Chapter 25

When All the World is Sleeping

Sat in a room following a debrief, as John referred to the interrogation, the hour grew late. Afternoon slipped into night while they were stuck explaining the crisis and resolution. Lestrade was in a grumpy mood lecturing Sherlock repeatedly on what constituted a consultant's work. Search and rescue was not one he was free to do without consequence but John was safe. What did he care about the rest?

"Kneecapping with an illegal firearm? Also not permitted, Sherlock."

"Difficult to run. You were able to arrest them thanks to me. You're welcome. If you find the gun, you can charge me."

Lestrade leaned against the door to the room. He motioned with a thumb to the one-way mirror. "Those two in the other room unarmed and cooperating like dutiful citizens. Not suspicious in the slightest."

Moriarty and Moran were answering questions and giving their story like he and John did. Donovan was probably having a trying time. They'd know exactly how to play this and appear innocent and none the wiser. Moran disposed of the guns he brought for them to use in the minutes prior to the police arrival. He didn't know how or where and he preferred it.

Myra Jones was in jail and would be on her way to prison where she belonged. There she wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore. He glanced at John dozing on the table using his arms to pillow his head. His friend fell asleep an hour ago and neither bothered to wake him. Lestrade was upset but only because of the report he had to provide to his superiors.

"Spin it like you always do, Lestrade. You've got your villains. The rest doesn't matter."

"Yeah, sure. Stay put." The man left the room.

The detective inspector had a lot of bodies to contend with which caused a reasonable amount of stress. He should sympathize but what was the point? John let out a quiet sound, stirring and relaxing back into his folded arms. Moriarty strolled into the room.

Sherlock frowned. "Are you supposed to be in here? Oh never mind."

The criminal sat in the chair across from him and John, wide grin splitting his face. "Hi. Told you it was simple. You want everything to be complicated. There's no plan involving the government. People killing people. How ordinary."

"Uh huh. Wonderful," he groused.

"Let's discuss our pet."

"He's not a pet!"

His eyes flickered to John, worried he woke him. No movement. He returned his gaze to Jim, frowning. The other man looked proud at the provoked outburst. He enjoyed toying with him too much.

"Is it so hard to believe I could be fascinated by him? That I could want him?"

"I don't care what you want."

His grin disappeared. "He's one of a kind. A very special person. Loyal, strong, and infinitely kind-hearted. His bravery and morals are a quandary. He makes me..want to be better."

Sherlock laughed. "Is this a game? A ploy to take John away to hurt me and then-"

"You like to say love is a weakness and emotions don't help solve cases or save lives. But I saved John today because I love him."

"Moran did the saving," he said, voice quieting toward the end. He knew how weak the statement was.

"Have you told him?"

He pretended not to understand. "I tell John lots. You'll have to be more specific."

Wincing, he gave Moriarty what he could use.

Sing-song, his enemy whispered, "You love him like I do."

Sherlock checked John hadn't moved and sat stiff and straight in the chair. "He likes excitement and the thrill of danger like we do, but danger doesn't mean pain."

He sneered at him. "Moran is right. Look how protective you are."

"Stay away from John."

"No," he sang, speaking regular then. "You go home with your boyfriend now. Will you, John?"

How did he miss John was faking sleep? He looked at him, big blue eyes dark in the room's lighting. Nervous, afraid. Oh. He was a dumb smart person to miss the obvious.

Moriarty stood and flashed a smile. "See you later, John."

Sherlock didn't stray from eyes locked on John's frozen stare. He decided he had to make the first move. His mind palace was forming clear his friend exposed deeper feelings and he was too inexperienced to notice. How many times did he deny what was right in front of him out of uncertainty and disbelief?

John pulled back when he moved to kiss him. Insecurities sprang to mind and he maintained an expressionless mask. No emotion. No- He closed his eyes when John's uncertain and surprised look faded to want. They kissed.

"Do you think they count the years of friendship as romantic courtship or will there be a first date?"

They jerked into their separate chairs and peered at Donovan standing in the open door beside Moriarty, Moran and Lestrade just behind them. This was what they deserved for having their first kiss in a police station.

"It was his idea for Moriarty to come in here and see you tell John how you feel. It's sweet."

John seemed so betrayed, looking between Donovan and Moran, whose idea it was to embarrass them in front of their police friends. Moran had a funny concept of what was good. Why did Moriarty even want this to happen? He was confused and John's face said the same.

Standing, he stood to block John from view and waved his arms. "John needs sleep. Can we go?"

"Sleep? Eager to get him to bed, are you?"

Sherlock frowned at Donovan, failing to comprehend what meaning she construed to be smiling knowingly about something he was not in on.

Anderson peeked around the corner beneath Donovan's right arm to see inside the room. "Yes, you can go. I knew it, by the way."

No one believed him.

/

He waited a week for the bruises to lessen. His cheek was still marred by a bruise that was at least smaller and fainter. John went to Cardiff to visit Kingston. He had loads on his mind, foremost Mary's request they get the divorce papers drawn up and signed. Sherlock was the other foremost thing in his thoughts.

His most recent kidnapping should bother him but he was kidnapped at an increased rate since meeting Sherlock Holmes. Came with the territory of loving the guy. Guy he was with now. Boyfriends.

Not attached to his own bed in the slightest, his words, Sherlock slept in John's bed every night since the kidnapping, rescue, and police station kiss. He walked down the university halls upbeat despite his failed marriage. A marriage he could admit was born of refusal to confess what he felt for Sherlock in transparent terms. He was guilty for not loving Mary right, but it was a weight off his shoulders to have someone he would love right after waiting years for him.

Voices in the hall coming up drew his ear. The professor he was on his way to see was a part of the conversation.

"Oh, Tom!" A woman uttered in concern. "What happened to your arm?"

"Cut myself."

"Where'd you accidentally do that? And so many times?"

"Raked my arm on something. Hurt too. Proves I can take it. That I'm alive."

"Oh. Uh.." a nervous laugh. "As long as you're alright..."

"I am. A person suffers to be their purest sometimes."

He stopped walking, hearing not his friend and confidant but a dangerous criminal.

"Oh here we go with the absolution chatter," a man said in good humor. "My psychology lecture on fatalism begins in five minutes. Join us for lunch after? Emma says you haven't been eating. That's nonsense, surely?"

"Hm. I'm having lunch with a friend today. Another time."

"Sure!"

John was rooted to the spot. All it took was a voice out of sight. He felt so stupid. Sherlock would have figured Professor Kingston out as the Professor in a heartbeat. Was meeting and befriending him all arranged? He told Tom more than he told just about anyone else. He was so stupid.

The man he thought was his trusted friend rounded the corner and saw him standing there a meter away. "Hello, John."

He tried to push down his feelings like Sherlock would advise for protection and allowance of clear thinking. A focus on something mundane could help, so he studied the black sweater over a white undershirt the man wore. The suit jacket to dress him up a bit more, the clean-shaven face where the Professor criminal would have a day's growth at least. The glasses Professor Kingston gripped and removed.

Must have done a rubbish job of it, however, as the professor dropped the smile.

"Are we caught up then?"

He'd gone unnecessarily rigid, anxiety spiking. Swallowing nerves, he clenched and unclenched his left hand, wondering what he was supposed to do with this knowledge. Were his eyes always this severe and uncaring?

"Plenty of people want to do good things all on their own. Those are the pure." Tom broke his glasses. Snapped them right in half and abandoned them to the floor. "Like you."

Of course it was a deliberate arrangement to be his friend. This was the person he saved from a reckless driver. He put himself in a psychopath's crosshairs from that day forth. By meaning something to Sherlock the same happened to him with Moriarty. John began to doubt his sister was a random victim.

"I knew you would see me for who I am eventually. This is earlier than I thought but oh well..."

John thought on how many times he nearly died for things this man was manipulating behind the scenes. Saw him at the masquerade ball and he didn't have a clue. How could he not see it sooner?

"I tried to set you up. You and Sherlock didn't work. I took that damn dog to see if setting up love was possible. You and Mary Morstan didn't work either. Affecting your life and your thoughts has been fun. Sherlock Holmes doesn't impress me like he does you. You impress me. I studied you and the people around you by inserting myself into your life. Ingratiated to become your support. You're the perfect subject to learn about the pure heart, the strength of heart."

He smiled the barest of smiles, thin-lipped with a slight curl at the corners of his mouth. "Do you remember when we first met? I risked my life to test the compassion of the average person. You were the one who saved me that day. I warned you. Compassion is a weakness, a trait people who do not care will not share. The heart does not require compassion to be strong, pure."

Kingston habitually said the same things time and time again. Now that he knew his professor and the Professor were one and the same, it fit. The Professor had the habit to repeat phrases as well.

"An angel playing at being a man."

"You're insane." Not his strongest insult, but he was not anticipating any of this. It was not his day.

"My first experiment was my sister's rapist. He destroyed her. Stole away her ability to feel joy, to feel safe. The world is contaminated and I want to make it better."

"By hurting people?!"

He glanced about after his unexpected outburst. The man opposite him didn't seem to care. He closed the distance to stand like two people having a civil discussion. They were alone in the hall. There were multiple pairs of footsteps coming closer. They hopefully wouldn't be alone for long. His chances were good he was safe in this public place. Professor Kingston wouldn't have a weapon on him while at work in a university.

"People need to see they are responsible for creating a better world. Not some of them. All of them. We can't do it by half. The worthwhile stay and the rest must go."

John followed his wandering gaze and was shocked to see Sherlock walking quickly toward them. Mycroft and Moran were close at his back while Moriarty did his typical slow stroll. He wondered if his life was in danger, would he run to him?

These were the footsteps. "What are you doing here?"

Sherlock stood shoulder to shoulder with him. "Moriarty analyzed the voice on the call for the Professor's little game. University checks matched a professor of criminology in Cardiff. Matched to one of his lectures posted online. I remembered you visit a friend who is a professor and you were going to meet him today."

All correct. He shouldn't be amazed and yet he continued to be.

"You go untouched or they do. What do you choose, John?"

His response was instant. "You're mad if you think I'm going to let harm come to them."

"Well, yes, I'm mad. It has no correlation to my thought process at the moment."

John rolled his eyes at how much he sounded like his two geniuses.

"I like you, John, but make no mistake. I will kill you if you get in my way."

Emboldened with the four of them present, he declared, "Then kill me and quit talking."

There was some notable flinching when he looked to his friends. Sherlock did this sort of thing all the time. Fearless and forward.

"I told you compassion is a weakness. A trait the apathetic will not share. I do not."

Sharp, radiating pain when Tom punched him in the left shoulder. No. Stabbed. Stabbed! John grimaced, clutching the pen the arsehole jammed into his chest. He stumbled backward and felt Moran's big hands steadying him.

There was an explosion around the corner he likened to a gun firing and a roaring, dull to his ears. He might have been in shock. Just a bit. His surroundings were blurring or maybe that was his thoughts. The alarm deafening him woke him out of the stupor.

Sherlock wasn't beside him. Jim grasped his chin and looked into his eyes. "Okay?"

"Aces." He grunted, watching the fingers of Moriarty's other hand pry his own from the pen. "Where's Tom? Kingston."

"He ran after triggering the explosive. Sherlock and Moran pursued."

"I suspect he prepared for this eventuality from the beginning."

John eyed Mycroft, who was eyeing his wound. "I don't suppose he influenced you any, though he tried."

He waited for Mycroft's gaze to lift to his face. "Sherlock would say compassion is found on the losing side."

"Compassion is the basis for all morality. I find it easier to show compassion to animals. They are never wicked."

"I agree. Animals are cuter too."

He blinked a few times. "Not your pet."

Jim made a noncommittal noise and ran fingers through his hair. It felt nice. He wouldn't say no to a scalp massage. What was he thinking?

Sherlock returned looking disappointed. "Got away from us."

He went with Sherlock back to their flat. Announcing he was tired and in need of a nap, he went to his room. A short kip would be nice. John was hardly lying under the covers a minute when the bed dipped and Sherlock cozied up behind him.

It inspired words he'd been circulating in his mind for a while on the return trip home.

"He told me compassion was keeping me from having a pure heart when we met. You know, on the street that day. When I didn't know I met the Professor ages ago." Sherlock was quiet so he continued, opening his eyes to stare ahead. "The definition of compassion is sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it. I looked it up."

"Compassion is sometimes the fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It is the knowledge there can never really be any peace and joy for me, until there is peace and joy for you."

Oddly touching. Light from the window was enough to see by. He rolled over and didn't think on it. If he thought on it and stared into those pale blue eyes too long he would convince himself out of it. John closed his eyes and reached out to grasp Sherlock's arm. He smiled when he was kissed. Sherlock could read the signs he was looking for.

Shifting to kiss his cheek, Sherlock murmured into his ear, "Compassion is rather terrible."

Teeth clamped down on his earlobe and he groaned. "Not romantic, Sherlock."

"Many don't achieve peace and joy at any time of their life. Compassion would be horrifying for the ones sympathetic to them."

"You're thinking too much."

"I wish to comfort you."

John almost laughed while his lover nosed along his throat after saying that. "You want to have sex."

"It's dubious whether I could ever comfort you with words. My body may have better results."

He pulled away just a little to look at him. His expression was the picture of innocence. Yeah, right. Virgin or not, he would never claim Sherlock Holmes was innocent.

"Your suggestion is to fuck it better." He wanted to be sure he was getting that right.

Sherlock put on a mock expression to appear forlorn, shaking his head side to side slowly. "No... We cannot fuck the situation better. That's not how things work."

His eyes narrowed. "I do not act like that."

He smiled. "I want to fuck though. I came prepared. Lubrication and condoms."

"Er... Do without the condom?"

The man frowned and considered. "I guess. I'll want to shower afterward then. A gross sticky bottom is not my idea of sexy."

John tossed the covers off of them and struggled to tug down his pants. "Actually, mind if you do me?"

Sherlock forgot how to breathe if his frozen and then choking cough was anything to go by. He patted his arm.

"Okay. Lube."

A bottle pressed into his expectant hand. Where was he hiding it? Something hit the floor. Was that the condoms?

While the other man stripped, John didn't bother with losing his shirt, instead using the lube to slick his finger. He pushed it inside and wiggled it about to loosen the muscle. Eventually he got where he wanted to be and Sherlock crawled on top of him without warning right after he pulled his fingers free. Wheezing out a laugh, his weight lifted to not crush him and he stayed on his belly.

He passed the bottle and heard Sherlock open the top and the sound of application on what would soon be in him. His body thrummed with excitement. It was his heart beating rapid in his chest. John wanted this with Sherlock for so long he found it bizarre now that it was happening, it just felt natural. Another thing they did together. He thought it would be awkward and fumbling and there'd be an argument or two and-

John silenced his runaway thoughts. They deserved this moment. He spread his legs wider and raised to his forearms, aiming to provide a good angle for coupling. Sherlock laid over his back in an impatient manner, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Okay?"

"Okay," he breathed on an exhale.

He couldn't really tell if it was Sherlock's first time or if he was out of practice. It was perfect no matter his history. They knocked teeth while kissing a few times and that wasn't fun. A sharp chin hit his spine at one point and he bashed an elbow into Sherlock's side unintentionally. It was a few minutes of thrusting before the spot that made him all tingly obsessed was rubbed. When it was...

"Keep doing that. Yeah! There. Augh..."

John's upper body flattened on the bed when a relentless pounding was given. It was one of those moments where he couldn't stop smiling no matter how goofy it had him feeling. He strained to hold out and only lasted another minute more, climax spilling cum on the sheets and a drawn out moan from his throat.

Sherlock slowed and his careful pace floundered. A probably unintentional couple of hard thrusts deep and the man came inside him. John grabbed at him when he shifted as though to pull out of him immediately.

"Give me a minute. Just..."

His lover rotated them to their sides and spooned firm against his backside. "I know sex is a distraction but we should do that again."

He held in the laugh hearing how Sherlock panted what he said.

"I'll let you shag me again later. I really was tired and now I'm knackered."

Lips kissed the back of his left shoulder. His shirt was covering the recently acquired stab wound and there was a patch taped over the hole. The painkillers were solid and he could ignore the twinge of pain every time he moved his left arm. Wasn't serious.

Sherlock's arms tightened about his stomach. "You can do me when we go again."

"Right you are," he murmured and drifted off to sleep in moments.