All things considered, John's day had been uneventful. He had wound up doing anything and everything in order to kill time – laundry, dishes, sweeping, watching crap telly, vacuuming, dusting – and was now fidgeting about. He felt trapped and stir crazy, so he took to pacing about the flat in hopes that some physical activity would calm him down. After three hours of pacing, John realised he was finally understanding how Sherlock felt when they went without a case for too long. He was practically itching to do anything at that point. Several times, he glanced at the door, debating on just how sturdy it was. He could probably kick it down. It wouldn't take more than three tries.
Just as John was seriously contemplating escaping for a few hours, he heard the front door open. He spun on his heels to find Moriarty, slightly dishevelled, entering the flat. "What happened to you?" John inquired, surprised to see Moriarty in any other condition than pristine.
"Mycroft Holmes happened," he spat out, loosening his tie.
When Moriarty didn't offer anything else, John pressed, "Did he tail you across London? Hire a sniper to take you out? Hack into your laptop? Stand you up on your date? What?"
"He found my primary flat," Moriarty snapped, clearly irritated by this fact. He slung off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. "I knew he would come after me the moment the plans were in his hands. I just didn't expect for his frankly laughable intelligence to actually succeed."
Raising an eyebrow, John couldn't help but smile in amusement. "So someone got the better of the great James Moriarty?" he goaded.
"Hardly," Moriarty responded with a scoff as he plopped onto the leather recliner. He reached over to grab the remote from the side table. "As always, I still remain three steps ahead of him. That's the key to our game, after all. You always have to plan ahead. He won't find anything in that flat. Nor will he find you, which is his main objective right now. But he has made his move, so now it is my turn."
John didn't like the sound of that at all. "And what exactly are you planning to do?" he pressed carefully, keeping his tone guarded.
"There are so many possibilities," Moriarty sang out as he flipped through the channels. "I hardly know which one to choose, to be honest. I could regain access to those plans and force Mycroft back to square one. Or I could ruin a different set of plans. Or I could rig a much needed election to go the wrong way. Or I could bomb some important historical site in order to gain attention." Pausing, he looked over at John in surprise. "Is this why Sherlock keeps you around?"
Blinking, John responded, "I'm not following."
"This whole... sounding board function you have," Moriarty answered, gesturing at him vaguely. "It's very easy to explain everything to you. Unnaturally so." He looked somewhat disturbed by this fact but otherwise kept his expression carefully guarded.
"I was once told that the frailty of genius was that it needed an audience," John informed him.
Moriarty appeared deep in thought, and his only response for a long moment was a hum. "Yes, I suppose so. Although I hardly find it a frailty. After all, what's the point of being brilliant if no one knows you are? I wouldn't have any clients if I kept everything under wraps." He then looked back at John again, critically examining him. "I think I'm starting to understand more why Sherlock lets you stay."
John rolled his eyes as he heard this. "As if Sherlock was the deciding power in that flat. As if I would just roll on my back the moment he ordered me to do so. Honestly, I thought you were sharper than that."
This earned him a glare from Moriarty in return. After another long beat, he perked up and added, "Now there's a thought! Maybe I could blow up 221B in order to get my point across to Mr Holmes."
"Leave Sherlock out of this," John bit back. If there was something he would not tolerate, it would be Sherlock being harmed because of something Mycroft did.
Moriarty smirked as he heard this. "And then there are, of course, the infinite possibilities I have when it comes to you," he noted nonchalantly. "After all, you are at my complete mercy."
John's blood ran cold. "You wouldn't," he challenged confidently despite his uncertainty.
"Wouldn't I?" Moriarty countered gleefully. "Think about it for a moment. I told you from day one that the Ice Man would try to gain something out of this. I automatically assumed he would be trying to gain intelligence – and I'm certain that that is still his backup plan. But something happened to disrupt that plan. Maybe he gained intelligence and no longer needs you to infiltrate my operations. Maybe he realised what a great babysitter you were for his little brother. In any case, Mr Holmes retaliated against me, and I cannot allow him to believe that he can just do whatever he pleases without consequence."
Frowning, John shook his head. "So you plan to punish me in the process? I've done nothing to deserve it," he retorted.
"No, you haven't," Moriarty conceded. John was surprised when he heard this. Cocking his head to the side, he waited patiently for Moriarty to explain himself. "I would give you the opportunity to work with me if I actually thought you would agree to it. Since I know you wouldn't, I am going to give you a choice. You can either help me put Mycroft Holmes back in his place or I can bomb 221B and achieve the same goal all by myself."
John didn't even think. "How do you want me to help?"
Without looking up, Moriarty began punching numbers on his mobile. "I am going to call Mr Holmes on my phone. You will get twenty seconds to talk. I want you to explain to him that another stunt like the one he pulled today will not only disappoint you but will also cause painful consequences. Next time, I cannot promise that you will come out in one piece. Do you understand?" he inquired, extending the phone out to John. Moriarty's voice had darkened exponentially, and John was no longer sure if the threat was empty or not. "And if you say anything to the contrary or try to feed him information, I will proceed with my plan to bomb 221B. The only thing you could hope for then will be that that sweet, little landlady of yours actually keeps to her schedule that day."
The glint in Moriarty's eyes conveyed that this was definitely no longer an empty threat. With a nod, John reached out and took it. Even if he knew anything about Moriarty's network and how it functioned, he wasn't about to put Mrs Hudson's or Sherlock's life on the line in order to give Mycroft half-arsed information. He would be more useful by waiting patiently to possibly obtain beneficial information instead. The mobile rang twice before John heard Mycroft coldly greet him, "Mr Moriarty."
"Actually, it's John Watson," he responded. Moriarty tapped his watch, forcing John to ignore Mycroft's onslaught of questions. "I must say, Mycroft, that I am incredibly disappointed by your display today. You made a deal with Mr Moriarty – exchange me for a month in order to regain the plans – which, if you recall, was something that I actually agreed to. I never thought you to be a man to renege on an offer. I certainly am not. So let me make this very clear for you. If you continue to pursue Mr Moriarty, I have been promised that I will not be coming back to 221B in one piece. If I do not return to 221B in one piece, we're going to have issues. Do you understand?"
"Yes, John. Of course. I apologize," Mycroft responded. His tone, on the other hand, conveyed the opposite meaning of his words. John did not doubt that Mycroft would do this all again if given the opportunity. After all, it was a way for him to determine the boundaries of their agreement. For the first time, John was finally beginning to see why Moriarty called him 'the Ice Man.'
Before John could say another word, Moriarty snatched the phone out of his hand and hit the end call. "Good boy," he praised mockingly as he removed the battery.
"I'm not a pet," John snapped back as he turned to head back into the kitchen. "Now you've got what you came here for, so why don't you leave me in peace?"
Moriarty started laughing, causing John to turn around in alarm. It wasn't a maniacal laugh, which is what John had been expecting, but a merry one instead. "Oh, Johnny, you're just too precious."
"What's so funny?" John pressed guardedly. He already knew that he wouldn't like what Moriarty was about to say to him.
"My primary flat was discovered by our dear Mr Holmes, so I'm going to have to spend the weekend here," Moriarty informed him, flashing him a wide grin.
Shaking his head, John responded, "Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not staying here for a weekend."
"And who is going to stop me. You? Are you going to kick me out of my own flat? That's cute, Johnny-boy. I'd really like to see you try," Moriarty responded as he turned back to flip through the television channels.
Rubbing his eyes, John said, "I thought you told me that you had plenty of other flats. If so, why stay here and with me?"
"Because my personal effects are in transit to my new primary flat. Until then, though, I need to lay low in a neutral location. Besides, it's only 48 hours. If you can make it 72 hours without any human contact whatsoever, surely you can last 48 hours with me."
"You'd be surprised," John muttered a bit spitefully as he headed back into the kitchen in order to make some tea. He quickly filled up the kettle with water.
Finally, Moriarty settled on a channel and reclined in his seat. John glanced up to find that Moriarty was watching Connie Price's show Beauty Queen of Hearts. At that, John couldn't help but burst out laughing. "What?" Moriarty inquired as he glanced back.
"Of all the shows you could have watched, you chose that one," John responded pointedly, shaking his head as he set the kettle on the stove. "Do you not see the irony in that?"
Grinning in response, Moriarty shrugged. "These reality shows are driving our society into the ground anyway. I mean, what sort of idiotic girls need to ask her, of all people, for advice? Look at her!" He motioned at the television in an exasperated manner. "Besides, women like to make everything so bloody complicated. Put something on. If it fits, wear it. Who cares if it looks like trash or not? Don't they know that men will sleep with them anyway?" He actually sounded scandalised by all of this. "I was doing us all a favour by ridding her from this planet."
"You should tell her brother that sometime. I'm sure he would greatly appreciate it," John commented sarcastically, hardly taken aback by Moriarty's indifference. "And women take so much time out of their days in order to look pretty for us. We should appreciate what they do for us more instead of berating them for it."
"Save the speeches for when you're trying to woo a woman, Johnny-boy. They won't work on me. Besides, you already know you can have me at any time. You just have to say the word," Moriarty responded, giving John a wink.
The kettle whistled, and John turned away in order to remove it from the stove. He was secretly glad for the distraction. It meant that he didn't have to outright deal with Moriarty. "Not interested," he repeated for what he felt like was the umpteenth time.
"You just keep trying to convince yourself that," Moriarty sang out as he turned back to the telly. "Honestly, though, what do you see in that woman? Why does it bother you so much that she's dead now? Or did she teach you what colours look good on you as well?"
"Blue, red, green, brown, and grey," John jested, although there was still a bite to his tone. After all, he had secretly enjoyed watching her shows with Mrs Hudson. It was a way for them to bond. "Although I have been told that camouflage is very flattering on me."
Moriarty actually let out a laugh as he heard this. "I can imagine," he commented, glancing back and giving John another wink. He turned back to pay attention to the telly while John finished preparing his tea. As he walked towards the sofa, he heard Moriarty ask, "What do you see in them?"
"What do you mean by them?" John inquired, not following Moriarty's thought process.
"Do keep up, Johnny. I know you're sharper than that," Moriarty jabbed, not looking over. "What do you see in these people? The people on the telly? The criminals who should be behind bars but aren't? The people who hire me? Hell, what do you see with anyone who lives on this insufferable planet? I just don't understand it. They're revolting and dull and utterly pathetic."
Rolling his eyes, John took a sip of his tea. "I don't expect you, of all people, to understand," he began, stalling for time in order to get his thoughts together. "It's hard to imagine you even had a childhood, nonetheless a family or friends." He slowly took another drink of tea. "Death doesn't just affect one person. After all my years in the army, I came to know that better than anyone. Every single person on this planet – whether 'good' or 'bad' – will be mourned in some sense. Normally, they have family and friends back home. Hell, even Connie Price had her brother. And it's those people who are impacted. It's those people who have to pick up the pieces of their lives and continue as if everything was normal."
"So you care about them because other people care?" Moriarty clarified, sounding slightly dumbfounded.
John shook his head. "It's not that simple. I'm just simply explaining why I cannot condone randomly killing people for money. I mean, they had lives. They might be boring lives compared to yours, yes, but that doesn't give you the right to take them away. And not only that, but you're stealing anything they could possibly do in the future. Their kids will either never be born or never know their mum or dad. Their future spouses will never get to meet them or their current ones will never get to grow old with them." Spinning on his heels, he faced Moriarty. "Who knows? Maybe Connie Price would have met a young girl struggling. Maybe she would have transformed this girl's life into something that the girl perceived as worthwhile. Maybe that girl wouldn't have committed suicide had Connie Price still been around to explain that any 'ugly duckling' could become a swan?" Their gazes remained locked as John spoke, and Moriarty made no move to cut him off. "There's a ripple effect when you kill someone. Even you have to know that by now."
"So who deserves to live then?" Moriarty inquired after a long moment. "You act as if you have all the answers and no conscience about anything else. So tell me."
Sighing out softly, John responded, "I don't make those choices. I'm not God."
"But you do, Johnny," Moriarty insisted, leaning forward in his chair and looking at John in interest. "You were a doctor on the battlefront. You decided who lived and who died out there."
John cut him off, "Hardly! I did my damnedest to save every person I could. Some died even despite my best efforts. But not once did I hold back because I thought someone didn't deserve to live anymore."
"Is that so?" Moriarty pressed. "So you've lived by your creed and tried to save everyone you could while out there. Well, everyone on your side. What about the men who weren't, though? Your so-called enemies? Did you even give them a second thought? Or did you just allow them to die and never once lost a second of sleep over it?"
Instantly defensive, John snapped back, "That was different!"
"Oh, is that so? Why? Because you were the one who killed them? Because it was you, that makes it all okay?" Moriarty inquired.
John shook his head. "I was protecting my friends," he started to explain.
"And so were they. Or they were trying to protect their families," Moriarty pointed out, cutting John off. "That cabbie you shot and killed was trying to save up money for his kids, you know. So they could go off to college. That's a rather noble reason to kill people, don't you think? And without knowing that, you stand there and claim that he deserved to die only because he might have outsmarted Sherlock Holmes?"
John felt like he was on thin ice that was about to break underneath his feet. For his whole life, he had focused solely on the doctor side of him. He was a good man who had to do bad things for the right reasons. Now, it just seemed that he was no different from the men he killed. There was no solace in the knowledge that he was doing this for the greater good. Because was he? Never before had John felt so vulnerable, and he immediately loathed the feeling. "There are other ways to earn money," he finally said. "He didn't have to kill in order to save up for his children."
Moriarty examined John critically. Whatever he saw must have been enough for him to drop that part of the conversation. "So this woman who cyber-bullied her own brother in order to gain laughs and popularity should just be allowed to get away with it because – and I quote – she mighthave prevented someone from committing suicide?"
Rolling his eyes, John responded, "I'm not saying what she did to her brother was right, but I don't believe that she deserved to be killed because of it. Humans make mistakes, after all. We're all flawed in our own right. What kind of world would we be living in if we could be killed for such petty reasons?"
"A better world," Moriarty told him without missing a beat.
"To each their own," John said, allowing the point to drop completely. He wasn't in the mood to have a philosophical debate with James Moriarty. Letting out a sigh, he turned his attention back to the telly and took another long drink of tea. A calm silence settled between them as Mrs Price explained the importance of emphasizing the bust size in order to take away from the stomach. After a long moment, John finally pressed, "I take it that there is no negotiating with you in regards to the sleeping arrangement."
"You would be correct with that assumption," Moriarty responded monotonously, his gaze remaining locked on the telly. "I've already explained to you my reasoning. Besides, I can't imagine that you would be so shy. Not after serving for all those years in the army."
"Sleeping next to your comrades is different," John pointed out. "I could trust them with my life. And to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't trust you with my laundry."
Moriarty grinned broadly, turning to look at John once more. "And you shouldn't. I would burn it all in order to force you to walk around the flat naked. I'm still interested in knowing what you've got hidden under those frumpy jumpers. Do you by chance sleep in just pants?"
"I'll be sleeping in pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt whenever you're over," John informed him, purposely avoiding the question. Moriarty's grin widened as he heard this, and he took an especially long glance down John's body again. Polishing off his tea, John ignored the look as he licked his lips and lowered the mug to rest on the top of the sofa. "I sleep on the left side of the bed. If that's an issue, you are more than welcome to sleep on the sofa." With that, John headed back into the kitchen and set the mug into the sink. He would wash it in the morning. "Try not to wake me up when you finally decide to go to sleep."
Watching John carefully, Moriarty inquired, "Where are you off to then?"
"I'm going to take a shower," John informed him as he walked towards the bathroom.
"Shall I join you then, Johnny-boy?"
"Do you ever give up?" John groaned in response. Moriarty smiled at him and wiggled his eyebrows in response. "Stay out of the bathroom," he warned seriously.
And with that, he slipped in and closed the door behind him. He leaned back against the door and let out a long sigh as images of him and Moriarty in the shower flashed suddenly in his mind. No, he objected mentally. There was no way he would let James Moriarty get the better of him or his libido. He could do this, he reminded himself. If he managed to deal with Sherlock Holmes for an entire year, he could make it a weekend with James Moriarty – sexual tension or not. And there were only 22 days left overall for him to get through. Yes. He could do this.