After dealing with Moriarty just yesterday, John had been enjoying his rather peaceful, uneventful day. He wound up cleaning up the flat a bit, having found the supplies in a closet, before making himself lunch and eating it while watching the news. Then he decided he would take a small nap, seeing as how he really had nothing else to do. So he snagged one of the blankets in his closet, covered himself with it, and dozed off peacefully. He had just been having a dream about being back in 221B when he heard his name being called out in the distance. A first, he thought it was Sherlock – after all, they were working another case again – and it took him a moment to recognise the voice. Groaning, John twisted and stretched, yawning wide as he wiped his eyes.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Moriarty sang out tauntingly. "Don't tell me that you've been asleep all day."

John rolled his eyes before responding, "Of course not. I wanted to take a nap." As he sat up and wiped his eyes again, he asked, "What are you doing back so bloody soon? You just saw me yesterday, after all."

"Today's been a slow day, and I had an hour to spare. I thought I would spend it with you, Johnny-boy. Honestly, you could afford to be a bit more grateful," Moriarty teased. John looked over to see him sitting on the arm of the sofa. "I'm afraid my curiosity has gotten the better of me today. I've been thinking about this since last night, but I must simply ask: what exactly is your relationship with Sherlock? And don't get cute and play pretend. I mean, what does your relationship with him entail?"

Groaning as he heard this, John shook his head. "Even you now think I'm shagging with my flatmate? This is just too bloody fantastic," he replied sarcastically. He glared up at Moriarty and pressed, "Why don't you figure it out for yourself since you claim to be so brilliant. I'm sure you know already what our relationship entails."

"I want to hear the words from your mouth myself," Moriarty countered, his tone threatening.

John raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's too bad. I'm not in the mood for entertaining you today, so you're just going to have to go off what you already know." With that, he rose from the sofa in order to fetch a glass of water.

As soon as John had his glass, Moriarty pressed, "Why don't we make a game out of it?"

John was hardly in the mood to keep fighting the man, so he just sighed and shook his head. "What sort of game do you have in mind?"

"Since I clearly cannot get the words out of your mouth, I will settle for sheer acknowledgement. You tell me if I'm correct by taking a step towards me and tell me if I'm wrong by taking two steps back. If I guess wrong three times, you win this little game. If you make it over to the sofa, I win."

"And what are the prizes, might I ask?" John pressed guardedly before taking a sip of water.

Moriarty grinned wickedly as he heard this. "If you win, I'll send over someone else to visit you. Don't get too excited about this. It'll probably wind up being one of my employees. In any case, you won't have to worry about me hitting on you ever again."

"And if you win?" John inquired, knowing there had to be a catch. There was always a catch when it came to Moriarty.

Still smirking, Moriarty responded, "If I win, I get to see that lovely little scar you keep hidden under those jumpers."

John froze as he heard this. "How do you-?" he started to ask before things clicked together. "You researched me."

"Surprising what a couple of buddies in the army will spill once you've got a couple of drinks in them," Moriarty stated nonchalantly. "So are you interested or not?"

John took a long drink in order to stall for time. Moriarty did not seem the type to gamble, meaning he felt confident that he would wind up winning this bet between them. Not only that, but the rewards were slated against John. He hated showing anyone his scar as it generally changed their perception of him. John Watson always went from being a strong veteran to being a marred old man. After the first three breakups due to girls treating him differently after seeing it, John wore an undershirt in order to hide it while having sex, which just caused other issues. Even despite all of this, John doubted Moriarty would simply drop the matter if he refused. So he might as well up the stakes. "If I win, I get a visit from Mrs Hudson within the next week. It has to be at least three hours long, and neither you nor your men are allowed to harm her in any way, shape, or form," he countered.

"Deal," Moriarty said much too quickly. John knew immediately that he was done for. Pausing a moment, Moriarty gauged the distance between them. "Going by your stride, it should take you nine – maybe ten – steps to reach me. Oh, and don't try to trick me or lie to me. I'll be able to see right through it, you know. Now let's begin with the basics. You never gave your sexuality much thought until your sister came out."

Frowning, John took a step forward and pointed out, "I thought you wanted to find out the specifics about my relationship with Sherlock."

"In a second," Moriarty sang back with a twisted smile. "Let me have my fun first, Johnny!" Suddenly, his entire expression changed to that of concentration. "I was correct yesterday when I said that you are bisexual with a preference towards the male side." With that, John took another step forward. "Even so, you've never actually been with a man." John blinked in surprise and took another step forward. "You're defensive about your sexuality primarily because of your army years – I'm sure those jokes get old, after all – and now because everyone believes you and Sherlock are together." John grudgingly took yet another step forward. "But you aren't together," Moriarty stated.

John scowled. "I believe you covered that when you pointed out that I've never actually been with a man before," he responded coldly.

"You don't have to be having sex in order to 'be together' with Sherlock Holmes. Hell. To him, taking you out to a crime scene could probably be considered a date. So now I'm saying this again: you are not together with Sherlock Holmes in anysense of those words. You're not dating nor are you fuck buddies. You're in a strictly platonic relationship." Sucking in a large breath, John took another step forward. Moriarty smiled at him. "Now, was that so hard?" he inquired rhetorically. Leaning back slightly, Moriarty gauged John for a moment. His eyes suddenly widened, and he started laughing. "Not that's interesting. Very interesting. Of course. Why didn't I see this before?"

Confused, John inquired, "What? See what before?"

"You're fastened on this concept of declaring yourself not gay because you're worried that Sherlock might actually be interested in you in more than just a platonic way," Moriarty finally declared.

John's blood went cold, and he felt this childish need to declare that he didn't want to play this game anymore. However, he knew that he had dug his own grave when he started this entire charade. Swallowing, he took a step forward, and Moriarty brightened instantly. "It's a stupid concern, really. He's married to his work, after all," he pointed out. It was the excuse he always used when he worried about Sherlock's feelings towards him.

"And you're becoming a part of that work, aren't you, Johnny-boy?" Moriarty pressed, making John's heart race in fear. John didn't know what he would do if Sherlock declared his love for him. They were best mates – nothing more and nothing less. John loved him like a brother and would do anything to protect him, but the very thought of having sex with Sherlock made John cringe. "If it makes you feel better," Moriarty said after a long moment, "he's not interested in you romantically at all. You're his… friend… whatever that's supposed to mean." Moriarty seemed legitimately lost when it came to the term "friendship," and part of John took pity on him. After a long pause, Moriarty looked up and quickly took in how far John was from him. "What – three more steps before I win?" he inquired. John's jaw set slightly as he heard this. He had hoped that Moriarty would drop everything once he got out of John what he came here for. Apparently, that was not going to happen. "Despite everything you do for him, you feel underappreciated. Not just by Sherlock, though, but by everyone. No one notices you. Not really. Everything revolves around Sherlock." John frowned at this and went to take a step backwards. "Don't lie, Johnny," Moriarty threatened with a smile on his face. "I know when you're lying."

"What's it to you if I feel appreciated or not?" John pressed, taking a step forward.

Shrugging, Moriarty responded, "I honestly don't care. I just need to get two more deductions right in order to win this game of ours. Now, let me think." He paused a moment before continuing, "Your parents were homophobic and never knew about your interest in men, even as they were on their deathbeds." John took another step forward, knowing this last one would seal his fate. "You're more attracted to me than you would like to verbally admit," Moriarty finished as he stood up. John's heart stopped as he heard this, and he swiftly took two steps back. "Oh, come on, Johnny. Admit it. It's just a step, after all. It's not like you're telling me that you're madly in love with me. You're just saying that you're attracted to me more than you would like to say."

"This game is over," John stated firmly, turning on his heels and heading back into the kitchen. By the time he got another glass of water, Moriarty was nowhere to be found. Only 26 days to go…

The next day, John had just finished making his grocery list when he heard the front door open again. Groaning, he turned around to find Moriarty taking off his jacket and slinging it over the sofa. "Greetings, Johnny-boy," he called out, giving a cheerful wave. "Did you miss me?"

"Like I miss a bullet to the shoulder," John responded haughtily, turning his attention back to his grocery list. "What is it you're here for now? I can't imagine you dropped in because you were feeling generous with your time. You must want something. Am I wrong?" With that, Moriarty took a step towards John and grinned broadly. John scowled in response, having caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. "What do you want?"

"Not even a hint of a smile, Johnny? I thought I would get some sort of reaction out of you with that one," Moriarty stated with a smile.

"What do you want?" John reiterated as he scratched through a misspelling of a word.

Moriarty walked over to the island and leaned against it, standing just a meter away from John. "I have another question for you about an unusual choice of words two days ago. You said that I 'was the archenemy of your best friend.' Now, this is very true, but I am curious as to why you declared that instead of telling me that I was your archenemy." After a pause, Moriarty pressed, "Or am I something different?"

"You're nothing more than my best friend's archenemy," John responded matter-of-factly. "Why would you be anything in regards to me? As you said before, everything revolves around Sherlock. The only interactions I've ever had with you are only due to the fact that you want to goad a reaction out of him. Think about it – the kidnapping, the pool, and now this. Everything done in order to get under Sherlock's skin. Hell, if I didn't know Sherlock, you would have never even given me the time of day." With that, John crossed the "t" in "black tea" and briefly double-checked his list. As he did so, he continued, "So why would you be anything to me?"

Moriarty leaned over in order to scan down John's shopping list. "Feeling a bit neglected, Johnny-boy?" he teased as he finished reading it. "I apologize then. I'll make sure to divert some of my future attention to you so you'll have something you want to call me. How about love interest? Or even fuck buddy? Either of those sound good to you?"

"This again? How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not interested?" John snapped back, thrusting his list into Moriarty's hands. "And since you're here, you can take that with you and give it to whoever is stocking my fridge. Thank you and goodbye."

Moriarty raised an eyebrow at John but slipped the list into his pocket anyway. "I'm not done yet, Johnny. You haven't answered my question."

"Look," John responded, turning on his heels, "I'm not interested in being with you in any sense of the word. You're delusional to think otherwise."

Laughing, Moriarty replied, "We both know that's a lie."

John just shook his head and looked away. Moriarty could assume anything and everything; however, it was only until John said the words himself that Moriarty would be able to prove anything. And John was not about to admit anything like that anytime soon, whether it was true or not. "There's just no reasoning with you, is there?" he pressed before he let out a sigh.

"No, Johnny-boy. There's no reasoning with you," Moriarty countered, taking John by surprise. "Tell me, why don't you ever use my name?"

Confused, John quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"My name, Johnny. You've called me James once in all the time that we've spent together. Why is that?" he clarified, taking a step closer to John.

In turn, John took a step back. "I don't know," he lied, making sure to keep his gaze locked with Moriarty's. After all, he was not about to let Moriarty get the better of him.

"Oh, I think you do know," Moriarty said quietly. "I think you just don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit that giving me a first name – a rather ordinary first name at that – would start making me human in your eyes. Because it's easier for you to cope if you just see me as a monster, is it not? It's easier if you see me as this inhuman creature able to do all these seemingly horrific things." Moriarty was now towering over John, who firmly stood his ground. He might be shorter, but that did not mean that John Watson would cower beneath anyone. "But let me remind you that you're not so different from me. You believe you killed for a cause. You might interpret your cause as nobler, but what exactly is noble? You've killed men with wives and children… with dreams and ambitions… men who were just trying to survive. Men who didn't know any better or didn't see any other option. And you've killed a man for the sole fact that he almost got the better of Sherlock Holmes. If you think the cause alone is enough to separate you from me, you're wrong. I have my own reasons for killing, you know. Even noble ones. I've killed men who cheated on their wives, who were abusive, who were corrupt. I've bettered the world with my killings whether you want to believe that or not. I've helped people achieve their dreams of becoming rich or feeling free for the first time in ages. And here's the real kicker – we both got paid to do it. Sure, I made a lot more money than you, but we were both paid to go out and ensure a victory for our side. Now tell me, John: how is your cause better than mine? How are we different?"

John trembled slightly as these words rang true in his ears. "Enough," he choked out, shoving Moriarty back. "We're nothing alike, you and I. I killed because I had to in order to save my friends. You kill because you want to and the pay is nice. Don't try to lower me down to your level. I'm different than you. I'm a better man."

"Are you?" Moriarty prodded, smirking slightly as his eyes scanned down John's body. No doubt he saw the slight trembling. "Do you honestly believe that?"

Shaking his head, John responded, "Of course I do."

"Shaking your head 'no' while saying 'yes.' Clearly no conflict there then, Johnny," Moriarty jested pointedly. John set his jaw as he heard this. "Do you enjoy lying to yourself so blatantly? Seems incredibly counterproductive."

John retorted, "Haven't you had your fun tormenting me for the day?"

Moriarty pressed his lips together, his eyes still twinkling mischievously. "I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day. But really, Johnny, you should think about what I said." And with that, Moriarty grabbed his jacket, put it back on, and slipped out the front door. John let out a long breath before rubbing his eyes. Only 25 days left…

John had been enjoying his day alone. It was well after dinner, and he figured that he was in the clear for any sudden visits from Moriarty for the day. After washing the dishes, he decided to celebrate by making chocolate chip cookies. They were pre-packaged, which John didn't mind at all, and would only take 15 minutes to bake, which John minded even less. So he preheated the oven and waited in total silence for the oven to signal that it was ready. Once the oven beeped, John grabbed his tray covered in globs of evenly spaced cookie dough before swooping to slide it inside. Just as he is doing that, John heard the scratching of keys against the door. He instinctively jerked around to see if Moriarty was entering and brushed his wrist against the hot surface of the over door. Cursing, John leapt to his feet and jumped over to the sink, turning on the cold water as fast as possible.

"Ah, fuck, wrong floor," a slurred voice sounded out from the other side.

Rolling his eyes, John kicked the oven door shut. That would be just his luck. He burnt himself after being startled by the neighbourhood drunk. Clicking his tongue in irritation, he returned his attention back to his hurt wrist. From the looks of it, it was only a first degree burn. Besides stinging for awhile, it would cause him no other harm or nerve damage. John kept his hand under the cold water until the stinging transformed into a dull ache. Quickly, he shut off the faucet and searched high and low for a first aid kit. After looking for ten minutes, John debated on whether or not he should actually contact Moriarty for help. Part of him objected, not wanting to give Moriarty another reason to pop over and harass him. Another part of him decided to be the voice of reason, pointing out that he needed to treat his wound. John wound up staring at his mobile phone for five minutes before picking it up and sending a text.

Please tell me you have a first aid kit hidden somewhere in this flat. –JW

Drumming his fingers on the countertop, John waited three minutes before he finally got a response.

Of course there's a first aid kit. Bedroom closet. Top shelf. –JM

John immediately headed into the bedroom and quickly located it. After nicking one of the chairs from the dining table, he was able to reach the small blue box and pull it down. He brought both the chair and the first aid kit back to the dining table. Sliding the chair back into place, John heard his mobile give a pip. He picked it up to find an unread text message from Moriarty.

Why do you need it? –JM

Don't worry. I didn't cut my hand off, in case that's what you're thinking. Burned myself baking. Nothing serious. Just a first degree burn. I needed to tend to it. –JW

Honestly, John hoped that would settle Moriarty's curiosity and not cause him to come over. After bandaging his wrist in silence, John pulled out the finished cookies and let them cool. The air was filled with their sweet aroma, and he couldn't help but think that he needed to bake more often if it always smelled this pleasant. He watched a bit of telly while eating a few cookies with the milk he had left, making a quick mental note that he needed to write a memo to buy two cartons next time since he always tended to run out of milk rapidly.

At eleven o'clock, John finally decided to go to bed. He was rather relieved that Moriarty had not felt the need to stop in and check on him. So he puttered around the bathroom with his nightly routine before crawling into the king-sized bed and nestling under the covers. John was almost asleep when he heard the front door open. Stifling a groan, John decided that he would keep up his façade of sleeping in hopes that he would just be left alone. He listened to the footsteps slowly approaching him until they were right next to the bed. Suddenly, John found it incredibly difficult to keep a straight face. He could almost feel those eyes examining him carefully, and John didn't even let his mouth twitch. Without warning, he felt the duvet being pulled back enough to show his arms. Then he felt a soft touch over his bandaged wrist, and John became curious. It was Moriarty. It had to be. No one else visited him, and there was surely no one else bold enough to come into his bedroom while he was sleeping. Slowly and carefully, his arm was pulled out enough for the bandages to be removed. John stirred slightly, causing the other man to freeze for a moment. As soon as he was resituated, John felt the bandage slip away from his skin completely. The lamp next to his bed was turned on for only a few seconds, and John heard what he swore was a small sigh. The room was cast in darkness once more, and he felt the gauze being wrapped carefully back around his wrist. His arm was then cautiously set down and the duvet pulled back up. Without a word, Moriarty left the flat.

The next day, John emerged from his bedroom in order to make breakfast. As he went to open the fridge, he noticed a Post-It on the counter. Walking over, he picked it up and read it.

Try your best not to injure yourself too gravely. I don't want to have to childproof the flat. –JM

John couldn't help but laugh at the note before sliding it into a drawer for safekeeping. It's not like it mattered what he did with the note anyway. There were only 23 full days left before he left that flat for good…