"You're starting to burn," John warned, poking James's slightly pink skin. It was only day three of seven of their stay in Mallorca, and John found it nearly impossible to keep James from being seriously burned even when they were laying under the umbrellas. "You need to apply more sunscreen."
James let out a groan as he heard this. "I just applied an hour ago!"
"You have sensitive skin." When James just scowled at him, John rolled his eyes. "Turn your back to me."
After a moment's pause, James flipped over onto his stomach and tucked his arms underneath his head. John squirted some of the sunscreen in his hands before massaging it into James's back. Moaning, James melted into his cot as John's hands pressed and kneaded his tight muscles. It was strange to see James in swimming trunks. Hell, it was strange to see him in anything besides a Westwood suit or nice, button-down shirts and black trousers. But there they were: in bathing suits on the beaches of Mallorca. It was still all surreal. Once he was done, he trailed a hand slowly down James's spine, sliding it over each vertebrae. His mind began to slide off, returning to London and 221B. He wondered how Sherlock was doing – if he was worried about John – and how Mrs Hudson was handling losing John a second time. At the very least, he needed to try to send a signal that he was alright.
"John," James called out softly, turning and gently taking John's hand into his own.
Forcing a smile to his face, John murmured, "I'm alright."
"I'll sunscreen the rest of my body, and then we'll go swim in the ocean," James stated, grabbing the sunscreen.
John appreciated the distraction.
"Naples, Rome, and now Florence. You spoil me, James," John teased as they stepped off the train.
"Just wait until we go to Venice and Milan," James responded with a cheerful smile.
It was strange to see James so perpetually happy. By now, they had been travelling for almost two months. And although James always had to stay on his toes – to glance over his back – to ensure that no one was following, he didn't really seem to mind as long as John was right next to him. All-in-all, their travels had been going better than John expected. They were active enough during the day to keep John from being homesick, and James kept him pretty well occupied at night.
"Are you hungry?" John pressed as they grabbed their suitcases. James had – after compromising on letting John pay him back as soon as he could – bought John a new wardrobe and toiletries.
James hummed softly. "Yes. I'm feeling like seafood. Da Stefano is notorious for their seafood cuisine," he said as he tugged his jeans up slightly. John was still getting used to the new fashion style James wore, which normally consisted of a pair of jeans, a nice button-down shirt, and sometimes a brown faux-leather jacket or a scarf. John liked it because the outfits practically screamed James to him. "I'm sure I could get us in."
"You always do," John responded with a laugh. He had seen James get into more than one fluent entanglement with the natives of a country. Somehow, James managed to come out on top. "Seafood sounds fantastic. Then we go to see Michelangelo's David."
"But first, the hotel," James stated, as they started down the street. John knew that it wouldn't be too far from the train station. They never were. It was just a small reminder that they were on the run. At literally any moment, police could descend on them and take them both into custody. "Don't think about that right now. We're safe."
The words cut into John's stream of thought, and he looked up, startled. Somehow, James always managed to see right through John. Nodding, he offered a small smile and followed James into the hotel.
"He's a bloody moron, Johnny. You should have just let me take you up on the slopes," James complained for the umpteenth time.
Rolling his eyes, John groaned, "I should have never told you." Just a week ago, John confessed that he had never gone skiing before. James had made it his goal to have John ski in the Alps by the end of the month. Now here they were, receiving a beginner's lesson from an instructor.
"Everyone should ski at least once in their life," James informed him. "But no one should ever learn how to ski from this guy."
"Then go up on the slopes!" John hissed, glaring at James. The constant complaining was starting to wear on him. "No one's got a gun to your head, James. You can do whatever the fuck you want until I'm done."
James blinked in surprise and frowned. He always became a bit sullen when John got fed up with him. "I'll wait for you in the cottage," he muttered before pressing a kiss into John's cheek. "Come get me when you're done."
"John, wake up," James said, his voice urgent.
John roused from his sleep quickly, having heard that tone of voice before. "What issit?" he slurred out, sitting up in bed.
James was zipping up their suitcases. "We have to leave. Now. Come on."
Getting up, John quickly got changed. His heart was racing in his chest as his mind processed everything. Someone was getting close to them. Close enough for them to flee. As soon as John's shoes were on, James shoved a suitcase into his hands before hurrying out the door. John trailed after him. They rushed across the lobby and were out on the street. Immediately, John began to scan the area, noting people who seemed suspicious and keeping tabs on them. He was grateful for his military training as they arrived at the train station. In the matter of minutes, James had two tickets in his hands, and they were boarding a train heading to Germany. Once they found a compartment to sit in, John kept fidgeting slightly and glancing out of the window. Small movements that wouldn't be too noticeable, but they made him feel better. Finally, the train started to roll. Even so, John was still on edge.
"We're fine," James stated as he got up and sat next to John. Carefully, he wrapped an arm around John's shoulders and pulled him down and into him. "We have a couple of hours on them at least. You can relax."
Nodding, John shifted a bit to become comfortable and closed his eyes. "Well, Vienna was nice while we were here," he commented jokingly.
A firm kiss pressed into the top of his head. "Indeed."
James was, as far as John knew, fluent in Spanish, Italian, German, and French. He always spoke on their behalf – always arranged everything – always translated newspaper articles or the menu for John. It always looked and sounded like gibberish to John, so he always listened in fascination as James communicated in ways that John knew he never would be able to. He had tried to learn Spanish while in school and failed miserably at it.
They were in the middle of Oktoberfest and enjoying the most delicious beer John had ever tasted. James had gotten into a discussion with one of the Germans there. As always, John waited patiently as they spoke, enjoying the foreign sounds leaving James's lips, and drank his beer slowly. For a while, he took in the sights and sounds that filled the air here. It was different than anything else he had ever experienced before. Germans would start singing randomly, and people would chatter despite differences in nationalities or languages. It was wonderful to see so many people together, celebrating together.
Suddenly, Moriarty's voice captured John's attention. He turned sharply to see that their conversation had escalated into an argument. Words were being spat out faster than John thought possible, and he managed to pick out "Politik." Politics was never a good thing for James to get into. Instinctively, John reached out and wrapped his arm around James's waist, bringing him in close. James looked over in surprise before relaxing. He wrapped his arm around John's shoulders, and his voice immediately softened as he spoke. The German being spoken to looked surprised for a moment before nodding and calming down as well.
"It's not as pretty as I thought it would be," John commented as they waited in line. His head was craned to look up the metal bits of the Eiffel Tower.
James laughed as he heard this. "I thought the same thing when I first saw it. It looks much better at night."
"When you can't see it?" John clarified, chuckling.
James grinned in response. "No, you git, because it's lit up at night."
Before John could say another word, they arrived at the security station. They shifted through it, neither of them having anything that needed to be confiscated thanks to James's foresight. On the lift, they reached the first level and got off. The sun was just starting to set, meaning Paris would soon be covered in darkness. As John gazed out at the foreign territory, he frowned as he realised just how far yet close to London he was. His heart ached slightly as he thought about Sherlock. Maybe he was on a case right now, sprinting though the streets of London or bribing his homeless network to help him. John had, at the very least, been able to send a postcard to 221B. James had written a coded message that, when translated, told Sherlock that John was perfectly safe and sound, even using their code word for such situations in order to ensure that Sherlock knew it was really from John.
"Let's go to the top," James murmured in John's ear, pulling his hand.
John hummed in response, absentmindedly following James. They headed up to the next floor and emerged. John walked to the nearest open ledge and stared out at Paris. After a long moment of silence, John murmured, "I still miss London."
"I know."
"It's not that I don't appreciate all of this," John continued defensively, not wanting to give the wrong impression.
Once more, James repeated, "I know."
"I've done my best to acclimate to this life, but it sometimes just isn't enough," John said before he thought everything through.
James leaned against the railing and looked out. "I'm trying," he muttered bitterly.
"I know. And I appreciate it. Really, I do. But you can't-" John paused and tried to collect his thoughts. "I'm going to miss London every now and again. I'm going to miss Sherlock and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade and Molly and Hell, even Harry! I'm going to miss them all. And that's alright, James. It doesn't mean that I regret coming with you. It doesn't mean that I'm going to sneak out in the middle of the night in order to return there and just hope for the best. I'm happy with you, too. But I'm going to miss things every now and again. You don't have to try to distract me every time I do."
James didn't say anything. He merely stood next to John, their shoulders touching, and watched the sun dip behind the horizon.
"John!" James moaned out as John continued to thrust into his arse. Their flesh met in claps as John grabbed headboard in order to gain more leverage and move faster. James had braced himself off the headboard as well in order to take John properly. "I-I'm-" he tried to get out before he came hard on himself.
"That's it, James," John murmured as he watched. Seeing James lose control like that just helped push John closer to the edge. Before he knew it, he pitched back his head and came hard, unable to ride out his orgasm too well as his body tensed up. James's name came out in a distorted moan. Once he was spent, he pulled out and quickly tied off and pitched the condom. James went to get up to clean himself off, but John pushed him back down. "Stay."
"What are you-?" James started to ask.
John lowered his head and licked up a swipe of cum. Immediately, James let out a moan. His hands tangled in John's hair as John slowly but surely licked up every drop of cum on James's body. Once he was done, he slid up James's body and said, "You're all cleaned up now."
"Jesus Christ, John," James breathed out. "If I hadn't just come, I would have gotten so hard from that. Fuck."
Chuckling, John leaned in for another kiss when he heard a rapping on the front door. Both of them exchanged looks. They had rented a place in the French countryside, so no one should be visiting – especially not at that hour.
"Grab the gun," James warned, his voice darkening slightly.
John nodded and shifted over, pulling the pistol out of the nightstand. He pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers before heading to the front door. With the gun behind his back, he opened it. His arm went slack as he saw who was standing on the other side of the door. "Sherlock," he whispered as his brain continued to click the pieces together. Without thinking, he yanked Sherlock forward and grasped him in a tight hug. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock, how did you…?"
"I sent him a postcard with a coded message," James said, emerging from the bedroom in pyjama bottoms as well. John felt his heart swell as he heard this. James had done this for him – had sent out a message to Sherlock without John's prompting because he knew that it was important to John. "How long did it take you?"
"Not very long," Sherlock said gruffly as John released him.
"Three days?" James pressed.
Sherlock scoffed. "Please."
"Two days?"
"You're flattering yourself," Sherlock retorted.
James grinned. "Two days then. I have to say that I was expecting you to break it in one. You've lost your edge without me there to keep you on your toes."
"I'm just as sharp and brilliant as ever," Sherlock snapped back before stepping into the cottage and closing the door. "Now if you don't mind."
Humming, James yanked John into a kiss. It was a statement to Sherlock. He is mine. And John allowed it if only because James had called Sherlock up to meet with him. Once their lips broke, James headed back into the bedroom. John made some tea, and he and Sherlock stayed up the rest of the night just talking – trying to catch up with each other and laughing all the while.
"What do you think of this flat?" James inquired as they walked into the third one that day. Since coming to the Netherlands, James had been determined to find a flat for whatever reason. They were now in Vaals.
John bit back a groan. Looking around, he noticed that it was the furthest thing from modern, probably built in the 80s, but at least some of the appliances and rooms had been updated and upgraded since then. He shook his head. "I just don't like it. I don't like any of the flats here. Why are we wasting our time doing this? Shouldn't we – I don't know – be en route to Brussels or something."
James didn't say anything for a long moment. "Do you know how long we've been traveling, John?" John tried to quickly calculate, but James answered before he could figure it out. "It's been just over a year."
John was surprised to hear that. It just seemed that it hadn't been that long. Hell, he had only seen Sherlock… Pausing a moment, he tried to backtrack the time. His eyes widened slightly as he realised that it had been three months. Three months. "Alright," he murmured.
"We probably have another six months traveling before we can settle anywhere, but I want to have a place lined up for when that time comes," James explained softly. "This location is ideal considering the nearby borders to Germany and Belgium. Should we be found, they wouldn't be sure where we had fled."
John muttered a faint, "Oh." It was strange to think that they would have… all of this. A place to call home for more than two weeks. "Why don't we try something in Liechtenstein? It's squished between Switzerland and Austria. Same basis, right? And I thought the country was remarkably beautiful."
James perked up as soon as he heard the suggestion.
"Congratulations," Moran said with a nod. "It's a lovely home."
John laughed as he heard that. In the end, James had pulled all the stops in order to ensure that they owned a modernised house. He had dragged John to countless stores in order to buy the perfect furniture and choose paint. In the end, the slightly old-fashioned and homey feel of 221B had mixed perfectly with James's taste for up-to-date technology and modern-day furniture. "Thanks."
"Liechtenstein, though. I have to say I'm surprised. I thought the Boss would take you back to his old stomping ground," Moran explained.
Suddenly, James commented, "I still intend to. We're just going to lay low here a bit longer. Five months at least. Then we'll go back to Ireland and spend the rest of our lives there, given that the governments are just as incompetent as ever."
Moran grinned widely. "Let me assure you, they still are."
"And your assignment?" Moriarty pressed vaguely. Even now, Moriarty kept John from knowing too much about his network and inner workings in order to keep him safe.
With a curt nod, Moran answered, "Successful, as always. Ready for the next."
"I'll keep you informed when another comes around," Moriarty replied. He had pulled back from consulting while on the run with John. Not entirely. Of course not, as it gave him something to do when John was sleeping too long or when he got bored. Besides, he still had to keep a presence in the world so the British government didn't think it had won. Although John wasn't entirely comfortable with it, he felt better now that Moriarty was taking on smaller projects instead of mass-scaled ones.
Moran murmured, "I'm looking forward to it." Suddenly, his attention turned back to John. "Why don't you give me the grand tour then?"
John flushed slightly. This was something that couples did once they got a place together. Something normal about his relationship with James. With a small smile on his face, he cleared his throat and asked, "How about we start in the kitchen?"
"Sherlock's coming to visit us," John stated as he walked into the living room. They were new to this flat, having moved back to Ireland only a week ago, and he wound up bumping into the coffee table as he headed around towards the sofa.
Raising an eyebrow, James pressed, "Already?"
"I used the secure Internet connection to Skype him. He deduced that something major happened between the two of us, and he wants to see me immediately. He'll be coming in tomorrow morning after ensuring that he isn't being followed… just in case," John stated as he flopped down onto the sofa with his tea. He crossed his ankles and moved his feet onto James's lap.
Humming, James murmured sarcastically, "I wonder what on Earth he could have deduced."
John subconsciously touched the ring on his finger. A small smile graced his features. "I have no idea," he lied.
"James?" John called out cautiously. He had woken up from a nightmare in the middle of the night to find the bed empty.
After a moment, he heard a response. "I'm still here, John. I'll be right there."
Sitting up, John trembled as he waited for James. At the very least, he knew that he hadn't been screaming this time. James would have never left him alone had he been screaming. Suddenly, James's silhouette appeared in the doorway. He came inside and sat down on the bed carefully before offering John a mug of tea. Gracious, John accepted it and took a sip, his hands still shaking. James slipped in next to him and waited patiently as John gradually calmed down. He leaned into James, not ashamed to depend on him anymore.
"I-it was- Tom- I…" John tried to spit out, wanting to communicate what was wrong.
Shushing him, James pressed a kiss into John's temple and held his free hand, his thumb lightly stroking John's palm. "It's fine. You don't have to explain a thing."
John just bobbed his head up and down. Closing his eyes, he rested against James as he took another sip of tea. Eventually, he began to doze again, and his mug was taken away. James shifted them down in bed and engulfed John, running a hand soothingly down his back as he tangled their legs together. John couldn't help but relax. He was perfectly safe here. This had, despite all odds, become his permanent home. Right here. With James.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too."
Author's Note: I hope that you all have enjoyed my story! Sorry if it looks intimidating, but I just wanted to get it entirely posted so that no one else would have the gall to repost it again to this site. THAT BEING SAID! If you DO see this reposted anywhere on this site or on another site (except for my AO3 account, which has the same username), PLEASE REPORT IT AND MESSAGE ME. "Pawn Takes King" alone took me over 6 months to write, and I don't feel others should receive praise for my hard work.