"What did you do?" one of the men demanded. John just laughed in response. Grabbing his gun, he shoved it into John's face. "What the fuck did you do?"

Meanwhile, the other man got out to check on the driver, despite the fact that was obviously dead. He shoved the driver up and off the steering wheel. Picking up his walkie-talkie, he brought it to his lips. Before he could say a word, however, his brains splattered all over the seat and the already dead man. Blinking, John stared for a long moment. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was enough to counteract the drug they had given him.

Getting out of the vehicle, the final man still alive said, "Tell Moriarty that we're even now. And that if he ever contacts me again, I'll make it my personal duty to hunt him down." With that, the car behind them slammed on its horn. John jerked and looked up to find that the light was green. The man rolled his eyes before reaching out and covering his hands in his colleague's blood. "You'll want to leave before this becomes a huge scene. There's an alleyway just to the right of the vehicle. Go down it and then turn left. Walk straight until you either pass out or someone finds you." With that, he staggered away from the vehicle. "Someone call 999! M-my friends have been shot!" he shouted, panicked.

John shook his head and got out of the car. Hopefully, the other guy was causing enough of a distraction so no one would notice John leaving the scene of the crime. He did as ordered, stumbling into the alleyway just to the right of the car. He turned left and started to walk down the street as if nothing had happened. Slowly, though, his adrenaline started to wear off. His steps slowed down, and he had to lean against the side of the buildings in order to keep going. Shuffling his feet across the ground, he was about to collapse forward when he felt as strong arm wrap around his waist and pull him up.

"Not yet, Watson. We're not quite there yet," a familiar voice said softly.

Forcing his eyes to open again, he focused on the person next to him. "Moran," he breathed out, relief evident in his voice. "I don't think I've ever been so happy to see you before in my life."

Moran grinned as he tightened his grip on John a bit more. "I'm glad to see you, too." Quickly, he helped John cross the street. With every step, John leaned into him more. "We're almost there. Just stay with me a bit longer." Moran suddenly grabbed his belt and pulled up.

After a few more steps, they arrived at another black vehicle. "Does no one know that black isn't the only colour for a car?" John complained as Moran opened the door. Just as he went to haul himself into the car, he saw James sitting there. "James," he called out.

"John," James responded warmly, reaching forward and helping John up and in. Unable to move much more, John let them sprawl him across the seats, his head on James's lap. Moran slammed the door behind him and hopped into the driver's seat. "Are you hurt?" James pressed.

"No," John managed to answer. His body was becoming heavier with every passing second, and he felt his mind start to slip. Fighting it, he snapped his eyes open and grasped James's suit. He was scared. The way his mind was being uncontrollably shut down reminded him too much of when he was shot. Panicking, he grasped James's suit. "James. James," he called out desperately as he clung onto consciousness.

James shushed him softly, brushing his hair out of his face. "It's fine, John. You're safe."

"I feel… like I – I'm dying," John slurred out as his eyes threatened to close.

"But you're not," James assured him. "You were given a diluted sedative to put you to sleep. It was the only thing I could do, as they were insistent about tranquilising you. But you're going to be okay, John. You'll just be taking a small nap."

John's heart was racing as he felt his mind being pulled down. James continued to shush him, saying soothing words that didn't process in his mind. Before he knew it, he slipped into a drug-induced sleep.

John stirred as he felt two strong arms wrap around him. He was too tired to open his eyes to see where they were or what was going on. Suddenly, he was hoisted roughly onto a shoulder. Groaning, he let his body drape down limply.

"Be careful with him!" Moriarty snapped.

"He used to be in the army, Boss. He can handle it," Moran answered, and John could hear a car door close.

"I gave you an order, Sebastian," Moriarty stated sharply.

Letting out a sigh, Moran answered, "Yes, sir…"

Before John could hear anything else, he passed out once more.

Shifting, John stretched out a bit and let out a moan as he did so. He was on a sofa, pressed up against the back of it.

"John?" he heard James call out. Shoes clicked across the ground, getting louder with every step.

John wanted to answer. He wanted to let James know that he was okay. He wanted to ask how Sherlock was – if James knew – if not then he wanted to find out somehow. However, his mouth wouldn't function, and he could only mumble in response. He heard James sigh out, and he felt a light touch of fingers through his hair.

"I give it another three hours at least," Moran noted. John heard the pop of a can opening right after. "Sir, don't think I'm trying to overstep my boundaries, but…"

There was a long pause between the two of them before Moriarty inquired, "What?"

"Well, sir, to be perfectly honest, it seems like you're going a long way for just a pawn…"

Suddenly, John felt the touch stop. "Never call him that again," Moriarty ordered, his voice dark and full of power. "John Watson is more than just a pawn."

"Sir?"

"Do you play chess, Sebastian?"

Moran paused a moment. "Sometimes as a hobby."

"Then you know about the promotion of a pawn." There was a long pause between them. "Once a pawn reaches the opposite side of the board, it can be promoted to any piece. With the exception of king, of course," Moriarty explained.

Another moment of silence passed between them. "Wait. You mean that he-?"

James's hand continued to stroke through John's hair. "Yes," he cut in. "At some point, John managed to snake his way across the board and get promoted. He's not a pawn anymore. He's a queen. He has the most power on the board. He could easily bring either side to ruin. But being the good man that he is, he refuses to use this power for his own gain." His hand stopped for a moment, and John shifted slightly. "He holds all the power. If Mycroft and the government had him, they would be in control. But I have him, and the control is in my hands now."

There was a long moment when no one spoke at all, James's hand slowly stroking through John's hair, and John gradually fell asleep once more.

Slowly, John felt the fog of drugs lift from his mind. Groaning, he pressed his face into something soft and warm. Hands fell to his hair, fingers massaging his scalp. "John?" James called out softly. Humming in response, John buried his face deeper into whatever was underneath his head. God, it felt amazing. So soft and comfortable. "He's still out of it," James noted, a slight touch of worry in his voice.

"And what are you going to do when he does wake up?" Moran pressed. Another can was opened, and John managed to wonder how much Moran has had to drink.

"What do you mean?"

Scoffing, Moran responded, "Boss, you're a lot of things. Ignorant is not one of them." A long moment of silence passed between them. "Sir, the government thought that he was hiding something about you. When you swooped in and saved him, it was all but confirming what they feared." When James refused to respond, Moran pressed, "He can never return to his life, Boss."

"I know that," Moriarty snarled. His grasp tightened, his fingers digging painfully into John's scalp. John let out a soft whine in complaint, causing James to relax and remove his hand. "I know that. I know."

"Sir," Moran started.

"Just shut up!" Moriarty growled. "Leave, Sebastian. I'll call you when I need you. Until then, though, your presence is going to do nothing for me. Or John, for that matter."

"Yes, sir."

The sound of footsteps rang out in the room, and John heard a door shut. He felt his pillow shift underneath him, and a hand returned to his hair, running through it gently. Unable to stay awake any longer, John felt that fog cross his mind once more and take over.

Waking up, John yawned and stretched. He arose to find he was in a bed. An unfamiliar bed at that. Groaning, he sat up and felt lightheaded for a moment. He tried to think back to what happened, and then everything came rushing in at once. The case - the trap – the crash – the sniping – the rescue. There were some fuzzy bits after he got into the car with James and Moran, but he honestly couldn't remember much. John jumped to his feet, swaying a touch as the blood rushed to his head. "James," he called out.

"John?" James responded before entering the bedroom. "Don't move too fast. You've just woken up from being sedated. The last thing I need is for you to pass out again.

"Sherlock," John said frantically as James pushed him back down onto the bed. "What's happened to Sherlock?"

Sighing, James answered, "He's fine, John. He's perfectly fine. Mycroft Holmes ensured as much. His arm got sliced by the window, but his trench coat kept it from being too serious. In fact, the most he will have is a scar from it. His head had a cut on it as well, but they bandaged that up. And the Ice Man is watching over him, so he's perfectly safe."

Relieved, John relaxed. Sherlock was alive and safe. No doubt that Mycroft would at least ensure that no harm would come to his little brother. Not after he fucked up so royally with protecting John. Blinking, John started clicking things together himself. "How did you find me that quickly? I had texted Moran seconds before the crash."

James frowned as he heard the question. "Come now. That must be obvious, no? I was keeping an eye on you. I knew that neither of the Holmes boys would be able to keep you safe, so I figured that it would be better if I took matters into my own hands," he explained. "You should be grateful I did. Had I not, you would have been in some underground facility with electrodes taped to your skin."

"James," John responded, frowning. "You know that's not what they would have done at all."

The truth was much worse. They would question him and his ties with Moriarty, trying to befriend him all the while in hopes that he would open up. Once that didn't work, they would be able to start in with the "more intense interrogation methods." And he knew those all too well. John had been tortured in order to learn counter techniques in case he was captured while overseas. Originally, the Army had bigger plans for him that didn't wind up panning out due to the gunshot wound to his shoulder.

Silent for a moment, James murmured, "Yes, I know."

"Thank you anyway," John managed to say. "But I need to get back to 221B. I need to get in contact with Mycroft. I have to figure out our next move."

Licking his lips, James responded, "That's not going to be possible."

"What? Why?"

James frowned. "Think about it for a moment. The government was planning to take you in because they thought you knew something about me. And the moment they tried to, I stepped in and removed you from their grasp. What do you think that's going to say to them?"

John felt horror rush through his veins. "They're going to think that I knew something. That I was lying this whole time. Why else would you step in, after all?" He rose to his feet again and began to pace. "Jesus Christ, James! What have you done?"

"I was protecting you, John! They were going to torture you for information that you didn't have."

Laughing bitterly, John countered, "So what? They would have tortured me until they realised that I actually knew nothing."

"And how long do you think it would have taken for those berks to finally understand that you knew nothing? That you had never known anything to begin with?" James retorted angrily.

John threw his arms up in the air. "What does it matter to you, James? They would have been torturing me,not you!"

"Because I couldn't let that happen!" James screamed at him. John was shocked into silence, and it was James's turn to start pacing around the room. "Because the thought of you being hurt makes my blood boil. Because knowing you were going to be subjected to their stupidity because of me makes me sick to my stomach. Because I couldn't sit by and just let everything happen no matter how hard I tried. And because I knew that if anything happened to you, I would never be able to forgive myself. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself from bringing the British government to its knees."

John remained wide-eyed throughout the speech. His own blood was racing by now, and his heart pounded in his chest as those words rang through his head again and again. Of course. It was so painfully obvious now – now that they were letting each other in emotionally without the fear of one leaving the other behind. And the most ironic part of it all was the fact that James probably didn't even know what he was feeling. That such intense desire to protect someone from harm, to ensure that they are alright no matter what, was a sign of love. Slowly, James deflated. He looked smaller – wounded, almost – as he broke eye contact.

"James," he breathed out. He could hardly believe it. James Moriarty had fallen in love with him. Slowly, John rubbed his eyes. His head was swimming with all of this information. Reaching out, John cupped James's face with a hand to force their eyes to meet again. "I – um – feel the same way."

For a long moment, James just appeared confused. He stared at John, examining him closely as his eyes flickered from one spot to another. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Oh… That's why you were so scared when Sherlock told you that you were suffering from Stockholm Syndrome," James murmured, realisation washing over him. And then he started to laugh in relief. "Jesus Christ, Johnny, I never thought it was possible. I never thought you would actually…" His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "Well, that makes everything so much easier."

Cocking his head to the side, John pressed, "What do you mean?"

"Well," James said, stretching the word out as he clearly scrambled for the proper words. "You've become a fugitive, John."

John's heart stopped. Of course. The government had wanted to take him in, and he was here. By default, he was now on the run. "I'm never going back to 221B, am I?" John inquired softly. His heart was starting to break as he thought about Sherlock and Mrs Hudson – as he recalled that he was supposed to meet up with Lestrade tonight for a couple pints – as he remembered he told Sarah he would be working at the clinic tomorrow. John's life had been destroyed in the matter of seconds.

"It'll be fine," James assured him. "I've already got two fake passports for us. Just give me the word, and we can go anywhere in the world. Anything you need, I will buy once we're out of the country."

Shaking his head, John collapsed back onto the bed. He stared down at his lap. "You cannot expect me to just give up my life," he whispered. "There must be another way. There has to be."

"And what might that be?" James responded. "You cannot return to 221B. They're waiting there for you. And they're at the hospital where Sherlock's at. They've also got people waiting outside of your sister's place and your boss's and your work. Anywhere you might show up. And as soon as you show your face at any of those locations, they're going to swoop in and snatch you up. And then what will you do? Tell them the truth? Tell them that I'm in love with you?" It still sounded ridiculous to John despite the fact that he knew it was true. "They would either laugh at you or try to use you to get something from me."

"Such as? Unless you've stolen more military plans, I don't know what you could possibly give them," John pointed out.

"Myself," James responded without missing a beat. "That's what they would demand in return for your freedom and safety." A question hung in the air between them. Even so, John couldn't bring himself to ask it. He couldn't risk the confirmation of what he feared, and he couldn't bring himself to be so weak right now. But apparently, his eyes said it all, as James answered, "I would, John. You must know that by now."

John released a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. Taking a deep breath in, he remained silent for a long moment as he sat back down on the bed. "And there's no way around this? I can't – I'll never be able to go home? Never see Sherlock again? I'm just supposed to leave and never look back?"

Gradually, James shifted over to him and sat down next to him. "You won't be able to return to 221B Baker Street. Hell, you won't be able to return to the United Kingdom for a while." John covered his face with his hands as he heard this, and he felt an arm hesitantly wrap itself around his shoulders. "But I'm sure we could work something out. Send a postcard to Sherlock with a hint. He loves puzzles, and I'm sure he would double-check that he wasn't being followed before coming over. And Mycroft Holmes knows that you were telling the truth, so I am sure that he will help cover Sherlock's tracks if need be."

Despite how idealistic that all sounded, John knew that it was too good to be true. It was romanticising the fact that they would be on the run – fugitives shifting from one country to another in hopes of not being caught. And even if they could contact Sherlock and get him to come to them, there was no guarantee that that meeting would go well at all. Letting out a bitter laugh, John muttered, "So this is it. I don't even have a choice in the matter. It's either leave with you or let the government torture me." He felt so powerless. What other options did he have? Mycroft and Sherlock couldn't help him, and they were the most powerful allies he had besides James. It felt like a block of ice lodged in his stomach, and for a moment, John thought he was going to be sick.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," James offered softly. "It'll be just like before. Only better, because now you can go out and about whenever you want and do whatever you'd like. And since we both know now how we feel about each other and that there's no time limit, we can have a real relationship. I'm assuming that you're still interested…" His voice sounded incredibly hopeful, as if his idealistic side didn't process that a confession of love did not always mean that there would be a "happily-ever-after."

John listened as James tried to paint a silver lining for him, but he couldn't get over just how much he was losing for it. Never before had everything just been snatched from him without him having a say in the matter. Besides, James Moriarty was still the world's only consulting criminal. What were the odds that they would wind up being able to have a real relationship that lasted? And if their relationship did fizzle out, what would John do then? He wouldn't have the resources to continue living on the run. "This is too much, too fast. I can barely keep everything straight in my mind, and you expect me to make a decision about our future? About our relationship? Fuck, James, I just woke up from being drugged! How am I supposed to-?"

Abruptly, James cut in, "Do you know why I asked you to call me 'James' instead of 'Moriarty' or 'Jim?' Have you worked that out yet?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

James answered, "Because there was a reason behind my request." Baffled, John just shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone in my crime ring knew me as Moriarty. I'm the master schemer who everyone wants to hire and who everyone fears. You already knew Moriarty." John looked up to find that James was staring at the ground. "Jim is my cover. Jim from IT. Jim the boyfriend. Jim the gay man." Finally, he looked over at John. "But James – only family ever called me James. It linked me back to the time before my criminal career. It was something no one had called me in nearly twenty years. James was the person I wanted you to get to know."

John remained quiet for a moment as he took everything in. That's exactly what James had done. Somehow, they had been able to get past Moriarty's career and network. Somehow, they had managed to forge something real and special for them. And that's when John realised that he was blessed, in a way, to have James next to him in this moment. James was clearly willing to bend over backwards in order to ensure John's happiness. And although nothing was going as he wished, there was still the promise of a bright future. "Anywhere in the world?" he finally repeated. "Are you sure about that? I mean, the UK has extradition treaties with nearly every European country as well as all of North America and most of South America. Shouldn't we go somewhere where we'll be safe from government?"

"I've been doing this my whole life," James responded, giving a shrug. "I know how to keep the government off my tail. I'll scale down my consulting while we travel. It'll be a while before we can settle somewhere for any permanent stay. But we can travel wherever you want. Have you ever been to Paris? Rome? Berlin? What about Belgium? Luxembourg? Do you want to see the Alps? Venice during Carnival? The world is at your fingertips." He sounded excited about everything. It was as if James couldn't imagine a single thing going wrong. As if he was a knight in shining armour having successfully saved his damsel in distress, and now all they had to do was ride off into the sunset and live happily-ever-after.

But nothing was ever that easy. That's why such endings were in children's stories – fairy tales. John let out a shuddering laugh as his heart began to race again. He could do this. He could put on a brave face and take the only option he had open to him. After all, there was still something to gain. And despite the fact that this leap of faith terrified him, it was also exhilarating. Another chance to start anew. Another chance with James Moriarty. "How about Mallorca? The Germans I met abroad wouldn't shut up about how it was a beautiful paradise," he said, his voice a bit joking.

"Sounds like the perfect getaway," James responded, smiling at John.

And that's when John saw it in James's eyes – the love, determination, respect, and protectiveness James held for him. How he had missed it before was beyond him. Slowly, he leaned forward and pulled James into a kiss. Humming against John's lips, James melted into the touch. Finally, John understood that this man could very well become his next home.