Three days had passed since Moriarty had taken John to the flat. While he was sleeping the first night, someone brought back his rucksack, and John noticed that only his mobile phone was missing. The third morning, he woke up to find that the flat had been cleaned except for his bedroom. When he fell asleep the third night, someone replenished his refrigerator. It mystified John how they knew when he was asleep and were capable of not waking him up when they were inside. It also bothered him. As a veteran, John had always been, to an extent, a light sleeper. Yes, he could sleep through bombings if need be, but generally he woke up to even the smallest sound. Whoever was coming in at night always managed to leave him undisturbed.

At least John acclimated himself to living alone again rather quickly. He always had the telly or radio on. Silence for extended periods of time irked him because it reminded him that he was truly alone again and would be for another three or so weeks. If the noise wasn't enough, he would yell at the telly or radio. It wasn't that he thought it could answer back, but it was nice to verbally complain about something petty once in awhile. Another thing John was getting used to was cooking again. When living with Sherlock, John was never sure if he would have time to cook, never knowing when the Yard would need their help and call. With nothing better to do with his day, John was forcing himself to remember the cooking class he took in Uni for credits. He also watched the cooking channel more, hoping they would make something that John actually had the ingredients for.

Tonight, John was having chicken stir fry for dinner. It was easy enough for John to make, and they had been running a chicken cooking marathon on the telly all day. The radio was on, playing in the background as his skillet sizzled and popped. Humming to himself, John stirred the contents of his skillet in order to ensure that nothing would burn. Just as he was about to check the white rice, John heard the front door open. Shocked, he spun around to find Moriarty waltzing into the flat.

"Hey there, Johnny-boy," Moriarty called out in a chipper voice as the door swung shut behind him.

Rigid, John froze where he was. "Mr Mori-" he began to greet.

"Tsk, tsk, Johnny," Moriarty cut him off. "I thought I gave you clear instructions."

Pausing a moment, John thought back to the first day he came. "James," he corrected himself after a moment.

"Very good, Johnny," Moriarty praised, heading over to see what John was cooking. "Chicken stir fry with white rice? Enough for two, even. Were you really expecting me?"

John rolled his eyes and turned back to his food. "No. I was expecting to get to eat this both tonight and tomorrow for lunch."

"Well," Moriarty started, opening up the cabinet for plates, "it appears you're going to have to plan something else for tomorrow. I'll be eating with you tonight."

Sighing, John was not feeling up to having a row about dinner. Instead, he pressed, "Might I ask why?"

"You might," Moriarty answered whimsically as he set the plates down on the table. "You might not. In the end, you're the only one who really knows."

John rolled his eyes. How could have forgotten what it was like to be with this man? "Very well. Why are you eating with me tonight?" he inquired before he turned off the stove.

"Living with Sherlock has made you lazy," Moriarty suddenly pointed out. It caught John slightly off guard to be called out in such a bold manner. "Think about it for just a moment, and I'm sure you'll be able to figure out everything on your own. Not just anyone can be a captain and a doctor, after all. You have to have some wits about you."

John scowled and remained silent for a moment as he walked over to the table with the pot of rice. As he filled his plate, John took the time to actually think everything through. Moriarty had told him that he would see John probably about once a week since John told him that was more or less how long he could last without human contact. But it was only three days since then, and here he was. There would be no reason to come back. After all, John had not broken any of the house rules and had not made contact with Moriarty since he first arrived. That is unless… Suddenly, John felt realisation wash over him. "You've bugged the house," he accused sharply, turning on his heels to face Moriarty.

"Very good," Moriarty praised mockingly as he pulled out two forks and two knives. "Although I know you've had a psychiatrist, I somehow doubt that you two had an extensive chat about how talking to the radio or television is not necessarily typical."

Biting his tongue, John walked around the other side of the table and sloppily dropped the rest of the rice on Moriarty's plate. He headed back into the kitchen and quickly glanced around the room. Surveillance hardly bothered him; it was more of the fact that he had not known about it until now. Quickly, he searched once more as he reached down to grab the skillet. His eyes locked onto the radio and scanned it only to find nothing. Clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction, John turned back around and headed back over to the table. He would search the flat later. For now, he had bigger fish to fry. He split the stir fry almost perfectly in half, dropping his side onto his plate before doing the same with Moriarty's. "Enjoy," he stated indifferently as he set the skillet back onto the island. Sitting down across from Moriarty, John could not help but feel like something wasn't quite right. It was probably the atmosphere. James Moriarty did not fit in a domestic setting, but here he was: sitting at a table with a home cooked meal right in front of him. No five star restaurant with a candle and a soft-spoken server. No banquet which only the elite attended. Just a flat with John Watson. Glancing up, Moriarty locked eyes with John, who pressed his lips together and quickly glanced down at his food.

"I know what you're thinking," Moriarty said quietly, all teasing now out of his voice. It shocked John so much that he looked up at Moriarty once more. "Yes, I have expensive taste. With my line of work, I can afford to live a little. Especially since I do not believe I will be making it into my twilight years. However, that hardly means I cannot appreciate the smaller things in life." In a split second, Moriarty's expression changed from sombre to entertained. "This could have used a bit more of a kick. I suggest using more onions."

Frowning, John retorted, "It's difficult to cook whatever I feel like when I have no control over what food is bought and brought to me." With that, he stabbed a piece of chicken and ate it. It was not bad – not fantastic either – and definitely far from a 5-star restaurant meal. He paused a moment in chewing before realising what it needed. "Salt," he said aloud as a mental note.

As John got up, Moriarty responded, "That's hardly my fault, Johnny. You should take initiative for once and make a list."

"I'll do that," John responded, grabbing the salt. "And why do you insist on calling me Johnny when you know my name is John?"

Moriarty grinned. "I enjoy getting under your skin," he responded matter-of-factly. "I like watching you squirm and hesitate and glance about in an attempt to figure something out. It's very entertaining. Honestly, I am starting to see why Sherlock keeps you around."

"I'm not a pet," John bit back. He sat back down in his chair and began sprinkling salt all over his food.

Chuckling, Moriarty smirked up at John. "Maybe not a kept pet, although Sherlock should really take better care of his things-"

"I'm not his," John snapped angrily. He was tired of the constant prodding about his relationship with Sherlock. How could people not understand that they were strictly platonic? That they were wired in a way that they would never be able to be together in a romantic sense? It was irritating, to say the least, and John was not going to put up with Moriarty's snide comments either.

Taking a bite of food, Moriarty grinned up at John, who seethed in anger. He was being toyed with. Moriarty said it before, after all, that he just enjoyed getting under John's skin. John was making it too easy for him. "He calls, and you come running, Johnny-boy," Moriarty pointed out after swallowing his bite. "You're there to keep him entertained. To make sure he doesn't get too lonely up in that flat. How could you see yourself as anything other than a pet?" John bit his tongue, not willing to give Moriarty another victory. At seeing this, Moriarty burst into laughter. "Oh, that's good. Are you going to punish me with the silent treatment? Try to make it impossible for me to rile you up again simply by not opening your mouth? It's adorable, really, just how simple your mind is."

John merely gave him a sarcastically cheerful smile and continued eating as if Moriarty was not even in the room. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the meal. Despite the fact that John was pretending Moriarty was not there, he could not help but feel that it was nice to have another human being in the flat. Just to have someone there made him no longer feel alone. So John waited until Moriarty was done eating before he grabbed both plates and headed into the kitchen to wash them. Despite the fact that he had a fully functioning dishwasher, John also had nothing better to do with his time than to wash the dishes by hand. Besides, he hardly used any dishes himself, so he figured they would start smelling bad before the dishwasher was even close to full. Moriarty said nothing in response, and John quickly filled the sink full of soapy water. Turning around, John grabbed the pot and skillet and dropped them into the sink along with the plates and utensils. Just as John started washing the dishes, a movement to his right caught his attention. He looked over to see Moriarty, jacketless, rolling up his sleeves.

"What are you-?" John started to ask.

Moriarty cut him off, "Don't ask stupid questions. It's unbecoming of a man who is supposed to be intelligent. You know what I'm doing." With that, Moriarty grabbed a hand towel and looked over at John expectantly. "Are you going to wash those dishes or keep staring at me, Johnny-boy? I know I'm attractive – and I must admit that I'm flattered – but I don't have all night."

Setting his jaw, John turned back to the plate in his hand. This was the second time he had ever seen Moriarty do anything even remotely human. The first had been just before John was shipped out into the pool, he was being tormented by Moriarty's hired guns. When Moriarty came in to find them taunting and knocking John around, he rebuked each and every one of them before threatening to end their "miserable existences" if they laid another hand on John. It had been a startling display of power… and a remarkable display of humanity. By the end of the night, John had dismissed it as a fluke. John needed to be in one piece for Moriarty's plan to work. But now, John's foundation for Moriarty being a monster was being shaken again, and he did not like it. It was more disturbing to think that Moriarty was a man – a human being – doing all these things than something that wasn't quite human.

"Why are you doing this then?" John pressed as he handed Moriarty the plate. "And don't give me some roundabout speech about how I could work everything out myself. I've tried that already. Didn't work."

Smirking, Moriarty dried the plate slowly. "Despite what you might think, Johnny, I'm not inconsiderate. You cooked dinner, so I set the table. Dinner was actually decent – better than what I was expecting for a bachelor to be able to cook – so I am helping clean the dishes. Hardly rocket science once you think about it," he answered before opening a cabinet and putting the plate away.

"I apologize that 'considerate man' did not exactly cross my mind as an aspect of your personality," John responded sarcastically, handing James the second plate. "For some reason, that adjective somehow managed to get buried behind conspirator, immoral, clever, murderer, heartless, bomber, insensitive, brilliant, malevolent, and anything else that could possibly apply to the fact that you're a consulting criminal, and you plan assassinations, murders, bank robberies, and who knows what else."

Moriarty looked over at John and jokingly cooed, "You think I'm clever and brilliant?"

"Is that really all you got from that list?" John pressed, not in the mood for jesting. "My point is that you're not the type of man who is pictured standing next to a soapy sink, drying the dishes."

Raising an eyebrow, Moriarty solemnly asked, "And what exactly do you know about me?" He set the next plate up into a cabinet before continuing, "Do tell. You act as if you're just as insightful as Sherlock Holmes. You've had more interaction with me than Sherlock could even dream of. So tell me, John, what have you learned about me in the time we have spent together."

John was startled by the sudden use of his proper first name – not "Johnny" or "Johnny-boy" – and he immediately went on guard. "What do I know about you?" John repeated the question, stalling for time. He continued scrubbing the pot as he collected his thoughts. "I know you're a consulting criminal, and you design crimes for a living. I know that you're like Sherlock, and you get bored. You're probably constantly searching for stimulation to keep you on your toes, which is why you're constantly working. You proved that to Sherlock when you had him running around London, trying to solve your puzzles. You wanted to show him that you were busy. You wanted to prove just how vast your reach was, and you wanted to show him that even he would not be able to take down your entire network." Handing the pot over to Moriarty, John was surprised to see that Moriarty looked fascinated by what John was saying. "How am I doing so far?" he asked indifferently, turning to scrub the skillet.

"Better than I expected," Moriarty grudgingly admitted.

John smirked at that. It always felt nice to be able to take someone like Moriarty by surprise, especially since people always had a tendency to underestimate John. "So you decided to become a consulting criminal of all things. Because of Carl Powers, am I right? Teased you as a boy, I'm guessing. Called you nasty nicknames and bullied you. Going by your current physical build, I would guess that you were small for your age. Easy to push around. What Carl Powers didn't know is that you bite back. And when you realised you were smart enough and charismatic enough to bite back, you travelled down a road you could never return from." With that, John handed Moriarty the skillet.

"You're clever, Johnny-boy. Cleverer than I anticipated. Why do you suppress that while around Sherlock?" Moriarty pressed, actually sounding interested.

Shrugging, John reached down and found a knife to wash. "It's not suppression. Not really. I just don't have to use that particular skillset around Sherlock. What takes him seconds to see takes me hours. It's just easier to let him take the reins on whatever case than to apply hours upon hours of brainpower only for Sherlock to solve it before me anyway. It would leave me exhausted."

Moriarty had already finished drying the skillet and put it away by the time John was done speaking. Dropping the towel onto the countertop, Moriarty walked up behind John and pressed into him entirely, making John take a step forward in an attempt to distance himself. All he succeeded in doing was smashing himself between the sink and James Moriarty. Instantly, his heart began to race as adrenaline shot through his system. "This is very much a hang-up, Johnny. I wasn't expecting for you to be more interesting than you already are. But here you are, turning me on with your cunning that had, until this point, remained hidden." With that, Moriarty gave a grind into John, who gasped as he felt a hard erection press into him.

"I'm not-" John started to object.

"Gay, I know," Moriarty cut in, his breath hot on John's neck. "It's a nifty little defence you got there. You're technically telling the truth, so you don't feel bad for saying it. I mean, it's not your fault people assume that you saying you're not gay means you're not interested in men. They're all stupid in any case. I know better." John controlled his breathing as he heard this, not wanting to give anything away. "You're bisexual. With a tendency to lean towards the male side, believe it or not. You try to counteract that by sleeping with a bunch of women, probably because you wanted to please your parents… but more likely because you knew that you would be bullied worse than your sister if you came out. Despite your attempts at integrating yourself into what you believed to be a heterosexual lifestyle, it's never quite worked out, has it?" Moriarty leaned down, his lips just barely brushing the skin on John's neck. John's breath caught in his throat as he heard this. How on Earth Moriarty managed to correctly observe everything baffled him. "I know you've always pictured yourself as dominant in such a situation, but let me assure you that a submissive role would be more becoming of your personality. After all, you are one big contradiction."

John bit back a groan as images flashed in his mind of being dominated by James Moriarty, and he felt himself stir down there ever so slightly. It was horrifying to know that it only took a few sentences for Moriarty to get him going. Part of him wondered if Moriarty took him hostage just to have his fun sexually harassing John while the other part of him objected, saying Moriarty was probably just trying to get under his skin again. As soon as he processed this, he immediately forced the images to the back of his mind and quickly collected his thoughts. He was not about to let Moriarty get the better of him. Eye flashing open, he quickly steeled his nerves. "You know, I've castrated a man with less," he threatened idly, holding up the knife. A chuckle rumbled through Moriarty's chest, vibrating against John's back. However, Moriarty did pull back and away, letting John breathe deeply again. John relaxed slightly as he felt this. "And what part of 'archenemy of my best friend' makes you think I will ever be with you?"

"The dangerous part of it all," Moriarty replied, much to John's surprise. He looked over to find Moriarty looming over him. "You live off danger, Johnny-boy. Thrive on it. I'm the most dangerous man you will ever meet. Being with me would be the ultimate turn on for you. Think about it: the world's only consulting criminal and your best friend's archenemy dominating you in bed. It has a nice ring to it, does it not? Besides, I know you're more interested in sleeping with me than you have ever been interested in sleeping with Sherlock."

"That's outrageous," John snarled defensively. He would deny being attracted to Moriarty a million times if he had to. "You think far too highly of yourself. And let me remind you: castration with less."

Moriarty barked out a laugh as he heard this. "Despite what you might think, Johnny-boy, I have yet to forcibly take someone. Every single one of my lovers has willingly gone to bed with me. You'll be the same," he sang out, nicking the knife out of John's hand. Carefully drying it, Moriarty continued, "Although, really, you should get this internal conflict out of the way as soon as possible. I'll make your body sing once you hand it over to me. And then you'll kick yourself in the arse for not giving yourself to me sooner."

"Still not interested," John growled, eyes remaining locked on the fork he was now scrubbing. "And I would be grateful if you would drop the subject. You're starting to sound desperate."

Chuckling, Moriarty softly replied, "I could say the same about you, Johnny-boy." John handed him the fork before grabbing the other one to wash. "Very well then. I'll drop it. But only because it's already in your head – the images of you and me – and they won't be leaving anytime soon." As Moriarty sang this out, John set his jaw to keep himself from rewarding Moriarty with a reaction. "Believe it or not, Johnny, but I'm a patient man. I'm willing to wait however long it takes. But now you'll never be able to look at me the same way, will you? It'll be fun to watch your inner struggle between your desires and your morals. I'll enjoy watching you scramble around in an attempt to keep your morals above everything else. And I'll love it even more when that all comes crashing down and you finally submit yourself to me."

"It's never going to happen," John snapped back, thrusting the fork into Moriarty's hands. He then plunged his hand into the sink and grabbed the remaining knife. "You underestimate my integrity and strength. I'm never going to just submit myself to you, do you hear me? Never."

"We'll see," Moriarty sang out as he took the final knife and dried it off. He then dropped all the utensils into their drawer before drying his hands and heading towards the sofa, where he left his jacket.

Confused, John pressed, "Where are you going?"

"Back to work, Johnny," Moriarty informed him as he lowered his sleeves. Looking up, he pressed, "Surely, you didn't think I would be staying here any longer. I might have, had you actually given into me. But seeing as how that's not going to happen tonight, I might as well get back to work. After all, crimes don't plan themselves, you know. And I have a tendency of having the most peculiar, paranoid clients for some reason." Pausing a moment, Moriarty looked back at John. "Can't even fathom why," he added sarcastically. With that, Moriarty laughed again as he slid on his jacket. "Enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll be back to check on you whenever I feel up to it."

With that, Moriarty slipped out the front door. John let out a relieved sigh before shivering slightly. The warmth from Moriarty being pressed against him was finally beginning to fade, and John was left feeling colder than usual. But he was free of Moriarty, even if it was only temporary. Everything he had said was still swimming in John's mind, but what bothered him the most was the inevitable truth of it all. There was an attraction there – one that would never be able to last – that John had felt from the very first adrenaline rush he experienced just from seeing Moriarty that night at the pool. Moriarty himself was the epitome of danger: world's only consulting criminal, constantly waist-deep in carnage. He was also clever, brilliant, taboo, and mysterious. John wanted to sit back and peel off the different layers of Moriarty until he got down to the very core – the human part of Moriarty that had to exist. To what end, though? Once a month was over, John would be leaving this flat and Moriarty for good. He would return to his life with Sherlock, and they would continue as always. So it seemed stupid to get involved at all. Because in the end, John would get attached as he always did. And then what would become of his life?

Shaking his head, John made his decision. James Moriarty and John Watson would never happen. Only 27 days left…