Chapter 29: Murder.

"I'm not slaying anything. I don't slay, so put it out of your mind."

-Linda Woolverton, Alice in Wonderland (2010 movie)

The negotiations were, of course, in some sort of language that John didn't understand.

He was pretty sure it was Russian, but he could be wrong. Either way, John could only sit there and look from Jim to the other two men in the room, as they blabbered on in their unintelligible language. He really wished that they were speaking English, because seriously, there was nothing for him to do here except look around and wait. Even the concept of lunch out with Jim afterwards wasn't enough to quell his boredom.

He was staring at the floor, and heard one of the voices rise to a shout, unexpectedly. He looked up, fingers twitching towards the weapon that he was incredibly glad to have back, but his hand was knocked away, and he was trapped in a rough hold against one of the Russian men. He struggled for a few seconds, preparing to break the hold, but then he looked up and saw Jim standing there, grinning away, the other Russian holding a gun to his head. Oh, shite. Not-Good. He immediately stopped fighting, and locked gazes with Jim, who looked completely unconcerned.

"What the hell did you say?" John asked him, knowing that he'd missed something in the language that he couldn't understand. If it had been in English, he would have had some warning, and he could have… done what?

The man holding Jim barked out something, which John took to be 'no talking'. John shut his mouth and waited. There was another conversation between Jim and the two men, all in bloody Russian! He felt sickeningly helpless. He didn't know what was being said, or what they wanted, or how Jim was responding. Whether they were threatening to shoot him, or whether they were going to kill Jim, or hold them for ransom, he know nothing.

And then the conversation got more heated. The larger man with the gun on Moriarty started yelling, and Jim just stood there, smiling. And then John was gestured at, and was forced onto his knees. The gun was pointing his way, now. Oh, no, they were threatening him. Those idiots, that wasn't going to do any good whatsoever! Jim didn't care, and John was going to die, but he didn't want to die, he would do anything to live… There was a tense moment, and the yelling man became more composed, and spoke slowly and deliberately, one word at a time, and John recognized the countdown and closed his eyes.

Jim cut him off in Russian, shouting something, and John opened his eyes to find him with one hand in the air.

The gun was pointed back towards Jim, but John remained on his knees with the other man behind him, hands keeping him down. Jim pulled out his cell phone, typed in a number, and then started to speak rapidly in French, which didn't help John much. But when Jim walked towards the door, forcing the big man with the gun to face away from John to keep the gun on the criminal mastermind, the ex-soldier decided to act.

He slammed his foot backwards, knocking over the man behind him, pulling out his gun at the same time. Before the larger man could turn, he shot him once, and then turned to the man on the floor, who was trying to grab him and drag him down. He kicked out, heel hitting the man's arm and cracking it. The man yelled out in Russian, and John held a small self-debate over what to do with him now. He turned his head slightly and met Jim's dark eyes.

"He'll remember you," the criminal mastermind shrugged. "Could be a problem."

John nodded, considered this for several seconds, and then leveled his gun at the man's head and pulled the trigger. And then there was silence, in the little stone room. The shifting of clothing, and then a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you going into some sort of collapse over your moral system now?" Jim's voice drawled. "You did just kill two men."

"They weren't very good men," John said, with a touch of humor.

"Neither am I."

"Neither am I," John echoed finally, and then crouched down to take the large man's pulse. It was still there, but it wouldn't be for long, not without immediate medical help. And John didn't feel particularly obliged. "Sorry about killing your business contacts."

"I'm fine with it if you are. They were just looking for more money, not a deal. And they were going to kill you."

"Oh, is that what that was?" There was a pause as John straightened up, knees popping, and then looked at the two dead men, one with his heart still beating. "Oops, there's blood on your shoes." Jim looked down and rolled his eyes, then shrugged.

"Comes with the job sometimes. It was almost your blood, though. Good work."

There was another moment of silence as the two men stood together in the small room, and a heart stopped beating, unnoticed.

"What about lunch?" John asked, and Moriarty grinned.

Oooo000oooO

Three hours later, John lay on his couch and stared at the ceiling, turning his gun over and over in his hands, unloaded. So, earlier that day, he had killed two men for Moriarty. More or less. It was a strange idea. But when he'd seen them holding a gun to Jim's head, he had felt a familiar sense of anger. Get your hands off my friend. Was that what Jim was? The word seemed so farfetched. Too simple to apply to such a complicated man.

It was an age-old problem. What do you call someone you have no definition for? Someone who defies any labels that you would attach to them? Sherlock and he had had that problem. Partners? Colleagues? Best friends? One sounded too romantic, one sounded too platonic, and the last one sounded juvenile. There was no right word for them. No longer just friends, but not quite lovers. Something too deep to walk away from, but not discussed.

Perhaps, as John had decided with his flatmate, it was best to leave these things undefined. Without words, relationships were free to become what they wanted. Forcing them into boxes had never worked for John, and why should this be any exception?

He smoothed his fingers along the side of the gun. They had a lot of history together. In the war, in 221B, and now by the side of James Moriarty. The gun had been his protection in the war, the one friend he could get attached to, something he could keep safe. His Captain when he had first joined had tried to convince him to be a sniper, instead of a doctor. He was one of the best shots in the squad, after all. But John had chosen the back of the army, away from the gunshots, surrounded by the blood caused by the impacts, rather than the impacts themselves.

Once Sebastian had gone missing, he volunteered as a doctor in the questioning rooms. He worked surrounded by screaming, saving the lives of people who begged to die, sewing them together to be torn apart again the next morning, in new ways, stitching their new cuts until they looked like over-worn ragdolls.

At first, he had been determined, he had known that the cause was worth it. But when the anger had faded from his body, and the numbness had lost its comfort, he had realized that that wasn't why he was doing it at all.

He volunteered to serve as a doctor on the front lines, and was raised to Captain. He carried his own men back to the trenches when they fell, ordered other men out to take their place. Working like that, in No-Man's land, was asking for death. When the shots rang out, you didn't know whether they were coming for you, for a friend, or for an enemy. When the bullet caught his shoulder, he had been almost disappointed.

Sent home to the emptiness he'd done his best to avoid, at least he still had his gun. It had taken quite a bit of work to get her home with him, but he had saved a lot of lives as a doctor, and people liked to pay off their debts when they could. So his Browning returned with him, a vague temptation in his drawer.

It had been the first of his belongings to move into 221B Baker street, and it was accepted on its first day there, not condemned, but hidden and praised. It had no longer been John's gun but theirs. It was always with one of them, but it didn't matter who.

The first time Moriarty had seen the gun, Sherlock had been pointing it in his face. And the second time, John had done the same thing. Wasn't that just so funny?

He rolled over slightly, onto his side, arm holding the gun dangling off to one side, eyes staring at the television, but not really seeing the blank screen. He was seeing the other people he had killed for Sherlock. Two Chinese men who had taken 'Mr. Holmes' junior for Mycroft. That had been an interesting day. And, of course, there were Moriarty's men, the ones that they had pushed off buildings, the ones that John had shot in self-defense and Sherlock-defense, the one who hadn't been able to swim, who they had lost beneath the waves.

Now he realized that those men could have just as easily been Sebastian. How easy it was, to judge people so quickly, and miss everything important, even for someone like Sherlock Holmes.

Oh, well. That didn't matter now. What mattered was that John and his gun, closer to his heart than any other inanimate object, were in a new era now. They had killed for Queen and country. They had killed for Sherlock. And now, in a sick twist of fate, they were killing for Moriarty. Not for money, or for power, just because John couldn't bear to watch Jim killed in front of him.

Speak of the devil, Jim walked in the door with two bags of groceries.

"Honey, I'm home," he sang out mockingly.

"Oh, good," John said. "Did you get my tea?"

"Would I forget?" Jim asked, giving him an insulted look. John shrugged. "Well, maybe I would, but I didn't. Now come and help me put this away." So John got up and helped him with the food, laughing when he came across another pack of marshmallows.

A/N: And thus endeth the editing marathon of yesterday! I hope that these chapters go a little ways towards making up for breaking my promise to you. Actually, there's a couple people I'd like to mention here, if you don't mind. All of you reviewers have been so great to me, and every person has been an encouragement, but there are some names that have really stuck in my mind because of their encouragement or advice.

.forever, you were my early encouragement, around since the start, and I really appreciate that!

whycan'tIthinkofapropername, I absolutely adore your name, and you review so often that your username really gets stuck in my head!

kotane, I love your commentary, it gives me a reader's perspective and lots of ideas!

Sureves96, you were incredibly helpful a little while ago, gave me some little things to think about, so thanks!

Pruplup4, your reviews are just amazing, seriously, you really made me smile. They're helpful, too.

Miss Magical Cat, I've taken note of your words since early on, and your advice has been quite helpful. You're awesome.

lostineternity256, you review like crazy, and it makes me very happy. You are one of the best readers I have ever had.

An Enigma, you're really new, but you actually inspired me to post all these chapters, reminded me that I had people out there waiting, thank you. (Actually, a reading marathon was exactly how I got into Johniarty, so cheers.)

K; I've already mentioned you, but hey! I'll mention you again. 'Cause you're awesome, you know.

No! This is not a comprehensive list of all the people that have helped me. There are tons of other people who I would love to recognize, and I will, I will thank you all by name, I promise, but I do not have time right now, and thought that there were a couple people who I really wanted to tell that they made me smile! So here are 9 people out of around 40 that I have to thank. Mentioned or not, I'm thinking of you, I reread your reviews when I'm feeling down, and I love you. I'll see you again on Saturday. Seriously, this time.