Run
When John woke up, she was alone, in half her military uniform, cradling her head under a pillow. The hangover was not as awful as she had expected, but she had prepared. An empty glass of water sat on her nightstand next to painkiller packets… and a vitamin bottle.
Vitamins. That was Sherlock's doing.
That and the mind blowing, groping like teens, grinding with clothes on, orgasm. And the kissing. There was kissing. With mouths.
John groaned and rolled onto her back. That had to be a dream. Some sort of fucked up dream her subconscious threw at her as a way to get over her breakup. Feel close to Sherlock, get over man. A plus B equals making out with women, apparently. But that was just because… oh god. She did not know.
She could have sworn she drank enough to black out at least a little bit. It could have been a drunk dream. All of it could have been. The kissing, the art, Martin.
Her gaze instantly dropped to her left hand. It had always been bare before. Now she was sure it would always remain that way. Fucking men. Fucking Moriarty. Fucking fuck.
She gripped her head in her hands and squeezed once before pushing herself up and fixing her bed.
A jog was exactly what she needed to wake up and move on with her life. Dealing with the loss of a pretend boyfriend of half a year, turned half a minute fiancé, and the sudden urge to neck her best friend could come later. Exercise always made her forget to think, her already aching muscles be damned.
Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, still locked away in her bedroom, hopefully sleeping it off. Lestrade would be over in a few hours to pick up the art and take it to the museum experts for scans and tests. Sherlock chipped off a bit of paint herself, testing for forgery and the like. John wrote a post it note and stuck it next to the small painting, reminding her to remind Lestrade to tell the curator. No need for them to think it a worthless knock off when they went through so much trouble to get it.
A scam engagement and betrayal breakup really called for a change of pace. John walked past Regent's Park and checked her pocket -these running shorts were equipped for the modern woman. Sherlock could call or text if she wanted -though, selfishly, John hoped it could wait until after her run.
Maybe even next week.
Or month.
Or never.
John was not quite sure she could handle a 'we drank and now I have dried cum on my thighs, what can we deduce?' text. Even a simple 'John -SH' would have her running away to Cardiff.
Three stops on the underground and she would be in a new park, running a new path filled with unfamiliar faces, nowhere near any cases or schools or therapists offices.
Naturally, leaving the flat without leaving any sort of message where she was going or how long she would be gone meant it was only a matter of time before a hulking bear of a man in a big black suit sidled up to her on the car bench and flashed a gun. Everyone else in the car had mysteriously and conveniently decided to get off at the next stop. When John bent around the familiar looking goon, she could see that held true for all the other cars as well. The entire train. She was completely alone.
"Fantastic," she sighed and smiled at the bear man. "Lovely to see you again."
No reaction at all. Just like the last time.
"Jim," John called out. "I'm really not in the mood. Can we reschedule?"
"Afraid not, Johnny boy," Moriarty called, her voice almost incomprehensible through the overhead system, though John was sure she was not actually anywhere near the train. "Be a dear and put on the blindfold."
The bear man held out a long strip of black silk.
"Some other time?" John asked pleasantly, ignoring the grim invitation.
"She says," the bear man gruffed, "You and Sherly do it all the time. What's the big deal?"
John glared at the silk and scratched at her neck, flinching when she touched suede. She forgot to take off the necklace.
"You can either be blindfolded, drugged, or both," he continued. "She says to pick your poison."
John eyed the small bluetooth hiding in the man's ear and sighed. Poison and a hangover would really not mix very well. "Fine." She grabbed the blindfold and strapped it around herself, making sure to leave a bit of space under her eyes.
Sherlock was not going to be a happy camper when she woke up.
Next thing John knew, she was dragged up some stairs in an eerily quiet tunnel and shoved into the back of a car. She tried, yet again, to remember the twists and turns but she barely knew for sure which stop they had exited and they had circled the block at least twice.
Her phone easily slipped out of her pocket but she was hopeless at texting with her eyes closed. The minute she opened it up, it started beeping and the bear man took it away from her.
After exiting the stopped car and walking up another labyrinth of stairs, the blindfold was removed. She stood in the middle of a great library facing an empty desk and two hulking bodyguards.
She had been joking before, but she really needed that bum bag. Running with a gun was becoming a necessity.
"Johnny boy!" Moriarty practically sang as she dashed through the door. As soon as she was able, she spun in front of John and kissed her on each cheek like some overzealous relative. John tried not to squirm. Moriarty wrinkled her nose and looked her up and down. "Well, well. You had a rough night." She pointed at the bite mark John knew blossomed on her neck and winked devilishly. "But a fun one I see."
"Can't this wait?" John snapped. She pulled at her hairband and shoved her hair around her shoulders. "I was rather hoping for a run."
Moriarty threw her hands up and walked behind the desk. "You can run in the backyard with the rest of the dogs. Glenn and Stevie-" she gestured to the bodyguards, "-will accompany you, of course. They could use a little exercise." She grabbed Glenn, the bear man, under the chin and shook his head side to side while baby-talking. "I hardly ever take them out."
"And what makes you think I'll be staying?" John asked pointedly.
"You don't have a choice, darling," Moriarty countered and slumped into the chair. "I need you-"
"As collateral for the painting, yes I've gathered." John's eyes continued to dart around the room, taking in the cameras and the locked windows. "Sherlock doesn't have the painting anymore. So I'm not going to be very much use."
"Au contraire, Johnny." Moriarty threw her heels up on the desk and bit the ring on her finger. "I don't want it now. What's the point if your lap dogs are going to do the work for me?" She swept out her hands nonchalantly and lapped her lips. "Then Sherly will steal it back for me and bing, bang, bop, we have a swap."
"So that's really it?" John straightened herself up. "You just wanted that painting this whole time? All those people dead over that little thing? Granted, they weren't my kind of people."
"I know someone that is your kind of people, Jooooaaaaan." Moriarty's smile fell along with her feet, her human facade melting into her natural cobra-like smirk. She coiled over her desk to get a better look at her prey. "Are you upset I sent your precious fiancé to pick it up for me? Which he failed at by the way. He's off hiding. OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE!" She screamed and burst out into laughter. "When I catch him, and darling you know I will, how would you like him killed?" Her head cocked and her fangs gleamed. "Slow or fast? Painful or excruciating? Heat or ice? Knife? Gun? Should I just invite you to do it? That could be fun."
John's teeth hurt from clenching. "He's not my fiancé."
Moriarty's eyes gleamed and she breathed, "No. No more."
That soulless gaze bore into John with exorbitant delight and unsolicited desire. Clearly she enjoyed her time toying with John's heart. How wonderful for her.
While the silence dragged on, John let her eyes drift to the empty fireplace in the hopes of coming up with a plan. She did not want to be anyone's pawn piece to bing, bang, bop or swap.
Moriarty broke the silence with a teasing growl. "You celebrated." She pointed at the side of her own neck, scratching a finger over the bit where shoulder met neck. "Did Sherlock fuck you into the floor like a good girl?"
"Do you ever shut the hell up?!" John snapped. She huffed out a breath and slipped her hands behind her body, reminding herself that she could not lose it completely in front of a psychopathic nut job. Not unless she wanted to replace the painting and decorate the walls with her insides.
"Touched a sensitive spot, did I?" Moriarty chuckled and trailed her fingers up and down the edge of the desk, her tongue poking between her teeth. "I guess Sherly and I have that in common." She cracked a smile and continued to rub the desk. "You have so many soft spots, Johnny. I think one night, I'm going to find them all. Rip my claws inside and see what makes you tick-tick-tick-tick-tick."
John swallowed. "Sounds lovely. But I think I'll go for that run now."
"Awwwww," Moriarty pouted. "I wanted to spend this time getting to know you, darling! You can't cut our date short! You may find you'll want to stay." She thrust her hands over her heart and swayed dramatically. "Fix me like you fix Sherlock. Hike up those bootstraps and tape me back together with spit and gum. Whatever is it you do for her that keeps her shattered pieces clinging together?"
"No offense, mate, but there's no fixing the kind of crazy you are."
"An expert now, are you? That therapist of yours been rubbing off on you? Actually from what I hear, there wasn't much rubbing at all." Moriarty leaned back in her chair and twirled in a circle, over and over. "Poor Frank. I'll have to send you his balls. I'm sure they'll make pretty blue earrings."
John resolutely kept her mouth shut.
"John Watson. Lover of monsters." She spun around one last time before suddenly stopping and gesturing to the windows. "Maybe that should be the next headline."
"Maybe you should-" John started but caught herself with the bite of her tongue. If Moriarty decided to throw her out the window, it would no doubt result in a broken leg. There was a large garden below on one side of the room, some kind of deck on the other. It was either land in the rose bush or the concrete and she was not inclined to do either. No sign of any neighbors to help her wobble off.
"You tear people down from their pedestals and scoop out their hearts." She mimed scooping out a heart of her own, her fingers pulsing as she held it in front of her flickering eyes. "Analyse them from every angle, until you see the specks of good and dig them out with your teeth." She chomped into the air and threw her head around like a dog before dropping the whole act in an instant. "Even the self-proclaimed sociopaths."
"Are we still talking about Martin?"
Moriarty's phone beeped and she held up a finger in apology as she read the text. "Sherly's realized you're missing. She really should keep better watch on you. Maybe an ID chip. What do you think? I could get one installed in your neck by morning. No more lost puppies." She slipped out of the chair and marched to John's side. "Smile pretty. Sherly wants a picture. Do let her know how nice I've been to you." She held up her phone with the camera app open and turned it on them, her face peeking up from the bottom, her lips pouted into the horrible 'duck face' She tapped her foot impatiently when John did not smile automatically. "We haven't got all day!"
John grit her teeth and pulled up the corners of her mouth up, hoping it would do.
Moriarty snapped the photo and tapped on her phone as she spun around the room. "Don't worry, baby doll. I've had numerous threats from your girlfriend." She held up her phone. "I touch you, she burns my piece."
"And she knows how much it means to you." John said, chin raised.
Moriarty slid her gaze to the side but continued to type on her phone. "Watch your mouth, pet. I may just sew it shut." She closed the phone down and popped it in her pocket with a small jump. "Lunch tomorrow. I'm afraid duty calls. I have been rather busy with all this madness lately. These politicians have so many requests!" She stopped in front of John, their eyes locking. "It's hard to believe they're not all just lizard people."
Moriarty continued to stare and John held her ground, glaring into the empty darkness behind those nearly black irides.
"I'll be sure to compliment her." Moriarty's fingernail traced up the side of John's arm, stinging it's way to her neck and snagging under the ropes of her choker. John could not help the gasp. The band was stronger than the lace and it was cutting uncomfortably tight . "Her collar really does make you look delicious."
Moriarty let go and John choked out a breath, ignoring the usual, "Caio."
John took a moment to force her knees to stop wobbling. She was not strapped in a bomb vest, this was already better than the last kidnapping. The bodyguards were staying away and there were no guns trained on her, at least none that she could see. There was the potential sniper in the garden but that would be a tricky shot for anyone, John included. She trusted Sherlock would do everything she could to keep her safe and come to her rescue. In the meantime, she was a soldier, dammit. There was only time left to kill.
Hopefully only time anyway and John would not be what they were having for lunch tomorrow.
"Come on, boys," John said, pulling herself up and tying her hair back up. "We're going for a run."
AN: I'm going to rename this from The One With All The Cocks... When There Are No Cocks to The One With The Neverending Bum Bag Joke... When It Really Should Have Ended.