People often forget that John was a soldier… that he had served in several tours and had seen some awful things in his time overseas. Sometimes – when he was lucky – John got to forget about it as well. But when James Moriarty entered the flat with an all-too-familiar looking bloody scrape on his zygomatic bone, just under and to the side of his left eye, John knew that he had just come centimetres away from being shot in the head. Without saying a word, John rose to his feet and instinctively fetched the first aid kit while Moriarty removed his jacket and tossed it over the chair.

"Sit down on the sofa," John ordered calmly as he headed back over. Much to his surprise, Moriarty did exactly as he was told. Grabbing a dining room chair, he brought it around and situated himself in front of Moriarty. "What happened?" he asked as he opened the first aid kit.

"I know this might come as a shock to you, but there are people in the world who would like to see me dead," he started as John used a disinfectant wipe to clean up the dried blood on his cheek.

John jested, "Can't imagine why."

Ignoring John, Moriarty continued, "There's a hefty price on my head, and the first person to succeed receives several million quid."

"Who was it?" John asked quietly, assuming Moriarty knew the answer. It was hard to believe that someone made an attempt on James Moriarty's life and escaped unscathed.

Wincing slightly as John started disinfecting the wound, Moriarty answered, "An assassin infiltrated my network posing as a former soldier in need of a new position. He came with a high recommendation from one of my snipers, who I had considered at the very least trustworthy." He paused for a moment. "As if that matters anymore."

"I always figured you separated yourself from your… um… employees. So how did he actually manage to get to you?" John inquired, now insatiably curious.

Moriarty replied, "Let me make this very clear: no one gets to me. Not even him."

"You were centimetres away from having your head blown off!" John responded incredulously, shocked by Moriarty's sheer denial. "How much closer is it until someone 'gets to you'?"

"Actually shooting me in the head is a good place to start," Moriarty informed him, a small smile on his face. It was shocking just how indifferent he seemed to the idea, as if death didn't frighten him in the least. "Anything less is considered a close call."

Grabbing the butterfly bandages, John returned his attention to the wound. "So how did he manage to get so close then?" he pressed, not wanting to argue the point any further.

Moriarty paused and looked at John critically. "Let me ask you something first," he finally declared. "Why are you tending to my wound?"

"Because you came into the flat bleeding, and I'm a doctor. It's my instinct to help those who are injured," he responded.

Watching John carefully, Moriarty pressed, "And there's nothing more to it then? Nothing at all?"

"Like what?" John countered, not wanting to entertain the thought of there being anything more to his actions. That would complicate matters far too much. "Can't you just be happy that I tended to you without you having to ask?"

"That's the reason I'm unsatisfied with your answer," Moriarty explained. "Here I am, trying to keep the information I give you vague enough that it would not help Mr Holmes should you tell him it and yet detailed enough for you to understand, although I'm not sure why it even matters. It's really none of your business what happened. I'm only humouring you by giving you as much as I have. And yet you're asking for more. Why? So you can tell the Ice Man? Or because you care?"

John stilled where he was as he heard the bite in Moriarty's voice. He actually sounded slightly upset. But what astounded him more was the fact that he hadn't even thought of telling Mycroft about this. His goal hadn't been to obtain information in order to help the British government. Focusing on the wound once more, John commented, "If it bothers you that much, just forget that I asked. I was only curious. Besides, you're right. Everything you've said so far has been too vague to be of any assistance to Mycroft."

Moriarty said nothing for a long moment, just sitting there and letting John work in silence instead. Finally, he explained, "As every assassin should be, he was patient. He was hired two years ago and excelled in every job I gave him in order to catch my attention. Of course, he didn't know that I keep very detailed surveillance on any employee who might have the honour of meeting me – which you can be sure to tell Mr Holmes if he ever hopes to successfully infiltrate my web – so I knew almost immediately about his scheme. Unfortunately, my attention has been… divided lately. After locating my whereabouts, he saw his opening and took it."

"And now?"

"And now he's been permanently terminated from his position in my network," Moriarty answered vaguely, but John knew exactly what that meant.

As he placed the last butterfly bandage on the wound, John sat back and examined his handiwork. And it was at that moment he began to notice everything: the dark bags underneath the eyes, the pale lips, the wrinkles that were finally starting to show, the slight touch of dye to the hair, and the half-lidded look that only came from being unable to sleep well. He was worn down, John finally realised. And he was worn down because he honestly couldn't trust anyone. Not his employees. Not his clients. James Moriarty was alone in this world in every sense of the term – something that John understood and remembered all too well.

Suddenly, Moriarty didn't look like a psychotic criminal mastermind to John anymore. Not when he was sitting there on the sofa with that tired expression on his face. He looked like an average Joe – someone who would garner no special attention on the streets even in his Westwood suit. He looked… human. And then John realised that this wasn't the first time he had seen Moriarty's human side. After all, he had checked in on John when he hurt himself. Even sent a text to make sure nothing was seriously wrong. Then there had been all those times he came to visit. He honestly didn't even have to. Hell, he could have left John alone for the entire month or actually only visited once a week. And then there had been the trip outside. By no means did he have to do that either, and yet he had taken the time out of his schedule to do so. Which meant that he did it because he wanted to. And he knew that this side – so carefully hidden and shrewdly revealed to John – was the personal side. This guy who took the time to eat with John and do the dishes later was James. And John understood perfectly that James and Moriarty were the same person only in separate situations – just like the doctor side and the soldier side of John.

And then John's eyes locked onto the wound again. Centimetres. It had been just centimetres that had kept James Moriarty in this world. Deep down, that struck a chord with John. After all, he had seen plenty of death before during his years in service. He held men as they took their final breaths and whispered out their last words, sometimes even after he had desperately tried to save them. He lost good men – fellow soldiers – close friends. And now this. It was nothing more than a close call, but it forced John to recognise his mistake in judgment. After all, he always assumed that Moriarty would outlast everything and everyone. John knew that he was mortal just like the rest of them, but there was just an air around him that made him seem untouchable. And then this suddenly happened, and John knew that he wasn't. That "Moriarty" might survive through a protégé, but James would eventually die. John finally grasped just how close he had come to losing any chance to know what James tasted like… what he felt like under John's fingertips… and John wasn't satisfied with that anymore. Not after nearly losing any chance at all. And in all honesty, he knew now that he would regret never taking this fleeting opportunity presented to him.

So John Watson didn't think as he leaned forward and gently kissed James. It was a chaste kiss with just lips pressed against lips. After a moment, he grasped that James wasn't responding to the kiss. Pulling back, he wondered if he made a mistake – if Moriarty had just been toying with him all that time. The thought in and of itself iced his blood with horror and yet disappointed him at the same time. And then he felt a hand suddenly on the back of his head, and he was yanked forward into a bruising kiss. James took advantage of his open mouth and slid his tongue inside and exploring John's mouth thoroughly, as if he wanted to memorise it in one go. Moaning, John forced James to retreat after a while, wanting his own chance to taste James on his tongue. Instead, James sucked John's bottom lip between his teeth, scraping it almost painfully, before releasing it and nibbling at it. John groaned impatiently, unsatisfied with the fact that he couldn't get what he wanted as well. He heard James's chuckle before his bottom lip was left alone. Opening his mouth a bit wider, James flicked his tongue at John's, thus coaxing him to explore.

Just as John got a smattering of James's exotic taste, he felt two hands slide under his legs and pull him up off the chair. His startled cry was muffled by the kiss as he was tugged into James's lap, straddling him. Abruptly, he felt two hands tugging his jumper up. He understood immediately what James wanted, and he pulled back. In one swift movement, James yanked the jumper up and off, his nails scratching John's sides as he did so. The sudden sting sent a jolt of electricity through John's body and caused him to shiver in pleasure. Never before had a partner been so forceful… had made him feel so wanted. As soon as the jumper cleared his head, John returned his attention to James, his fingers frantically undoing the buttons of the shirt that kept him from feeling James's skin. His lips were captured again, their teeth rattling against each other in a biting kiss, and he felt hands in his hair, fingers stroking and gliding through it. Once John unbuttoned the shirt, he reached up to the shoulders and pulled hastily down. James dropped his arms, letting John remove his shirt, before wrapping them around John's waist and pulling him closer. Suddenly, he felt a pair of lips kiss down his jawline and neck as he felt a tug at his belt.

Hands trailing across the skin he had so desperately wanted to feel, John gasped as he felt James knead his trapped arousal through his jeans. James smirked before repeating the motion, causing John to buck involuntarily in search of more friction. Breathing now doubled, John rested his head on James's shoulder, burying his face in James's neck and gently placing kisses and nips there. His hands quickly mapped out every contour of James's chest, feeling the fine definition of the different muscles. As John teasingly pinched James's nipples, he heard a faint gasp in response and mentally noted it. Suddenly, his belt cleared the loops, and James unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans in the matter of seconds. There was then a flurry of movement, and the next thing he knew, he was laying on the sofa underneath James, who was hovering above him with a dark gleam in his eyes. "Mine," he suddenly growled before sinking his teeth into the skin just above the clavicle. Pain mixed with a rush of adrenaline, and John moaned as he felt his cock twitch. It wasn't hard enough to break skin – that much John could feel – but it would definitely leave a bruise… a mark of ownership. And in that very moment, John did not care.

James quickly and roughly tugged John's jeans down before slipping a hand into his pants and finally giving John a few firm strokes. Moaning, he arched his back and bucked into James's hand. He ran his hands down James's back as he felt James press a couple more kisses into his throat. Then, he ran his hands up James's chest before beginning to massage and tweak his nipples. James's breath caught in his throat, and his hand paused for a moment. Leaning up, John latched onto James's neck. He wasn't going to be left the only one marked, after all. He sucked and nipped meticulously, making sure to never be hard enough to cause anything more than a slight discomfort. Pulling back, he examined the now flushed flesh carefully, feeling satisfied. It just so happened that this was at the same time James gave a sharp flick of his wrist before gliding his thumb across the tip of John's erection. Moaning again, John sank back into the sofa. James grabbed one of his hands before gliding it down to the bulge in his own trousers. John understood almost immediately what was wanted, and he went to work on undoing James's belt. The mixture of working around James's hand and the fact that John just wanted to enjoy being touched again made it difficult for him to concentrate. Finally undoing the belt, John swiftly unbuttoned the trousers and shoved them down along with James's pants, effectively freeing his erection.

Before John could take it into his hand, James pulled away and out of reach. His hand left John's cock, actually inciting a small whimper, and he pulled John's pants and jeans down all the way to his knees. Returning to lie on top of John, James them both in one hand and began stroking them roughly together, making sure to smear their pre-cum around and down their shafts. John's hands flew instantly to James's back, clutching at it desperately as he moaned and bucked into the touch. He felt like his mind was going into overdrive. Suddenly, he felt a pain bloom in the side of his neck, and he finally noticed James was once again attacking it. After he felt a teasing nip coupled with a rough stroke, John dug his nails into James's back and heard a soft grunt of pleasure in response. The next pull was harder than the last, and John realised that James, too, enjoyed a certain roughness. Bucking up into James's hand and against his hard erection, John let out a low moan before dragging his nails down James's back with more purpose this time. He was rewarded by feeling James hesitate for a second before lowering himself to bite at John's chest. Arching his back, John panted breathlessly as he firmly gripped James's arse. James's teeth locked down on his chest once more, and John let out a low moan before bucking involuntarily. He was getting so close that he could feel that almost painful coil in his stomach winding up.

"John," James panted out, his warm breath caressing John's ear. John honestly had no idea when James had moved up, and he moaned in response, encouraging James to continue. "Come for me. Let me see you lose control under my touch."

"J-James," John stammered out, his body tensing as he felt himself reaching the edge. He didn't want to lose control just yet, though. It felt like they had just started.

"Don't fight it, John," James murmured in his ear, giving another particularly rough stroke. "Just come."

At hearing that order, John felt the coil in his stomach unravel. His entire body tensed – toes curling, back arching, and arms and legs rigidly straight – as he finally came in James's hand. His scream was muffled by a kiss, as if James wanted to swallow it, as waves of pleasure and satisfaction washed over his entire body. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he came so hard. Maybe it was never. Ecstasy still coursing through him, John blinked a few times, his vision having turned white for a moment from the sudden rush of hormones, before he was able to focus once more. James slowly broke the kiss. Panting, John collapsed, boneless, into the sofa and stared up at James, who must have come sometime during John's orgasm due to the fact that he was now flaccid and appeared quite sated.

Looking down at John's semen-covered upper torso, James murmured, "You should take a shower."

John, however, wanted to enjoy his post-coital bliss first. "In a minute," he retorted, sucking in large, deep breaths.

"In a minute, you're going to be too tired," James pointed out.

"I know that! I am a doctor, after all."

Motioning towards the bathroom, he responded, "Off with you then. I'll clean up whatever mess we made here before going to bed."

Grumbling, John got to his feet and kicked off his pants and jeans properly before heading towards the shower. His mind hummed pleasantly with the chemicals just released by his orgasm still working full force. After quickly washing himself off, John walked into the bedroom with a towel on, dropped it, put on a pair of pants, and clambered into the bed next to James. Just as he felt himself drifting off, John could swear that he felt a pair of arms draw him into something broad, solid, and warm.

The next morning, John woke up to find James Moriarty gone, but he was most definitely not alone. His thoughts buzzed in his mind as he remembered everything that had happened the night before. And the only thing he could wonder was what the hell he was thinking at the time. Or, better still, why hadn't he been thinking? Sentiment had overridden logic, he supposed, and now he was going to have to deal with the aftermath of the situation. His relationship with Moriarty – James – whoever the fuck he was – had just changed. He had willingly given himself over to this man. How was he to ever look Sherlock in the face again after betraying him like this? After willingly being with his arch-enemy? The man who strapped a bomb onto John and sent him into a pool all for Sherlock's attention?

And then there was that word – that simple in-the-moment word – that wound up imprinting itself in John's mind. "Mine." He had been claimed, if even for just a moment, and he hadn't minded it. That concept startled John most of all – his acceptance to being someone's without them first asking for his permission. And what exactly was meant at the time that it was said? Obviously, John had denounced again and again that he would ever give himself over, which it shamed him a bit that he hadn't kept to his word. So was Moriarty throwing it back in his face that he had finally given in? Or was there a more personal aspect to it? Perhaps James actually wantedto have John as his own, as cheesy as that sounded – and even John grimaced as the thought crossed his mind. It just seemed so… un-Moriarty. Then again, John was dealing with James, and that was the key difference. Moriarty wouldn't have cared about John in the least. He would have seen him as a means to an end – a way to hurt Sherlock. On the other hand, James might actually want John for himself, even if it wasn't in a romantic way. Even if it was all just sexual.

John felt sick and guilty and confused. And so he didn't move. He simply remained in bed and stewed, angry at himself for letting his guard so down… upset that he actually enjoyed the whole damn thing… pissed that he had to be attracted to James Moriarty of all people… frustrated that there was still well over two weeks left for him to get through… and uncertain about how he was going to address this later on.

Suddenly, he heard the front door open, and he covered his face with his hands as he released a weak groan. Footsteps sounded out, coming closer before finally stopping altogether. Looking up, John found himself under intense scrutiny.

"I see you've been brooding," Moriarty stated as he leaned in the doorway. "Tell me, have you gotten anywhere in the last 9 hours or so?"

Eyes widening, John glanced over at the clock. It was almost eight o'clock, and he swore his mind must have been playing tricks on him. How had he managed to stay in bed all day? Immediately, his stomach rumbled in complaint, reminding him that he had yet to eat. "No," he finally answered. "Look, we need to talk about what happened last night."

"Yes, I know," Moriarty responded, cutting him off, before lifting up a bag. John's stomach lurched as he recognised the logo on it. It was from his favourite Chinese take-away place. Looking up, he watched as Moriarty loosened his tie as he walked over, and John relaxed slightly as he realised that he was wrong. This wasn't Moriarty at all. This was James. Only James would have ever taken the time to do this and not expect something outright from the moment he walked into the room. "Kung-Pao chicken. Extra spicy. With white rice," he said as he pulled out a plastic container and handed it to him.

It was John's favourite, and part of him wanted to ask how on Earth James knew that. Another part just wanted it to be left a mystery. "Thank you," he said, gently taking the container and carefully opening it. The aroma hit him like a ton of bricks, and John groaned as he savoured it. "Fork?"

"Chopsticks," James answered, handing them to John.

"I don't know how to use these."

Smiling, James responded, "I know. I'm going to teach you. First, break them apart so you have two." John complied with the order, managing to snap them evenly. "Now hold one of the chopsticks as you would a pencil." Taking one into his left hand, John resituated it and looked up expectantly. "Alright, now you're going to pinch the other chopstick between your thumb and index finger." John did as was told, but James shook his head and reached down, his fingers nimbly twisting the chopstick around in his hand in order for the tips to parallel each other. "Your index finger will control everything. Give it a try."

John looked down at his Kung-Pao chicken, slightly unsure as he lowered his chopsticks down and pinched the first piece. He carefully lifted it and took a bite before grinning victoriously. "You learn something new every day, right?" he pressed before carefully picking up another piece.

"I believe that is the common phrase, yes," James replied as he broke his own chopsticks. A long moment passed as they ate together in silence, John slower than James, before he inquired, "Feeling better?"

The question startled John, who had not realised just how much more relaxed and relieved he had become in the last couple of minutes alone. Of course, that was all probably due to James's genius. Set John up with a different challenge in order to get his mind off the issue. "Yes, but we still have to talk," he pressed, not willing to let everything drop.

"I understand," James replied. "I take it you have thought through everything thoroughly today. And what conclusion have you come to?"

The problem was that John hadn't come to any solution whatsoever. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, undecided as to which he would rather run headlong into. So he said the first thing that came to his mind, "I think we should forget anything ever happened."

"Why?"

"Why?" John echoed, shocked the question even came out of James's mouth. "Because you're Sherlock's-"

"This has nothing to do with Sherlock," James cut him off, glaring at him.

Frowning, John responded, "This has everything to do with Sherlock. He's the only reason I was brought here. Hell, he is the only reason we even met in the first place! So don't try to brush everything off by saying that Sherlock doesn't play even the smallest role in this entire scenario."

"What you fail to realise is that this is between you and me. No one else has the right to stick their nose in our personal business." There was an air of finality in his voice, as if this wasn't up for discussion.

"Sherlock's my best friend. I'm essentially betraying him," John retorted bitterly.

"How?"

These one word questions were really starting to irritate him. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he replied, "Because I'm with you. His arch-enemy. The man he plans on taking down someday. Don't you see how it might be a betrayal when I'm sleeping with the very same bloke?"

"Are you giving me information about his cases?" James inquired.

"No."

"What about his personal life? Habits? Weaknesses? Anxieties?"

"No," John reiterated, not sure where James was going with this.

James replied, "So you're not giving me any pertinent information about Sherlock Holmes. You're not telling me things that could later be used against him. So remind me again as to how this would be a betrayal, seeing as how you're not turning sides."

John floundered for a moment as he processed this information. When James put it like that, everything seemed so much easier to accept. He wasn't betraying Sherlock – not really. And James would gain no information from this arrangement either. John would never allow something like that to happen. "That being said," he finally murmured, knowing that not everything was that simple, "why did you take me hostage if not to glean what you can about Sherlock?"

"None of that is of importance," James told him.

"Like Hell."

Glaring at him, James snapped back, "The game I'm playing with Mycroft is much bigger than you and Sherlock. It has many unwritten rules, and I wanted to prove that I was willing to break them in order to win. That is your explanation, and be happy you even got that much. Now back to the matter at hand. You're not betraying Sherlock if you're not informing on him."

"He would still be hurt if he ever found out that I willingly slept with you. That I shagged his arch-enemy while I was gone," John pointed out matter-of-factly.

"You honestly think that? Or do you think he would be fascinated by the fact that I chose you, of all people? Or do you think he'd try to deduce what had happened between us? Or that he would honestly care at all?" John went to cut in when James quickly added, "Does this affect his work at all?"

"Well… no…" he confessed, sinking further into the bed. Why did nothing seem as complicated as he had made it out to be earlier?

"And do you think Sherlock will care about anything besides his work?" James asked quietly.

Shaking his head, John sighed out, "I don't imagine he would."

"Then remind me again why we have to give this up," James prompted.

Confused and exhausted, John groaned out, "I don't know. Maybe because it can't last?"

"Your point being? 99% of relationships 'don't last,' you know. Generally, you only wind up marrying one person out of the lot. Maybe more, depending on personal circumstances. So why can't we just enjoy the right here and now as we would have had I been anyone else?"

"Because it's not going to be enough!" John replied, a bite returning to his voice. He stopped himself from continuing and flushed bright red. What was he thinking?

James gauged him for a long moment, saying nothing in response. "Let me ask you this – did you ever once regret what we did last night? Did you ever once wish that we hadn't done it?"

Staring down at his food, John thought back. He had been agitated about the entire ordeal, yes, and just how much it wound up meaning to him… but not once had he thought that he would have preferred for it never to have happened. Life would have been easier, yes, but not necessarily better. "No," he finally confessed.

Very quietly, James inquired, "And do you really want for us to pretend like nothing happened last night?"

John hid his face behind a hand. "No."

"Then let's not," he insisted, shifting closer to John. "There's nothing wrong with what's happening here, you know. Nothing to be ashamed about. Besides, no one has to know about us. It's not as if you have to tell anyone that we were having sex. And I'm not about to go out and tell everyone about fucking you. It would be… counterproductive."

And just like that, John felt like the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders. "Why did you leave me alone all day before talking to me about this? Why did you let me suffer in silence for so long when this was all that we needed to talk about?" he pressed, angry that he had lost his entire day due to worrying over nothing.

"Because you wouldn't have listened to me," he responded matter-of-factly. "You needed your time and space in order work things out for yourself. You needed to recognise exactly what it was about our relationship that bothered you before we could discuss it at any length. And you would have been much too defensive this morning for me to reason with you at all. And when I came back, you would be much too stubborn to finally admit that you were wrong."

"Talk about pot calling the kettle black," John shot back.

Raising an eyebrow, James told him, "You have yet to prove me wrong, Johnny-boy."

"The weekend bet," John reminded him.

James scowled slightly before shoving another bite of food into his mouth. "Doesn't count."

"Yes, it does," John stated with a small smile. "And you're proving my point by denying it."

Rolling his eyes, James swallowed some rice before retorting, "As if it matters. You're mine now."

"And that's something else we have to talk about," John countered. "Just because we're shagging doesn't mean I'm yours."

James paused a moment, his eyebrows furrowed together as his gaze slid off into the distance, almost as if he was perturbed by this, before returning. "What does it matter what I say while in the heat of the moment? Especially since we're just fucking," he finally bit back.

"Because I don't feel comfortable with being claimed by you in such a fashion, what with this being what it is. You can't just throw words like that around wantonly. They carry meaning," he informed James earnestly as he struggled to pick up a pepper with his chopsticks.

James looked like he wanted to say something in response, but he merely took another bite of food. "I hardly see what the matter is," he finally answered.

John let out a sigh. "Of course not." Pausing another moment, he felt his bladder finally start to complain, sending a sense of urgency through his body. That was good, at least. He needed to get away for a moment despite the fact that James had just arrived.

"Where are you going?" James pressed as John set his food aside and went to clamber out of bed.

"To the bathroom," John responded nonchalantly.

Just as he rose to his feet, John heard James call out, "John?"

He turned to look at James, his eyebrow raised questioningly. James leaned forward in the bed, and he realised immediately what was going on. He was being asked a very simple question: are we going to continue being intimate or are we back at square one? Bending down, John leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss against James's lips. His answer was definite: yes, we are going to continue forward with this. As soon as he pulled back, he saw a faint smile grace James's features.

"What?" John asked, feeling a bit paranoid.

"Look at yourself in the mirror when you go to the bathroom," he murmured in response before turning back to his food.

Without asking another question, John shuffled into the bathroom. He was still only in his pants due to the night before, and he looked up at the mirror and gasped. All across his body, bruises of teeth marks and love bites coloured his skin. His hand lightly trailed across each and every one of them, and he couldn't help but smile fondly. There was a sense of being wanted when it came to those marks. No matter how strange that sounded, John actually felt valuable with his body being claimed like that. Cared for – almost loved. And part of that horrified him. He had always been able to dismiss his feelings as mere lust. But now that he had had James and had been claimed by James, he wasn't entirely sure if that was true anymore. And if they weren't… He didn't even want to get into that aspect of his thoughts just yet. Going through such feelings would lead him nowhere good. Even so, it was at that moment he decided to stop counting down the days until he left. All he was going to do was live in the moment and enjoy what time he had left with James… and pray that leaving wouldn't destroy him.