"What about them?" John questioned, looking to Moriarty with a raised eyebrow.

"It's not every day that someone's chased around by a Russian hit team." Moriarty responded calmly, sipping at the scotch he'd been playing with. "Especially not when that someone happens to be an otherwise ordinary ex-soldier."

"Hit team?" John asked, working surprise into his tone and expression. Feigning ignorance was a bit harder to accomplish when he was playing the game against someone just as adept at it as himself. Moriarty was intelligent and dangerous. He had a strong grasp of how the criminal underworld worked, unsurprising as the man near single-handedly ran most of it. Once John was aware of the consulting criminal's existence it hadn't taken long for him to become aware of the feelers the man had out in the world, the puppets he suspected were controlled by Moriarty. It was like Moriarty had his fingers in a little of everything. While John was also good. Well versed in the way the world worked, how to keep himself hidden in plain sight, Moriarty was quite a few steps above him. Something the assassin would and did openly admit. Hence the danger involved in even speaking with the man about something that was distinctly tied with John being an assassin. Hence the difficulty, and the effort he needed to make to ensure that his lies and bluffs were believable.

"It's not that hard to crosscheck a few names and faces, Johnny." Moriarty explained with a roll of his eyes. As if the criminal was honestly bored by John's seemingly general lack of knowledge. "Those men were all members of a Russian hit team employed by the Mob. Now, care to tell me why they'd be targeting someone like you?"

"Haven't got a clue," John said with a shrug. "I assumed they were trying to get to Sherlock. It's happened before." A pointed look was shot at the criminal. There were certain images involving Semtex vests and laser sights flashing through his thoughts as he did so. Moriarty laughed shortly in response as they were apparently thinking along the same lines.

"Perhaps," Moriarty hummed lowly, seemingly pleased with himself for a reason John was unaware of. A fact that made him a touch uneasy as he'd prefer to know what connections the man was making in the dark mind he possessed. Before the conversation could move further, however, their server came back with their meals. In front of both of them was an elaborate dish which looked like salmon, cooked with some form of glaze, with several small shallot potatoes surrounding it. The potatoes were small enough that John could have popped one into his mouth whole, but he opted for at least cutting one in half and eating them that way.

John didn't actually eat first. He cut a potato in half, played with it, then glanced to Moriarty who was doing more or less the same only with a piece of salmon. The criminal popped the salmon in his mouth after a moment or two. John followed suit with the half of the small potato, though his tongue darted out just long enough to taste for any drugs his sense of smell hadn't picked up. He ate with his proverbial fingers crossed. The last thing he needed after the day he'd been having was to be drugged and kidnapped.

"You haven't told Sherlock anything," the criminal stated eventually, causing John to refocus on him.

"Sorry?"

"You haven't said a word to our favorite detective about any of this-" Moriarty made a small gesture around them, "-have you?"

"…" John remained silent for a beat or two as he looked to Moriarty. The man looked perfectly at ease as he sipped his scotch and picked at the food set before him. All with an easy smirk remaining on his lips while his eyes remained dark and calculating.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Moriarty hummed happily. "Aren't you being naughty, Johnny. Keeping things from your master."

The tightening of his jaw wasn't part of his attempt to blend in as a normal civilian. "Sherlock isn't my 'master,' he's my flatmate."

"Whatever helps you cope, Johnny-boy." the criminal replied with a deceptively innocent look. "Master, flatmate, you still haven't said a word. Why is that, I wonder?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I tell Sherlock that his enemy saved my life?" John scoffed, eyes narrowed as he glared at Moriarty who seemed to find the gesture amusing.

"That's what I've been asking myself," Moriarty agreed, now leaning forward to stare right into John's face. Eyes searching for something. John looked back, unflinching as he did so. He was allowed to while still maintaining his mask as he and others could claim it was from his supposed army training. If anything good had come out of his time in Afghanistan, it was definitely his ability to say he was an ex-soldier, wounded in action, etc. It helped give him a nonthreatening air which was more than welcome. It also meant he could allow some of his real self to slip into his mask which helped make everything all that more believable.

"Moving on, then." Moriarty eventually said after the server had returned to clear their plates and leave again. "The Markstein case. What do you know?" Here it was. The main point where John needed to be a bit more careful. He'd practically given himself away by revealing that he knew anything about the case at all.

The Markstein murders had occurred within the previous week, and since then it had caused a bit of an uproar in London. The victims were Richard and Travis Markstein, brothers who ran a rather successful business that had been on the verge of expanding. The problem, however, was that the brothers were investors as well. With the money they made, they used the excess to fund some very powerful people and organizations that were less than legal. That wasn't bit wasn't public knowledge. Sherlock was close to getting to the right conclusion in that area, but John was already well aware. While the rest of London believed the brothers had been savagely and brutally murdered for no reason other than their success, the true reason was that the brothers stopped investing. One of them eventually found out that they were funding murderers, gangs, etc. They pulled back and cut funding, and said people threatened to kill them if they didn't start the funds up again. When one of the groups grew tired of waiting, John was contacted.

It had been a simple contract, really. Two bullets fired from his rifle from a flat he'd broken into, and both brothers were dead with the backs of their heads blown out across the London street. Broad daylight. He'd been reluctant to do so, but it was part of the contract. The result was being unable to clean up the mess of the bodies and for several phones to be whipped out to call '999'. Sherlock was called nearly an hour later as John finished removing the gunshot residue and slipped back into his façade as a companionable doctor. It stood to reason why John would know about the murders. He'd been their killer, after all.

"They-"

Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin' alive! Stayin' alive!

John blinked as the overly loud ringtone interrupted him. For a moment the criminal across from him refused to so much as acknowledge the sound, but once it was clear that the caller was determined an irritated sigh slipped from Moriarty's lips. The consulting criminal answered the phone, and John was soon a witness to half of a conversation.

"What is it?...Shut up, and tell me when…No, don't touch anything- Give me a moment." Moriarty glanced up at John, expression having grown increasingly darker the longer he remained on the phone…which he had moved to his shoulder as he regarded John.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our date short. I'll see you around, Johnny-boy." With that the criminal was smoothly standing and putting the phone to his ear. "If you touch anything I will cut off-" Moriarty disappeared out of the private booth before the assassin could hear the rest of the criminal's threat. John relaxed back into his seat as he stared at where Moriarty had disappeared and left him. He was more than thankful to have the ordeal over and done with, but he wasn't so naïve as to believe that he wouldn't be called on by Moriarty again. He'd peaked the man's interest, and he'd already seen how that went for a person in the case of Sherlock. It would be full of pain, and fear, and paranoia…and danger, and adrenaline, and challenges. A bit of a smirk twitched onto the assassin's lips. He was one of the best in his profession. Challenges were few and far between, and he was dying to have a good challenge. Even if that meant playing the game with Moriarty.

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read the fic this far along, and a special thanks to all those who have reviewed! It definitely helps! I've been meaning to mention this in the last chapters but I kept forgetting, but this fic is intended to take a Johniarty direction. If that turns anyone off of this, I'm sorry!

Please leave a review and tell me what you think!

Have a good day,

Reaperess ^_^