"Well, this is interesting," James noted as he slid down John's naked body towards his aching erection. He hovered just above it and let his warm breath caress it. "So sexually frustrated that you resorted to dreaming about me? I'm flattered."

Rolling his eyes, John decided to ignore the comment and instead retorted, "Can you just shut up for three seconds? I mean, it is my dream, after all."

"Oh, but you enjoy my cockiness, Johnny," James informed him before flicking his tongue out and barely touching the tip. John involuntarily bucked his hips in response. Smirking, James's gaze shifted up until they locked eyes. "There's much more that you enjoy about me than that, though." Finally, his hand wrapped around John's cock and gave a long stroke, almost inciting a small moan out of him. He wouldn't give in that easily, though. Not even in a dream. "I'm danger at your fingertips, after all," James continued as his stroking found a steady rhythm. John's breathing doubled as he controlled his corporeal responses. "I'm brilliant and a quick learner, which means I'll learn what makes you tick in less time than the normal lover." With that, John felt James's fingers tighten around his shaft followed by a sharp flick of the wrist with a swipe of thumb at the tip. Despite himself, John bucked into James's hand. "That's it, John" James murmured in John's ear, having leaned down at some point. "Just surrender to me. That's all you've ever really wanted to do, after all. Even at the pool, you were attracted to the power and danger that radiated from me. You wondered what it would have been like had we met first instead. If I would have brought out your soldier side instead of Sherlock bringing out your doctor side. If you wouldn't have to be struggling to keep your soldier side hidden beneath the good doctor that Sherlock sees you as. I know you wonder if I would have made your life thrilling every moment. If I would have made your body hum with that exciting energy every second of every day as opposed to just when I decide to grace you with my presence."

"Oh, just shut up already," John groaned out, trying to concentration on the physical contact instead of the verbal provocation. He tossed his head back and finally let out a moan as James gave a particularly hard stroke. "Just like that."

James raised an eyebrow before removing his hand, causing John to bite back a whimper. "Not ready to deal with such feelings yet? That's fine. You'll be facing them soon enough."

With that, he dipped his head down and licked up the entire length of the shaft. The broad swipe was teasing to say the least, and John whimpered in response. Reaching down, he laced his fingers in James's hair and shoved him down slightly. James chuckled in response before wrapping his lips around the tip of his erection and slowly sinking down to the base. John moaned as he tossed back his head, finally relieved to be surrounded by tightness and warmth. Thrusting up again, he tightened his grip in James's hair. James hollowed his cheeks and sucked back up to the head before flicking his tongue at the slit and causing John to let out a low moan. Gradually, he picked up speed with his sucks, slamming down to the base before sucking up so far that John thought James would pull his mouth away altogether. The rhythm was perfect, and John ran his fingers through James's hair in an attempt to keep himself under control. He suddenly felt the slight graze of teeth along his shaft, and John's breath hitched. Finally, John looked down to see James's head bobbing up and down between his legs. What really startled him, though, was the fact that James's eyes remained fixed on John's face. It was almost as if James himself wanted to memorise every reaction John gave him. In any case, the gesture was incredibly intimate and only turned John on more. James hollowed his cheeks as he gave a hard suck, and John let his eyes roll to the back of his head. This was just too perfect.

Waking up with a gasp, John blinked several times as he tried to sort everything out. The room was dark, but John's eyes had adjusted enough that he could see the majority of what was around him. Moriarty was still sleeping next to him, curled up with his back to John. He would have taken a bit more time to absorb that information, but his attention was diverted to his raging hard-on. It was rare that he woke up in such a way, so he figured he must have had one hell of a dream to work himself into that state. Biting his bottom lip, he slowly shifted out of the bed and crept out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. Once inside, he shut and locked the door before tugging off his pyjama bottoms. John sucked in a deep breath as he slipped a hand into his pants and worked his erection out of its cell. He closed his eyes as he finally felt that brilliant, needed friction of his fingers enclosing around and stroking the entire length. Immediately, his mind began pulling up images of naked women, round breasts, high moans or gasps, and tried to envision Sarah with her lips wrapped around his cock. Even as he stroked himself roughly, it wasn't quite enough for him. So he changed his dream woman into Emily, the thin blonde – and then Rachel, the busty redhead – and then Mindy, the beautiful Asian he dated for a month – and finally Nikki, the independent black woman who left John within a week. Nothing appealed to him enough to send him over the edge.

Just as he was about to give up, an image of James Moriarty in between his legs flashed before his eyes. John gasped as he felt his cock twitch in his hand, and the entire dream came rushing back to him. As his hand automatically picked up speed, John bit back a moan. He could still hear that deep voice whisper in his ear, see that head of brown hair bobbing in between his legs and those red, swollen lips wrapped perfectly around his erection, and feel that stare burn into his flesh. The way he had been teased and yet pleased at the same time replayed itself over and over again – a long suck from base to tip, a light flick of the tongue at the slit, hollowed cheeks sliding back down to the base, resting there a moment as if that's where he belonged. Before John knew it, he was on the verge of climaxing. Choking back a cry, he came in his hand and quickly stroked himself through it.

In the matter of seconds, reality came crashing down around him. Not only did he have a wet dream about James Moriarty sucking him off, he had actually gotten off to it later in the bathroom. John brought his right hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes as he tried to sort this all out. What was it about the man that drew him in? Why did was he so bloody stimulating for John? An answer flew through his mind, and John shut it down instantly. Moriarty – despite everything – was a physically pleasing man. He was lean but firm and defined in his own right. Those deep brown eyes always drew John in, and the way they saw through everything was fascinating. Especially since it was different than Sherlock. After all, Sherlock needed the attention and would state how he knew everything, which made it less of a mystery. Moriarty, however, enjoyed keeping everything to himself. He was able to deduce John's sexuality and the reasons behind it, which even Sherlock himself hadn't been able to do, and John was still trying to figure out how he managed to do so. So he was brilliant and handsome… as well as a mass murderer.

"What's the downside to that?" John groaned sarcastically.

He pushed all of those thoughts to the back of his mind as he cleaned up both himself and the bathroom. Once done, he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep – not with Moriarty lying right next to him. Heading towards the living room, he glanced over at the clock in the kitchen. It read 5:55 AM. John turned on and muted the telly, making sure to switch it so he could watch the 6 o'clock news. He watched it every morning since coming here, although he wasn't entirely sure why anymore. All they ever talked about was the war, murders, suicides, or other disheartening occurences. Even so, it connected him to the outside world, so John continued to watch it. Setting the remote down on the side table, he headed back into the kitchen as he debated what he should make for breakfast, seeing as how Moriarty was still sleeping – with good reason, knowing the time – and that he should probably be respectful of that. The last thing he needed at this point was to disturb Moriarty. So after several minutes of deliberation, John decided to cook omelettes. The prep work was silent enough, and the overall cooking aspect was incredibly simple.

So John set out on his task, cracking and beating the eggs as silently as possible. It helped that the door to the bedroom was closed, blocking out what little noise he wound up making. Once he was done, he realised that the bowl he was using had been large enough to skew his perception of how much he needed. He wound up deciding that he might as well make Moriarty breakfast too as opposed to just letting the eggs go to waste, so he grabbed two skillets and set them on the stove. He split the beaten eggs between the two before turning the stove on a low heat in order to give him more time to prep. As the eggs cooked, he went back to the refrigerator and started rooting around for what to add. He decided ham, cheese, and a bit of green pepper would do. If Moriarty didn't like it then he didn't have to eat it. John could have it tomorrow for breakfast if it came to that.

Just as John finished cutting up the green pepper, he heard the bedroom door open. He glanced back to see a dishevelled Moriarty in a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, and it struck John as strange. Moriarty chuckled as he looked John up and down. "Bit domestic, don't you think?" he inquired teasingly as he stretched. John couldn't help but notice the flash of stomach. Quickly, he looked back up only to find Moriarty smirking.

John wasn't about to grace that with an answer or a retort. It was far too early in the morning for that anyway. "If you don't want it, you don't have to eat it," he informed Moriarty before turning back around and turning the heat up on the stove.

Walking up behind him, Moriarty glanced over John's shoulder. "You should flip them over before putting the ingredients in. It'll ensure that the eggs aren't runny," he commented before heading towards the living room.

John cocked his head slightly as he heard this. Never once did he actually believe that Moriarty knew how to cook. It just seemed… beneath the world's only consulting criminal. He glanced behind him to find Moriarty lounging on the sofa and about to turn up the volume on the television. Instantly, John remembered the little game they had played just days before. After all, they were located in almost the same positions. Turning back around, he frowned as he recalled the rules – rules which he had agreed to. John Watson was a man of his word. If he agreed to something or made a promise, he stuck to it come Hell or high water. He let out a sigh as he carefully flipped the soon-to-be omelettes over. There was no doubt in his mind that Moriarty would catch the implication even if John didn't say anything at all. Sprinkling the ham, cheese, and green peppers onto the cooked eggs, he thought about just pretending like nothing happened. But his sense of honour shamed him for even thinking such a thing, and he bit back a groan as he realised that he wouldn't feel right until he fulfilled his side of the deal. So he folded the omelettes, grabbed two places, slid one onto each, and grabbed two forks.

Setting them on the table, John sucked in a deep breath as he braced himself. All he had to do was let Moriarty take a look at it and nothing more. Nerves were starting to get the better of him, so he started forward in order to just get it over with. Moriarty looked over at him as soon as he came within eyesight, and John slowly pulled off his T-shirt. Instantly, Moriarty's eyes widened in surprise and interest. "We had a deal," John stated matter-of-factly.

Realisation washed over Moriarty's his features. "Oh," he murmured as he rose to his feet. His eyes fastened onto the scar tissue on John's left shoulder. At first, all he did was examine the scar closely, even moving around John in order to see the exit wound on the other side. Much to John's relief, any deductions that Moriarty had about him were kept quiet. Just as John believed he was done, Moriarty declared, "I'm going to touch it." Although he would never admit it, John appreciated the warning. Moriarty's fingers lightly grazed the surface, pressing more firmly after a few moments. "Does it still hurt?" he inquired, curiosity colouring his voice.

"Only if I overwork it or hyperextend it," John responded as Moriarty shifted in front of him again in order to touch the front of the scar as well. "Can't throw a ball like I used to, though."

"And if I grab your shoulder too harshly and my fingers dig into it?" Moriarty asked as he lightly yet firmly pressed two fingers into the scar tissue. John paused a moment, debating on whether or not he wanted to arm Moriarty with that information. At seeing John's hesitation, he rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot. If I was planning to use that information to harm you, I would have just fastened my hand onto your shoulder and seen the reaction myself."

John knew he had a point. "It'll hurt, yes. You might even trigger my PTSD, so I would avoid doing something that reckless at all costs."

Humming, Moriarty took another minute or so to examine it, tracing it out carefully and deliberately, almost as if he was trying to memorise it. Finally, he pulled back. John relaxed slightly as he did so before tugging his shirt back on. That hadn't been as brutal as he thought it would be. Actually, it had remained rather scientific and unsentimental. After all, most people wanted to hear how John got the wound. They often wanted a play-by-play description. Moriarty, on the other hand, just wanted to examine it. Of course, he probably had already seen the reports. How he managed to get such sensitive army information honestly astounded John, who knew first-hand just how secretive the army was. After another moment of letting his eyes linger, Moriarty headed towards the table and picked up a plate and fork. As he began cutting off a piece of omelette, he queried, "So what changed your mind?"

"I'm a man of my word," John answered vaguely as he headed over to the remaining plate.

"And yet three days ago, you were swearing up and down that I was wrong," Moriarty pointed out, stabbing his omelette. "Something must have changed. After all, you don't seem to be a man who abruptly decides to come to terms with something he once perceived as a lie. Even if it actually isn't one. So what was it?"

John shook his head. "Look, you wanted to know if you were right or not. Now you know. Just be happy with that. And if you can't be happy then get over it as best as you can, because you're not getting any answers out of me. That wasn't a part of our agreement."

Scowling, Moriarty shoved a piece of egg that was far too large into his mouth. Even so, John still saw the gleam of satisfaction in Moriarty's eyes. "So it's just a matter of time, isn't it?" he asked after swallowing his bite.

"A matter of time?" John echoed, needing clarification.

"Before you give in to me."

John laughed sarcastically as he heard this. "That's never going to happen," he stated before turning back to his omelette.

"I give you until the end of tomorrow," Moriarty predicted.

"Rather arrogant, don't you think?" John pressed. "After all, I've only admitted that I'm more attracted to you than I'm willing to say. That's a far cry from saying that I want to have sex with you."

Moriarty didn't seem fazed by this at all. "That was the hardest step for you, though. Everything else will be easier for you to come to terms with now that you can actually admit that you are attracted to me," he informed John. "Besides, I can be extremely charming."

"I have a proposition for you then," John responded, feeling rather bold. After all, it wasn't as if he was going to allow Moriarty to win this time. In essence, he was guaranteed to get something that he had been wanting for awhile now. Moriarty looked at him in interest. "If your prediction turns out to be true, I will not only admit that you're right, but I'll allow you to do any kinky little thing you could possibly want to do to me during our first time. However, if your prediction turns out to be false, you have to remove any and all bugs from the flat. Sound like a fair to you?"

Grinning widely, Moriarty said, "It's a deal."

John smirked as he heard this. A fault that both James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes had was that neither of them thought they could ever lose. Meanwhile, John always gauged his capabilities and weighed the probabilities beforehand. Unlike their previous bet, he knew this time that he was guaranteed a win. In all honesty, he just could not wait to prove Moriarty wrong. That alone was almost enough to keep him abstinent for the rest of his life, so he doubted two days would be any hardship. The removal of the bugs was just a bonus.

"I have to make the first move," John clarified after eating some more of his omelette. "If you force yourself on me, it won't count."

Moriarty finished his omelette. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Johnny-boy," he stated before holding out his hand. John stared at it a moment before realising what Moriarty wanted. Quickly, he reached out and shook it, sealing the deal. Without another word, Moriarty headed into the kitchen. He glanced into the sink and paused a moment, probably noticing the glass John set down in there the night before. "By the way, you do realise that you have a dishwasher, right? Or do you not know how to use it? I heard new technology is hard for older people to understand and use."

John forced out a sardonic laugh. "You're bloody hilarious. It's a wonder that you didn't wind up becoming a comedian instead of a consulting criminal," he commented before polishing off the rest of his omelette and heading over to the sink as well. "The reason I don't use the dishwasher is because I'm bored and have nothing better to do. I mean, think about it! Assuming I sleep for eight hours, I have sixteen hours in my day to fill up. I can't leave the flat without you bombing half of London in retaliation, so I have to do what I can here to stay busy and not lose my mind. Hell, you can probably just fire the person hired to clean the flat, because I make sure it's spick and span every day when I have nothing better to do." He turned on the sink and blocked the drain before squeezing some dish soap into the running water.

"I didn't know you were so restless, John," Moriarty commented as he set his plate and fork in the sink. "I thought – what with you being a soldier – you would be fairing much better in such conditions. After all, it's not as if bombs are going off in the distance." He paused a moment before examining John carefully. "Or is that the issue? There's nothing here to keep you mentally alert? To make you stand on your toes and remain vigilant for any danger?" John purposefully didn't answer, and Moriarty scowled. "Should I go set off some bombs in London?"

Rolling his eyes, John fumbled around in the soapy water before finding his glass from the previous night. Clearly, Moriarty was going to force him to respond one way or another. "I just need something more to do with my time. I'm stir-crazy and can't find a way to properly expend my energy."

"I can think of several ways," Moriarty responded, smirking at him.

"Not interested!"

Moriarty laughed. "You could afford to be a bit more honest with yourself, you know. I mean, you took such a large step in the right direction today," he commented as he picked up a towel to dry with.

Instinctively, John handed him the clean glass before plunging his hands into the water in search for the next dirty dish. "I was once told that change doesn't come easy to old men like me," he replied with a slight bite to his voice. "A young man even offered to teach me how to use a dishwasher. He was a nice kid, he was."

"Sounds like it," Moriarty concurred, grinning widely as he finished drying the glass and put it away. "You should have this bloke over more often if he's so understanding of your shortcomings."

"Shortcomings!" John echoed incredulously, thrusting the freshly cleaned plate into Moriarty's hands. Moriarty appeared legitimately amused by the conversation, and John was truthfully enjoying himself as well. "Well, it's a wonder anyone puts up with me!"

"Indeed," Moriarty jokingly responded, taking the clean plate and drying it. "You're a lucky man to have found such patient people."

John chuckled and shook his head as he cleaned off the second plate. "It comes with being older than dirt, you know."

It was when Moriarty laughed for the second time, causing John to smile in response, that it struck him just how strange this was. He was standing in the kitchen with the world's only consulting criminal, and they were having a perfectly ordinary conversation as they washed the dishes. It felt almost… normal to John. More disturbing, however, was the fact that he could actually see himself getting used to this. He wouldn't mind it if Moriarty stayed around a bit more – if they made fun of crap telly and quipped at each other's ages and appearances. Hell, John would actually find that entire scenario nice. It would be so different than 221B, where John couldn't even get through a show without Sherlock ruining the ending. Where experiments cluttered the table, making it impossible to eat together properly. Where John had to constantly argue in order to get Sherlock to eat or sleep or just take a damn shower! Where there wasn't a violin playing randomly at 3 in the morning. Suddenly, John felt a sharp pain to his chest. Even despite everything Sherlock did to irritate him, John still cared about him. He missed him and his crazy antics, although he tried not to think about it too much. And living with Moriarty would probably be just as outrageous although incredibly different, but that didn't make it better. Sherlock would always have a place in John's heart, no matter what he did.

In any case, there were only 21 and a half days left. He couldn't afford to start becoming attached now. Not even if Moriarty was showing a human side to him. Besides, how could John even know it was real? Moriarty was a brilliant actor, after all. He had proved that by fooling Sherlock Holmes. Who was to say that this all wasn't some great act to get into John's pants? Even as he thought this, John knew that it didn't ring true. There was something about their relationship that remained genuine. After all, they both knew who the other person was. It's not as if Moriarty had to hide the fact that he was a consulting criminal. Nor did John have to hide the fact that he was still a soldier at heart as well.

"Are you going to hand me that fork? Or are you trying to scrub it out of existence?" Moriarty inquired, breaking into John's thoughts.

Handing it over, John mumbled, "Here. Sorry. Zoned out. I'm told it happens to old men. Eventually, I won't be able to keep a train of thought for more than five minutes."

Moriarty gave him a strange look, which told John that his jokes had fallen flat, but he didn't say anything as he dried off the fork. Secretly, John appreciated it. After all, the last thing he needed was Moriarty openly trying to work out what was on John's mind. So he turned back without another word in order to wash the last fork.

"It's 12:01 Monday morning," John declared, grinning maniacally at Moriarty. "Monday morning, and I somehow managed to make it this far without jumping your bones." His voice was laced with sarcasm, earning himself a proper glare. Although most people would have probably cowered when seeing it, John couldn't help but grin even wider. "I won. I'm sort of tempted to kiss you now just to prove my point."

Not that it wasn't a hard earned win. Sunday morning rolled around, and John had yet to visibly show any sexual interest in James Moriarty. At that point, Moriarty decided to bend the rules a bit. Although John had to make the first move, that didn't mean that Moriarty couldn't try to incite that move. He never once touched John, but Moriarty would hover just behind him and whisper in his ear about what was going to happen to John if he would just give in – promises of light bondage, marking and claiming of John's body, heavenly blow-jobs, nearly cruel teasing, and rough fucking. As time passed, the descriptions became more vivid and more frequent. At some points, John had to take a moment in order to clear his thoughts, lest he start palming himself in front of the telly or in the kitchen. It honestly irritated him just how much Moriarty could get to him with only words, as if his body was betraying his mind. After all, he still had no plans to act on whatever it was he felt for Moriarty – even John himself wasn't entirely sure if everything was merely lust anymore, and that terrified him all the more.

But John's determination won out over simple lust. He wanted those bugs removed from the flat, and by God, he would have it. "I would say remove them at your earliest convenience, but I have a feeling that would be the day after I leave. So instead, I am going to inform you that I want them removed by midnight."

"How do you expect me to comply to that? It's 12:02 now," Moriarty responded, smirking slightly. "Honestly, you shouldn't demand the impossible from me."

It was John's turn to scowl. "You know what I mean," he retorted.

"How can you be sure that I'll keep my end of the deal?"

"Because you are a man of your word, despite your career choice," John told him.

Raising an eyebrow, Moriarty pressed, "And how do you know that?"

"You've proven it already," John stated as he got up off the sofa. "You made a deal with Mycroft before. Now, you're an intelligent man to say the least. You could have easily just made a copy of the files or given him the wrong files altogether. Once you had me, what could he do about it? But you didn't because you struck a deal." He stretched slightly and groaned as he felt his muscles ache ever so slightly. "Unlike most people, your name actually has some worth to it. You're proud to be James Moriarty, and you aren't going to tarnish your reputation. Not even for someone like me."

Rising to his feet, Moriarty examined John carefully. "Boil some water," he stated.

Normally, John would demand to know why Moriarty was making a bizarre request. At that very moment, however, he could not care less. He had won against James Moriarty. Not only that, but he got to rub it in Moriarty's face without being murdered right on the spot. Filling a pot with water, John set it on the stove and let it start to heat on the highest setting. "Now what?"

"Now you stand there and look pretty. And if I hear one more word about how you won, I will shove your head into the boiling water until the skin on your face peels off," Moriarty answered before reaching underneath the coffee table.

John kept his mouth shut as soon as he understood what Moriarty was doing. The bug was just a bit smaller than a thimble, and it was brought over and dropped into the water. For the next twenty minutes, John watched as Moriarty removed another twenty-four bugs from the flat. It was fascinating to see just how well hidden some of them were. One required for the front of the radio to be taken off. Another could only be accessed after the sofa was flipped over. There were several in the bedroom and bathroom, but most were distributed in the kitchen and the living room.

As the twenty-fifth one plopped into the water, Moriarty stated, "That's all of them."

"Good," John said with a nod. "And if I find out that you're lying to me-"

"As you said before, I am indeed a man of my word. As long as you don't cross me, that is," Moriarty stated, cutting him off.

Nodding absentmindedly, John glanced around the flat again and felt more comfortable. He turned off the stove before draining the water and pitching the bugs into the trash. "I'm off to bed then," he commented, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Good night."

"Good night," Moriarty muttered automatically, heading towards the living room.