Sherlock strode out of the flat, calling Mycroft on the way.
"He's got John."
"Get in the surveillance car and meet me at the Diogenes."
At the Diogenes, Sherlock was fuming.
"How could this happen?"
"I assure you, I had the best of men and women watching over John."
"Excuses, brother mine. Where is he."
"Security cameras and some of my best operatives spent some time-"
"Irrelevant. Do you know where he is."
"Yes." Mycroft answers.
He runs into the warehouse and-
John's not there.
Bloodstains. Scuff-marks. Whip imprints and shoe prints.
John struggled for a while. Moriarty will pay.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"So." John said.
They were at a coffeehouse. John had ordered a plain black coffee, and Moriarty(no, Jim) had ordered some frothy sweet pink drink. What did one say to a psychopathic criminal lord whom you were working with because you were jealous of your best friend's wife?
"Why don't we start with fake bait, Johnny? Entice sweet Sherlock out and persuade him to get rid of that woman?"
"Bait is a good idea, but no physical violence." John said firmly.
Moriarty pouted.
"So boring. Well then," he drawled,"Why don't we send him another video of you?
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Click.
Play.
"Hey sexy. Let's play a game!" Moriarty giggled.
"I get to play with John. And unless you listen, John will lose something rather- dear to him. I heard Harry and Clara are visiting the Watsons in Cornwall."
His face turned contemplative.
"Or I could go classic and torture him. I did hear that our dear Captain has PTSD from his time at war," he mused.
"But that's beside the point!" he said brightly.
And then his face twisted into something ugly and he snarled at the camera.
"Get rid of that bitch Elizabeth Wilson or let John face the consequences."
The video froze on the last image of Moriarty's face.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
When Sherlock returns to the flat, Elizabeth is white-faced and pale with fear and guilt.
"Is Jo-"
"Out."
"What?" her face changes, confusion evident.
"Get out. I'll send you the divorce papers."
"Sherlock-"
"I said. Get. Out."
"But why so suddenly-"
"John is being tortured and it is your fault. Get out my flat. Didn't you hear me, woman? Get OUT!" he roared.
She squeaks and gets out.
There's a knock at the door.
"Jim." snarls Sherlock.
"Hi honey! Brought back your favorite pet!" he says brightly.
John is standing behind him, in reasonably good physical condition.
"Now, I heard of this stupidity with Elizabeth. Let me make this clear Sherlock. Touch another woman and someone you love will die. No one touches my playthings."
"I'm not your plaything."
"Yes, yes, semantics." Jim waves the comment away.
"And one last thing. Go marry John. It's clear that you are infatuated with him, not that silly bitch. I may not like Dr. Watson, but he is much more interesting than that," he pauses, lip curling in distaste,"Woman."
"What." Sherlock, for once, is speechless.
"Oh surely you do realize that those 'emotions' you were feeling were not of jealousy towards John, but Elizabeth."
Sherlock is gaping, John is flushing red, and Moriarty is rolling his eyes.
"Emotions. Sherlock sweetie, you simply must brush up on those. Well then, gotta go. People to torture, crimes to organize. Ta."
And with that, Moriarty steps neatly into a car and drives away.
"Sherlock is that-"
"John I thought-"
They speak simultaneously, then shut up.
"Um, you go first." John says.
"I. Ah, may have misinterpreted these feelings. Erm."
"Oh shut up you stupid man," John says, and kisses him. Emphatically.
Sherlock, for once, is stripped of all thought, and kisses right back, until they're both panting and sporting kiss-bruised mouths.
"Bed?" John asks.
"Oh god, yes."