The flat was silent when John returned. For the first few moments that he was hanging up his coat and shutting the door behind him he even thought that Sherlock was out. There was the Markstein case, after all. The detective was obsessed with solving it. While the man normally had a kind of obsession with always solving the puzzle, this case seemed to be especially interesting-and infuriating-to Sherlock. Something that didn't necessarily thrill John.
Once the assassin had fully walked into the sitting room, however, he was greeted by the sight of Sherlock laying back on their sofa with his eyes closed and hands in a prayer formation as they rested on the man's lips. The detective was the picture of concentration as John had to pay close attention to the subtle rise and fall of Sherlock's chest to even be sure that the man was still alive. John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock as he continued into the flat and set about getting tea for himself. There was nothing quite like a nice cup of tea after nearly being cornered and killed as little as two hours earlier. To his credit, he made it to the point of getting the water boiling before Sherlock was addressing him.
"You've been running recently." The detective stated, calling out from the sitting room without actually getting up or even remotely moving. When John made his way to lean against the entryway of the kitchen he found the silvery-blue eyes of Sherlock locked on him. Taking in every detail possible in the span of seconds.
"Ordinary people get bored too, Sherlock." John reminded with a raised eyebrow. "I haven't gotten the chance to run with all the rain lately." Not that it ever really stopped raining, at this time of the year especially. It made fulfilling contracts easier in some areas, but far harder in others. For instance, rain washed away evidence, but made getting a clear visual of his target hard. Rain provided cover if it was coming down hard enough or with enough wind, but the slickness of mud and puddles made running and fighting tricky.
"You aren't wearing very appropriate attire for running, if I'm not mistaken." Sherlock commented, eyes alert even as his expression and posture radiated disinterest and lack of attention. The detective was right of course. The jeans, boots, and jumper he'd gone out in was less than suitable running gear. Especially if one took into consideration the wet streets. John kept his calm composure, however.
"I wasn't really planning on going for a run. Once I was out it seemed nice enough and I didn't feel like coming back to change." John answered, delivering the words smoothly and easily. His poker face was legendary, but that wasn't worth much when facing the observational skills of Sherlock Holmes himself. Whether it be from the need to focus on the Markstein case, or simply his lack of interest in John's answers, Sherlock was returning back to his silent thoughts just as the water was boiling nicely. John made his tea, took a sip, then headed for his room after grabbing his laptop.
"John?" Sherlock called just as the assassin reached the stairs. He turned on his heel to look at the detective whose eyes were once again closed. "Are you free tonight?"
I'll pick you up at eight.
"I've got a date, actually." John said, reusing an age old excuse that Sherlock never questioned, and rarely lead to John going on a real date but to the death of someone else. The assassin caught a quick downturn of Sherlock's lips before it was gone just as quickly. Just smooth enough to disappear that John questioned if he'd seen anything at all.
"Cancel it," Sherlock said. John, for a brief moment as he couldn't help himself, wondered what would happen if he did try to cancel on someone like Moriarty.
"I can't, Sherlock. You'll just have to do without me for now." John responded, and Sherlock was pouting a bit now.
"What could possibly be so interesting-"
"I'll text you to make sure you're alright," John interrupted. "Just try not to get kidnapped again." The pout dissolved into a brief chuckle as John himself smirked, but the assassin was soon heading upstairs and Sherlock was soon sulking again.
Once within the safety of his own room where he could hide behind a closed door, John set to work. He kneeled on the ground next to his bed and carefully removed a floorboard. It wasn't too difficult a process, and the assassin had done it enough times to make the ordeal near silent. Once the board was shifted out of the way he was free to check over the stash hidden beneath. There were several hiding spots similar to it around the room, and this one happened to have a majority of his smaller weapons. His rifle and its case were elsewhere. Here he had a selection of sharp knives, well-made and looked after, along with a few handguns. John selected a pistol and silencer, swapped the knife he had for a different one, then was carefully replacing the board so as to make it appear like it had never been moved. He then set about getting changed.
When he was going out he could afford to lose the jumpers. They weren't his favorite, but they were preferable to the clothes he would wear out on a contract. John was a little too muscular and lean for a wounded ex-soldier/doctor. Even when he was almost constantly out with Sherlock chasing down criminals and the like. The jumpers made John look non-threatening, hid the muscles he'd gained from his profession, and all in all made him blend into the crowd of civilians easier. Who would suspect an assassin of John's caliber when they wore cuddly looking jumpers, after all? Now though, John opted for a black button up and had a jacket picked out. It would look nicer, as if he actually was going on a date for the benefit of Sherlock's observational skills, and still give him plenty of places to hide weapons. He wasn't going to meet with Moriarty unarmed. That was a death sentence in itself. While the criminal may have expressed some interest, John wasn't going to rely on that. The man admitted openly to being able to change his mind at the drop of a hat. There was also the fact that Moriarty honestly had the most chance to figure out what John really was. Not a doctor, but an assassin. The information that he'd offered about the Markstein case alone was likely throwing up little red flags itself. It would certainly be an interesting night...
Around half-past seven John's phone vibrated with a new text. A quick check, and the assassin was standing and pulling on his jacket. He spent a moment making sure his gun and knife were thoroughly concealed before heading downstairs again. Sherlock had at some point migrated from the sofa to the kitchen where he was working on one of his new experiments.
"I'll be back," John said, and Sherlock glanced up just long enough to give him an unreadable look before the assassin was heading out. The car waiting for him was a few blocks away, and John knew the spot well. A blind spot in the CCTV. Not very big, but large enough to be of use. It wasn't a surprise that Moriarty would be aware of it as well, and thankfully John was slipping into the black car without having to doge out of the radar himself as the car was parked in preparation for an idiotic and naive 'civilian.'
The vehicle's interior was decent enough, but John wasn't riding in it to admire the car itself. The drive was decent enough time wise, but the driver had never uttered a word to him. Not surprising considering everything. The restaurant he was dropped off at didn't look quite expensive enough for him to seem under dressed, but it would likely still offer some form of privacy greater than the average pub. Proved when men that had been waiting for John's arrival ushered the assassin inside and into a private booth where his host was already waiting. James Moriarty gave him a shark-like grin as he sat down across from the criminal. They were alone. No laser sights or guards within the private booth which cut them off from the rest of the restaurant's population. That wasn't to say there was no security of course, but it wasn't visible.
"Bit of a shock to hear from the pet rather than the master," Moriarty said,. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you Johnny?" The Irishman's dark eyes roamed over John slowly. Taking his time in drawing out the little details in, John assumed, an effort to make him uncomfortable. It would take quite a bit to make the assassin uncomfortable, however. While Moriarty was an intimidating and dark presence, John had been the cause of a fair amount of pain and suffering himself. He wasn't always paid to make his target's die slowly and cleanly...Like the Markstein brothers.
"I didn't want to die," John replied, eyes narrowing a bit as if becoming defensive. "I didn't have a choice otherwise." Easy. Smooth. All part of the mask that was like a second skin to the assassin now. If he could get out of this meeting with his profession still a secret played close to chest, then John would count this as a success. Of course, he'd also had to give horribly obvious clues to the criminal across from him just to gain enough interest to save his life. His chances weren't very high.
Moriarty hummed. "How did you get my number, anyway? I know I haven't called you before, and certainly not with that particular number."
"Sherlock gave it to me," John responded without missing a beat. "In case you ever did call. That way I'd know it was you right away." Lie. He'd received Moriarty's number from a client of his. Several, actually. In the past he'd been told that he needed to get in touch with the criminal as he'd likely receive challenging work in return. John was always on the lookout for contracts that tested his skill and abilities, but they were few and far between. As it were, John hadn't even known who Moriarty was at the time he'd gotten the number but he'd never actually called. When Sherlock and the criminal started going head-to-head the assassin had been secretly pleased about the fact once everything clicked.
"Hmm...'Jim from IT' really got under his skin then." the criminal mused, smirking easily as he leaned back in his chair. A server swept into their booth and asked for any drink orders they may have, or if they were ready to order as well. It was then that John became aware that he lacked a menu while Moriarty slid one to the waiter. The criminal was then ordering for the two of them. A scotch for both of them along with a dish that John barely caught as he was correcting the order to get a water instead. Moriarty's only response to the change was to send an unreadable look in his direction, though the man's dark eyes seemed to show an amused glint in them. Once the waiter had returned with Moriarty's scotch and John's water the conversation was resumed.
"Here's how tonight will work," the criminal drawled, circling the rim of his tumbler idly. "I'll ask you questions, and you'll answer."
"I think I can handle that," John replied, allowing annoyance to slip into his tone at being spoken to as if he was an idiot. Moriarty simply sent the assassin a smirk in response.
"Good. Let's start with the Russians then."