A/N: Hey peeps, guys, dolls, beautiful, wonderful people and yes, I'm talking to you! Just a quick little hi. A HUGE thank you AGAIN to stardiva who is a legend! Thanks for your idea, I hope that your happy with this :D again, any idea's NICE tips and feedback-no horribleness thanks.

Hugs and Love,

Nicole

X x x

P.S- sorry it's a bit late, messed up day I hope this big chapter will make up for my punctuality X

Mock the Man Part VII

John woke in Sherlock's arms, he looked at the bedside table, the clock on it said it had just gone midnight, and obviously, if you go to bed in the late afternoon then you'll wake up in the middle of the night ready for a new day. But the thing is John wasn't ready for the day, any ideas about leaving the flat terrified him, not because he was scared about Moriarty but because of what he would do after John was dead because John knew he was going to die soon, he could feel it, he could feel Jim's breath on his neck, like the breath of death and he knew it was only a matter of time until he was lying in a wooden box, a few relatives around his cold body and him never being able to see Sherlock again. He was so worried about Sherlock, about, when John was dead, what Moriarty would do to Sherlock. Would Jim take him and tie him up like a zoo animal for his own amusement? Or would he violate him? Make him his toy, like a cat and a ball of string? Taunt him? Hurt him? John shivered at the thought of Sherlock alone, by himself and completely broken, tears welled up in John's eyes as he imagined Jim leering about his death, he could just hear it in his mind "You want to die Sherlock? Do you? Join little Johnny boy up there in freakville?" John could imagine Sherlock, cuts all over his face and tears trickling down his dishevelled and unshaved cheeks, mingling with the blood, turning into a mixture of pain and sadness, John could imagine Sherlock's face as he nodded desperately, wanting more than anything to die and never have to see Jim's face again, John imagined what Jim would say next "but Sherlock, that's so incredibly selfish! I love you Sherlock, I want you here, with me, together, and we could be brilliant, chasing around the city and being so clever, why would you want to leave me when we're having so much fun?" John then thought about Jim reaching out a hand and slapping Sherlock cleanly on the face, pain exploding across the detectives face as his cuts opened up and stung like a wasp's nest had just descended onto him, Sherlock's scream woke him up.

"Hey, hey!" Sherlock ushered pulling John into his arms "hey, it's all ok," Sherlock rubbed John's back, trying to comfort the other man

"Bad dream?" Sherlock asked gently, John nodded Sherlock put a sad smile on his face "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise," he tucked John's head under his chin and lay them both back down on the bed, slowly he stroked John's hair and they fell asleep yet again.

John woke again but the sun had risen and there were cracks in the curtains that were shining in his face, he looked across at the clock, 7.56am, it was very light for the time of day but lately there'd been clear, beautiful transitional days were the leaves had crackled under foot and the sky had not a cloud in sight.

Knock Knock Knock

John was shocked by the early call and looked at Sherlock, still asleep, he smiled slightly and untangled himself from his lover, padding across the room he pulled on a scraggly t-shirt and some decent sweat pants. Answering the door he noticed it was a delivery man, a satchel across his chest, the logistics company emblazoned on his uniform, how'd he get in the house though? Mrs Hudson? Mrs Turner? John put it to the back of his mind.

"Yes?" he said a little too irritated

The man stumbled slightly at the sight of John, John guessed it was his first day, the man struggled for words

"Um, good morning um, sir, I have a-a package for you," he stammered, still looking like a deer in the headlights, he raised his clipboard towards John who took it and looked at the sheet, and in that one second he lost all concentration he didn't notice the man pull a syringe from his satchel and put it straight into his neck, right into the blood stream. John Watson's sight went black and from the depths of his conscious brain the words from around him were taken in, John recognised that voice through the state of his unconsciousness very, very well.

"Me and you Johnny-boy. We're going to have so much fun!"

Sherlock woke, his face was directly looking at the clock, he saw the time, 8.13am, and he automatically guessed John was behind him, that he'd moved from when they'd huddled together.

"Morning John" he said as he turned over, but John wasn't there, just cold sheets.

Sherlock moved to his feet quickly, and rushed into the front room, no John.

"John?" Sherlock called

No reply

Sherlock turned around and a blur of red caught his eye as he spun on the spot. He turned back to face the flat door and there, lying on the ground on the threshold was a crimson envelope. Sherlock rushed over to it and ripped it open.

I have your heart,

Now watch it burn,

I know you're smart,

I'll be back tomorrow and you'll get what you yearn.

Sherlock screwed up the piece of paper in his hand in pure hatred for Jim Moriarty. Letting out a bellowing roar he threw the screwed up piece of paper at the wall. Tears streamed down his face as he felt his world crashing around him, Jim had John. And he wasn't going to hold back on his punishments for trying to evade death once. Sherlock, his eyes raw as he cried furiously at the idea of Jim hurting John, his John and after a few minutes he picked up his Blackberry, pulled himself together and phoned Mycroft. On the third ring tone it was answered.

"Mycroft, it's me-"

"Hey Sherlock, it's Greg, Mycroft left me his phone, he's got another, he said you might phone, don't worry, we're already onto it, we're trying to track him down, we've blocked all transmission to CCTV, to stop Jim from accessing files and wiping them. Don't worry, Sherlock, we'll find him, I'm certain of it," Greg finished, his voice slightly strained towards the end, even speaking the words didn't mean that Greg completely believed himself.

Sherlock upturned his nose as he thought about his brother and his "boss" so to speak.

"Thank you, Greg, and tell Mycroft too," Sherlock said curtly and hung up before striding into the bedroom and getting changed. Sherlock was certain of one thing, it was a completely logical and was Sherlock's motive to carry on.

Because Sherlock Holmes was completely positive he was going to kill James Moriarty.

James stirred in his 100% Egyptian cotton bed sheets. Relaxation massaging his muscles into staying still, that wonderful pain that came from a night of utter bliss. James turned and faced his bed partner and there, nestled in the sheets was Peter Guillam, his blond hair was messing and sticking up at odd angles, his eyes were completely closed and he looked so peaceful. James smiled to himself and reached across to stroke his hair, this is what James was scared of people finding out. His compassionate side, his sensitive side, his lover side, no-one could or would ever find out that he had emotions that weren't hate and lust and anger. He wriggled across to Peter's sleeping form and nuzzled into his neck, pushing their bodies together, creating a fire across his skin and feeling like he could take on the world. And facing Sherlock Holmes, he knew he was going to have to savour that confidence.

And just to assure you Peter Guillam was not willing in what had happened the night before, Jim had invited him to dinner, and, being one of the most dangerous men in the world Peter couldn't have said no, not unless he wanted to die. Anyway, as the night dragged on Peter played his part well, pretending to be interested in what Jim had to say, nodding and smiling at the right times. He thought it was all going incredibly well until Jim offered, well, no he ordered Peter to stay with him. He took him to a hotel room and well…in less explicit terms…Peter Guillam had become James Moriarty's unrequited lover. And Peter just wanted to run away and hide but he stayed, he didn't actually know why but he knew that Jim expected him to stay with him.

So this is me Peter thought bitterly fuck toy of a master criminal, lonely, friendless and general Mr Invisible man to the rest of the world, maybe this life suits me he pondered maybe this is it for me, maybe this is going to be my life, maybe I've just got to get used to it? Peter shook himself Well, as much as this man disgusts me I guess he's my only lover I'll ever have had or have, and I don't have to abide by the la. Peter smiled I think it's time that my inner criminal should be released…

Sherlock strode into Scotland Yard, one of John's jumper's clutched in his bare hand, he didn't want to wear the Paul Smith leather gloves that Mummy had bought him for Christmas, he wanted to kill Jim with his bare hands.

Greg was waiting in his office for Sherlock to arrive, a list of all the people to whom would be helping him search for John.

Sherlock stormed in.

"Any more news?" he barked at Lestrade, Greg shook his head

"None, but we've, so far, tracked it down to five places, the docks"

"Predictable"

"Yes, well, that's where we've traced him too, and Mycroft has a team ready to go anywhere we need them at the drop of a hat"

"Dull"

"SHUT UP SHERLOCK!" Lestrade bellowed, noticing how much he'd just lost him temper "I know you care for him so don't you dare try to hide it, he doesn't deserve that, after everything he's done to help and protect you, he loves you, and you him. So bloody well act like you do" Lestrade finished

Sherlock looked at Greg for a second and then walked around the room, closing the blinds, once they were all closed he turned to Greg.

And burst into tears.

A/N: Listen to Run by Amy McDonald, it pretty much suits this chapter :D