Chapter 19

Affinity

Temporary residence with Moriarty was..interesting. The man insisted on taking care of retrieving his possessions from Mary's flat. Mary's flat. It was enlightening to the state of his marriage. He thought of their home as Mary's flat. He was a dreadful person.

Moriarty routinely engaged him in rounds of chess and occupied him with marathons of mystery or crime shows. He didn't indulge in the obnoxious habit of revealing discrepancies like a certain detective consultant he knew. His host was also partial to the chaos of action films. They didn't discuss his failed marriage and the impending divorce John would have to initiate sooner rather than later.

His new flatmate was present often, courteous enough to distract him. He didn't care if it was for selfish ends. He appreciated the effort and company. During the second week of his stay, on the fourth day to be exact, he decided a little sex never hurt anybody.

"I don't like you."

The man he denied liking laughed into his mouth as he kissed him.

John did miss this. It was comfortably familiar and he eagerly fell into bed with Jim. No stress, no worries. Moriarty seemed content snogging, or maybe he calculated John would insist on his regular aggression. Whether Jim was plotting the outcome or he was inventing a devious plot to defend feelings for his rapist and attempted murderer... How many times did the consulting criminal try to have him killed?

"John..."

Hearing the warning, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and got to shagging the handsome criminal.

By the third night sharing a bed with Jim, he realized he no longer thought of Sherlock in the act. Before and after he thought of him loads. He thought of Mary loads too.

Whenever Jim captured his attention, he captured it thoroughly. His need for control and extensive narcissism wouldn't allow for anything but dominance over John beneath the sheets. He was so very sweet with him though. It was a fond thing.

He adjusted to lay proper on the pillow when Jim slid out of him. Shifting at the feel of lubrication and semen making him sticky and uncomfortable, a sweaty body cuddled up to his side. Jim didn't do condoms. He didn't mind, trusting if he had sex with others unlikely as that may be, he would compulsively check his health status. It remained kind of disgusting though, messy, and it had been long enough since the last time he was with Jim this way that he was not used to penetration even after three days. Sexy, no?

"We'll go again in a few minutes."

Okay. Jim impressed him with quick recovery a few times, but the riding they just had- No. John gave him an incredulous look. The man giggled and reached for a towel on the bedside table. Hugging to his side, he wiped clean the semen John spilled on his stomach. There was pride in his smirking expression for causing him to orgasm from solely the butt, like that was some grand accomplishment. It was regular far as he was concerned.

"It may be a bit longer 'til I'm ready to go."

He breathed out deeply, way too tired to think about more sex. "Good."

Familiar conversation began while they were resting together. A type they hadn't had since parting ways more than a year ago. Familiar didn't mean welcome.

"The thrill of the hunt, fear of consequence should you slip up, and the danger that comes with the job. You enjoy it. Makes you feel truly alive," Jim murmured against his chest. "Why did you believe you could give it up for a boring domestic life?"

John rolled away, out of Jim's arms to the other side of the bed. The sheets here were cool and uninviting. He laid flat on his back to stare at the ceiling above.

"I can give your fix, John. I can give you a great deal of danger."

It was barking mad. He said it like a love proposal. John felt irritation at the utter lack of understanding the man was showing him. John didn't dare.

He thought carefully before replying. "You once warned me to stay away from you. Maybe I should."

Moriarty sat up, leaning his back on the headboard and turning a speculative gaze to John while smiling widely. "Now why would you go and say a thing like that?"

"Hope you won't kill me for saying this, but I don't think you're good for me."

Relief loosened him when Jim let out a harsh sounding laugh. "Aw, John, are you claiming to be using me to get over your Mary? Are you claiming you don't care about me?"

John breathed in and out slowly. "Maybe."

"You think it wise confessing rude things to me? A man who someone could say has..certain personality issues?"

He sat upright to face Moriarty in a better position than on his back. "You and me together is never going to happen."

Jim cocked his head to the side. "Oh?"

His eyes narrowed into a glare. "Do you have a problem with me saying no to you?"

The smile stayed in place. "Is that what you're doing?"

John let his emotions surface. He allowed his thoughts and feelings for everything in his life, good and bad, to come forward. He kept his head working well enough to say the smart thing. Thoughts he had swimming around for a while.

"I think you like me too much to do the things you once did to me. I think you may not fully understand why the things you did and sometimes still do are wrong, because your head is built wrong. And I think you are capable of good."

"I think you talk too much."

A slight chuckle emerged from his throat. James Moriarty was the one who loved to hear himself talk. He was impressed by his own cleverness and delighted in outsmarting others. Jim was a criminal, a murderer. He shouldn't be here with him.

"I can't stay, Jim. I love Mary, but I was a liar with her. It was never entirely real. I became a person I'm not."

"Hm..."

Well, a non-answer to these statements was worrisome. The discomfort grew, courage fading. He could be mistaken in his belief Jim held affection for him. Moriarty could easily be misread. Perhaps that was what was happening now and he would be killed for speaking his mind.

"Get dressed."

He frowned when the man got off the bed and walked to the open closet. Jim snatched a plain gray t-shirt and blue jeans hanging in the closet. They were next to a half dozen duplicate and expensive black suits.

"Jim?"

"Clothes, John."

Sighing, he did as he was told. Jim had to have his way. For coming so far from the nightmare of their first meeting to whatever it was they were now, some things still seemed very much the same.

When they finished dressing, Jim grabbed his phone from the counter and began typing with it. He was maybe texting. He didn't look up as he motioned for John to follow him out the door. Against his better judgment, he followed.

/

"Sherlock Holmes? What do you want?"

He strode through the open door, barely acknowledging the surprised woman. He scanned the finer details of the room. His eyes detected empty boxes shoved against the far wall.

"He's not here."

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at her. He discerned the defeated stance and distant stare. He was not good with personal emotion. Estimating and measuring emotion in other people he could do. Mary was sad but seemed rather composed for what he worked out.

"John's moved out."

"Yes. For more than a week now. He hasn't called you?"

He was staring at the tell-tale boxes which informed John hadn't had enough belongings here to fill all of the provided boxes. Could this mean his heart had never been in it? Was he contemplating the manner of another person's heart? He broke out of his mind to look briefly in her general direction to respond.

"What? No. No, we haven't... No."

His thoughts wrapped around and around and swept the present away.

"Wake up, Sherlock. What are you doing? We both know how John cares for you and yet we're having this little chat."

This was peculiar. The Woman ringing to warn, an unnecessary warning, the Professor criminal had an interest in Sherlock Holmes. Well of course he did. Who didn't these days? The vultures calling themselves journalists loved to circle the station or his apartment every other month, should the case at hand be deemed high-profile and newsworthy.

After the warning, she was choosing to expose her curiosity on the loss of his blogger and consulting partner. "There was a brief..something between John and I..."

Sherlock felt like slamming the phone in his hand against the wall. What something? It was nothing or John would have said. She was far too flirtatious for her own good and was exaggerating. How outrageous for her to say such an admittance when she attracted trouble by the boatload.

"When you were playing the part of his informant. When you allowed him to endanger himself in a job that asked too much of him. When-"

"Yes, yes. Jealousy, Sherlock. Do you see? It's obvious how much you care for him in turn."

He pushed any possible emotion to the back of his head and replied with retained logic. "Some thought me infatuated with you once. John thought it. How do you know it isn't for you that I..hesitate?"

She was ready as well. "You've never come after me, never waited for me. You wait for him though. You always wait for him."

"How would you know?"

A smooth laugh came over the line before her response. "I have my ways."

He was growing frustrated. This conversation was becoming more and more tedious.

"Look, if you must know, I told John I loved him and nothing happened."

"Did you really?"

She sounded like she didn't believe him. She sounded amused. He was getting angry.

"Well, something that was just the same."

"Oh Sherlock."

He remained silent. There was nothing conducive to this conversation he wanted to say to her.

"I should go. These days I have to keep moving. I've attracted unwanted attention from various unseemly parties. But listen, John is the best friend you've ever had and you know it. Don't lose it because you're too stubborn to attempt normal speaking rituals. Goodbye."

Mary must have mistaken his silence for uncertainty or concern. She didn't seem to remember how he often became lost in his own head. John never forgot. He kept Sherlock functioning with reminders of how one should behave, tolerated some of his more obtuse habits, and he actually liked him. How could John have left him? Where was he?

"He doesn't hate you, Sherlock. There's no enmity here."

"He's..with Moriarty. He went to Moriarty. How could he go to that man?"

The derision he applied to the end of his question made it quite clear it was rhetorical. Sherlock removed his mobile and dialed a number with a single glance at the device. In the meantime, Mary was staring questioningly.

"Moriarty? James Moriarty? The master criminal who nearly killed him?"

Hmm... Maybe she hadn't been curious, more shocked. Just as quickly, the shock passed and incredible calm replaced it. How did she manage that? When he allowed emotions to affect him, it was never so easy to change them at will. This was why it was better not to feel.

"John was not one to have people hate him. Still, it's difficult to imagine them sharing a..friendship."

Difficult to imagine? That was being polite. He focused on the woman demanding his attention on the mobile.

"Hello? Hello? Sherlock? Sherlock! Sherlock? You rang me. Hello?"

"Molly."

"Sherlock. Hi! What is it? Is something wrong?"

"You dated Jim Moriarty for a time."

Mary turned away from the stack of empty boxes. She looked at him and the phone at his ear contemplatively. No doubt wondering who Molly might be in relation to him or John.

"Ji- Moriarty? Well, yes. You know it. But-I didn't know who he was. He was completely someone else around me, I swear. I- Why are you asking? What's this about?"

"Who is that? Who's Molly?"

He shifted his shoulders to block out her presence and pay attention to the woman he was currently interested in hearing. Sherlock realized he didn't want to ask what he intended to ask anymore. He was letting emotions rule him far too much. He'd never been like this. He didn't want to be. It hurt.

Molly was speaking his name from the phone and John's wife didn't take too kindly to being ignored. She used her words as a weapon, speaking them sharp and biting.

"Why do you think he asked Moriarty to come get his things?"

Sherlock shifted in her direction, blocking out Molly now. He waited for the inevitable follow through.

"He asked this man because he knew he'd be there for him, and he knew you wouldn't."

All he gave was further silence.

"Just because he left me doesn't mean he'll go to you. You don't treat him right. You're stubborn, and cold, and..an idiot! You've messed him up more than the military ever did. You-"

She halted her speech and Sherlock faced her direct to see why. Mary stared a bit wide-eyed. She was stunned and confused. It appeared she reached an understanding on something.

"You love him, don't you?"

"Hello?"

Right. Molly. He ended the call and pocketed his mobile. The call was a mistake. It was weak and unnecessary.

"I shouldn't have come here. I..I'm sorry."

He walked to the door thinking he wasn't weak. He was a solitary person, even if it wasn't better that way. It was nice having someone to rely on while it lasted. But John was right. In these kinds of matters he usually was. Sherlock hadn't always been forthcoming and it drove his flatmate away. John made his choice and he was going to have to deal with it.

Mary was calling his name. He didn't want to see the look of loss in her eyes he knew was there. More importantly, he didn't want her to see the loss in his own eyes. He didn't look back.

/

Moriarty brought him to a residence out in the countryside. He had his driver park down the road, leaving the employee with the car while he and John walked up to the house. When Jim veered from the drive to walk around to the back, he was finally questioning this road trip.

"Where are we? Who does this house belong to?"

Jim spread his arms outward to indicate the backyard of the house before him. "There was a case in the news some time ago. Two little girls went missing."

He knew that case. Three months past, two kids ages nine and seven, disappeared from the park near their home in Doncaster. It was still classified as a missing persons case. There was a rumor passing for common belief nowadays that the biological father fled to America with them over a custody dispute.

"I remember. Sisters."

No response to his remembrance. Jim wandered a ways across the yard, coming to stop by a small square garden of daisies and tulips. He lowered his raised arms and measured John's body language before speaking.

"They are buried here."

"No," he exhaled his automatic response.

"A bad man took them from the park. Gave them drugged candies and put them in his van when they felt sick. Promised to take them home and took them here instead. He did bad things to them for over a week. He did so love to see all that blood."

John's eyes were staring holes in the bright green grass near the flower garden. "Stop."

"He did things I wouldn't dream doing to anyone. He taped it all to sell for profit online as well."

"Jim, please."

The man scuffed the soil beneath his shoe and didn't listen. "They died horribly. And they weren't the first."

"Stop it!"

Dark eyes rose to meet his wide, desperate ones pleading for the words to stop.

"Twenty years he's been at it, and he's planning to do it again."

When Jim pulled out the gun from his jacket pocket, he stepped away unsure of what was happening. The weapon didn't point at him. Instead it was turned so the handle was offered. He fixed his confused gaze on Moriarty.

"Kiddie rapist. A man with twisted inclinations, wicked thoughts. He gives in to those urges regularly because he can get away with it. I may allow harm to come to a child, John, but never like that."

Silently he filled in Moriarty had no problem torturing and raping him for a time. He'd blown innocents to bits and encouraged murder. The man had his own bad thoughts which he entertained too. Apparently he drew the line at child rape and torture. A lot of criminals did. So James Moriarty did have a heart and soul in there somewhere.

"Go on then. The man lives alone in this house. Stop him before he can lay a finger on another innocent kid."

Three quick strides forward and he was in front of him. Jim lifted his arm, pushing the gun into his right hand. John used his left to shove him away.

He turned toward the house. From here it looked like an ordinary house. He didn't feel a presence of evil or anything to hint at what lurked inside. For a moment he contemplated if it was a lie. Maybe the other man was winding him up, hoping to watch him go.

If what he said was true, this man could hurt another child. It would be better for the world if he was no longer in it. John was no rogue killer. He couldn't just murder someone who wasn't a danger in that instant. Or could he?

The man deserved to die. Without conscious thought, he was moving closer to the back door. He noticed when he was nearly upon the back step and stopped. What was he doing? This wasn't him.

His shoulders sagged and he lowered the gun, unwilling to do it. Turning to tell Moriarty as much, he almost jumped. The man was standing by his elbow with his left hand outstretched. John returned the weapon to his hand.

"See. You don't have to worry about becoming like ol' Jim if you stick with me. You're still entirely yourself."

He gaped at him. This was the whole reason he'd been brought out here. This wasn't a game or a test to see what he would do. This was an opportunity to let him see he wouldn't become a bad man for enjoying the company of a self-proclaimed bad man. It seemed rather conscientious and self-less.

"If you weren't," Jim added. "I might have to kill you, Johnny."

Moriarty continued to sound serious in his speech. Changeable man that he was, John knew he may very well mean it. The warm feelings evaporated and he couldn't quite look at the other man. It wasn't because he feared James Moriarty or because he was unsure what he felt. John knew what he was feeling and it left him voiceless.

"Don't ever go changing on me."

Lips pressed to the side of his forehead. He started thinking. Mary had been the smart choice, the safe choice. There wasn't danger with her and he was happy. It was an okay life. But she didn't want him if he loved anyone else, and he did and he was sorry for that.

They walked to the car in silence, John deciding to keep his eyes focused on what was ahead. This was impossible. Everything he tried to convince himself of before. They were empty beliefs.

When the vehicle was moving, he saw Jim slide across the seat out of his peripheral vision. He turned away from the window. Moriarty settled in his new position beside him.

"What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, he opted to be quiet. His gaze found his hands in his lap and stayed there.

"You're looking sad, Johnny. Do you miss Sherlock?"

He stared forward. So many times he got annoyed at him mentioning Sherlock Holmes. What did it mean when he was the one to bring him up? He could guess. Jim knew what was what but didn't need to directly say it. As usual with either one of the geniuses, there was no point in lying.

"No... It's just..you're a criminal, Jim. You kill people."

Of course he had an instant answer.

"In the strictest sense of the matter, I get other people to do it for me or give advice on how to do it."

He held his gaze on the empty seat straight ahead. He would not admit what he was feeling. He would not admit he cared more than he should for this man. John didn't even know what was going to happen in his life now that his marriage was over.

Mary didn't want him. What about Sherlock? How was Sherlock? Probably wondrously solving cases.

That particular man wasn't what saddened him, at least not today. He wondered if Moriarty was capable of love. Psychopaths couldn't be, right? It was a bad idea either way. It just couldn't be.

When a tear leaked out of an eye, tracking down his cheek, he was embarrassed he failed to notice the potential. He wiped it away, determined not to be emotional.

John sighed. "Yeah, I miss Sherlock."

He wasn't fooling him. Jim knew it was a lie. Well, it was a true statement, but it wasn't the reason his eyes were welling and he felt like crying. It was a pathetic moment.

A hand fit into his own and John very nearly shook it off. He was tired of pulling away. He would never let himself care for Moriarty more than he should. He was dangerously close to crossing that line. It couldn't happen.

"You'll return to 221B Baker Street tomorrow night," announced Jim. "You need that moron right now to keep you busy and distracted."

Jim wrapped his free arm around him and he melted against his side. John squeezed the hand he grasped. He was sad, pathetic, lonely, and so bloody tired of being lonely!

"I'll be around whenever you need me," Moriarty told him, and followed his words with a trademark smirk.

Oh great... Jim wasn't likely to be all that introvert about the whole thing.