No one had reviewed for a long time and then suddenly I had 3 new ones! Thanks for the support. I was a little worried that the prostitute scene had put some people off the story. xp KnucklesEchidna, your review was just what I needed to get me writing again. ^^

Chapter 25: Avid

X X X

John kept his eyes shut for a while after waking. Which place am I in? He took a deep breath. Doesn't smell upscale enough for Jim. But I'm not in my own flat. Must be Baker Street. He shifted slightly. Not the couch. Sherlock's bed again. Then he remembered what Sherlock had said the night before and his eyelids flew open. He rolled his head to the side and saw that he hadn't dreamed it.

Sherlock was lying with his arms folded behind his head. He was staring at the ceiling. "Good morning," he said in monotone.

"Morning," John answered. "What time is it?"

"About half seven."

"Been awake long?"

Sherlock blinked at the ceiling.

John realized that he had attempted to make smalltalk with the detective and opted to bow out of it as gracefully as he could by not pressing for an answer. He wished Sherlock's arms were at his sides so he could make some non-intrusive physical contact, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. Instead, he turned onto his side to gain a little proximity and a better view of Sherlock's face.

"There's no two ways about it," Sherlock said, as if John had heard his inner monologue leading up to the statement. "You've got to get back to France as soon as possible. It has to be you, and it has to be now."

"All right. I understand." John wondered if Sherlock was actually worried about him.

"I know you can fend for yourself, and I wish you success."

There seemed to be more to the thought, so John waited patiently.

"Still," Sherlock went on at last, "on the chance that we shan't meet again, I'll allow you to kiss me."

John fought hard to stifle his glee.

"And I'd rather it were here and now, where no one is likely to see or interrupt us."

"All right."

Sherlock brought his left arm down from behind his head and rested his hand against John's cheek as the latter leaned in. John kissed him slowly, keeping his lips nearly closed.

When he leaned back again, John felt his face pulled into an involuntary smile, and he couldn't resist running his hand through Sherlock's dark hair. "Now I can face anything," he said smugly.

"Be careful anyway. Overconfidence won't do you any favors."

John made it back to his flat without any interference. He took a shower and put on a fresh set of clothes. Only when he was getting dressed did he remember that he hadn't mentioned to Sherlock the money Jim had given him. It didn't seem terribly important, but he decided to call Sherlock anyway.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked immediately, not bothering with any greeting.

"Something I meant to tell you, only I kept forgetting," John said, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. "When I got back to England, I found that Jim had put some cash in my pocket. English notes."

"How much?"

"About two hundred pounds."

"At this point he should know that money won't buy your loyalty."

"I'm sure he does."

"Then it was a reward."

"Or perhaps a gift of affection?"

John heard a quiet snort from Sherlock. "Jim is well acquainted with Pavlov's discoveries on positive reinforcement, but I doubt he has anything close to genuine affection."

"Well, whatever it was," John said, choosing to avoid an argument, "it seems like a good sign, doesn't it?"

"Maybe. It doesn't seem like a bad one at any rate. Does this mean that Jim Moriarty paid for our dinner the other night?"

John winced. This was exactly the conclusion he hadn't wanted Sherlock to reach. "I see no need to look at it that way."

"I suppose there's no advantage to it. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

"No. I'm just about to go out. I'm going unarmed since it would all just be taken away and it's a bother making sure I get everything back."

"Very well, but be doubly careful. There could be other parties willing to harm you to gain leverage with Moriarty."

This idea hadn't occurred to John, though now it did seem like a strong possibility. Surely Jim had a lot of enemies. "S'pose you're right. I'll be going now. Love you."

"Goodbye, John. And good luck."

That sounded a bit morbid, John thought as he put his phone away. But it was better that Sherlock was prepared. Even if they were "together" now, the work still came first, and that would protect Sherlock's feelings if the worst came about.

Hart put on his jacket and went out of the flat. He didn't go to the pub where he had met Jim, but he did head in that general direction. He knew someone in Jim's employ was bound to spot him, but it wouldn't be so obvious that he was hoping to be picked up.

As he walked, a message feed streamed across his sight:

EVERYTHING CLEAR ON THIS END. LOOK LEFT IF YOU CAN SEE THIS.

Hart turned his head swiftly to look to his left and then continued on his way. The iris cam was functioning; now they had to hope that it wouldn't be detected.

It took about twenty minutes of walking, but then a dark shape glided up in John's peripheral vision and he knew it was a limo. He glanced toward it when a back window went down and he saw a face he did not recognize. The man had tanned skin, light hair, and eyes obscured by a large pair of sunglasses. He was dressed in a dull gray suit.

"Going my way, soldier?" the man asked.

John couldn't stop a small smile from cropping up at that. He'd used the line himself. More than once. But he kept walking. "That depends on who's asking," he said, looking straight ahead of him and realizing that they might attract police if this cruising kept up very long.

"Your superior," the man said without hesitation. "Colonel still outranks captain, I believe, though I've been out of military service for a few years."

Time agents were not, strictly speaking, a military division, but John had no intention of pointing out the apples-to-oranges of the situation. This man... this fit-looking man... seemed to know who he was.

And, evidently, Sherlock knew who this man was, because a moment later another message came over the iris cam.

SEBASTIAN MORAN. COLONEL SERVED IN IRAQ DURING GULF WAR AND LATER IN AFGHANISTAN. MARKSMAN. RETIRED. AVID BIG GAME HUNTER.

For some reason, the last four words were what sent a shiver of mixed fear and excitement down John's spine. He had trouble concentrating on walking straight and reading at the same time, and he barely caught the next part.

AUTHOR OF TWO BOOKS ON THE SUBJECT.

All right, Sherlock, give me time to process, he thought in exasperation. To Moran, he said, "And who do you serve now?"

"A certain professor, with whom I think we're both acquainted."

IT'S THE SAME LIMO. GO WITH HIM.

John was both relieved and annoyed by this new information. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't feel the need to send him messages very often. He stopped walking. "You know, I do seem to be going your way, Colonel. I'd appreciate a lift."

Moran opened the door for him, and John climbed into the limo's familiar interior. He glanced at the soldier sitting on the seat across from him and couldn't help thinking, Jim got me off on that seat.

Moran tapped the glass between himself and the driver and the limo began to move again. "That's more comfortable. Now, let me introduce myself. I'm Moran."

"Sebastian Moran, yes," John said, relishing his new acquaintance's surprise. "You wrote the books about big game hunting. Interesting stuff."

"I had no idea you were an enthusiast."

CAREFUL.

"Well, I wouldn't call it that. But I do read on a wide variety of subjects."

"Which of my books did you find more engaging?" Moran asked casually.

"Well..."

3 MONTHS IN THE JUNGLE

"...I'd have to say that Three Months In the Jungle was the more suspenseful. It certainly held my attention."

"I'm compiling a third book in my spare time. I plan to recount my adventures on various trips to Africa. Do tell me if you think of an interesting title."

John smiled. This henchman of Jim's was strangely pleasant company.

STANDING WITH GIANTS.

Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock! But of course, there was no way to send Sherlock a message.

"Africa is known for having the largest game of all, and perhaps the most dangerous," John said, making a note to have words with Sherlock later. "Perhaps you could use the title 'Standing With Giants'?"

"Hm." Moran looked impressed. "It has potential, certainly. But I must correct you: Africa does not have the most dangerous game. The most dangerous beast to hunt is the one that does not fear you, the one that has reason to hate you, and the one with cunning to match you. In all the world, the most dangerous quarry you can hunt is the tigress who has tasted human blood, and who believes that you wish to harm her cubs."

IN 3 MOS IN THE JUNGLE MORAN RECOUNTS HUNTING A REPUTED MAN-EATING TIGER.

"Ah, yes. Your experience with lions and elephants and such didn't outdo the episode with the tiger, then."

"No. I've never found a more fearsome creature."

He talks like a novelist. It's a bit out of place, but it's damn sexy. "So, you're retired, is that right?"

"Yes. As I said, I've been out of service several years."

"Aren't you a bit young to retire?"

"A bit."

Moran didn't seem as keen on that subject.

"I suppose Moriarty offered you a better wage?"

"He did. But that was after my retirement. I didn't see the point in continuing my military career when I could make a go of big game hunting and writing on my experience. A balance of excitement and quietude. I think that's healthy."

INTERESTING CHOICE OF WORDS.

John wished the iris cam had a mute option. "Yes, after the hell of war, it does seem quite healthy."

MORAN RETIRED EARLY WITHOUT A CLEAR REASON STATED.

So what if he did? John wanted to snap at Sherlock. Is it important? "How long have you known Moriarty?"

"For several years. We've worked together on and off. Today will be my first official day back in nearly a year. I gather that a lot has happened in my absence."

"Yes, I'm sure it has."

"Not least of all, you. The professor calls you his Indulgence."

"I can live with that."

"Since it's his posh way of saying 'guilty pleasure,' I think anyone would find it flattering from him."

IS MORAN GAY?

It took great strength of will not to show some outward sign of his reaction to Sherlock's question, but John somehow managed to contain himself. Just because a man says he'd be flattered to be called Jim's guilty pleasure, it doesn't necessarily mean that he's gay...

"Yes, they probably would."

IT WOULD EXPLAIN THE EARLY RETIREMENT.

Oh. These things were still frowned on in the twenty-first century military, especially where crusty old traditionalists were concerned. If Moran got himself into some trouble with a partner of the same gender, it might be reason enough for someone to offer the officer a quiet retirement instead of allowing the scandal to surface.

YOU CAN USE THIS TO YOUR ADVANTAGE.

Ohhhhhh... If John could gain Moran's trust (or conversely, learn a dirty secret to hold over his head), Moran might lead him to Davies. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I should have known there was a point to all this... "Has the professor had other 'indulgences' in the past, or am I the first?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

Moran was sitting up straight out of habit from military training, and John tried to imitate him to maintain the impression that he was a military man himself.

"Probably the closest thing now is his favorite whore."

"I didn't know he employed whores."

FIND OUT WHO SHE IS.

What makes you think it's a she?

"Everything's need-to-know. But if he stays in France long, you'll probably see her eventually."

"She's French, then?"

"This one is."

John expected more input from Sherlock, but the detective kept his thoughts to himself after that.

He didn't make any attempt to observe the direction they took, knowing that it probably wouldn't do any good. After several more minutes in which the two men continued to size one another up (and perhaps admire one another's appearance), they arrived at the helicopter launch pad where Hart had landed days ago.

Least it's not raining today. Maybe the good weather will hold. It occurred to John then that he couldn't be sure they were going back to France, but he hoped that they were. If not, he would probably have much less chance of learning anything about Davies. But before long he could see that they were indeed crossing the Channel, and he relaxed a bit.

Moran checked his phone and leaned toward John to tell him, "When we arrive, the professor will want to see you, but he'll be busy. So don't hang about."

"Got it," John answered above the rhythmic whirring of the chopper. After that they kept their thoughts to themselves until they landed.

Moran walked John to Jim's study where they waited in silence for the consulting criminal to finish a phone call.

"There you are," Jim said, turning a smile on them as he hung up the land line on his desk. "The two of you together. It's like Christmas. Or Easter at the least." He came out from his desk and shook Moran's hand firmly. "Sebastian, it's been too long. I take it you and Captain Hart have gotten to know each other?"

"We have," Moran confirmed.

"Good." Jim turned to John. "Welcome back, my dear." He pulled John close just long enough to place a light kiss near his ear. "I'm afraid I've got my hands full at the moment, but I'll see you properly soon. André is waiting in your room."

"Oh?" John asked, not knowing what he could want the attendant for.

"He'll dress you for lunch."

"Ah." Suddenly lunch was an occasion to dress for. And I just put these clothes on before I came... He decided not to ask any questions. "I'll see you later, then."

"Yes. Sebastian, your old room is open for you. I just need you to debrief Colt."

Moran nodded and stepped back for John to exit the room ahead of him.

When they were a few yards down the hall, Moran commented, "He likes you."

"Is that a surprise, given what you already know about me?"

"No, I mean... you genuinely appeal to him. He sincerely enjoys your presence."

"So... the surprise is that I'm not just another toy?"

"Something like that." They reached the central staircase and Moran paused. "Would you like me to accompany you to your room?"

"No, no. I'm fine from here, thanks."

"Then I'll leave you for now."

John nodded to Moran, noticing for the first time that the other man was a good four or five inches taller than himself. He went on up the stairs, leaving Moran to continue down the hallway.

As promised, André was waiting for him with a few clothing racks.

"Good day, sir," André said pleasantly. "The professor would like to see you in a suit for luncheon."

"I was afraid of that," John muttered. He had never liked suits. Stiff and itchy...

"He thinks that gray or black would be most flattering for you, but I have here a broad selection."

John sighed and went to the nearer rack, running his hand along the line of suits and watching them swing back into place. There were tan, brown, navy, gray and black in various styles and shades. "What do you recommend?"

"As it is the midday meal, I think black should be saved for a more formal occasion."

"Okay; that narrows it down. What else?"

"Blue, I think, is worn too much these days, particularly when one has just returned from a journey. Also, the tan might give sir too innocent a look, which would not appeal to the professor."

John smiled a little at that. "Probably right. So, gray or brown."

André rearranged the suits on the racks so that the gray and brown choices were left on one rack.

"Okay, now take out the most formal ones."

André did as he was told, leaving three brown and two gray.

John looked at the suits one at a time. "Here, I don't want a bloody waistcoat," he said, shoving suits down the rack. That left him with one of each color. "You said he thought gray would look good, right? Let's go with the gray."

"Excellent. What color shirt will you require?"

Trying to be patient, John said, "Look, André, you're obviously a damn good valet. I can put myself in your hands here, right? I trust you to make these little decisions for me."

"If you wish it, sir."

"I do, I do. I wish it."

André laid the suit out on the bed, opened the door and pushed the suit racks out into the hall. Then he went to study the dress shirts on the remaining rack. "Would you object to white?"

"Why should I object?"

"You seem never to wear white."

"Hm. I guess I don't, really. But as I said, I trust your judgment."

André chose a simple white shirt. "What sort of cravat do you prefer?"

"Oh... just a regular tie." John had to fight to keep the grimace off his face. Blasted, choking nuisances...

André opened a bureau drawer and looked over a selection of rolled-up ties for a few moments before selecting a silver one with thin blue stripes. "Will this suit you?"

"Perfect," John replied, with far more enthusiasm than he felt.

"Now all that remains is the shoes." André went to the closet.

All this for lunch...

"I think the simple black dress shoes will compliment the suit well."

"Yes, quite right."

"Do you require any assistance?"

"No; I think I remember how to dress myself." Seeing André wince before quickly restoring his neutral expression, John added, "Although... it has been a long time since I tied a double Windsor. Could you help me with that?"

"Of course. I will take the other clothes away and return in a few minutes."

Poor André, John thought to himself as he began to change. I guess he's got to suck up any way he can. But if he were really smart he'd get the hell away from here...

THERE ARE PROBABLY CAMERAS AND BUGS EVERYWHERE; DON'T RISK SPEAKING TO ME.

John started at the sudden text running across his vision. Damn it, Sherlock! He sighed.

BETTER HURRY AND GET DRESSED.

He nearly groaned in exasperation. I would if you'd leave me the hell alone.

They ate on the terrace outside the billiard room. Jim didn't say anything about John's attire at first, but he knew his expression couldn't fail to show how pleased he was. The main course was roast pigeon—not a very high-class meal, but one Jim always enjoyed.

"It's good to have you back," he told John. "I'm sorry I'm so busy just now. As I'm sure you've guessed, Sherlock's been a bit of an annoyance to me of late."

"Well, he's got to follow his instincts, eh?" John said carelessly. "I'm sure he doesn't do it just to be a bother."

"I suppose not. But when you see him next, you can scold him for abbreviating our time together."

"I will. We're getting on quite well now."

"How well?"

John smiled. "I slept in his bed last night."

Jim put on a condescending smile in return. "Did he sleep in it, too?"

"Yup."

"And did much sleep go on, then?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But he did let me kiss him this morning."

"My, my. That is a big step, certainly." Jim felt some vague, unfamiliar feelings stirring near the pit of his stomach. Is this what jealousy feels like? It's been so long... but am I jealous of Sherlock? or John?

"This is excellent," John said before taking a sip of his lemonade. "Your cooking staff is really good."

"I insist on all my staff being 'really good.' What's the point of not having everything just as you please if you have the means?"

"No point that I can see."

"Let me take this opportunity for an introduction." Jim pushed his chair back slightly and gestured to the empty white chair to his right. "Goodie, I want you to meet Captain Hart. John, this is the good life."

John picked up his glass again and raised it to the empty chair. "Salut," he said.

"You look good in those clothes, by the way. I trust André took care of you?"

John seemed to lose a little of his enthusiasm at that, but he kept his tone pleasant. "Yes, thanks. André's good at his job, too."

"I hope you won't mind—I'm planning to put you in formal evening wear for dinner."

"If that's what you want, I don't mind."

"A pretty answer." Jim could tell John enjoyed getting dressed up about as much as a cat does. "Don't worry. After dinner I'll have something else for you to wear, and I think it'll be more to your liking."

"I'll look forward to that."

It was obvious from his complete change in demeanor that John's mind was now racing through all the provocative possibilities. Jim said nothing further on the subject. Let your imagination run wild. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Thanks again for the reviews. Keep it up. ^^ Hope you don't mind my putting Moran in here. He's such a useful character from the Holmes stories; it seemed like a waste to come up with an original character when there was one like him available.