John woke up in his bed the next day, and he couldn't stop the sense of loneliness that washed over him as he saw the empty bed beside him. Immediately, he became determined to not spend his whole day inside and pining over James. After all, he hadbeen looking forward to being free again, and he should be living it up as much as possible now that he could go wherever whenever. He headed downstairs to find that there was no food in the fridge. Instead of investigating the rest of the house, he decided to pop in and see Mrs Hudson before heading over to Tesco.

Naturally, Mrs Hudson was simply ecstatic to see him back – as she had known about the deal and worried about him every single day, a fact she made sure to repeat at least ten times. She forced him to sit down and have a cuppa while she fixed him up something to eat for breakfast. In the process, he found out that Sherlock had been called away for a case in Dublin and that she didn't know when he would be getting back. John almost asked how the last month had been without him there, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know. Besides, it wasn't as if he wouldn't find out soon enough. Sherlock would return, and then John would know exactly how much had changed during his absence. The thought alone gave him butterflies in his stomach. What if his best friend wasn't who he used to be? What if he didn't need John? Or, even worse, what if he didn't want John around anymore? What if he got reacquainted with his old lifestyle and decided he preferred it more? What would John do then? Quickly, John forced those thoughts to the back of his mind as Mrs Hudson talked to him all about Mrs Turner's residents.

After catching up, he headed outside, walked to Tesco, bought some groceries, and returned to 221B. Once he was inside, he opened up all the windows to let in the fresh air before setting about cleaning up the flat. He had forgotten what it was like to live with Sherlock – what with experiments all over the place. It had gotten worse in John's absence: the fridge was filled with body parts, the oven contained toes, and eyeballs were back in the microwave. There was no food to be found, of course, as it would have gotten in the way of the experiments. After shifting some things around, John managed to put his food away properly. He then cleaned up the living room before heading up to his bedroom to unpack his rucksack. Whoever had packed his bag had been a neat person, as everything was folded perfectly. All John had to do was reach in and pull out a chunk of clothes before shoving them in the appropriate drawer.

In one of the smaller pockets, John found his mobile phone. He quickly found Sherlock's number and checked for any messages. There were a couple of missed calls from earlier in the month, probably before the news got around. But nothing was recent. Part of him wanted to text Sherlock, as he had been looking forward to seeing his best friend once more. But he recalled that Sherlock was working on a case. Assuming he even saw John's text, Sherlock probably wouldn't answer him and just throw himself back into his work. Besides, Sherlock knew that John would have returned yesterday. If he had wanted to, he would have texted. John sighed and pocketed his phone. Maybe he would text tomorrow.

Once done unpacking, he headed outside and spent the rest of his time wandering about London, popping into different stores and stopping by Angelo's for a bite. Apparently, someone had taken the time to tell Angelo himself, as he didn't charge John for his meal and merely muttered something about it being nice to see John back all in one piece. John honestly didn't care enough to press for more information. Besides, he doubted he should look a gift horse in the mouth. It was wonderful to have that freedom back in his life, even if he missed James.

On the second day of his freedom, he woke up to an empty bed yet again. His heart gave a soft ache of pain before he heard someone moving downstairs. Sherlock must be home, he thought to himself. Heading downstairs, he walked into the flat to find Mycroft Holmes sitting on the sofa with two mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of him. Surprised, John stared at him for a long moment.

"Good morning," Mycroft greeted, giving John a warm smile. "Sherlock should be coming back tomorrow at the latest. This last case turned out to be a bit more difficult than what he was expecting."

John picked up a mug and stood in front of Mycroft, looming over him, as he took a sip. "I know that's not what you came here for. Why don't we just cut to the chase? After all, I don't have all day."

"Plans already?" Mycroft inquired, interested.

Chuckling, John responded, "No, but I've spent the last month inside a flat. I'll be damned if I'm going to spend my day in here… talking to you. No offense."

"Your wish to be able to do what you want on your second day of freedom causes me no offense. I apologise for taking up your time, but I'm afraid that this cannot wait," Mycroft informed him.

John sighed and sat down on his chair. He needed to have control of this conversation. If there was anyone other than Sherlock who could read him – could realise what happened between him and James – it would be Mycroft Holmes. One time – and he would deny it if John ever brought it up again – even Sherlock admitted that his brother was a bit sharper than him. So revealing such a personal thing was something that John could not allow to happen. Best case scenario would be a thorough rebuking, and he didn't even want to think about the worst case scenario. "Very well. Shall we start with the basics then?"

"The basics?" Mycroft repeated.

"I don't know anything about Moriarty's network. I know you sent me in hopes that I could uncover something previously unknown, but he's no fool. He kept everything from me. Hell, he never even left his mobile unattended in front of me. So whatever I know about his web is what he wanted me to know and tell you," John explained.

Feigning disinterest, Mycroft took another sip of tea before inquiring, "For example?"

"For example," John repeated, pausing a moment as he thought back, "he keeps a close eye on his network, and he wants you to know this in case you got any ideas about infiltrating. Except for one person, no one knows who Moriarty is. They get their orders from him, but they have no idea what he looks like. They have no way to get in contact with him. No email address or mobile phone number. He contacts them. So trying to send someone in to get close to him is pointless. He'll see it coming from a mile away."

Mycroft grinned. "That's not necessarily true."

Confused, John pressed, "What do you mean?"

"We came close," Mycroft responded. "We managed to convince a former sniper to infiltrate the web. It was a long-term commitment, and he did what he could to catch Moriarty's attention. Of course, we suspected that perhaps Moriarty knew, as he was not contacting the sniper as often. And then this deal with you happened, and we knew that if there was ever a time to strike, it would be then. I figured that he would have his hands full with you. Sure enough, he slipped up just enough for us to determine his location. As you know, however, we unfortunately missed our chance. Our sniper just missed killing him."

John felt his blood run cold as everything clicked together. Of course. Moriarty had retaliated when Mycroft invaded his primary flat. John had assumed that Mycroft had heeded the warning. That it was still Mycroft's move in their game. Suddenly, John felt another realisation wash over him. Moriarty must have found out that it was Mycroft. After all, there would be no way that Moriarty wouldn't hunt down the person who commissioned the hit on his life. But he didn't tell John for some reason. Maybe it was because he knew he would have to retaliate? Or maybe he was going to until John kissed him. But that's why James started taking him out and mentioning Mycroft in the process. That's why James didn't call Mycroft and tell him where to pick John up like they had agreed on the first day. It was Moriarty making his move – showing Mycroft just how powerless he really was. That Moriarty could do whatever he wanted with John, and there was nothing Mycroft could do in retaliation.

"But you mentioned that there is one person who has personal contact with Moriarty," Mycroft pressed, cutting into John's thoughts.

Pausing, John felt himself slightly losing control of the conversation. This wasn't a matter of what he could talk about, as Moriarty would have never revealed something that he was worried Mycroft would discover. This was a matter of what exactly he wanted Mycroft to know. There were certain things that were obvious – what exactly they did together in their free time, the topics during their outings, and the personal stories exchanged towards the end. Other things were a bit more obscure, such as how he and Moran wound up becoming reacquainted and that Moriarty still had living relatives. Ironically enough, it felt like John was being tested in a way. James had told him things that Mycroft could easily use against him and trusted John enough to keep them private. But Sherlock would be depending on his information as well. So now John was teetering between what would betray James and what might betray Sherlock.

"Yes. There's one employee who has direct contact with James Moriarty, and it seems that he prefers to keep it that way. Doesn't put much faith in his other employees," John answered vaguely before taking another drink.

"Rightfully so," Mycroft noted, leaning back and observing John. Immediately, John felt his blood race. "Who was he?"

"Who?"

"The employee," Mycroft responded.

Scoffing, John took another drink of tea before answering, "What? You think James Moriarty just informed me who this all-important employee is?"

Mycroft frowned, squinting his eyes a moment, and John held his gaze defiantly. Finally, he broke the eye contact and looked down at his tea. "I suppose not. One could only hope, though." He took a drink as well. "What else can you tell me?"

"I'm not sure what specifically you're looking for. I mean, I was away for a month. Do you want a day-by-day playback or something? Or do you want something specific?" John retorted.

"A play-by-play of your life the last month would be the most beneficial, but I cannot help but think that you would object to that. It would take much longer than one day to get through, I'm sure. So how about we start with where you resided?" Mycroft inquired.

Swallowing, John shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not entirely sure where, to be honest. But I'm sure that you can, at the very least, locate the first of two buildings."

"I'm assuming you remembered enough about the place or there was a telling marker that I could use to locate it," Mycroft pressed, leaning forward in interest.

John laughed at that, finding it more humorous than he really should. After all, he had almost died in that building. "Yeah, I think a hole blown in the side is a pretty good marker," he commented.

Mycroft's eyes widened enough to convey his surprise. "You made it out in one piece, I see."

"Barely," John responded before taking another sip. "Someone attacked the building thinking that Moriarty was residing there. Luckily for me, he found out about it and got me out before they blew a chunk out of it."

Mycroft nodded and watched John carefully for a long moment. John took a slow drink, trying to keep his rapidly beating heart in his chest. God, he was so nervous that Mycroft would just outright ask him about his relationship with Moriarty. After a long moment, he asked, "And where did you move after that?"

"Not sure. There was a café and a diner on the same street, though," John offered.

Cocking his head to the side, Mycroft pressed, "You noticed a café and a diner but failed to notice the name of the street?"

"I had just survived an explosion! My last concern was finding out the street name."

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes. "How close were you to Moriarty by the end of the month?"

John felt his heart drop. "I beg your pardon?"

Leaning down, Mycroft picked up a briefcase from the floor. He opened it and pulled out several photos, all of them clearly taken from the CCTV. "We noticed that you went out a few times with Moriarty. You didn't seemed distress during these outings."

"Well, of course not. He would hardly have let me out a second time if I had been clearly distressed. It's a matter of adapting, Mycroft. In order to taste more freedom, I had to pretend everything was okay," he lied smoothly before taking a drink of tea. He didn't like lying to people, but he wasn't above it, especially when it came to such sensitive topics. "Besides, he mentioned that he wanted to be able to shove it in your face that he could take me wherever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do about it."

Mycroft hummed thoughtfully as he took this in. "What about living arrangements?"

"We already talked about living arrangements."

"I meant with Mr Moriarty. How often did you see him?" Mycroft pressed.

John pressed his lips together for a moment. "Not very often at the beginning. I mean, he didn't see me for three days after the trade."

Mycroft caught his implication. "And towards the end?"

Shifting slightly, John muttered, "Nearly every day."

"And the nature of your relationship was…?" Mycroft pressed.

Immediately, John realised he had lost control of the conversation. "Mycroft," he called out firmly, "I am here to talk about James Moriarty. Any knowledge that I have that could help you with Moriarty is yours to have. You want to know about his living situation? He has a primary flat and secondary flats. I don't know how many, but he keeps several flats in his cards in case someone finds his primary one. Like you did. He moved into a secondary flat until he got a new primary flat lined up."

Mycroft nodded and looked thoughtful for a minute. "Of course. Several fronts. He's trying to make it hard for us to locate him," he noted, letting out a soft sigh. "This hasn't been as insightful as I was hoping it would be."

"Well, I apologise that my sacrifice of freedom wasn't fruitful enough for you and the government," John snapped, rising to his feet. "I don't know what else to tell you, Mycroft. He kept me at arm's distance. He knew what you were looking for and what you wanted, and he made damn sure that I couldn't give it to you. Does that really surprise you, though? Honestly, can you say that it shocks you that Moriarty was yet again a step ahead?"

Slowly, Mycroft rose to his feet. "John," he called out softly, and his voice took John completely off guard. Blinking, John relaxed a touch and waited. "Were you…" Mycroft began before hesitating and shaking his head. "Did he torture you, John?"

John was dumbfounded by the inquiry. Of course to anyone else it would be much more likely that Moriarty tortured John than had sex with him, but it still threw him for a loop. "Why would you ask that?" he pressed.

"You get overly defensive whenever I press for information about your personal time with Moriarty. That, and the fact that I can see a bit of a bruise right above your jumper collar, all led me to believe that he possibly tortured you for information," Mycroft responded, motioning towards John's collar.

Flushing slightly, John responded, "I'm going to be perfectly honest with you here. What happened between James Moriarty and myself will not help you in your quest to capture him. There's no reason for you to brood over it." With that, he drained the rest of his mug. Mycroft could assume what he wanted from John's little speech. It was hardly his fault if Mycroft wound up getting something wrong. "Is there anything else I could help you with?"

"There is plenty more to still talk about. I'm afraid that you haven't given me enough. You see, we were hoping-"

"What? For Ja- Moriarty's head on a silver platter?" John snapped back, barely catching himself before he called James by his proper first name. "I already told you that he was ready for this."

"Yes, but a month, John. You had a month in which you saw him nearly every single day, and you're telling me that you don't know anything about him. Do you honestly think I will believe that?" Mycroft pressed.

John scoffed. "It hardly matters what you do and don't believe. What matters are the facts of the situation. Yes, I was with Moriarty nearly every single day. He came to provide company, if you will, as I was locked in a bloody flat for a month! Of course, we avoided the obvious taboo subjects, such as his work or my cases with Sherlock. I made sure to give away nothing that could be detrimental to you or your younger brother. But recall what type of situation I was in. If I gained too little information, the British government would be riding my arse. But if I learned too much, there would be a chance that I wouldn't make it out of that flat alive. I was placed in a precarious spot, Mycroft, and I think I handled it pretty well," he snapped back. Part of him marvelled at how easily he reasoned everything out while skirting around the whole truth. It felt like a natural thing to do, as he was trying to keep his own secrets private, and he could only imagine the repercussions of telling Mycroft that he was in a sexual relationship with James Moriarty. Even so, he had to wonder if Moriarty had rubbed off on him more than he realised.

Nodding, Mycroft paused for a moment before setting his mug back down on the coffee table. "I will convey this all to my superiors. However, I feel the need to warn you that they will probably not be too pleased about the lack of information. Please understand that I – we– had a lot riding on this little venture, as it was an extraordinary chance to get a glimpse of Moriarty's network. So do not be surprised if I return with more questions. I will try my best to convince them of your valour and sincerity." He set the photos back into his briefcase and grabbed his umbrella. "I'm glad to see you are back safe and sound, John. I will be in contact. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Mycroft," John responded, wondering all the while what he had managed to get himself into.