Chapter 13

The Soldier

A drink with Moriarty was a situation that put him in a far too fancy place for his current dress and a private booth. He was granted an endless line of drinks he did not discourage from continuing. All the while, he was aware of his company sitting opposite, quietly watching him down drink after drink. Maybe an hour passed before the other man finally spoke as to how they came to be where they were together.

"Boyfriend kick you out?"

John refrained from rolling his eyes, mumbling, "Not my boyfriend."

An amused smile. Looking him up and down, Moriarty signaled to a waiter for another round of drinks. He went back to staring John down until he found he would really rather not have this particular man studying him so intently. A little honesty wouldn't harm, right?

"Sherlock's on a case."

"Ah, too busy for you, is he?"

"Erm..yeah."

"Not quite right. Okay... Ah!"

He nearly jumped out of his seat from the sudden raised voice. He hadn't been expecting that. As cool as possible, he regained his composure and pasted an annoyed look on his face while Moriarty carried on.

"Disagreeing with you. Being difficult. Being Sherlock."

"Shut it. You don't know him."

"Oh but I do."

John stewed silently, considering it the best course of action here. James Moriarty was going to think what James Moriarty wanted to think. Even if he disagreed whole-heartedly with what the man had to say, telling him so was doubtful to change his mind. Instead of responding with words, he took a long drink of the far too expensive whiskey he'd been drinking for the past hour. On an empty stomach, not tracking his drinks, and in the presence of Moriarty. These weren't the actions of a smart man. More like the devil may care attitude of the military man in him. Good thing he already made up his mind tonight would be a night he wasn't going to be caring about much of anything.

"You don't know him."

Oh, so he'd said something about it after all. Dumbly repeating the same words he said before wasn't too intelligent either. He decided not to leave it at that.

"Sherlock's on a case. A serial killer. There will be no reasoning with him until it's done. It's like he's wearing blinders."

He could tell Moriarty was surprised. It made sense. He was choosing to confide in an insane criminal mastermind of all people. His list of people to go to wasn't high. Mary, definitely, but she was working. Sherlock, of course not. Besides, Sherlock was the problem at the moment. Lestrade, Mike, Mrs. Hudson, Professor Kingston, and his sister were people he called friends, but he didn't want to bother them with his complaints. His sister had bigger problems trying to get over her near death experience at the hands of a psycho who thought it funny to force-feed her alcohol anyway.

"Isn't that delightful. Now we can spend some quality time together."

John chortled under his breath. He pointed at the man across from him, then turned his finger on himself. He only became aware the laughter was coming from him when Moriarty began to frown.

The drink was tugged from his sadly weak grip. His protests concerning the removal of his beverage emerged just as weak. He was being stood on his feet, Moran appearing at his side. He might have been impressed by the stealth arrival if he hadn't been so intoxicated. He also may have chosen to protest as he was led into a car, Moriarty coming to sit beside him and Moran across. The drive didn't take him back to Baker Street. He didn't protest.

It was easier not to fight or disagree. He'd been doing a lot of fighting and struggling these last few years, when Sherlock went away and when he returned. He thought when he left the army he left the fighting behind. It was an incorrect belief and he had been kind of glad. Fighting was something he was good at when he put his mind to it. That being said, if he could have a single night not worrying about anything, about Sherlock or the project he'd been removed from, it would be a good night indeed.

The thought crossed his mind Moriarty might have malicious intentions toward him. He might be in a dangerous situation seated in the car with a criminal and his bulky companion. His head started to spin at all the thoughts running through his mind and he decided too much thinking was not good for the copious amounts of liquor sitting in his belly. He halted the thought-process and lay his head against the car window.

When the vehicle came to a stop, Moriarty leaned in close. "This hotel should do for the night, hm? A night away from your normal life?"

John mumbled in agreement and Moran stepped out and opened the door for him. After making certain he could handle the walk to the building's entrance, Moran got back in the car, this time in the front. It left him standing on the pavement with Moriarty. He glanced in the slightly taller man's direction.

"What are you playing at?"

Moriarty looked at him innocently. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

"Shall we go inside?"

He sighed and headed into the hotel. Why argue? He was getting what he wanted, right? A place free of the stress of his life. A place where he wouldn't have to think about his attempt to help people on his own not ending well. The recent events that pitted him against his friends and took away his free will. What a nightmare. He was really going to have to reconsider his use of alcohol as the cure to his cravings for the drug and forgetting his troubles. It had led him to the interior of a hotel with James Moriarty.

The other man walked past the front desk without checking in. John saw the employee at the desk nod in Moriarty's direction and go back to staring at his computer screen. Once again he doubted his choice to come to this place. What was he doing here?

Together they rode the lift up to the third floor and he nearly freaked out in that moment. He was remembering his time in the man's captivity. It had been a hotel similar to the one they were in now, and it had been hell. What was he doing? For five minutes he hyperventilated on the floor of the lift.

An arm moved around his shoulders and tugged him against cool fabric. There was soft cooing in his ear and a hand slipped into one of his own. This was the reason his panic attack lasted mere minutes. Now that was a mind fuck. His former captor and rapist was capable of comforting him as well.

John stood himself up and Moriarty moved along with him. He slipped his hand out of the gentle grasp and shrugged the other arm off his shoulder. He looked hard at Moriarty. The lift doors were open for them to step out on the floor.

"What are you doing? What do you want from me? Is this another game for Sherlock?"

"Let's forget Sherlock," Moriarty told him and got out of the lift.

Easier said than done. His whole life had essentially come to revolve around Sherlock since his exit from the military. He didn't know what the consulting criminal was up to but he didn't want to play any games. He took most everything very seriously. Blame his experience with death, pain, and tragedy. It was how he was.

"Let's talk about how I want nothing more than to collapse in a pathetic heap before I toss up the whiskey you let me drink."

Moriarty smiled. "Okay. Instead of talking about it we could simply get you to bed before you pass out in the hallway."

John nodded. "Right."

/

When he next came to awareness, Moriarty was sitting on the other side of the bed he was lying on, a novel in hand. Sunlight streamed in through the window of the room. He closed the book upon noticing John was awake and looking at him. A moment passed between them and the younger man was leaning in as John put himself into a partially upright position.

"You shouldn't get too close to me, Johnny," Jim said to him in a low voice. "Demons don't make good company."

He couldn't help it. He laughed out loud. "You brought me here. You sought me out. Surely there's a reason."

"There's always reason. But reason can be so dreadfully boring."

John rolled his eyes at the non-answer. It wasn't surprising to not get answers out of a person like Moriarty, just irritating. His retort stuck in his throat when he observed the intensity of the other man's gaze on him.

"You feel it, don't you?"

He pretended not to understand. "What?"

"Nothing." Moriarty looked away and he could see the uncertainty and hesitation in the move.

He felt it all right. Something he hadn't wanted to admit as he'd learned some of what made up the real man underneath the perfectly planned and executed mannerisms of the criminal mastermind. All learned during his time as a prisoner in a different hotel room half a year past. The sex had been against his will, and the violence. The rest had been..okay. He saw some of the man behind the monster, even beginning to develop feelings of a sort. Sympathy, understanding, and rationalizing his actions. Moriarty was right. Reasons were meaningless sometimes.

"I guess I should go then. Get back before- Oh who am I kidding? He probably never noticed I didn't come home."

"He'll think you were with Mary. He won't suspect a thing."

John frowned at Moriarty, not at all shocked he knew about Mary when he'd hardly told Sherlock anything about her but rather confused. "Why would it matter if he suspected anything? There's nothing going on-"

His words were stifled by warm lips against his mouth. It took him a long moment to register what was happening. By the time he thought he should push back or pull free, Moriarty broke the kiss and slid off of the bed.

"A paid cab is waiting downstairs. It will take you wherever you wish to go. I thank you for your company, Dr. Watson."

"What are you playing at?"

Moriarty grabbed up his jacket and cast a final smile in John's direction before leaving the hotel room, John's question dangling in the air.

/

He'd been trained to pick up tails. This one wasn't even trying to go unnoticed. Two days since his evening with Moriarty and he spent those days working the clinic for Sarah. The paycheck had yet to clear, however, and so with only loose change in his pocket he had to walk home. Today was one of the bad days for his leg and the walk unpleasant without his cane.

In his depression following Sherlock's supposed death he hadn't worked much. The savings dried up pretty quick and he refused money from the likes of Mycroft Holmes. The number of shifts he missed while working undercover for the NSA did not help his cause either, and somehow the major bills got paid. He assumed the eldest Holmes had put the money down regardless of his insistence he didn't want it to happen. Now he wondered if he'd been wrong.

When the black car drove up alongside him, he knew it wasn't Mycroft. The man was thankfully far too busy occupying his time figuring out the details of the sanctioned government project John exposed as corrupt and illegal. Why Moriarty was paying him visits he didn't know.

The car door opened and a beaming Moriarty was waiting for him inside. He climbed into the back, relieved for the opportunity to take pressure off his throbbing limb. He looked at Moriarty when he ordered the driver to John's address.

"What gives?"

The smile spread wider. "I thought you could use a ride."

"Mr. Moriarty, have you been spying on me?"

A minuscule shrug and he was turning toward John on the seat. "I'll be leaving town for a few days, possibly a week. Thought it would be appropriate of me to say goodbye."

"Not necessary," John muttered.

Moriarty leaned in. "What was that?"

He gestured back and forth between the two of them. "We're not friends. We don't even like each other. What is this?"

A quick peck on his lips and he found they'd arrived at 221B Baker Street. John was too startled to remove himself from the car right away. A hand patted him on the thigh, a reminder he was in the car and still beside Moriarty.

"Absolutely right, Johnny boy. We're not friends. There is a thing between us that I can't shake. You know, you should keep away from me."

John's mouth gaped a bit. He reoriented and opened the door to get out of the car. Before he could step out, Moriarty pulled him back to him and planted another kiss on his lips.

"See you in a week, Johnny."

"It's John," he grumbled, and got out of the car.

Moriarty smiled brightly and waved exaggeratedly at him. John shut the door in his face. This guy was insane. What did he think he was doing associating with James Moriarty?

/

Exactly one week later, John was taking a cab home from Mary's when it brought him to a part of Cardiff he'd been to before with his dear friend. Confused why he was not on Baker Street after his day spent with Mary, he shifted forward to tap at the cabbie's window. Before he could, the man twisted around in his seat.

"No charge."

"What? Why?"

"Compliments of Mr. Moriarty, sir."

John's brow furrowed and he glanced out the window beside him. He noticed the man waiting for him on the pavement outside one of the restaurants. It was a good thing he always dressed up when he went to see Mary, for this was definitely a respectable and posh establishment.

Getting out of the cab, he regarded the man loitering outside the stone building with something akin to curiosity. "Does everything have to be a show with you?"

A small smile flitted across Moriarty's face. "Can you fault me for trying to impress?"

"Why would you want to impress someone ordinary like me?"

He instinctively reached for his gun but the weapon was at home. Sherlock borrowed it three nights back and had yet to return it. His reaction didn't go unnoticed.

"Ever the soldier," Moriarty observed with a smirk. "Dinner. Then we can talk."

/

No idea how it happened. Dinner became drinks and a hotel room. The hotel room consisted of sex, more drinks, and more sex. When they were both sweaty and tired and lying flat on their backs in the bed, John avoided looking at the other man. He had no semblance of coherent thought as to how he wound up in bed with his enemy and former torturer. He hadn't exactly hated it either. That tasted somewhat bitter going down.

Moriarty giggled next to him in the bed. If John wasn't already having second thoughts about this whole sleeping with the enemy predicament, he certainly was now. He sat up gripping the sheet and looked at the other.

"What?"

The criminal poked John in the side. "I'm touching you."

"Um..yeah. You did quite a bit of that earlier."

He giggled again for reasons John couldn't fathom and he confirmed this had been a very bad idea. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he searched the floor for his clothes. Moriarty sat up to watch him as he slid on his pants and moved a few more steps to pick up his trousers.

John cleared his throat. "You know, I shouldn't be doing this. What you did to Sherlock..."

At the mention of Sherlock, Moriarty's face twisted in annoyance. "This has nothing to do with Sherlock. You really need to spend less time with that ninny."

"Well then, what you did to me or all those innocent-"

Moriarty cut him off by snaking a hand onto the hem of his pants, tugging him onto the bed, and kissing him breathless. Well, there was no way he felt something for the other man. No way. Nothing wrong with good sex though. Nothing wrong with enjoying the moment. He dominated the kiss and rolled them so he was on top. Staring down at Moriarty, he smiled.

"You're a mystery, James Moriarty. I'm going to get to the bottom of what you're up to."

He grinned up at him, smile spread from ear to ear. "You're a puzzle, John Watson. One I desire to explore."

"This is just sex," John warned, making sure the criminal didn't have funny ideas about some sort of bond forming that would mean he'd support his crimes, or worse, do crimes with him. The insanity.

"You never know."

John frowned slightly. "Not going to happen, Jim."

This greatly amused the man beneath him. "Oh, you never can tell."

Before he could question that, Moriarty reversed their positions. Leaning down, the man murmured how badly John should stay away from him and kissed him. This left him feeling utterly confused and uncertain. He never thought he was interested in men sexually but he was thoroughly enjoying Moriarty's ministrations. And it hit him right in that moment, with Moriarty kissing down his neck and chest, who he wished was there instead. How he never realized before was beyond him. He was a mess.

When they were done rolling about on the sheets, John dressed and left in a hurry. Moriarty watched him go, expression impossible to read, and John was breathing fresh air. He inhaled a couple of times before taking off down the pavement at a fast pace. He had no idea what just happened here but he was certain he wanted to be home now.

/

Over a period of two months, Moriarty sent texts to John with the hotel or restaurant where he wanted them to meet. In spite of the warning in his mind, he went, had good sex, and returned to the flat afterward. He never spent the night, not since that first time, and he convinced himself it was okay because it was only a way to find company. It was comfort in a time when Sherlock was occupied with a serial kidnapper, murderer, and all around bad guy.

John's primary dedication was to the clinic but he occasionally accompanied Sherlock to investigate a crime, usually when it involved this "professor" fellow. He sounded like a sick man intent on experimenting with poor, unsuspecting people. The trouble with this guy was he was smart, never leaving clues behind, and the police had no leads. Sherlock could not do much and it was making a cranky man out of him and his flatmate, who had to deal with an unsuccessful sleuth. It was a bonus he had Moriarty to sneak off to and see on occasion. And of course there was always lovely Mary, ever the good friend willing to hear him out whenever he needed to talk.

There was that thing about troubles though. Just because John chose to put the past behind him and move on with his life, searching for distractions where they could be had, it didn't mean the past quit being any less real. Troubles were better left forgotten, but sometimes, the act of forgetting left a person vulnerable for those same troubles to come roaring right back to the forefront.