Chapter 12

The Doctor

Part Two

John was feeling particularly annoyed. The obnoxious Holmes brothers left him alone. He'd like to think it was out of a desire to allow him time to recover his composure and sobriety, but unfortunately he knew better. When a Holmes had something fascinating to focus their attention on, they did just that. Everything else faded away as irrelevant or inconsequential. He was used to garnering that kind of attention from either one of them, but it still bothered.

He dragged himself out of the shower soaked to the bone and wishing he'd shown a tad more restraint in regards to the copious amounts of scotch consumed. Scotch which he proceeded to chase down with expensive rum and liquor he hadn't identified before drinking. That drug though, the power it had given him when in its purest form, was like nothing else he'd ever experienced. When diluted and mixed with the control element, well, that had been a little less fun. But he remembered what the initial power felt like and he'd wanted it badly for a while there. The want remained, the overwhelming need was gone. He was stronger than he gave himself credit. He would be all right. One day.

Attempting to ignore the pounding in his head, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his wet body. His pants were drenched and sticking uncomfortably to his thighs, but he didn't feel like removing them. Besides, the safehouse contained him, Moriarty, and Moran at the moment. Large towel firmly wrapped about his shoulders, he turned to the doorway to consider whether or not to wait for Sherlock's return out there or in here. He practically jumped out of his skin.

"Hello, Johnny."

The grin spreading from ear to ear was anything but warm and comforting. His surprise at finding Jim Moriarty leaning against the door frame with such a look on his face transitioned to his previous expression. His look of annoyance and hurt feelings reclaimed him when he tried to appear nonchalant. He wouldn't have realized it if Moriarty didn't feel the need to point it out in his suave manner.

A suave manner which included a roll of the eyes and false reassurance. "Oh don't be like that. Your boyfriend will be along again shortly. He'd never leave you alone with bad ol' evil me for too long. He's already gone out of his way to warn me away from you."

His eyes found the floor when he muttered a retort. "Not my boyfriend."

"He's right you know."

John looked at him then. Moriarty's smile had lessened, making him conscious his own expression was a little more blank and a little less bitter over Sherlock.

"You should stay away from me."

A warning. His face was saying one thing but all the while he was snaking his hand along the countertop as he moseyed ever so casually into John's standing space. A predator encroaching upon the territory of its prey. His captor resuming control over a past hostage? Hell no. Too much time had passed to let this bastard affect him so much. He had to get ahead of this before the other man solidified his power play into the win column.

John retreated inside his knowledge. "Psychopaths can't think on an emotional level. They manipulate and act for their own gain. You choose not to think on an emotional level at times, but not always. I guess you're not a psychopath..not always. You pretend."

Moriarty stuttered on the words he'd been about to speak and forgot them. James bloody Moriarty, losing his train of thought over something John said. He congratulated himself in his head and smiled loosely at his enemy.

"Dr. Watson, at your service. Ever forced to shrink the unshrinkable."

He arched an eyebrow. "You're not that kind of doctor."

John shrugged. "Every time I seem to think that, I end up dealing with another episode of Sherlock."

"I like you, John."

"Well isn't that a change."

"You should stay far away from me. I've never cared for anyone in my life. Even if there is some kind of-" He motioned between them. "Connection between us."

"Connection? Now I know enough to know you don't mean Sherlock, but what, pray tell, could you possibly mean then?"

Apparently Moriarty finished his attention to this mythical connection brought up. In the next moment, he was expressing his curiosity over what John had come to call his life of late. He wondered about John becoming a target, about who could have shot him by the river, and about his mission to single-handedly take on the criminal underworld of London.

"Piss off. No way in hell there's a connection."

He shoved him out of the way when Jim teased him for bringing up the aforementioned connection. Enemies that they were, it was nice they weren't threatening or fighting each other. It didn't help them get along any better. Moriarty was still a very bad man, and he was still, well, ordinary and plain John.

Relief flooded in when Sherlock chose that moment to return, announcing Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had gone. John assumed his brother left too, although Sherlock did not bring him up. He wondered what happened between the siblings to put him in a foul mood.

"What is going on, John?"

So much for relaxing or having small talk before getting to the deep and serious chatter. John glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Moriarty returning to the sofa and Moran hovering in the background keeping alongside the wall. He shifted on guard automatically. He was willing to be truthful, but he didn't know how much Sherlock was willing to hear what he had to say.

"We often meet people on the worst days of their lives. I try to save people before the bad things happen. Instead of just picking up the pieces and cleaning up after the criminal, I prevent the crime from ever having taken place. That was my intention anyway. That's what I've been trying to do while you've been pretending to be dead."

The slight concern in his eyes vanished when John let that last part slip out. Damn. He hadn't meant for the anger to show in his speech. John opened his mouth to apologize but any desire to keep on with the apology erased when Sherlock became cold and heartless, fast.

"Oh right. I left and made everything worse for you. How selfish of me. Snap out of the pity, John, the world can't stop because you're unhappy."

John laughed, bitter and harsh. "You think I don't know? Of course I realized when you supposedly died and the world kept on. What do you think I've been doing? 'Cause it stopped being all mopey and feeling sorry for myself after I saw the first young girl murdered for seeing too much of something no one will ever know."

The girl had been a witness to something she was too terrified to speak about. John tried to keep her safe and see what he could do for her but the police detail on her failed and she was killed. He'd failed a lot without Sherlock helping him. Sherlock was the brilliant one. Sherlock was amazing.

"Yes, well, finding ever more destructive means to spend your days has clearly shown you moved on."

His expression darkened. Right now, Sherlock was being a prat. He was actually holding John's inability to cope with losing his friend against him.

"You sound like my therapist," he grumbled, loudly stating, "Looks like Moriarty won after all. London can keep you because I sure as hell won't."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him and it bugged him to no end, as did his words. "What's the deal with Moriarty anyway? Why is it you're not bothered by his presence here? I've been told victims are typically traumatized when forced to confront their assailant, kidnapper, torturer. Numerous medical studies seem to agree there is great pain associated with being forced into the same vicinity as the one responsible for their suffering. Why are you not fitting this description? You are acting unusual."

That was certainly cringeworthy. Why wasn't he scared to be in the same room as his former kidnapper and torturer? Why didn't he quake in his boots or wet himself? Why didn't he stab Moriarty in the heart or skull the second he got the chance? This was what Sherlock chose to wonder about now of all times?

"What? I should be curled up in a corner feeling sorry for myself? Is that what you're thinking? I do that and you'd think it was stupid and oh so normal. Don't deny it. Besides, if you must know, what that man did..well, it wasn't completely undeserved."

His friend looked like he might be sick. John pretended not to see it and continued his train of thought. He had to get it out. This had been running through his mind for far too long without ever being voiced. He had to say it out loud, make it real.

"In a way, it was justice. He got his point across. Don't murder me. I took it to be God punishing me. Murder is wrong and now I know for certain I'll never be tempted to make such a wrong choice as murder. I mean, when I was his captive, it's not exactly like I could take the moral high ground, could I? I was there to kill a man."

"He tortured you for days!" Sherlock yelled.

John responded in kind. "You think making me believe you were dead wouldn't cause me ten times the torment Moriarty could ever put me through?"

"Will you quit throwing that in my face? It was a necessary decision and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

He was feeling like a pretty large prat himself now. How sorry he was feeling over bringing the false suicide up must have been showing on his face. Sherlock's expression softened. Their expressions both hardened a bit when a third party joined in to pass comment.

"Oh, get a room."

John looked at Moriarty. Was that jealousy he detected? Was Jim jealous over the attention Sherlock was giving him? Wanting to play one of his games? He realized Sherlock was continuing to give his attention with those piercing eyes and turned back to him.

"Right then..."

Sherlock saw right through him. He knew his defensiveness had done little to convince him that he didn't care. The other pair of men in the room were forgotten once again.

"When did you know I was faking?"

"It was a bit much with the whole I won't keep you part. I mean, what was that?"

John blushed but Sherlock wasn't finished.

"That and you said Moriarty won, which you'd never admit out loud even if he had. Also, mentioning your therapist. You don't do that. And-"

"Alright, alright, I get it. I'm bloody terrible at lying."

His friend made a noise of agreement and it was far too agreeable and quick. Time to bring his friend down to earth a bit and have an honest having it out with him.

"You know, you're absolutely right and completely wrong at the same time."

Sherlock started frowning. "What do you mean?"

"There was some truth to it."

"John?"

"You saw your pain if you lost us. You didn't think about ours. What it would do to us after you died. You didn't think about all the good that you do, that wouldn't be done in a world without Sherlock Holmes."

"What? Not even a, 'happy you're not dead after all, Sherlock'?"

Sherlock trying to make light, not the time for that.

Moriarty piped up, the smirk obvious in his tone of voice alone. "Aww... Domestic troubles?"

John ignored him. Sherlock glared, then ignored him.

"You're a selfish bastard. Sometimes you really are a sociopath like they all say. That day when you fell, or pretended, or whatever!" He yelled that last bit when it appeared Sherlock was on the verge of saying something, possibly a correction. "You didn't care, Sherlock. You cared nothing for what your death would do to the people left behind."

"I faked my death so you would be protected. I did it so you would be safe!"

"You did it for you! Don't spin this into being my fault. You thought about how you didn't want to live without me, or Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade. And you died, or well, pretended to be dead, so you wouldn't have to face losing us. It was selfish, Sherlock. Any normal person can see that. Any normal person, should see that."

Sherlock defended how John knew he would.

"It..was the only move to make, that made sense. Moriarty made it clear. I die or the people I care most for would. I thought he'd done himself in. He had people ready to move on you all, without his cancellation of the hits, I had no other option but to have them observe a jump."

John scoffed. "That's rubbish."

"That's fact," retorted Sherlock calmly. "I had to die that day."

The anger surged. "But you didn't!"

"Because I couldn't bear to leave you, John!"

For the first time he was silenced. Because of the tone, the pure emotion in his voice.

"I knew I needed to convince Moriarty's men that I killed myself. I also knew I couldn't resurface until I was certain they were no longer out there, under orders should I turn up alive. I didn't know he was alive. I didn't know, still don't know if the kill orders have been retracted. I was terrified if I revealed myself too soon, you would all be made to pay the price. What I did know was that you were hurting, I caused that hurt, and I needed to fix it. I couldn't stay away any longer because I missed you too much."

"Sherlock..."

"You changed my life, John Watson. And I didn't ever want to remain in a life that you were not."

"Oh you brilliant bastard. You choose now to miraculously become a silvertongue."

Sherlock didn't often voice his emotions but when he did, he did do it grandly. Profound words were what Sherlock was managing to reach him with in this moment. Oh sheesh, and his friend wasn't finished.

"You think you don't matter, but you do. You saved me, John, from my miserable existence. You listen to me, you want to be around me for longer than five minutes. God knows how you put up with the likes of me while remaining sane."

John crossed the distance between them and embraced Sherlock. "I missed you too, buddy."

Sherlock pulled back to give him a look, one John considered could be trying to tell him they were most definitely not "buddies". But then the rigid and uptight man was returning the hug. They stayed holding one another, happy to be together alive and safe, until the sound of a throat clearing broke through the bubble they built around them.

How they managed to keep blocking James Moriarty out was a wonder. This time it might be a tad more difficult. He'd creeped up to stand right beside them.

"Oh, the pair of you, just darling. The great Sherlock Holmes, lost without his Watson, his moral compass and fierce protector. Well, the protector bit could use some working on."

A blush bloomed fresh across his face when upon conclusion of those words, Moriarty scanned him up and down. It was a very blunt reminder he wore wet pants, a towel, and nothing else. He was embarrassed and feeling small. The private moment between them hadn't been very private.

But damn if Sherlock couldn't make it better. John watched as he reached into his coat and removed a lighter. It was an expensive lighter with embroidered initials: MH. Handing it to John, he smiled proudly, which caused him to smile broadly.

"Mycroft was being a ponce."

It was John's first real smile in a long time and it felt good. Tossing the lighter back to Sherlock, he put his hands in the air ever so innocently.

"You keep it. When Mycroft inevitably comes searching, I'd rather not be the one caught with it."

"Coward," teased Sherlock.

"Thief," John playfully retorted.

Moriarty's noise of disgust was ignored by the both of them. John might still be angry about what Sherlock had done, but this was a step in the right direction. Honest feelings and thoughts spoken to each other was a rarity. Maybe things could go back to the way they were.

/

The safehouse decidedly became unnecessary with the information the British government was busy running down those responsible for the highly unethical and mostly illegal project group, and said group was forced on the run. John returned to 221B, Sherlock helping him move the rest of his belongings from his second apartment. The extra helpful, new and improved Sherlock wasn't long for this world. It took approximately forty-eight hours and an introduction of a case from Lestrade for Sherlock to return to who he was.

John figured it was high time he do the same and find his old self again. Despite everything that happened, he still had old responsibilities. He was a doctor who saw patients and had a boss he'd been neglecting. Giving Sarah Sawyer a ring, he put himself in her good graces and received a new schedule he swore he would follow. Certainly this would mean Sherlock would not have him on his cases all the time. He wouldn't do that to Sarah.

Sherlock was not so understanding about his newfound desire to no longer forsake his duties as a medical professional. He especially was not so happy when John passed up working a case with him concerning victims, some dead, some alive, forced to endure "experiments" where they were given a hard choice. Among the dead, the man always signed his work as: The Professor. A professor who enjoyed experimenting with unwilling participants in the name of research. It was interesting, but ultimately would be time-consuming, and he knew Sherlock would be fine on his own.

He wanted to go, too, which made Sherlock's prodding for him to join on cases all the more difficult to pass up. John had other responsibilities and he was no longer going to abuse attendance like before. As a doctor, his patients deserved better. And he'd made good friends with Mary. He didn't want to lose that because he had Sherlock and Lestrade back in his life with cases drawing him in.

The argument over this was inevitable. A week after leaving the safehouse and finding themselves, for the most part, resuming their old lives, the argument arose.

"You don't need a job. You work cases with me."

"I've gotta pay the bills, groceries and all that," John tried to explain. "Plus, it makes me feel useful."

"I need you," Sherlock demanded.

"You're overqualified to be a doctor in a clinic. You belong at my side."

John missed the sentimentality behind some of what his good friend said. That tended to happen when the fury was increasing and the kind words were mixed with demands and jealousy.

"Oh but not qualified enough to run madly through the streets of London chasing down criminals barehanded without telling his supposed partner."

"That has yet to occur."

"Yeah, yet to since you jumped off a roof in front of me."

"Oh, change the record."

"Just waiting on you!"

Total silence followed the outcry from John and he could tell Sherlock was contemplating the possible meanings of the statement. Whether or not he figured anything out was beyond John, because Sherlock's response was simple and brief.

"I see."

John wasn't sure what Sherlock was "seeing" there and found himself as confused as he now suspected his flatmate to be. The staredown ended when John let his frustration get the better of him. He rolled his eyes, straightened his stance, and turned on his heel to go out the front door of their flat. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to see those bright, intelligent eyes figuring out what he didn't even quite know himself. He had to leave and clear his head.

Upon stepping foot outside, his first thought was to go to Mary. Quickly making his way down the street, he debated whether dropping in or giving her a ring was the best choice. She lived a ways away and he'd need a cab so there was time to consider which option was best. John recalled she was at work tonight. Well that was inconvenient. He didn't want to be a bother and interrupt her evening when she had work. Thoughts of Mary and her adorable dog were what was on his mind when the sleek black car pulled up alongside him.

"Dr. Watson, fancy a ride?"

He knew that voice all right and he just knew it was not going to be his night. Taking a very brief moment to consider, he threw caution to the wind. John resolved to face the man in the car offering him a lift by providing a counter offer.

"Mr. Moriarty, fancy a drink?"