When James asked him if he wanted to go for a walk, John was only a bit surprised. After all, James had started taking John outside more often since they moved into the primary flat together. He supposed it was because they saw each other more, and James could see just how long John stayed inside at home. Although the video games did help, they were only entertaining for so long. Besides which, John had a tendency to get stir crazy even with all the sexual activity that he was getting nowadays. He just needed to stretch his legs every now and again, and James knew that. Hell, James even respected that, which was made obvious by the fact that he still took John out every now and again.

So there they were in the park, walking hand-in-hand in order to not draw attention to themselves. Being together was less suspicious than just two grown men walking through the park at night, according to James. John didn't argue with him, but shifted a bit, not entirely comfortable with holding hands. He had never been much of one for public displays of affection, but he supposed that it was something he could deal with right now. Besides, it wasn't overly affectionate. Just holding hands. He had done more with his girlfriends in public. Of course, at the time he had been nothing more than a horny teenager, but it helped him feel less self-conscious.

The park was less crowded at night, giving them some sense of privacy. Laced together, their hands radiated heat and yet refrained from being drenched in sweat. As they walked together, neither of them spoke, just enjoying each other's company. Eventually, John noticed a small playground that looked familiar to him. He paused a moment, examining it carefully, before everything came piecing back together. "Oh, God," he murmured in surprise.

"What is it?" James pressed, looking up in alarm. His senses were entirely alert as he scanned all around them for a possible threat.

"No, no, it's just… I used to come here as a kid," John murmured.

"Shocker," James noted a bit sarcastically.

Rolling his eyes, John responded, "My family didn't live in London, you git. And we weren't exactly rolling around in money, and our parents didn't have all the free time in the world. It was a pretty big deal for us when we got to come to the city and play in the park."

"Oh?" James pressed, sounding slightly interested.

John nodded and continued, "Yeah. Harry and I would beg Mum or Dad to let us come here and play. There were no other kids on our street, and since we didn't get along too well, we were starved for interaction with other kids during the holidays." He smiled softly. He had some great memories from this place. "I made friends easily when I was young. Just used to walk up to a kid and ask if he wanted to be my best friend. Never once was I rejected. Then I would go running over to Mum or Dad, exclaiming that I made a new best friend. And every time, they would ask what my best friend's name was. And every time, I would stall and stutter since I never thought to ask first." With that, he burst out laughing before looking over at James to find him barely smiling in response. His laughter died immediately. "Oh, God, I'm boring you."

"No, no. You're hardly boring me. Trust me, Johnny, I would let you know if I wasn't entertained. I'm not exactly known for being passive, after all," James responded. "I'm just trying to figure something out."

"Indeed?" John inquired curiously. "What might that be?"

James paused a moment before answering, "You said that you made friends easily when you were a child. Nowadays, though, your trust is hard to receive. It's unwavering once earned but difficult to come by. What happened to change that aspect of you?"

"What, have you been reading my therapist's journal as well? And she wondered why I didn't trust her!" he jested in response, trying to lighten the mood. James offered a smile but said nothing. Apparently, he was more than willing to wait for a proper response. "I'll make you a deal. If I tell you how I became so jaded, you have to tell me a bit about your own childhood. Because as much as I do love baring my soul to anyone who will listen, I would like something in return for it."

James frowned. "But you trust me," he pointed out softly.

"You're starting to make me regret ever saying that to you," John groaned. "Look, at the very least, you can give me a give-and-take sort of situation, alright? I'm not really asking all that much from you. Just a little trust in return."

There was a long moment of silence, and John figured that James would let the entire thing drop. Much to his surprise, though, he heard James respond, "Very well. You have yourself a deal."

Pausing a moment, John sighed and conceded. At the very least, he would get a glimpse into James Moriarty's childhood. "I was 13 or 14 at the time. During those years when you really start to feel the pressure to fit in. To become popular. To start dating the 'right' people," he began as they walked away from the playground. "I had plenty of friends and was generally well-liked. And then George Chapman happened."

"George Chapman?"

John nodded. "Yeah. I joined the rugby team, and George Chapman was basically the team leader. I'd never looked up to someone so much in my life. God, I thought he was everything that I wanted to be when I grew up – talented, athletic, intelligent, popular. I really thought he had it all. And when we finally started forging a friendship – well, I was just beside myself with joy." He paused a moment, allowing all of that to sink in. "And then the rumours started. They were whispered from person to person but never to me. About my sexuality – my family life – my financial standing. Slowly, my friends started to turn away from me over silly things that happened years before. And when I thought I only had George to turn to, he revealed himself to be the perpetrator. Did it all because he didn't like the fact that the girl he had a crush on was flirting with me instead… or something equally ridiculous."

James stared at John for a long moment. "What? That's it? Some guy betrays you, and you keep everyone three metres away for the rest of your life?"

Feeling rebuked, John snapped, "I know this might be hard for you to understand, but I lost everyone during that time. Even friends I had known for years. It wasn't just George who betrayed me. It was all of them. So yeah, I stopped trusting every single person I walked by. I wasn't that little kid anymore who just made friends with random people at the playground. And I haven't been since. And you know what? There's nothing wrong with that. There's no reason I should feel ashamed that I don't just trust any person who stumbles into my life. And it's totally fine that I wait before placing my entire trust in them, alright?" With that, he glared at James, almost daring him to say something.

James blinked a few times, humming thoughtfully. "I wonder what Mr George Chapman is doing nowadays."

"Oh, no," John responded, looking Moriarty in the eyes. "No, no, no, no, no. You are notlooking him up. You are notfinding out how he's doing. And you are certainly not ruining the life he has built for himself over twenty years after the fact."

Frowning, James pointed out, "But he hurt you. It's only natural that you would want revenge."

"No, it is only natural that you want revenge. I, on the other hand, would much prefer to just forget that any of this ever happened." When James didn't say anything, John continued, "He's probably a different man now. A better man. And yes, he has forever altered who I am, but that doesn't necessarily make it a bad thing. After all, everything has a ripple effect. Who knows – maybe if I continued playing rugby, I would have gotten a scholarship and never joined the army. And if I hadn't joined the army… well, let's just say that I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

James pursed his lips but said nothing for a long moment. "A peek wouldn't hurt, right? Just to see if he has actually changed for the better."

"No, James, absolutely not," John declared. "And I want you to drop it. I let you in on a bit of my past trusting that you would respect it. Don't make me regret telling you this as well, you hear? Besides, it's your turn."

Clearly displeased by the end result, James scowled as they continued down the pathway. "What specifically would you like to know?"

"Carl Powers," John answered quite unexpectedly. He didn't know why the name had popped into his head, but it had, and he had said it before even thinking it through.

James tensed as he heard this. "You want to know how I got my start in consulting crimes then," he said, rephrasing it. John wasn't sure if James was trying to make it less personal or just have him understand what he was about to listen to. "I know this may come as a surprise to you, but I was bullied when I was younger," he started sarcastically. "My mother used to tell me it was because they were jealous of my intelligence. I know now that she was just trying to comfort me, but I was livid when I heard her say that. I mean, it was hardly my fault that I was born with such a high IQ. Nor was it my fault that none of the other students could keep up with the teacher. I accelerated through a couple years in school and wound up in Carl Powers' class.

"Whereas most of the other kids would just ignore me, Carl made it his goal to humiliate me at every turn. He was on the swim team and wanted nothing more than to be a hero, despite the fact that his eczema was more than a turn off for most of the other kids. He thought that by picking on me – the kid on the outs – he would be able to forge his own place as one of the class's elites. He used to bully me, humiliate me, and laugh at me."

James's grip on John's hand had almost become painful. "Take a deep breath and relax," he managed to cut in, rubbing his thumb across the back of James's hand. James glanced over at him and then down. Muttering an apology, he relaxed his grip once more. Blood went rushing back into John's hand. "It's fine. Please continue."

"I don't care to get back into exactly what he used to do. Basically, if you can imagine a bully doing it, Carl probably did it to me." James's eyes were distant now, slightly out of focus as they continued to walk. "I hated that laugh. His awful laugh. It sounded like fingernails against a chalkboard – high and squeaky. Like his balls hadn't dropped. It was the worst, John. The absolute worse."

Very lightly, John pressed, "Did you try talking to a teacher or something?"

"Of course we did!" James snapped, glaring at John. "What? You think that I – at 11 years old – went straight to the murder plan? Of course not! After all, I had never done something like that before. But I cannot remember how many times my mother went into the school to talk to the administration about what was happening to me. But the Powers family was wealthy and donated a lot of money to the school. Carl was practically untouchable, as far as the administration was concerned. Apparently, they needed the money more than they needed to keep their students safe."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply-" John started to say.

Shaking his head, James responded, "It's fine. Don't worry about it. I should have filled you in on that part anyway." He took in a deep breath. "So I decided that I needed to take matters into my own hands. I practically lived in the library for an entire semester, reading up on anything and everything. I researched the greatest murder mysteries, how some people never managed to get caught, and why others were. I researched different ways of killing – from stabbing to injecting insulin. But I had to make sure what I did was untraceable. And then I found the answer: Clostridium botulinum. Untraceable unless searched for specifically. Just put it in Carl's medication, and I would never have to hear his laugh again. So I did it myself – the only time I ever got my hands dirty – and I took his shoes as a trophy. I realised how stupid it was later. What if someone had figured it out? Not only would I have evidence taken from the crime scene, my fingerprints would match. It was from that moment I decided to hire others to do my work or to just consult and advise people on how to proceed." Although he had started this entire spiel in a monotone, he sounded more like Moriarty by the end, his voice low and angry.

John was slightly baffled. At 11 years old, James Moriarty was outwitting Scotland Yard. And yet there was a tragedy in that. James had been picked on as a child, and he had learned to fight back, but not in the way most kids fought back. He was backed into a corner and lashed out in a deadly way. For John, it marked a loss of innocence. James never really had a childhood. How could he? He was too intelligent for his age. So much so that he probably ostracised himself from not only the other students but the teachers and adults as well. From the sound of it, he didn't exactly make friends when he was younger. And after he started his consulting business – at the age of God knows what – he probably didn't see the need to make friends. A part of John felt sympathy for the man who grew up without any friends. But he didn't say a word. Pity would not do James any good now. But he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if James had made friends – someone who would have stuck up for him against Carl Powers. Someone who could have kept him from taking a dive into crime. Or maybe they would have just been prolonging the inevitable?

"Let's go home," he finally said, tugging slightly on James's hand.

Neither of them said another word as they finished their walk through the park, hopped into the car, and headed back to the flat. They both walked in, kicking their shoes off in the entryway. Immediately, John headed over to the kitchen in order to get something to drink. James, on the other hand, headed straight into the bedroom. As John drank his water, he wondered when the silence would break. It was verging on uncomfortable now, but he still wasn't entirely sure how to follow up that conversation. Actually, it was more like a confession.

"John," James called out from the bedroom.

"Mm-hmm?" John called back. When he heard nothing, he set his glass in the sink. "Yes?" he called out once more, assuming that James didn't hear him the first time. And yet when still no answer came, he started towards the bedroom. "James, did you call for-?" he started to ask before his voice trailed.

James was laying on the bed, lazily stroking himself with one hand and three fingers up his arse. His back was slightly arched, and his breathing was coming out in ragged pants, John's name barely audible. Breath hitching, John swallowed hard. He blinked a couple of times, trying to memorise the sight in front of him. His cock was hard by the time he thought to start forward. Yanking off his shirt, John hurried over to the bed and let his jeans hit the floor before clambering onto it. He leaned down and captured James's lips with his own. Grabbing the lube from the nightstand, he slicked three fingers and reached down. James felt his hand and removed his own just before John slipped his fingers inside. Tight warmth surrounded him, and he expertly struck the prostate. Gasping, James arched his back and let out a low moan. He was already loose.

"How long have you been doing this?" John pressed, kissing the inside of James's thigh.

"Since we got home."

Confused, he pressed, "Why?"

James stopped for a moment. "You trust me," he said, as if that answered everything.

John spread his fingers apart in order to stretch James that much further. "And?"

After a long moment, James muttered, "If you can't figure it out from just that alone, you don't deserve to know."

John went to object, but he felt James grind down onto his fingers and whine in need. It was too much for John to handle. After all, he had a man practically begging to be fucked. A man who he had been desiring to take for a while now. A man who he thought he would never get the opportunity to take. Swiftly, he launched over to the nightstand and fumbled for a condom. He rolled it onto himself and turned back to find James practically on top of him. Gently, their lips met, and James licked John's bottom lip. Complying, John opened his mouth and let James's tongue plunge inside. Their tongues slid past one another, and John let out a moan as he felt a hand on his cock. The sensation was slightly stunted due to the condom, but he felt the nice pressure of a hand stroking carefully down it. Suddenly, their kiss broke, and James pushed John down into the mattress.

Just as John was about to ask what he was doing, James turned around and grabbed the base of his erection. He watched, jaw dropped, as James slowly lowered himself onto his cock. Slowly, he became surrounded by James's tight arse, and John tossed his head back and let out a groan of pleasure. James's arse tightened around him for a moment as he was taken in to the hilt. James was panting hard and seemed to be in a bit of pain. Sitting up, John wrapped an arm around James's waist while the other dipped down to stroke James's erection. He pressed his lips against James's shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he murmured softly, giving a firm stroke.

"Of course I know that," James snapped, shifting uncomfortably. "Just… just give me a moment, would you? I'll be fine in a moment. It just takes some getting used to."

John continued to stroke James's cock as they remained immobile for a long moment. And then James removed John's hand, replaced it with his own, and started to move. Reclining once more, John watched as James slowly began to ride him. It was fascinating to watch him disappear into James's body – to feel that hot tightness around him. It was better than anything he had ever experienced before. Letting out a moan, he reached down and rested his hands on James's hips, following them as James continued bouncing up and down. Slowly, his rhythm began to gain speed, and he started to make small noises – whimpers and soft moans. If he hadn't been listening carefully, John would have missed them altogether.

He wanted to convince James to lie down on the mattress and let John take him from on top, but he knew that James needed the control in this. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have initiated everything and remained on top. He would have allowed John to have at least some of the power. Besides, watching James ride him so passionately was one of the most erotic things John had ever witnessed. And then John couldn't help himself. He gave a small thrust up. James gasped and then let out a moan despite himself. Grinning, John gripped James's hips tighter before giving another thrust up. With that, James tossed back his head and let out another groan. John then began to thrust up into James's body at the same rhythm. James became more vocal than he ever had been before, moaning and panting and whimpering, as he stroked himself hard and fast. When John felt James's arse tighten around him, he gasped in surprise and ecstasy. James went a bit rigid, and it took a moment before John realised that he was fighting off an orgasm.

"No, no, no, no," John murmured, sitting up and stroking James himself. "Don't fight it. I want you to come with my cock in your arse. Come for me, James."

Moaning out John's name loudly, James came hard in his hand. John kissed his shoulder as he did so, murmuring sweet nothings in the process. Once James was spent, John removed himself from inside him and gently set him back into the mattress. He slowly entered him again and began to thrust into his body. Before long, his thrusts became wild and fast, and James was moaning and digging his fingers into John's back. Coming, John screamed out James's name as he rode out his orgasm. White flashed before his eyes as he felt the rush of hormones from release. Once spent, he pulled out of James and removed the condom, grimacing at the wet feeling still on his cock.

"John?" James called out as John got out of bed.

"I'll be right back," he promised before slinking out of the room. He popped into the bathroom and cleaned himself off really fast. Once he slid back into the room, he sauntered back in before kicking his pair of pants up and catching them in one hand. James grinned as he saw it. "I know. I'm a man of many talents."

"I'll say," James responded, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Rolling his eyes, John clambered back in bed. He yanked the duvet up and over them. Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath as he felt the effects of post-orgasm take over his body. He was so tired, and he couldn't stop himself from relaxing and passing out.