When the day of the gala arrived, someone came to tidy John up. She shaved his face, clipped his eyebrow hairs, gave him a fresh haircut, styled his hair, and tended to things John had never given a second thought to, like his nail beds. She scrubbed him clean within an inch of his life, much to his embarrassment, and then gave him the clothes to change into, all of this without saying a word, even when John tried to engage her in conversation.

He felt relieved when the grooming was finally over and he could dress, although now more than ever he felt like Jim's pet, ready to be paraded around at a dog show. Once he was dressed, he went down to find Jim in his office, who was also dressed to impress. John had to admit that Jim really did look quite nice. Of course, he always wore suits, but he appeared to have gone the extra mile today. John shifted his weight as he waited by the door. "Master?" he asked, "How...how do you want me to act?" Mrs. Buttons hopped over to John and started nosing around his shoe. He scooped up the tiny kitten in his hand and stroked her head.

"Put that cat down this instant before she gets hair all over your suit," Jim growled, shooting a death glare at the gray fuzzball in John's hands.

John flinched and set the kitten down and tried shooing her away, but she moved to curl up in between his shoes, resting her head on one of them. "Sorry, master," John mumbled.

Jim growled and picked the cat up by the scruff of her neck and tossed her out of the room, slamming the door behind him. "You're to be my date, John Watson," Jim said, stepping in toward him. "You'll be wearing a tracker bracelet on your ankle, and you will be wearing a wire so that I'll be able to hear any conversations you have with others while I'm not by your side. Which is good news for you, because you'll be able to mingle. Sebastian will be in the upper levels of the ballroom, scoping things out and contacting me if he finds any glitches or problems, and there for back-up as always. I'm not overly fond of these kinds of parties, but provided you mind your manners and we keep ourselves near the champagne, we should have a good time. Questions?"

He attached his cufflinks to his coat, which John was horrified to see were made out of human molars. Jim obviously was dressed to intimidate tonight.

"Do you want me to call you Jim or James?"

"Jim will do fine, although James will do as well if you want to show a little respect or affection," he said, looking John over and brushing off his suit lapels. "I'll be keeping very close tabs on you, John. Don't do anything idiotic, although with your track record, I don't have much confidence. Still, I'd rather it were you than any of the other idiots I employ, since Sebastian's not available." He sighed theatrically. "Ah, well, pet, we'll enjoy ourselves, won't we? Who knows, I might get to arrange a royal kidnapping or coordinate a national embezzlement scheme. SEBASTIAN!" He called out the door. "Are you ready?"

Sebastian came down the stairs, buttoning his cuffs. He was wearing a black suit and shirt, tailored perfectly. It showed off his body wonderfully without being crass, Jim thought. And the trousers hugged his arse perfectly. He looked him up and down. "Bring the car 'round, darling."

John's mouth hung open slightly. He had looked strapping on that first date so long ago, but this was nothing less than stunning. He clamped his jaw shut—thankfully, Jim was also looking Sebastian over and didn't notice John's look. John's eyes locked with Sebastian's for a brief moment before the other exited the building to get the car.

Sebastian was quiet in the front seat as he drove them to Kensington Palace, where the gala was being held. John, too, said little, grateful despite everything to be going out and getting the chance to interact with other people, however briefly.

Once they arrived, Sebastian grabbed his gun and entered via the side entrance with the clearance badge Jim had secured for him, and Jim and John went through the front entrance. "Now, John, be on your guard. This might shock you, but not everyone is my biggest fan." He flashed his invitation at the doorman, passed through a marble foyer and into an enormous room teeming with men and women dressed the nines. There was a chamber orchestra at one end and an impressive buffet table to the other. John had never seen so many beautiful rich people in one place in his life.

John cleared his throat as he looked around. He felt underdressed until he remembered what he was wearing and realised that he probably fit in almost perfectly, which was strange. He decided though, that even if they didn't like Jim, there was no reason that they shouldn't like him. He would be perfectly polite, charming and friendly.

A South-Asian gentleman approached Jim. "Mr. Moriarty," he said in hushed tones. "I was told you would be here. I have a proposition regarding the situation in North Korea."

John raised his eyebrows and Jim gave him a meaningful look. "John, darling, why don't you go mingle for a while, hmm?" He tapped his ear, reminding John wordlessly that he could listen in on whatever John said.

John eyed the man for a moment before he gave a small nod and headed off to the buffet. He decided he'd rather not know what Jim's involvement with North Korea was. He already had enough trouble sleeping at night. At the buffet, he grabbed himself a few pieces of cheese and some grapes as well as a glass of champagne, then stood back and watched people. For the moment he was perfectly content being a wallflower, but he couldn't help be excited when a handsome man approached him and with a friendly smile.

"Hello! I know you, I think! You're that blogger, the one that hangs out with that detective, right? You look like the blogger, at least."

John nearly choked on his grape. What was he supposed to say? Would he get in trouble if he told the truth? "I erm...yes...that's me." Jim had never said he wasn't to be John Watson tonight, just that he was to be Jim's date. John gave him a tight smile, though not an unfriendly one.

"Wow, it's wonderful to meet you," the man said, reaching out to shake his hand. He had a slight accent. Italian, maybe, or Spanish. "I was a big follower of the blog, you know." He smiled at John. "You're...you're much more handsome than in your picture, you know," he said, blushing a bit.

John shook his hand firmly, feeling his face growing a bit hot. The suit seemed to be effective. "It's nice to meet you...what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't." The man stared at him.

John cleared his throat, feeling a bit uncomfortable now. He had just assumed that that was a universal phrase for "Who are you?"

"Are you here with the detective? Are you here on a case?" The man leaned in conspiratorially. "Because, between you and me, there are more than few people to investigate here."

"So I gathered," John laughed. He wished, more than anything, that that was the case. He wished he was here with Sherlock, helping to solve something, to do some good for once. "No. No, actually, this is purely a social engagement. Sorry to disappoint."

"No, not at all! If you're not here with anyone, you'd be welcome to spend your time with my company...we've got a private room in the back, and room for one more. We'd be honored to have a...a minor celebrity army doctor in our company."

That sounded wonderful to John. But there was Jim... John made a sort of disappointed noise. "I'd love to, but I'm not actually here alone. My 'date' is...somewhere..." John trailed off as he peered through the crowd looking for Jim. "However...they seem to be engaged elsewhere at the moment," he frowned as his scanned the room.

"Oh, go on then, Johnny boy. Just don't do anything stupid," Jim said into John's earpiece. "But if I ask for you, I want you on my arm on the click of my fingers."

"Then you won't be missed!" The man said. "How rude of me. My name is Bernardo. Come, I'll introduce you to my friends. You are a doctor, yes? I broke my nose a while ago, can you tell that sort of thing?" He showcased his nose for John, taking his arm and guiding him out of the large room and up a wide staircase to a plush lounge lined with velvet furniture and chandeliers. A group of suited men and a couple gorgeous women were gathered in a group, laughing, drinking, smoking, and jabbering in Italian.

Bernardo flung his arm around John's shoulders. "Tutti, atenzione! This is John Watson, that London detective's blogger. So he is a bit of a celebrity, yes? And don't worry, the detective is not here, so carry on!" The room laughed, someone handed John a tall Campari cocktail, and soon John was surrounded by people laughing, telling stories, asking John questions about any funny stories he had, and babbling over each other in a pleasant, confused mix of English and Italian.

The longer he spent in the room and the more he drank, the more he relaxed. He was hardly drunk, he wasn't even tipsy, but the alcohol mixed with the amiable people surrounding him made him more relaxed than he'd been in months. It was wonderful. John just wished Sebastian could join him.

Bernardo, in the midst of the chaos, answered his ringing phone. He held a hand up, and most of the people in the room shut up. "Scuzi?" He poured a large amount of rage and seriousness into that single word, then began rattling off something in Italian. He hung up the phone and looked around the silent room. "Everyone, you won't believe who is here. Jim Moriarty." He looked around, grinned, raised his eyebrow, and pulled a gun from his coat. "Shall we go say hello?"

There was a flurry of clicks and movements, and in moments John found himself surrounded by guns. It seemed that everyone was armed, including the woman in the skin-tight dress, which was just impressive.

John's heart hammered. "Wh-what's going on?" Great. He'd managed to befriend a room of angry, armed Italians.

Bernardo dragged him to his feet. "Ah, yes, John, you have met Jim Moriarty, yes?"

"You could say that," John said stiffly.

"Yes, in fact, I saw you with him earlier tonight. You seemed to be on rather friendly terms, you two. I had not expected that, based on your blogs."

John clenched his jaw. "And here I thought you'd chatted me up because I was just so charming," he said lightly, covering his worry.

"Sorry, John, you do seem like a fun bloke…" He turned his revolver on John. "Do you have his number?"

John stared down the gun barrel, hands automatically going up defensively. "Yes."

"Call him."

"No need," Jim said, stepping into the room, and all eyes and guns turned to him. Jim winked at John. He looked utterly relaxed, hands in pockets, staring the Italians down with a vague smirk. He was in his element.

"I got bored," he said. "I already organized a jewel heist, a royal kidnapping, and a terrorist plot, what's a consulting to do next? How lucky for me that the Sicilian Mafiosi were at this party...here I was thinking this was going to be another boring party. So...what's to stop me from having all your heads stuffed for my living room? You'd all complement my Italian leather sofa." Everyone in the room bristled and several safetys were removed, but Jim just laughed.

John's eyes were wide as he looked back and forth between Jim and the other man, his hands still raised. "I think I'll just go," he murmured, stepping hesitantly toward the door, but Bernardo grabbed John by the arm and yanked him back, twisting it behind him. He held him close and trained his gun to his temple. "Recognize him, Moriarty? I had no idea you and the blogger were such good chums."

Jim tossed back his head and laughed. "Ohhh, you can keep him. Please. I'm sure he loves lasagna. Mama Mia!" Jim said in an obnoxious Italian accent, waving his arms around theatrically.

One of the women fired a shot just above his head. Jim barely blinked, only gave her a mock-disappointed face and looked back at the wall. "Whoopsie. I think that's a very ancient painting, my dear. I hope you can afford it. Now then," he said, smoothing off his suit sleeves. "Would you like to know what's going to happen next? You're going to put your weapons away, or I'll text the locations of your headquarters to the Junta. Ohhh, they'll loooove that!" Jim pulled out his phone, twirling it in his hands. As much as John loathed Jim, he had to admire how he could control an entire room with such nonchalant confidence. He looked coldly at Barnardo. "That man is of no interest to me, honestly," he said, flicking his eyes to John with complete disdain. "You might as well let him go."

"You're bluffing. You don't have contacts with the Junta," Bernardo said through his teeth, not letting go of John.

"Right, just like I don't know who's holding Franco Martinelli hostage," Jim yawned.

Barnardo paused for a moment, then slowly let go of John, but kept his gun trained on him. He nodded to the others, and they lowered their weapons.

"Very gooood," Jim said, striding farther the room. "Now, then. All guns out of hands, or I don't say a single word."

"Okay, then, Moriarty, what do you want? Where is Martinelli?" Bernardo asked, flexing his jaw and setting his gun on the table beside him.

Jim grinned and shook his head, hands in his suit pockets. "Oh, no, I don't give away information for free. Who do you think I am?" he asked. "John, come here, and bring that gun," he said, nodding to the gun on the table.

John had already been eyeing it and at Jim's order, he snatched it up, cocked it and trained it on the Barnardo, backing towards Jim. He'd lived with Jim long enough to know which side he wanted to be on in any kind of firefight or negotiation.

"Wait a second—what is this?" the man said, looking at them, but Jim was already talking to someone upstairs. "Yeah, third door to the left. Bring your friends," he said, then hung up, grinning. "You all need to do your homework next time. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I'm off to contact Martinelli. It would be wise if you didn't try to shoot me in the process, unless you never want to see him again." He strutted out of the lounge, snapping his fingers for John to follow.

"Aaand now we wait for the bloodbath," he smirked to John, pulling him into a shadowy corner to wait. "Three...two...one!" Four suited men ran down the hallway and kicked open the door to the lounge. Gunfire and screams blared through the marbled hallways and Jim laughed. "Ahhhh, I love pitting rivals against each other. Two thorns in my side, out at once."

John flexed his jaw and uncocked the gun and shoved it down the back of his trousers after flicking on the safety. He figured if they were sticking around longer, he might as well keep it on hand, just in case. He swallowed and looked over at him and raised his eyebrows. "Well. Are we going back down stairs or didn't you want to be on clean-up duty?"

Jim's body was brushing against John in the small nook they were in. "You're loving this, aren't you? Out of the house, into the action...you're not even phased by the fact that there are about twelve new corpses in the room next door."

"Not much phases me anymore," John said blandly, but his eyes looked up at Jim meaningfully.

Jim tilted his head, considering him. "Maybe I should put you on my hit team. Would you like that, sweetheart?" he asked, stroking his fingers down John's cheek.

"When have I ever liked anything you've done to me?" John asked flatly. "Just do what you want, because we both know what I want doesn't matter in the end anyway."

Jim laughed softly. "Well said," he murmured, then seized John's throat, pinned his head against the stonewall, and kissed him until John's couldn't breathe properly.

John's hands pushed lightly on Jim's chest, trying to get some air, but he did his best not to fight away from it, not wanting to piss Jim off when he was in such a gleefully sadistic mood.

Jim pulled away quickly, grinning down at John. "Mmm, haven't kissed those lips in a while," he said, licking his own lips. "I forget how good you taste, Johnny boy." He leaned out in the hallway. "This turned out to be my kind of party! Let's go back downstairs and mingle. Things are going quite smoothly, I'd say."

As they were making their way downstairs, Jim's phone rang. It was Sebastian, and his voice was a faint, pained rasp. "Jim—track my phone. I'm in the alley. Get the car. Keys in my coat in the coatroom—"

"Sebastian? Seb?" Jim barked into the phone, but Sebastian had ended the call. Jim looked up at John, and for once their emotions were the same; utter fear for Sebastian.