The next morning, John felt a soreness around his mouth and when he looked, there was a light layer of bruising around the split in his lip. He breathed deep but couldn't downright say he was upset about it. For some reason, the split had made Sherlock kiss him. Or maybe it was something else that had happened. Either way, he was positive it had been something to do with the split.

Moriarty had a bruise along his nose. Not broken, for the eyes had no bruise to them, but it had been a good, solid punch. Surprisingly, the moment John walked into the kitchen, Moriarty spun and smiled brightly.

"I made breakfast. Sherlock said it was okay. He told me to let you know he'd be back soon. There were more murders and he figured you'd want to sleep, rest your face." The smile that John had taken as kindness suddenly seemed malevolent and he didn't want to take the plate that was held out to him.

"I'm not that hungry. I actually just take tea in the morning. I can do it though. I like it a certain way.

Moriarty's smile faltered as John grabbed the makings of tea and set about making his own things. There was something untrustworthy about the man. Maybe it had something to do with all the times he'd attempted to kill him. Or Sherlock. Or maybe the time he'd ran Sherlock to faking his own death for two years. Probably.

"I know we've had our differences but I didn't poison your food. I'm not that evil. If I wanted to kill you, I would do more than poison you."

"I've lived with Sherlock long enough to just not trust food given to me by psychotics." John stated and Moriarty seemed to be taken back, but he accepted that and let the plate drop onto the counter.

"I'm bored. What's there to do in this flat?"

"I wouldn't touch anything of Sherlock's. He may just shoot you between the eyes. And my things are off limits because I don't trust you." John looked up at the man who was starting to become angry. Good, dammit.

"Basically, I'm shite out of luck, ya?"

"Yes." John rose with his tea and left the kitchen, snatching the newspaper and sitting on the couch. He was a bit irate that Sherlock had left without him but he'd get over it. The man probably hadn't slept all night, like usual, and would be right nasty in car rides. Not to mention during the viewing of the crime scene.

After a few moments of utter silence save for a few sharp, angry noises from the kitchen, Moriarty came out with a plate of food, possibly the exact same he'd offered John. For some reason, John got the idea that Moriarty might possibly trying to apologize for punching him. Or egging him on, whichever he possibly felt bad for.

John found it hard at times to think of Sherlock and Moriarty being so close to each other, intelligence wise. Sherlock could be reasonable and he tried to make John happy as well as Mrs. Hudson. He was, in his own way, protective of them two. Moriarty on the other hand would probably kill his own mother without blinking. John didn't know if his family were still alive but he doubted it, honestly.

Currently Moriarty seemed flustered that John had denied the food and downright told him he didn't trust him. It was almost the same expression Sherlock made when his mind couldn't figure out why John was upset about something. Usually it was because Sherlock was a right arse at times.

Silence hovered over the two men for hours as John finished his cup, continued reading, and then started checking on his blog. Moriarty began to fidget, slowly at first, but then annoyingly. John would have worried had it been Sherlock. With Moriarty, though it was probably dangerous, John made to get up and leave.

Of course, as he'd suspected, it had been a very dangerous idea. So dangerous, John wished Sherlock were around in under ten seconds flat. Moriarty had him pinned against the wall, arms pinned above his head. When he breathed sharply inward, the smell of Moriarty filled his nasal cavities.

Moriarty looked at his face for a short moment before he crushed his face against John's. Lips met in a harsh, somewhat pained frenzy. John was caught up in the moment, unsure how to react, trying hard to keep his bottom lip and bunched as possible without splitting his lip. Too late, he tasted a coppery sting of blood and he felt Moriarty's hand run down his arms, no hand cupping behind his head and the other wrapping around his lower back. John couldn't figure out what to do with his free arms.

In a way, he felt like he was doing something dirty. Not because he figured he wasn't gay, but because Sherlock would.. he'd be sad? Would Sherlock feel if he say Moriarty and John kissing? Would he care?

John realized that even if Sherlock didn't care, he did. He pushed Moriarty back, but not too forcefully. He willingly went, his lips the last thing to lose contact. Satisfaction played upon the psycho's features and John felt heat rise.

"I am starting to see why Sherlock keeps you around." Moriarty said softly, backing away. "So loyal to him, you are. You're so adorable."

"Sherlock and I are not a couple. I'm not gay!" John snapped and Moriarty's smile almost ripped his face in half.

"I didn't say either of those things, Doctor Watson." As Moriarty walked away, John realized he hadn't, in fact, hinted at such a thing. He had hinted that not kissing another man was part of it, but not that the two were together or he himself was gay.

What, on Earth, did that mean?

Sherlock knew something was amiss the moment he came through the front doors. Instead of show he knew, he simply sat down. Moriarty appeared from the kitchen and sat on the couch. John, who'd been on the couch the whole time, seemed to stiffen almost imperceptibly.

John's mouth was still bruised, it would be for a few days still. Moriarty's nose was still bruised. Sherlock felt a large amount of pride knowing John had struck first. John was very nervous, but different than usual when Moriarty was so close. He was an emotional creature so that must mean something had happened. Moriarty seemed, in a way, puffed. He had a satisfied twinkly in his eyes. For some reason, Sherlock suddenly felt jealousy crawl into his stomach.

Had they slept together?

Sherlock tightened his grip on the arm chair, which Moriarty noticed and smiled at. He had to tell himself that it didn't matter. He had no claim on John and he was the last person to be telling John the type of person to be with.

"The last two murders were right next to each other, one strangulation the other a blow to the back of the head. Moriarty's finger prints were upon both victims in areas that highly suggest him as the murderer. Lestrade is getting anxious and wants us to find him." Sherlock said quickly, keeping eye contact with John. He couldn't help it, he wanted to pommel Moriarty.

After they had assessed that Moriarty couldn't possibly be the murderer unless he was having people kill, which was very likely to John but Sherlock waved the idea away, the men took to doing their own business. John left for air, Moriarty continued reading one of the books he started, and Sherlock did his best to ignore the man as he played the violin, trying to deduce who the killers were and why they were blaming Moriarty.