**Speaking in Russian**

When John woke he noticed right away that something was different. Off. As an assassin he'd long since trained his mind and body to wake and notice differences, to become alert as soon as possible. When there were times when he wasn't sure if he would be waking up with a knife in his gut if he didn't react fast enough it was crucial to be able to wake up swiftly. Find what was out of place. So of course, it was surprising when it took him around five seconds to remember that he wasn't at the Baker Street flat at all, but rather laid out on the sofa of one James Moriarty. That was more than enough to get John to sit up, fully alert as he blinked the sleep from his eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings. First, not only had he somehow ended up sprawled across the sofa without even remembering falling asleep, but he'd also been covered with a rather warm blanket. One that, until he had sat up, had been tightly wrapped around himself and held close in favor of said warmth. Once he moved past these revelations he moved on to the fact that he was even still alive. After all, he had fallen asleep. Left himself vulnerable to attack as his body had succumbed to the need to finally rest. He hadn't been idle in his 'civilian' life after all. He still had appearances to upkeep. The only relief he actually had in terms of said part of his days was that Sherlock was busy. Incredibly busy despite the fact that he'd solved the Markstein case –or claimed to have solved it – and currently had no other cases. That simply convinced John further that the man was trying to identify the two Markstein brother's killer. For once, John wanted his intuition to be wrong. Just this once, he wanted it to be wrong as he couldn't have Sherlock finding out who his flatmate really was. John doubted it would go over well. Even for someone who claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath.

At the moment though, John was more focused on his current situation rather than on the one with Sherlock. Having been asleep in what could probably be called hostile territory were he feeling the need to be dramatic. From where he was sitting on the sofa, John had a clear view of the kitchen. The only thing separating the space from the living room being the counters bordering it. Coming from the kitchen was the smell and sound of food cooking, and the most prominent being the unmistakable sizzle of bacon in a pan. When living with a man who rarely ate unless reminded or coaxed into it, bacon was not a staple in the flat. Leaving John both curious and aware of the fact that he was hungry, though the latter was ignored in favor of the fact that it wasn't just anyone cooking what the assassin assumed to be breakfast. James Moriarty looked very much concentrated on his task, but John could here low humming as the criminal worked. John had to blink a few times to ensure that he wasn't seeing things.

When one thought of Moriarty, after all, they didn't think of the domestic side. They didn't think of anyone who would need to eat or sleep, or do anything else so mundane. Even John, who was practically the same only with roles a bit reversed – an alleged doctor and good man who killed people rather than a criminal who killed people and apparently had a minor life beyond that – had never thought to think beyond 'consulting criminal mastermind.' It was very easy to see a monster, or in John's case at least the master criminal the man was, rather than a human. A man who had needs like everyone else. That would bleed red if shot or stabbed. It was a rather sudden and almost unwelcome revelation, really. While John knew better than most the truth behind what was portrayed on the outside, it was far easier to think of Moriarty as anything other than human. It made things simpler. The assassin silently berated himself though, as thinking of things as only black and white was an easy way to get killed. Gray had its place in the world as well.

After a moment, Moriarty having either not seen that he was awake or simply not caring that he was, John stood from the sofa. The blanket falling from him the rest of the way from his body. The assassin moved to the counter separating the spaces and silently slid onto one of the stools there. Getting a clear view of the kitchen space as well as of Moriarty. All that was really missing from the scene was an apron, and the thought of the man in an apron had John's lips quirking into a brief smirk. That would have certainly had the likes of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes fumbling over themselves as they tried to deduce what nefarious plot could be involved with the criminal wearing an apron, because if John had been surprised by the seemingly obvious fact that Moriarty was human the two Holmes brothers wouldn't be able to comprehend it. Their minds just didn't work like that.

"Good morning, Johnny-boy!" Moriarty greeted eventually as he finished with the bacon and moved on to another pan. This one large and appearing as if it contained what would soon turn into an omelet. There were two. The criminal flashed John a bright, almost peppy,smile that had John blinking in surprise. Of course Moriarty would be a morning person…or there was simply something going on that John wasn't aware of. The fact that both were equally possible was a bit unsettling.

"Morning," John returned, watching the other cook and move about the kitchen as if he'd done it all his life. He probably had.

"Did you sleep alright?" Moriarty asked, flashing the assassin a sardonic grin which said that the two of them both knew that John had been extremely vulnerable to anything the criminal may have saw fit to do…but hadn't done.

A brief scowl flickered onto his face before it was wiped off once more. "Yeah," he answered shortly, which had Moriarty laughing.

"Wonderful. Now, since you're already here, I wanted to talk about a contract you might be interested in." Moriarty said, sobering and diving right into business as he worked on the omelets. They appeared about done.

"Alright." John said with a nod. It really was amazing that one revelation about the fact that John was a contract killer had lead to a fairly quick working relationship between them. John would not say friendship as it was purely the work that had thrown them together in the first place, not by any means of wanting to be closer. However, Moriarty had never once taken John to any of his other flats after a contract. Never offered a shower, a place to stay. While John did agree that the so-called logic behind this sudden invitation was sound, the assassin had planned to get a motel room somewhere. Now the man was even making breakfast, and John was a touch thrown off by it all as it was borderline friendly (as friendly as an assassin and consulting criminal could be) interaction rather than professional.

"It's nothing too difficult, really. Even Sebby can do it, so I'm afraid that you probably won't find it much fun… But I'll be paying extra to make up for it." Moriarty said, plating the omelets and sliding bacon onto each plate. "It's a simple assassination. Needs a sniper's touch, and had Sebby not decided to draw so much attention to himself he'd be doing this himself. Due to circumstances, you get to take over and grab his pay instead." John couldn't say that he was upset with the idea of cheating the mercenary out of a payroll. No matter how dull the contract might be.

"What are the details, then? Where do I need to be?" John questioned, looking the plates over. The food looked and smelled good. Much better than jam and toast.

"Hmm…You'll get everything later, Johnny. So eager today, aren't we?" Moriarty mused, setting down forks for both of them as Moriarty took a stool on the opposite side of the counter and sat right in front of John. "Eat." The criminal made no move for his own food. Didn't even try for the fork he'd just set down, simply watched John with hands folded beneath his chin. An expectant look on his face. John realized he was suppose to take the first bite. So far, in their limited interactions where food of any kind was involved, John hadn't eaten until Moriarty had. Now the other was deliberately turning the tables. So here was the question. Was the food drugged?

That would make sense, wouldn't it? John had already decided that the man was either a morning person or was leaving John out of something amusing, and what could be more amusing than drugging the assassin's food? A quick decision, and despite the fact that he really was taking quite the risk, John plucked the fork off the counter and cut away a portion of the omelet before popping the bite into his mouth. The criminal's eyebrows actually rose in what looked to be shock, though nothing else conveyed that as Moriarty simply smirked and watched. Watched for long enough that on the inside John was wondering if he would be dropping at any moment because the food really had been drugged. Finally though, Moriarty was picking up his own fork and digging into his own omelet.

"That could have been dangerous, Johnny-boy." The criminal commented.

"Yeah," John agreed, giving the other an almost lazy look though his eyes remained sharp. Moriarty chuckled.

"You just keep getting more and more interesting." Moriarty stated, and John shrugged in response.

"I'm not really all that interesting," he said. "It just seems like it because you didn't see this John first." The other man glanced up at him, dark eyes flashing for a brief moment with something John wasn't quite sure how to place, before he looked back to his breakfast.

"Perhaps," was all Moriarty said, and the rest of the breakfast was silent.

The contract was going to be easy. Moriarty hadn't been lying when he'd said that John wouldn't think it was interesting because it was child's play for the assassin. A textbook assassination. He'd already chosen the best position for sniping and had set up his rifle and was waiting patiently. It was dark out. The only light coming from the streetlamps below. The assassin was used to this darkness however, so he wasn't bothered by it as he watched the streets for his target.

He'd stopped by the flat earlier to make an appearance for Sherlock. The detective had been fidgeting the entire time, as if waiting for John to leave again. Probably so the man could get back to experimenting and conducting the investigation he believed John was ignorant of. It was alright though, he supposed. If Sherlock was trying to keep things from him then it would be easier to go out more as the detective would view it as more time to work, rather than time John avoided him. Which was good, because something told John that Moriarty would be picking him up from contracts more often and having the assassin stay at his flats. John wasn't entirely sure what to think of that quite yet.

The assassin's attention went back to the street as his target came into view. Smirking to himself, John checked his scope and easily caught the other in his crosshairs. His finger flexed against the trigger, and right as he squeezed off a shot he was kicked viciously in the ribs. The assassin curled up to defend himself instinctively as the bullet hit its mark and the target collapsed to the ground dead. Another kick was delivered to John's ribs and the assassin grunted in pain. With some effort he managed to roll out of the way of the next blow and get to his feet. Drawing his knife smoothly as he stood and looked for his attacker. He was not thrilled to find Sebastian Moran glaring back at him. Considering the man was supposedly keeping a low profile due to the slipups that had gotten John into this mess in the first place, the assassin was fairly certain that meant Moran was here for him personally.

Eyes narrowing, John flipped the knife around and lunged forward. Feinting high before driving the blade low as he sought out the soft midsection where most of the more important and unprotected organs were located. He was intercepted just in time, and a leg twisted around his own to offset his base and allow Moran to knock him to the ground. John retaliated quickly, twisting his body so he could do a scissor kick of sorts. Trapping the mercenary's legs in between John's own and bring the other to the ground too. The fighting resumed from there. John making the first move as Moran laid stunned on the ground for a few seconds. The knife came down, seeking the spine this time but the mercenary was rolling away. Having enough sense to do so instinctively. John's knife burrowed itself into the wooden flooring as he missed his mark and he found it was deeply buried within the floor. It would take time to yank it out. Time he didn't have as Moran regained his bearings and was once again on the offensive.

As Moran lunged for John, taking the assassin to the ground with brute force, the sound of others coming up the stairs and towards the flat could be heard. John hissed out a curse as he smashed an elbow into the other's face and rolled them so he was on top. Without a knife John had to rely on his body as a weapon, so he pinned the other beneath his weight and made for a jab to the throat which left Moran coughing and sputtering. The doors to the flat were thrown open and John was yanked back off of Moran roughly before he could even attempt to finish the man off. The assassin, ever quick to fight back, pushed himself into the owner of the hands holding him and threw his head back into a jaw before throwing them over his shoulder. The man that hit the ground grunted in pain and surprise, but John was soon being grabbed by another before he could think too much about his minor victory. Three men had invaded the flat he was in ,and John was fighting violently against them. Very much aware that he was suddenly in a position where the odds were not stacked in his favor. Weaponless as he was, his knife having been lost, it became a numbers game. John would knock one or two back, but the others would prevent him from killing either. When the larger of the newcomers tossed John back into a wall roughly it was over. John's head cracked against the wall and he saw stars as he slid to the ground in a daze. One of the men approached him, and John was just vaguely aware of the needle being slipped into his arm before the assassin could be given the opportunity to regain his bearings and start up the fight once more.

"What do we do with him?" one of the men asked, and John was a bit more alert as he recognized the Russian. When being chased by a predominantly Russian group, it was rather important to be able to understand the language. John had learned several years ago, but even with this knowledge that the people that had wanted him dead for so long had finally caught up with him John couldn't fight the effects of the drug he'd just been given. His body going limp and eyes growing glassy and glazed over.

"Just kill him. We have who we need." Another replied, and John eventually realized that the Russians were speaking about Moran. It took him longer than it really should have to figure that much out…but he blamed the drugs for that.

"No, Boss doesn't want us to kill him."the third said.

"Fine," the second replied, then the same man switched to English as John was lifted up and tossed over a shoulder. The assassin limp and unresisting. "You will receive your payment soon, Moran."

"Looking forward to it," John heard the mercenary say. Glancing up, through his dim vision he managed to see the mercenary staring right back at him with a smug grin stretched across his lips as the assassin was carried off. John had slumped further against the back of the Russian carrying him by the time they hit the stairs, and he succumbed to the cool darkness brought on by the drugs before they were halfway down.

So…Sorry that took so long. Sorry that's its bad, but I did my best :-P

I am sorry about late updates guys, but I've been so out of it and I've just been struggling with getting the motivation to just right.

Have a good day,

Reaperess ^_^