Wow, loooong time.

I'm currently writing chapter 15... so I'll get this chapter and 11, 12, 13 and 14 out probably tonight.

The song is 'Shule Aroon' and it's kinda important... But I guess you don't HAVE to listen to it... Um, I used the lyrics by Judy Collins... but it's an old Gaelic tune... If you DO look for it look for the one by Celtic Women, I think that one has the clearest audio... But it really helps the story, in my opinion...

Enjoy!

John and Mr. Brook had a lovely meal. It was, dare John say it, fun. Mr. Brook would give weird looks from time to time or stare a moment too long, but John understood why Sebastian was friends with him. He also understood why Mr. Brook had come over. Hanging out with him was fun. Leo would still hiss whenever Mr. Brook got close to either him or John… But John wasn't worried. Well, that wasn't quite right. He was , but… somehow, Mr. Brook took those thoughts away… John was sure that was a bad thing, but he couldn't bring himself to be too bothered.

They tried their hand at video games… only to give it up five minutes in. They decided it wasn't very fun anyway. They looked for board games, but couldn't find anything worth playing. Finally they came up with was a deck of playing cards.

"I know a magic trick…" John offered. Not a moment later, Mr. Brook had thrust the cards into his hands. John fumbled and nearly ended up playing 52-card pickup.

"Show me!"

"W-well, it's not very cool…" John shuffled the cards, hesitating and he thought about how the trick went. He learned a lot living on the streets. He was an alright pick-pocket (didn't usually get caught, but there were many times he could remember when did.) and doing sleight of hand wasn't easy but he could stumble his way through it. Sherlock had helped him improve it. Much to Lestrade's dismay, the D.I. was a common target…

John was, admittedly, god awful at magic, but he was decent at one trick.

When John showed Mr. Brook his card, the older man applauded.

"I know a few if you want to see."

John nodded eagerly. He wouldn't doubt that Mr. Brook knew some magic.

John watched in amazement as Mr. Brook did trick after trick. It was flawless. When the actor had said he did a bit of everything, John thought he was merely bragging. As it turns out, he had the talent to back up his claims.

Before John knew it, he and Mr. Brook had stayed up past bedtime. John didn't mind, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

"Okay… Mr. Brook, I don't think I can keep my eyes open another minute… I hate to do it, but I think bed would be a good idea." John yawned out the sentence.

"Aw, but I'm not tired!" Mr. Brook pouted.

"I am . I think you should sleep a little too. You're too small!" John giggled. Sleep making thinks slip that probably wouldn't normally. Though, the man in front of him wasn't too short, John was used to being around Sherlock and Sebastian who were both quite tall.

"Oh, that's not fair coming from you, short stuff."

"I'm trying to fix it by sleeping. At least I would if I didn't have, like, a million people in my life keeping me up constantly."

"But sleep is so boring ."

Not the way I do it. John thought to himself, losing his smile. He summoned his practiced fake one in its place. "You sound just like Sherlock now!"

"In a good way or in a bad way?"

"In a 'If you don't let me sleep I'm gonna get cranky' way."

"That's rather specific."

"That's general compared to some of my other really specific ones."

"Can't wait to hear them all."

"I'm sure it can wait for the night." John got up, picking Leo up on the way. Sebastian had told John to sleep in his room. Mr. Brook would sleep on the couch. No 'ifs ands or buts' he'd said. And no sleeping in the same room. John giggled. He just knew neither of them would sleep if they were hanging out in the same room.

"Oh, alright. You're no fun!"

John regained his real smiled at this, closing the door behind him. Mr. Brook was saying that they would hang out like this again. John was almost giddy. He couldn't believe the older man thought he was cool enough to hang out with. He didn't treat John like a kid or a ward… Or like he was crazy… He treated John like an equal.

John had never had that before from anyone. Not even Sherlock.

Sherlock tried, of course…but he couldn't treat John like an adult. John wasn't and therefore needed different things… food, shelter from the bad people of the world, love (or, the closest thing Sherlock could offer). John understood this… But he didn't like it.

He wanted Sherlock to take him along on cases… wanted to get a drink, or grab dinner without it looking like Sherlock picked up a street rat or that he was the man's son… he wanted to be the man's friend… maybe even more…

But John was just too young for that and it wasn't fair. Not at all. He'd been good. He'd been through so much and now it was his own existence that stopped him from being happy… why couldn't he have been born earlier? Or why couldn't Sherlock have been born later? If he had, he and John would have met sooner… John wouldn't be a mess… John shook his head. No. Sherlock and he were fine. He was making problems out of nothing. It was all fine.

Of course he looked up to Sherlock and Sherlock respected John… But Sherlock still protected him constantly, no matter how much he denied it. Sherlock kept him safe, happy, healthy… but John felt obligated to help. Obligated to do anything and everything Sherlock said… it wasn't a friendship kind of thing… it was like being an indentured servant… and, in the end, when John got old enough or became boring… well, Sherlock would find someone else.. He didn't need John like John needed him. He'd be back on the street. He knew the day that happened would be the day he went back to the bridge. If he didn't have Sherlock… well, what was the point? That's the only reason he wasn't dead right now anyway.

He was lonely. Around Sherlock it was worse because it could never be anything more.

Sebastian treated him like a kid. And that was fine too, he was a kid… It was like seeing an extended family member you don't normally see like… like your favorite cousin that you tell everything to… but even though he was more chummy with Sebastian and told him silly secrets… John knew as soon as Sebastian got the order, he'd leave. Wouldn't think twice and John wouldn't have him around any more. All alone. Again.

Mr. Brook seemed to treat John like they were lifelong friends. Like they spent every single day together and knew everything about one another.

It was weird… it was refreshing. John couldn't remember the last time he felt like he was treated as an equal. Never was the closest he could think of.

He wanted to know everything about this man… and he wanted the man to know everything about him. He wanted to know what the man's childhood was like, his favorite color, what he liked to do when he had free time… Why did he lie? Who was he really?

John wanted to absorb the man… John knew it was unhealthy… but he couldn't help it. He'd never had this feeling of… of want- of need for someone to like him…

He knew the man was dangerous. He knew the man lied like he breathed… but John wanted to know everything… maybe the man wanted to know everything about him too?

"Yeah, right…" John said to the empty room. He wasn't worried about the man leaving him… he was worried that the man would get bored with him. What would the dangerous man do if- when that happened?

What was John hopping for? Something good?

Or… Bad ?

Why did that excite John more?

Moriarty dropped the facade as soon as the door was closed.

He was loathed to admit that he'd lost track of time. He had wanted to ask some leading questions and get more insight on who John really was. But he was so distracting . Everything he did. His fake smiles from the real ones. His body language. His words. Nothingmade sense. And it made Moriarty want him all the more. He wanted to march in there and demand more of John's time. More of his knowledge… More of John .

Dangerous thoughts indeed. But, really, he was nothing if not dangerous.

He pulled out his phone to answer some pleas from desperate people. More of the same old same old. Big businesses, greedy higher-ups, the mafia, so dull . He answered the pleas as he wished, no rhyme or reason.

Small people always caught his attention though. People who had somehow found him, let alone contact him. He rarely turned those down… but he hadn't gotten one of those in quite some time. Nearly a year. How boring.

However, midway through his inbox, a lone message caught his eye. It was a plea… but it was very informal. It was a smaller person, then… But who?

As Jim opened it, his eyes lit up. This looked good. Helping with a serial killer?

"Yes, please ." He purred. The man's plea was standard 'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me' material… He had killed someone… and then another and another… a total of four, it sounded. And was going to do it again.

However, there was something more to it. Jim checked over the words again. It was as he suspected. This person was trying to pull him into a game.

And Jim Moriarty did so love games.

He responded. 'Your proposition intrigues me. Would you be willing to meet?'

Not a moment later that he had pushed send that he got a reply.

'Name the time and place. I'll be there.'

Moriarty would tell Sebastian about it when he called to give a report on John.

"Seriously. Me giving him a report. What is the world becoming?" He had given his word he would call if John acted weird or something bad happened and he was to call at midnight to confirm that Sebastian's current lodgings were still standing and that John wasn't dead.

It was 11:58… two minutes to kill. He got up and walked to the door which concealed John.

He could hear rustling. That didn't give him pause. The whimpering did. Jim didn't understand nightmares. He'd never had one… never had a dream. He knew that it was a superstition that waking them up was always bad… or maybe that was sleepwalkers. Jim didn't sleep enough to care.

Still, he didn't know what to to with a crying thirteen year old… Well, he did. But he knew Sebastian would not be happy to find John drugged and gagged… That sounded much more… indecent when it was put that way. Jim stopped that train of thought. Now was not the time for that.

He wouldn't wake the boy. No. It would be better for John to stay asleep, but Jim would go mad if he didn't stop making noise.

He pulled out his phone as the clock struck twelve. He called Sebastian.

"Moran."

"Hi Sebby! Just calling to say everything is going fine. And I found us another serial killer! Isn't that fun?"

"How's John?" Jim sighed. Sebastian was no fun when he was in tiger mode.

"He just went to bed. I think your game system is broken."

Jim could hear a smile from his right hand man. "If that's all, I need to get back to work. Still two more to go. I'll be home in about three hours."

Jim fought a brief mental battle. It wouldn't be asking for help it was simply going to make his life easier.

"Hold on. One more thing. How do I get him to stop thrashing?"

"I told you to stay out of the room while he slept."

"I was checking on him. Don't get smart with me. You don't give orders, you obey them. You've already overstepped." Jim snapped.

Sebastian sighed. "Sorry, sir. You can sit with him and talk to him. Brush your hand through his hair… I think music helps the best, though. Sing him a song or find one online. If all else fails, and I mean all else, I'll give you permission to hold him until he calms down. Don't wake him if you don't have to, he gets too little sleep as is. Now, really, I have to go." The line went dead.

Jim scoffed. How was he supposed to do those things? They didn't make sense. Why would singing help? Wouldn't just waking the kid be easier?

He decided to ignore how Sebastian had ordered him and given permission for the boy. As if Jim needed permission.

He walked into the room, looking at the boy's prone form. He looked so young . He was… but when he was sleeping he looked like a grade schooler. Jim tried not to let that send a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He was here to stop John's nightmare, not cause more. That would come later.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed. John had stopped thrashing, but the whimpering continued.

"John. You're fine." Jim tried… Nothing. No response.

"John, you're being ridiculous. Stop this nonsense." Same thing. In fact, John seemed to whimper a little more.

"Don't be a brat." Jim could see talking wasn't helping. He tried to think of what his mother used to sing to his brother when he got nightmares.

It was vague… but the memory was there, as if he could forget the damned song. His brother, his mother's pride and joy . It made Jim scoff every time. His brother was weak, useless. He had too much heart. Jim couldn't say he blamed his mother. Jim's brother had a good heart.

Jim laughed. He actually didn't have a very good heart. That's why he was in the hospital right now. Poor boy. He'd be dead soon. Jim wondered if his mother would try to call him to tell him. Wondered if this damned song would be played at the funeral.

He hoped. It would be hilarious. Maybe he'd go just for that.

Such a horrible song… His mother and his good for nothing brother would sing it. Jim nearly growled that now he was too. Unfortunately, it was one of the only lullabies he knew and it had been stuck in his head since his brother had been hospitalized.

John better shut up.

He decided to use the verses with John's name… maybe it would make a difference.

Jim couldn't bring himself to acknowledge who it would be different for though…

"Shule shule, shule aroon

Shule the agaragar, shule the coon

Shule shule shule aroon

I don't think that anyone should tie me oh

Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill

Weep I will and weep my fill

Every tear would turn a mill

Johnny is gone for a soldier

Shule shule, shule aroon

Shule the agaragar, shule the coon

Shule shule shule aroon

I don't think that anyone should tie me oh

I'll send my flax sell my meal,

Sell my only spinnin' wheel

Buy my love a sword of steel

Johnny's gone for a soldier

Shule shule, shule aroon

Shule the agaragar, shule the coon

Shule shule shule aroon

I don't think that anyone should tie me oh-"

Jim stopped singing. He couldn't finish it. It was an inane song. He refused to sing it to the end no matter what version. It didn't matter that wasn't the one his mother had sung to his brother. It mattered that it was the same song, no matter what.

As soon as he stopped singing, John stirred again.

Jim wanted to hit something.

He climbed into the bed on the other side of John, then wrapped the small boy up in his arms. This time he couldn't suppress a shiver at how small the boy was in his arms.

"Come on John, I bare my blackened soul to you and as soon as I stop, you're right back to it." Jim blinked at his words. Had he bared his soul? Did he even have on any more? Did he ever?

Jim's thoughts were ripped away when John opened his eyes a crack.

"S'erlock?"

"No."

"You sing nice." John's words were slurred. He probably wasn't aware of what he was saying or to who.

"Thank you." Jim wanted very much for the boy to fall back to sleep. He didn't want to talk to him. Just to watch.

"I like that song. My mum found out she was an eighth Irish and she wanted to 'get to know her culture'." John laughed sleepily. Jim didn't know what to do, tell the boy to sleep? Or should he just listen? Sebastian had said family was off limits… but if the kid talked unprompted, well, it wasn't his fault.

"She would sing that to Harry and I over and over … Harry hated it… but me? I loved it. My mum shortly after gave up on pretending… My father really didn't like it. She's gone now. But she would sing that to me in secret sometimes. Not that one… I think I like yours better, though…" He yawned. "I'm really sorry I woke you… I'll be quiet, I promise." John yawned again and tried to sit up, but Jim didn't let him.

"You didn't wake me. My mother used to sing that song to my brother when he had nightmares. I thought it might help. He's going to die soon, so it's been stuck in my head for ages."

"I- um … It did. I'm sorry about your brother…"

"Sometimes I am too. Time to sleep."

"I- that is- Um… are you going away?"

"I can head into the sitting room if you'd rather have me there."

"That's… that's not what I meant…"

"I cannot promise anything one way or the other. But I can say with certainty that we will see more of each other." For better or worse.

John was starting to drift off. " … I'll take it. Do you pinky promise?" The little boy help out his pinky. Jim nearly refused, but it was like any other deal… just without the contract.

"I promise."

John nodded a second before drifting off, leaving Jim Moriarty all alone with his thoughts.

Was this sentiment?

How could he feel it?

Did he feel it?

He hadn't felt if for his mother or brother… not even Sebastian. But this little kid… It wasn't pure like how he suspected normal people would feel it… It felt wrong and dirty.

He still wanted to break the kid, wanted to do things to John that would make the kid beg … but he also wanted to give John the world. Wanted the kid to be happy… As long as it was Jim who was making him happy, that is. He never wanted to let the boy go back to Sherlock. To the possibility that Sherlock would figure him out and take John away for himself. No. John was his .

Maybe possessiveness was a more fitting term.

Jim was confused and he hated it. John was clouding his mind. He could fix it, right here, right now.

Just stop the kid's breathing… but he wouldn't. Not yet.

Jim shrugged out of his thoughts, getting under the covers (he didn't care what Sebastian had said. He sure as hell wasn't going to sleep on the sofa). It didn't matter. The boy was his anyway.

If the feeling got too strong, he could just kill the kid.

That would solve everything.

It had to, it solved everything else, right?

How was it? I know this one was kinda short... Sorry about that.

I really like comments... If you have a moment, say hi?
Have a nice day! I hope to have the next one out soon!
xoxo,
~Miss Taken