For a moment, there was silence. Then there was a loud thud followed by a sharp crack as John slammed Moriarty into the doorframe and punched him in the face. Pressing the half-naked man back with his left arm, he raised his fist to hit him again –

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and yanked him away. "That's enough of that," Moran told him coldly, placing himself between John and Moriarty. The latter looked slightly dazed as he straightened, eyes darting from John to Sherlock back to John and finally settling on Moran. "That's funny," he told the tall man. "That's exactly what you did when you found out that I was alive." He looked to Sherlock. "You'd think they'd be happy to see you, but instead of kisses and 'oooh, darling, I missed you so much and I'm so glad you're not dead', you get a black eye and are told you're a twisted psycho bastard."

"You are a twisted psycho bastard," Sherlock noted matter-of-factly. He seemed to have recovered from his initial shock, and when Moriarty widened his eyes in mock-offense and mouthed ouch, the consulting detective actually smiled.

John, breathing heavily and still seeing the world through a reddish haze of disbelief and rage, wanted to punch him too. Moriarty was alive, and Sherlock bloody smiled.

"Did you fake the shot, or did you actually shot yourself through the cheek?" Sherlock asked idly as Moriarty rounded Moran to make his way over to the kettle on the kitchen bench, filling it up and putting it on.

"He really shot himself, the stupid git," Moran told him, a hint of disgust in his voice. He kept his eyes locked on John, obviously not trusting him not to attack Moriarty again. Wise, that. "Apparently came bloody close to bleeding out, too."

"Close doesn't count, Sebastian. You should know that better than most." Moriarty turned from the kettle and gestured towards Moran. "Meet Sebastian Moran. Well, I guess you already have. Best sniper in the world. Makes good scrambled eggs, too."

"Your… private assassin?"

"Assassin, body-guard… cook. My John Watson."

"I'm your husband, your twit," Moran snarled.

Moriarty's eyes narrowed for a split second, but then he shrugged. "It made the name-change almost legal." He smiled, shark-like. "James Moran. Hi!"

John couldn't help but to glance at the man's hand and, sure enough, he wore a plain wedding band matched by the ring on Moran's finger. This was too bizarre, too surreal, and entirely too much like facing Moriarty posing as Richard Brook in Kitty Reily's apartment over three years ago. The feeling of reality slipping away -

"Never figured you for the marrying type," Sherlock mused. "But I guess that was rather the point of this whole exercise, wasn't it?"

"I knew you'd get it." And again that smirk passing between them, Sherlock and Moriarty sharing a joke no one else could hope to understand.

It made John sick. "Um, excuse me," he said, fighting hard to keep his voice steady, "but would someone mind telling me what the bloody hell is going on here?"

Sherlock gave him a puzzled glance; Moriarty was clearly amused; in Moran's eyes John thought he could detect a faint trace of sympathy. Neither man spoke. John tried again. "I don't mean to sound petty here, but he" – a gesture towards Moriarty, who rolled his eyes and busied himself putting leaves in the tea pot – "did his bloody best to utterly destroy you, Sherlock. Ruin you. Kill you."

"Get him to kill himself," Moriarty corrected under his breath from over pouring boiling water into the pot. "Let's keep the details straight."

John ignored him, focusing on Sherlock. "I'm sorry, I really am, if I missing something obvious here, but could you kindly explain to me why finding him alive seems to sodding please you?" He paused, struck by sudden suspicion. "Did you know he was alive?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Good. So… shouldn't this be a time for concern then, rather than, oh, I don't know, making casual conversation?"

Sherlock gave him a blank look. "Why?"

"What – ! Why? Because he's a bloody murderous lunatic who's obsessed with besting you! He's going to keep at it until he's crushed you!"

Moriarty sniffed, back still turned. "No, I won't. I did that already. Doing it again would be… dull. So unimaginative," he added in an aside to Moran.

John rounded on him, snarling. "You didn't, though, did you? Because he's still alive, you wanker, and he fucking proved that you're the villain. You bloody lost!"

"He really doesn't get it, does he?" Moriarty asked Sherlock over his shoulder, not in the least intimidated by John's outburst. "It must be so tiresome to have to spell everything out all the time."

"Careful," Sherlock warned him, voice suddenly cold.

"Oooh, that's right! Mustn't insult your little pet. That's rude of me, very rude, I'm so horribly rude… " He turned to face John, smiling, a steaming cup in his outstretched hand. "Tea? You take it with milk, no sugar, right, John?"

John slapped the cup away. It broke against the stove, splashing pale liquid over the wall and floor. Moran remained still by the door, but he followed John's every move, quite obviously ready to step in if he was needed to protect his husband – employer – again.

Moriarty smiled lazily. "Temper, temper."

"We should probably leave," Sherlock said, looking from John to Moriarty and back again. "John?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Let's get the bloody hell out of here.

John half-expected Moran or Moriarty to try and stop them as he and Sherlock made their way to the front door. Instead, the two men just followed. Like any ordinary couple politely biding their guests good-bye after a dinner party…

"Well, it was awfully nice to see you," Moriarty chirped. "But I don't expect you'll be coming around here no more." A hint of danger to his voice, a touch of threat -

Sherlock smiled, tight-lipped. "The situation is perfectly clear. James." He paused. "But if you – "

"No!" Moran's shout was as sharp as it was unexpected. "No," he repeated, stepping in front of Sherlock, staring him down. "No threats. No ultimatums. No games. Just leave."

So they left.

TBC

Not enough MorMor? Well, I'm saving it all for the next and final chapter.