Sorry for the huge delay everyone! Thanksgiving is... well, time consuming (consuming hahaha), and then AP English took me by the neck and strangled me. I barely made it out alive!

Thank you for the huge response to last chapter! It's like you all rallied to make me feel like an actual writer, and I appreciate it.

Big thanks to DanielleH, Raychaell Dionzeros, mvignal, SereneMayhem, timer 2, Guest, pinkpenguinparty, BraginskiUkraine, ebonypol, owlzilla, and Ombre Pluie for the reviews! Without further ado, the next chapter!

The third fallacy: Jim wasn't always the suave man he told himself he was. On the way out of the room, John's words echoed in his head, and James Moriarty was worried.

0O0

John woke to the feeling of cobblestone digging uncomfortably into his back. Everything was throbbing, and he was momentarily disoriented, but it took only moment for him to get his bearings. He was lying on his back in the very alley he was taken from a few hours earlier. There was no trace of any struggle, which gave the whole encounter with Moriarty a dreamlike, surreal quality to it. But John Watson could still feeling the chilling breath of the Irishman brush against his ear, and he knew it was real. He heard thunder rumble in the distance, and got up slowly. Patting at his pockets, he was relieved to find his cell phone was still there. He dug it out and began to dial an old number buried deep in the archive known as his contacts. Fat raindrops were falling on the screen, distorting the display to a point where John had to impatiently wipe at it with his sleeve. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

0O0

James Moriarty was never one to back from a challenge... and what a challenge John Watson was. His very name was an enigma, there was no records of his true title, and it was obvious it wasn't John Watson. He had so many plans, they all buzzed around in his head. Ways to make the normally measured assassin look unstable enough for Sherlock to be worried. That in itself was an excitement. Only John Watson could draw the emotion of worry from the normally sociopathic Sherlock. He was looking forward to the coming weeks.

0O0

John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he heard the telltale click of someone picking up the phone on the other end. There was a heavy pause, but John didn't have long to wait for his contact to speak.

"Hello?" an irritated voice came from the other end.

"Harry." John breathed into the mouthpiece of his phone. He knew there were at least two parties watching him on the CCTV, and he didn't want to give away any more than he had to.

"Jonathan?" the voice was one of wary hope, something that made John's heart clench.

"Yeah Harry, it's me."

"Dear God, you bastard, you haven't called in years!" John cringed at the tone in his surrogate sister's voice.

"Listen Harry, I'm in deep shit this time. We need to talk, face to face."

"This isn't about Mycroft is it? I told you that man was trouble, you should have killed him as soon as you got away from the fucker." John could practically see the bloodlust in his friend's face. They had a lot of history together, John had known her since he was twenty. He knew every one of her expressions and quirks.

"No, not that deep of shit." John sighed. "I'm right next to The Broken Moon. Meet me there?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks." John said, but Harry had already hung up.

The killer smiled at his friend's antics. He had met the stricken barista on the streets more than twenty years ago. She was very, very good with computers, and had managed to get herself on the government's radar. Not in a good way. There was a hit on her, she would have died if he hadn't noticed the red dot wavering on the back of her head. It seemed like it was just yesterday... he had thrown her to the ground and grabbed the pistol he always kept in his waistband. An expert marksman even at that young of age, he had shot the sniper with no fuss. The girl, who he later learned was named Harry, thanked him profusely, dragging him to her apartment where they had drank liquor and exchanged stories. When she heard that he was a fledgling assassin, she grinned and ran off to her computer. Two hours later, she came back smiling smugly and proclaimed that he had a fake identity as her brother John Hamish Watson. They had been best friends since.

0O0

Sherlock paced back and forth, as he had been for nearly three hours non stop. It was highly irregular for John to be gone this long without calling or texting him. It was now four in the morning. Most of the upstanding bars had closed, only the seedy ones remained open. Ones that John would never step foot in. At least the John he used to know. This new John... well he wasn't quite sure what he was capable of. This frustrated and intrigued him to no end. He decided, that when John eventually came back to flat, he would talk to him.

0O0

When John arrived at the Broken Moon tavern, Harry was already there, sitting in a table in the corner. When she noticed he had arrived, her eyes lit up.

"John!" she called out with a smile. Despite the unsettling situation he found himself in earlier, the assassin couldn't help but smile back.

"Harry, it's so good to see you!" With that, his sister's smile vanished.

"I thought you were dead." she said, scowling. "You never call me, you twit!" She smacked him on the back of the head, and he winced good naturedly.

"I was really busy." he said evasively.

"The last time you talked to me, Sherlock had committed suicide." John's face remained impassive, but his closest friend saw through it. "He's not really dead, is he? Is that why you haven't been talking to me?"

"No, Harry, that's not it. It's a lot worse."

"But he is alive, right?" John scowled. The hacker was too smart for her own good.

"Yes," he said curtly. "But the reason why I wasn't calling was because I was compromised. A man by the name of James Moriarty found me."

"Found you..." Harry echoed meaningfully, color draining from her face. John nodded gravely.

"God Jonathan. Moriarty... that's like the biggest name in the crime empire. Even I know his name."

"I know."

"Well, what's happening?"

"We've got bad blood between us, and now he's closing in on me."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked solemnly, knowing this was probably life or death for her brother. A waiter came over and set down two Stellas, which John sipped gratefully. He missed the look the man gave him.

"Yes. The flat I'm in is bugged by both Mycroft and Moriarty. I was wondering..."

Harry smiled.

"My specialty. Anything for you." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. They drank their beers in silence.

0O0

There was a knock on the door of the penthouse Moriarty was staying in. He had been lying in bed, reading East of Eden by John Steinbeck. He grumbled and viciously dog eared the page, before slamming the book shut and climbing out from under the duvet. Only informants knew this address, so there must be news on John. His foul mood dissipated instantly at the thought.

While walking to the door, he smoothed down his hair a bit. It wouldn't do for his empire to start thinking of him of as a human being... Jim smirked at the thought. He reached the door and opened it, schooling his face into a heavy scowl. The man, dressed in casual bar attire, shuddered a little and looked down to the floor. There was a slight sheen on his forehead, indicating nervousness.

"Well?" Moriarty said impatiently. He was at a good part of his book, god damn it!

"There's a- I found- John Watson was at the B-broken Moon." The man stopped, finally looking up at the mastermind's face. There was a gleeful glint in the Irishman's eyes, one that didn't match the murderous look on his face.

"And?"

"He was w-with someone, sir."

"Who was it? Spit it out?"

"Someone named Harry Watson."

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