AN- Exams are looming. I don't like this feeling, the feeling that I should be studying... Oh well, here's your update. On time again! Must be some kind of record for me.
Enjoy
B
x
John followed Jim's client into a swanky hotel and, unsurprisingly, they took the elevator to the top floor which held the penthouse suite. A suite which would cost about a years' salary for two nights.
"I don't stay in one place for very long." Victor explained in the elevator ride up. "But I like to have certain comforts when I can." John nodded as the lift doors opened and they stepped out. In front of them was one solitary door with a slot for a key card. Victor produced a thin metal sheet and passed it across the sensor in one fluid movement. The slot beeped once then the lock clicked open and the door swung wide.
The soldier went inside first, gun raised.
"I don't think this is necessary." Victor called. "No one can get in here without a key and I have the only one. They replace the entire lock after each visitor has left for the last time." John glared at him and he shut up, leaving the doctor to check each of the seven spacious rooms which joined to the central space with a beautiful view out into the city. While he did so, Victor made his way into the kitchen area and prepared two tumbler glasses and a bottle of scotch, setting them out of the glass table in the central area before relaxing into one of three white leather sofas.
Once satisfied, John joined him, but he didn't sit down.
"Right, well don't answer the door to anyone and you should be fine." He said, switching the safety on his gun and putting it in the concealed holster he'd fastened to his waistband. The doctor then made to leave but was stopped by the other males' voice.
"Come on, stay for a while. I'm sure there's nothing pressing you to leave so soon. Have a drink." He offered, holding out a half filled glass of scotch whiskey. John mulled over the idea silently, he really should get back before his two idiot genii wrecked the city… but then again, he hadn't been able to just relax and have a drink in such a long time. Relaxation won out and John backtracked to sit on the sofa beside Victor.
Two hours and twenty seven minutes later, there came a knock at the door. John raised his head, all hints of tipsiness suddenly gone as he scanned for possible exits. Penthouse suites weren't really suited for escaping. Victor sluggishly got to his feet, going to open the door. The soldier stopped him by gripping his wrist and yanking him back down onto the sofa. Victor's hands shook wildly, trying hard not to spill his drink on the white furniture. He managed, but only just and the liquid spilled out onto the wooden flooring.
"You should be drunker than you are." Victor stated glassily. It was true that the whiskey was some strong stuff and three glasses should be enough to make anyone tipsy. Which was why John hadn't been drinking it. Though he desperately wanted a drink, John knew better that to accept drinks from strangers, especially in unfamiliar territory. With the added threats on top it was just not worth even considering. Instead, John had had the first half a glass and pretended after that. Victor had already had two, and by the looks of it, he wasn't good at holding his drink, so he didn't notice the level of whiskey in the glass never lowering.
John made his way to the door carefully, pulling his gun out of the holster again. When he got to the door, the doctor peered through the keyhole. There was a small eye to look through but that was a clear target for a gun so he checked through the only other hole in the door. John couldn't see the face of the visitor from the angle but that didn't matter, he didn't need to see a face to know the man. Who else bought such stupidly expensive Westwood suits?
"What do you want?" John hollered, determined not to open the door until he absolutely had to.
"Now Johnny, be a dear and open this door. It's rude to keep a guest waiting outside." The criminal replied in a drawl.
"Not a chance. I don't trust you not to kill him." The soldier answered.
"But why would I do that, Johnny? Victim is my best customer!"
"Yes and he also put me in danger in your eyes. A danger that you weren't in control of. That's probably something punishable by death."John answered.
Silence spoke louder than any words could have.
"Fine. I won't end his pathetic life, now let me in." The sweetness had disappeared completely, leaving boiling rage in its place. John knew he couldn't keep the door closed much longer. If the clicking was anything to go by, Moriarty was overriding the systems lock on the door. The doctor sighed and turned the handle, knowing that this could only go badly.
With one final look at the back of Victor's head, John opened the door, standing in the entranceway so that no one could get by. Moriarty stood with his arms folded.
"Shirley is not impressed with you." He stated scoldingly, like a parent telling off a naughty child. "He wants you to go home now." The doctor held firm.
"And that would conveniently leave you alone with Victor, wouldn't it?" He answered, leaning against the doorframe to block Jim's client from view. The criminal's lip curled up in a snarl.
"I will not tell you again." Moriarty growled threateningly. "Go home."
"Make me."
Why did he have to antagonise the man? John thought to himself as he was forced back by a strong hand round his throat. Victor realised something was happening behind him and turned around to see John getting flung into the white sofa opposite.
"Stay." Jim ordered before turning to his client. "You have three minutes to explain why I shouldn't end you." Victor gulped.
"Uhh…" His alcohol addled brain refused to engage.
"Two minutes, fifty seconds." Jim drawled, checking his watch. Victor opened his mouth and closed it again several times.
"I…" He tried again.
"Two minutes, thirty seconds."
"I'm your best client?"
"Two minutes, twenty seconds."
"I'm entertaining?"
"Deary me, not doing very well are you?" Jim sighed. "Two minutes, ten seconds."
"How about this then." John said. "I won't speak to or acknowledge you for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever." Jim spun around, confused.
"What will that achieve?" He snapped. "I do what I want to you when I want, you never get a say in it anyway." John shrugged and turned his attention to the view. Moriarty glared at Victim, an apt name for a man who never seemed to stay out of trouble. Jim knew exactly what John's threat would achieve; him fighting and arguing was half the fun so if he didn't do it any more then it would be like fucking a ragdoll. Utterly pointless. Not only that but John would still talk to Sherlock, he'd be the only one out of the two to get attention. Jim would be reduced to a ghost, someone in the shadows. He'd worked had to bring himself into the spotlight, being forced back out again would be brutal. Jim's jaw set firm as he glared at the doctor looking out of the window.
"Fine. We'll go." He hissed. John slowly turned his head.
"You sure?" He asked. "You can go berserk if you wish. Though I'm not sure if red would suit the décor…" Moriarty strided across and lifted the soldier from his seat by the scruff of the neck.
"We're leaving." He growled.
Perhaps it was the small amount of whiskey he had consumed, or maybe he was still on an adrenaline high but John was damned if he was going to let the arrogant bastard show him up in front of his client. He'd lost too much to be seen as a coward now.
"No. Here's what we are going to do. You are going to walk out of that door alone and go back to the flat, without-and I'm being very clear about this- without blowing anything up. You are going to go back into a residence that you own of your choosing, or Baker Street, and there you can do whatever you like. As long as it doesn't include blowing anything up, killing someone or causing permanent injury." As he spoke, the doctor reeled off the three rules. "Now I, I am going to stay here for a bit, have a drink, and then I will go home either tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on my ability to walk."
Moriarty stared. It was as though his mind had been disconnected, even the anger had disappeared, for the time being anyway. When the wires reconnected, the result was not all that elegant.
"W-what!?" He spluttered. John grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and dragged him to the door, hauling him out and slamming the door behind him. Usually, the doctor wouldn't dream of doing something so… well, so violent. Not against the criminal mastermind. But he was a little annoyed and slightly inebriated and this was probably the only chance he was going to get to boss the man about. When angry footsteps pounded away from the door, John let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in.
"You've got balls, John." Victor slurred, his head lolling on the back of the chair. "Some serious balls."
Jim stormed down the street, his car followed him at a safe distance, Jeeves knew better than to try to pick him up when he was in this kind of murderous mood, they had lost several cars to such… moods. How dare he, the criminal fumed as his expensive shoes pounded the concrete pavement, how dare he! That doctor. If he weren't… I would murder him, I would slice his vocal cords, I would empty his veins of blood, I would sever every muscle from his body. Something crunched and it took Jim a moment to realise that he had crushed his phone in his grasp. The consulting criminal swore vividly and altered his course to call in at the nearest phone store. As much as he loathed to be around the plebeian population, his phone was a commodity for which he could not wait two to five days for a new replacement.
The store knew him by face, they always kept a stash of his exact model of phone- one which was not available to the normal customer, it was specially designed. Many rumours followed the strange, usually angry man, some say that he invented the phone model itself, others that he stole the designs. There were even some that said he knew government secrets and his silence was bought with top secret technology. The man barged past the queue of people, who though disgruntled seem to realise the danger they were in so stayed quiet, and placed the cracked phone on the desk. Serene, the worker who was unfortunately situated behind the desk, fumbled as she placed the new device beside the broken one.
"Would you like me to switch the sim card?" She asked.
"Do I look like an imbecile?" Jim snarled, snatching the phone and quickly replaced the small card himself. "Perhaps this is a task too difficult for an amoeba such as yourself, but destroy that phone. Preferably by incineration." Then he stormed back out, leaving a feel of utter desolation in his wake.