Sebastian Moran. Apparently a mercenary and hired gun who had excellent sniping abilities. The man had been a Colonel before being dishonorably discharged as well, and that told John that the contract would certainly be a bit of a challenge. A man with a military background would know how to fight, especially if said man was also a mercenary. The contract was revenge based. John could tell just from how the man who'd given it to him spoke and what had been disclosed over the phone. Something had certainly happened to put a target on Moran's back. Something worth the high price the contractor had been willing to pay without John even saying a word about what payment he was willing to work for.

The assassin had returned to the flat once the near ten minute phone call was over. Sherlock had been busy with the case and that had left John able to take his laptop and go up to his room. He started to work immediately. He had a few checks with some of his contacts to see if they'd heard anything about Moran, but other than confirming that the man was in London there were few helpful leads. Unsurprising, as anyone who had just had a bad encounter like Moran apparently had would go to ground and try to wait until everything blew over. That just meant John would have to track the man down and work towards finding where he was hiding out. He had plenty of time anyway. The contract didn't have a specific time frame as the contractor hadn't wanted John to rush and miss an opportunity. He was patient enough to wait and allow the assassin to do carry out the contract to the best of his ability. Further proof that Moran had done something worthy of revenge.

The process was slow and unyielding for the first hour, and while John would have loved to spend all day in his room trying to find Moran he knew better. Sherlock would eventually wonder why he was staying in his room rather than spending time in the sitting room with him, or helping with the case. He'd work more at night when Sherlock thought he was sleeping. So long as he was quiet it wouldn't arouse attention to himself, and if he was too loud he'd blame it on a dream from the war or something similar. It wouldn't be the first time he'd used the excuse.

When John had made his way downstairs, having cleared the memory from his laptop, he found Sherlock bent over a microscope in the kitchen. Knowing better than to disturb the detective, John settled in his chair and reached for the paper. The Markstein brothers were still front page material it seemed as a benefit was being run to aid their families (even as they took over an expanding business) finically.

"I'll be attending the event," Sherlock drawled lazily, and John looked up to find the detective peering at him from over the microscope. "I'll need you with me."

John blinked. "Why are you going there in the first place?"

"I want to find out who would have motive to kill the brothers, of course. Really, John? Do think it through. If they truly were killed for monetary reasons, the person who hired their killer will likely be at the benefit. If, by the end of the night, I have no suitable leads, then I'll know that something else was going on between the Marksteins." Sherlock explained with an eye roll.

"Sherlock…I really can't." John sighed after a moment. "I've got another date tonight…and-"

"If you're that adamant just bring your date to the event. I'm sure she'll love it." Sherlock replied, interrupting John as he turned back to his microscope. John scowled in response. Wonderful. He didn't need this complicating things. John debated silently if he should risk giving some information –discretely- that would push Sherlock towards the right conclusions about the contractors. It was favorable to having to try and find a date, and putting too much of a fight would arouse suspicion…He wanted Sherlock to 'solve' the case as soon as possible so he wouldn't have to worry about the man inadvertently hunting him anymore. There was still the issue of who he'd frame for the murders of course, but he'd need to find someone actually capable of the shots. That would take some digging, and he honestly had less time than he did previously to find a suitable candidate.

"I don't think that sh-" The assassin's phone went off. Actually confused enough that he didn't need to feign it, John reached into his pocket to take it out. Seconds later, having read the text, he was up on his feet and headed upstairs to grab his coat –and knife- before rushing to the door and grabbing the keys to the flat. "Sorry, Sherlock. Sarah says the clinics booked, they need another doctor."

"John-"

"It's the clinic, Sherlock." John argued, cutting off the detective mid-protest. "I'm sorry, I'll try to get back as soon as I can, alright?"

A pause as John opened the door. "Have I done something, Dr. Watson?" The assassin froze in the doorway before turning around. Sherlock had gone so far as to stand and walk from his position in the kitchen to the sitting room to watch John. If the man didn't know the detective better, he'd say Sherlock actually looked a bit hurt…Oh.

"No. God no. Where did you get that idea from?" John questioned, giving Sherlock a concerned look. The taller man simply returned the look with a not-quite-neutral-enough one of his own.

"You've been running off far more than per usual." Sherlock stated in the same tone used when ready to go into one of his drawn out deductions. "You've been avoiding myself –spending and abnormally long amount of time in your room—, you've hardly been active in this case beyond out initial investigations, and you're seeking excuses to avoid accompanying me to this event for the case…I repeat, have I done something to upset you? If I have I feel the need to know what it was-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted, taking a small step towards the rambling detective as he interrupted him. "Its fine. You haven't done anything. I've just had a lot going on lately, and I…really just don't want to be around more stress and blood right now." Silence stretched between the two of them, and John started to wonder if he was in the clear of if this was just a calm before the storm. Then,

"Of course…Yes. This is near the anniversary of your near fatal wound, of course. How idiotic of me not to notice." Sherlock said, and John swore for a moment there was a flicker of relief before it gave way to frustration as he added. "There's always something."

John smiled a bit despite himself. "Yeah…Look, I'm sorry, I just need a bit of time away from…a case like this." He hadn't even realized that he was coming up on that 'anniversary', as Sherlock had put it. Now that he thought though, the detective was right. It was a bit of a relief to John himself as any behavior for the next few days could be excused as nerves. As far as anyone else knew, after all, he'd been scarred physically and emotionally by the trauma of nearly dying…While he had been scarred the emotional damage was no worse than what was already wrong with him. He wasn't as damaged as some, like Sherlock, could be lead to believe. It worked to his advantage, however, to play it up.

"Understandable. The similar circumstances would make things…difficult for one in your situation." Sherlock agreed, and he shot an almost smile at the assassin. "Give my regards to Sarah?" John actually laughed at that, and a deep chuckle slipped from Sherlock as well. Both of them knew that Sarah absolutely hated the detective with a burning passion…funny that no one had realized she'd disappeared off the map once done convincing Sherlock that John actually worked at a clinic at all. It was one of his more thought-out and carefully executed covers.

"I'll be back later, yeah?" John said, and Sherlock nodded. He'd slipped back into his normal attitude again.

"Of course. I'll text you should the need arise." The detective replied before slipping back into the kitchen. Presumably to carry on with what he'd been doing before their conversation. John turned and continued on his previous path to leave. He closed the door and headed down the stairs and out on to the London streets. He was free for a few days then…which was good considering the text he'd just gotten.

It wasn't from Sarah. 'Sarah' was long gone now that her job was done. One of his contacts had gotten back to him on Moran. The man wasn't very good at sitting in once place and laying low…which was surprising considering that the former Colonel was a sniper. Sniping took patience and precision. Lack one of the skills and a sniper normally didn't last very long, but apparently Moran was above average in the area of precision so he'd probably gotten away with it for most things. Until now, of course. Word traveled fast in the underground, and the mercenary speaking to someone, who spoke to someone else, who was overheard, who spread it, then it made its way to John and his contact. While he'd already known that Moran was in London, he hadn't known where. Now he had a fairly decent idea. A stretch of not-quite-run-down flats, but not the place one would necessarily think to go if they were looking for a successful mercenary. John had some work to do.

After a few blocks of walking the assassin swung a right into an alley. He knew his way around by now, and it was a quick trip out to the alley behind the flat. Narrow and dark, John had the perfect opportunity here. A pipe led down from the gutters to let the water from rain flow out, and John had long since tested the sturdiness of it. Mrs. Hudson had gotten the thing refitted to the wall to make sure it didn't fall, and that had been an excellent advantage for John. After a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, the assassin grabbed onto the pipe and hauled himself up. The supports that bolted the pipe to the wall served as footholds as John scaled it. It took him far less time now than it had the first few times he'd tried. He'd hence learned the right footholds and handholds to use and what not to. When he reached his second floor window he quickly peered inside to see if everything was clear before slowly sliding the window open. The assassin gripped the window sill and hauled himself up and over it to slip into his room.

The flat was silent, but he knew Sherlock was likely still downstairs. With that in mind, he moved quietly through his room as he quickly changed. Clothes that wouldn't make him stand out as much as a wool jumper, yet easy to maneuver in. As he already had a knife he grabbed a pistol and silencer before concealing it. The last touch was to shrug his jacket on again and move to the window after a quick check that everything was in its proper place. Once satisfied, the assassin was out the window and closing it softly behind him. Descending the pipe was quicker than the other way around, so he reached the ground and was off and headed in the direction of Moran's flat in less time than it had taken to get up the pipe.

It was late. The sun had set to leave London in darkness, and John had already texted Sherlock to tell him he'd be out later than he'd thought because the clinic was still up to its neck in patients and they'd still have to work with paperwork afterwards as they'd gotten behind. Naturally, Sherlock hadn't doubted a word as John had given the man no reason to. With that possible distraction eliminated, John had tucked his phone away and slipped forward towards the flat he knew Moran was hiding out in. All the lights were off from what he could tell from outside, but that didn't mean that the mercenary wouldn't be awake.

John picked the lock easily enough and was soon slipping into the flat. As he'd thought the entire flat was dark and silent. There were signs that it was lived in, but no signs of the person doing the living being present. The assassin moved almost silently as he scanned the rooms he went into. Looking for his target. When he reached the sitting room the barely audible click of a gun being cocked seemed to echo in the silence…from behind John.

The assassin spun around and ducked low and to the side even as a hand shot out to make contact with the wrist of the man holding the gun aimed at his head. It went off, and a brief flash of light from the discharge illuminated both their faces for a brief second. Both blondes glared at each other in that short flash, too quick to distinguish anything other than the fact they were the same sex and intent on killing each other. Moran –at least he assumed it was Moran – was taller than John, but that didn't intimidate the assassin. It lead him to twist the mercenary's wrist to a painful angle to distract the man so John could move in close and sweep Moran's legs out from under him. The larger man dropped to the ground as John maneuvered so he was holding onto the other's arm with the gun. He twisted viciously to force his fingers to release the weapon and John emptied it of the clip and tossed the gun away. His movements were clean and efficient.

Moran kicked up a leg as he rolled towards John. The leg hooked around John's right knee and he was thrown off balance by the move. The assassin hit the ground and his bad shoulder connected painfully with the floor. His only indication of pain was a grunt, but that seemed to be enough for Moran as the man was soon looking to straddle him. Fingers closed around his neck as the man sought to strangle John…and that was sad wasn't it? John wasn't an amateur, and only an amateur would be stupid enough to be killed like that. The assassin got his legs beneath him and used them to help propel his hips upwards to fling the sniper up and over his head. John took in deep breaths as soon as he was able and he rolled to his feet. Moran had done the same, and they were left to watch the other in the darkness of the flat. Each gauging the other and what they'd do or try next.

The glow of a cell phone appeared in Moran's hand . Calling for help then. That meant John was on a time crunch. The assassin pulled out his pistol and fired, but the other man had been ducking out of the way once he recognized the familiar movement. The cry of pain suggested that he'd at least clipped the mercenary, however. John moved quickly as he tried to find the man in the darkness. A small scuffle and the assassin whirled as his finger pulled back the trigger. No cries of pain, but he had a feeling that he'd been close. Then the room was flooded with light and John saw spots as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden change. He had to shield his eyes momentarily, and in those seconds he was being rushed by Moran. The other man grabbing his gun arm and pushing it off and out of the way as John squeezed off another silenced round. When he looked again he saw Moran properly. Tall, rugged, blond. What he'd been expecting…were it not for how the other's eyes widened at the full sight of John himself.

"John Watson?" the mercenary said, incredulous. In a combination of dislike of having his name known and seeing a distraction, John drove a fist into the other's jaw roughly. Moran stumbled a bit and John followed up the blow with a knee to the gut and an elbow to the face. The mercenary went down, the assassin was quick to move over him with the barrel of the gun trained on the man's head. Moran looked up from his position, still wide-eyed, as John's expression remained cold and professional.

There was a difference between John when allowed to act as his assassin self. John now stood straighter, the subtle slouch he normally walked with having straightened to make him look more confident. His posture suggested a greater understanding of poise and grace than before, and even when he moved his movements were precise and well balanced. Like a predator. His eyes darkened and lost the warmth and affection others were used to seeing, and overall John was far more deadlier and serious. The shift between 'doctor' to the assassin underneath would be full of subtle but meaningful changes had someone been there to witness it when it happened, but the next best thing came bursting through the doors.

Several guns were trained on John as he looked up from Moran. The mercenary didn't dare move from his spot, and that left the assassin with the ability to look over the new factor that had been thrown in. The people holding the guns, three in all, looked ready to shoot if John even thought to pull the trigger. He watched them with the same expression, weighing the odds of being able to take them out before they could shoot him…Then the last, and most important, curve ball walked into the room…and promptly froze. Actual surprise coloring his expression before it gave way to a psychopathic grin.

"You are naughty, aren't you Johnny-boy." Moriarty purred.

Longest chapter yet! Yay! I really love the reviews I've been getting, thank you so much So, the drama just stepped up a bit, didn't it?

Have a good day, and leave a review!

Reaperess ^_^