. Pleasant surprise ripped through him as his Johnny boy took a jerky step back. Endlessly blue eyes narrowed as the shorter man glared up at his lover. Jim could've married him, he was so happy.

"Why are you here, Sebastian?"

Seb froze, a look caught between anger and hurt flashing over his features. "I told you I'd come back. I came to see you, darling. I missed you."

"Then you shouldn't have left, Sebastian." John snapped, body going rigid. "You left me at the hospital. After bloody well putting me in it."

Jim watched with pride as his doctor stood a bit taller, voice laced with bitter accusation. The other man's eyes widened, and embarrassment just made him look constipated. He glanced between his lover and landlord, a bit like a cornered wild animal. He went to reach for the bag again.

"John, just let me—"

"Absolutely not," he grit out, jerking back again. "You're not taking my bags because I'm not letting you up into my flat."

"Your flat? John, luv, it's hardly your—"

"My flat," John challenged. "My name is on the lease, not yours. I own it. Not you."

The dark haired veteran blinked at him owlishly, not quite comprehending the situation. Jim watched with a keen sort of wariness, tension coiling low in his stomach. He was ready to drop everything and use the Sig tucked in his waistband in a moments notice. He was ready to put a bullet between Morans' eyes. His hand twitched as Sebastian's brow furrowed, and the sniper took a slow step forward. The consulting criminal never took his eyes off of the larger man, but he knew by the way his nostrils flared that John hadn't cowered the way he'd wanted him to.

Moriarty shifted so that he was partially between the two of them, and that wrathful gaze fell on him. He knew then, with that undeniable quake of excited anticipation, that Sebastian could easily slit his throat or put a piece of hot lead in his brain matter before he could ever get the safety off. The risk was tantalizing. A course of adrenaline shot through him, electrifying his nerves until his skin felt like it was on fire even in the cold of the winter afternoon. He smirked very faintly, tilting his head in the smallest of challenges.

"And who the sodding hell are you?" Sebastian sneered, already drawing—unfortunately very nearly imaginary—ties between his lover and this man he vaguely recognized.

Before he could answer, a scorching hand landed on his shoulder, only ratcheting his apprehension higher. "He's the landlord, Seb. He owns the building."

"What are you doing with him?" the older man seethed.

"He's been helping me, Seb. Which is a lot more than I can say for you."

He recoiled, as if he'd been struck, before glowering; there was a threat clear in his eyes. "You know I never meant to hurt you. I wouldn't have to if—"

"Of course you didn't mean to hurt me, Sebastian." Jim finally looked away to stare at the doctor in shock—his voice was bitter and accusing. "Of course I did something wrong. Because if I hadn't, and you'd just beat me for no reason, that would make you a monster. You're not a monster, are you Seb?"

Jim could've sworn he'd heard the sniper growl, but he couldn't be certain. Anger and hurt swept over the larger man's face, and he appeared almost apologetic. All Moriarty wanted to do was slug him and then make watch as he claimed John—watch as he fucked him long and proper.

"Leave," John commanded and, well, that was hot too. "Leave, right now. I can't—I don't want to see you right now, Seb."

With a withering glare he shot between them, he turned and left, boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow. The pair watched as he rounded the corner, and the second he was out of sight, Jim began ushering John out of the cold weather and into the heat of his complex. By the time they reached their floor, the blonde was shaking, and not because of the cold. He deftly took the doctor's keys and wrenched open the flat door before urging him in.

He took a brief a moment to appreciate the quaint warmth that soaked into the apartment. It was the same layout of his own flat, but there were these faint touches that really made it seem like home when compared. Jim heard the shaky sigh come from the kitchen, and he quickly joined the object of his affection in the well-used space. He set his bags down and leaned against the counter, avidly taking in the way John pressed his forehead to the stainless refrigerator door.

Moriarty cleared his throat gently, and blue eyes glanced his way before he turned around to face him. He leaned heavily back against the fridge, letting out a soft chuckle. It was self-depreciating, and he ran his hand through his hair nervously.

"Well, that was intense—"

Jim was across the room in an instant, hand cupping John's jaw as he angled the slightly older man's head. He searched his face hungrily for a moment, seeing the world there. Without a moment's hesitation, he pressed their lips together in a chaste but adoring kiss. They barely pulled apart, and John's gaze locked with his, tainted with a strange mix of desire and confusion. His work-roughened hand came up to frame Jim's, and their lips met again. A long, lingering press that seemed to last ages before they broke apart.

Moriarty took a reluctant step back, and John gave him a small smile. "That it, then?"

"For now," he grinned, tucking his hands into his pockets, his dark eyes drifting dazedly to John's lips. "God, you've got a lovely mouth—Shite, I'm sorry."

John let out a derisive snort, shaking his head. "No, you're not."

The brunette went still, all forms of anxiety leaving him as they shared a wicked look—and good lord Jim wanted him. Wanted him now, then, and forever. Wanted to see what other things would make him blush and which ones would turn him on and the things that did both. Jim felt his breath go heavy at the thought.

"Yeah, you're right, I'm not." He offered him one of those lascivious smirks that he would usually only reserve for that unique brand of charming intimidation that he carried about with him.

Instead, John laughed at him, and pointed to the exit. "Get out of here, Mr. Moriarty. I have the shopping to put away, and it'll never get done if you're here distracting me."

"You telling me that I distract you, Doctor Watson?" The idea pleased him to no end.

"Don't let it get to your head," John muttered teasingly, turning to that he could start placing things in their rightful spots. "Now, get before I make you get."

"Would you?" Jim replied eagerly, a playfully dark glint in his pitch black eyes even as he made his way to the door. "Very kinky, John."

A flush spread down his neck and even to his ears. Jim would've written it off as just uncomfortable embarrassment if it hadn't been for the subtle hitched in his breathing pattern. The way his pupils dilated was simply breathtaking.

"Oh, Johnny boy, we will have to explore this later." Jim stated, and the blonde stayed silent, burning a deep red under his pale sweater. "Tea, tonight?"

John swallowed thickly, faced him and nodded with the blush still dusting his cheeks. Jim could've gone over and licked it off. "My place."

"Your place," he smiled and winked, loving the way it made John's pulse kick. Loving the idea of finally getting to bite at it. He left the flat feeling light. His mouth tasted like summer.

TBC.