John was discharged from the hospital two days later. By that time he'd learned quite a bit from Sherlock about what had occurred while he was with the Russians. Greg Lestrade had been hunting him for some time, for one. While it didn't necessarily surprise John that the DI had caught on to his patterns and style, it was a bit interesting to know that he'd never involved Sherlock in his case. Especially considering the genuine magnitude of it because John had been killing targets for some time. That brought him about to the other piece of news though. Sherlock had explained that he'd been hunting a professional killer since the Markstein case, and that while John was gone he and Lestrade had found and apprehended said killer. One Sebastian Moran. Naturally, John had played his part as the concerned friend and thoroughly argued with the detective about how he couldn't go after killers without him all while the assassin silently tried to sort out what was really going on. Obviously Moran wasn't really the killer. John knew that, but he wasn't in a rush to explain that. The last time he'd even seen the man had been when he'd been drugged and kidnapped by the trio of Russians. In such a short time it seemed doubtful that Sherlock would have been able to find Sebastian, and even were he able to there was still the matter of little tono evidence actually being available to point towards the mercenary. Sherlock, however, had made it quite clear that he'd found plenty. Shells from a rifle that matched all of the other cases where was one was used (John's, but the detectives didn't know that), and DNA. Again, John was soon realizing that there was one person in the position capable of carrying out this frame job—which was exactly what this was, really. That person being Moriarty. It seemed that they'd have quite a lot to talk about if John could manage to get into contact with the man.

So far, Sherlock had ironically been rather strict with John's bed rest. Utterly annoying about it all, actually. The gunshot wound was admittedly in a rather inconvenient area of his body. The bullet had been just shy of going straight through several major organs due to the angle of the shot, but it had still nicked a few. The surgery that had needed to be done to remove the bullet as well as fix the damage had been rather extensive, and apparently Sherlock had pestered Mycroft into ensuring that the best surgeons available were working on John during the extensive process. The result being several stitches that needed cleaning and looking after. Because they were on his back John actually needed someone else to clean them for him, and Sherlock had only put up the fight expected of him when prompted to be the one to do so. If only because he couldn't be seen showing too many emotions, after all. Both knew that Sherlock would have done the cleaning no matter what though, so between the detective's constant checks on the assassin's stitches and forcing him to actually follow the rule of bed rest John couldn't actually get to his phone to even attempt contacting anyone else for another week or so after being discharged. By that point he was ready to get out of the flat. To go somewhere. It wasn't as if he could take any contracts given his current condition. He wouldn't be much good at all. Even after he healed he'd have to work himself back up to his top physical condition, and John refused to accept the possibility that the wound could force him into retirement.

It finally came to the point where John was able to receive his chance to spend some time outside the flat, however. John was settled up in his room with his laptop as he searched through some of the feeds his contacts were sending his way. Most of them detailing who was showing interest in the assassin, whether it be positive or negative interest. Hearing Sherlock coming up the stairs towards his room had the assassin clearing out his system memory and quickly pulling up his blog in one window and a news site in another. As per usual, the detective didn't bother with knocking as he took the route of simply walking straight into John's room with only his footsteps for warning.

"I assume that –"

"Sherlock, if you ask about my stitches I will shoot you." John said, not looking up from his laptop. A smirk twitched onto his lips a few seconds later as he was unable to keep a straight face.

"That's both unnecessary and unlikely." Sherlock responded coolly, but when John glanced up he caught the end of an amused look before it smoothed out into the usual mask.

"I don't know about that…" John teased lightly. "I'm fine though, Sherlock. Really."

"Noted. We can move on to other matters then." The detective responded with a nod as he shifted his arms behind his back. John looked up fully at the other's words before slowly closing the laptop. Curious as to what the other as talking about.

"Don't keep us waiting, then?" John prompted.

"It's obvious that the prolonged containment within the flat is going to drive you stir crazy. Typical psychological response, really." Sherlock stated, perfectly at ease as he watched John. "For this reason I've come to the conclusion that now would be an excellent time to visit your sister."

"Visit Harry?" John questioned, eyebrows raising in surprise. He hadn't quite expected that from Sherlock if he were honest. The man was certainly ever changing and interesting. It was probably the reason that John had become friends with the man in the first place regardless of John's own profession as an assassin.

"Yes. You've spoken of how you don't see her often, and that she had hence started to get sober. I think it's best to spend some time of your recovery out of the flat so your wounds may still be properly looked after, but also to rest and lower your rather ludicrous stress levels." Sherlock explained.

"I'll…get in touch with her then." John said, smiling a bit. "Thank you."

"Of course, John." Sherlock replied, brushing off the thanks quickly. "A week or so should suffice, but if more time away is needed I suppose that will be acceptable considering your current state." With that, the detective edged towards the door before finally turning on his heel and walking out with a whirl of his housecoat. He didn't have a case anymore, so it was only natural.

Rather than be pleased with this arrangement however, John was sitting and thinking of how he was suppose to fix this. He didn't really have a sister for one. Or rather, he'd used to but she'd died a very long time ago. Car crash. Drunk driver. Dreadful business. As far as the world knew however, the woman currently posing as Harriet Watson was the real thing and the medical records had long since been altered. He hadn't had contact with the woman in years as she was a contact of his that he trusted above most of his other ones, hence her role of his 'sister'. He wouldn't stay with her though. She had her own things to run. She was more for emergency situations. He could tell her that he was supposedly staying with her and that he'd need her to confirm that with anyone that might try to contact her to ask after him. Other than that John was on his own and would need to find somewhere to stay.

Later that day John had packed a suitcase and was preparing to head off. Having already made arrangements with his 'sister' to keep anyone else off his trail. The taxi driver that pulled up to the flat was more than willing to help John with his luggage. It took John several moments, likely because of the difference in dress and because he simply wasn't expecting it, but eventually as the last bag was stored away John got a glimpse of the driver and blinked.

"What are you doing?" John asked in a hiss, eyes narrowing.

"Hop in, Johnny-boy." Moriarty replied with a grin as he slipped back into the driver's seat. Dressed as a cabbie and doing a rather thorough job of disguising himself. Despite himself John climbed in the back. Moriarty pulling away from Baker Street and into the London traffic with ease.

"Recognize the cab?" Moriarty questioned in a hum after a few minutes. John glanced around, wondering.

"Is…This is the cab Jefferson Hope used." John said. "Right?"

"Yes. Yes it is. Couldn't just let a prop like this go to waste, now could I?" Moriarty replied, and John caught the criminal's grin in the rearview mirror.

"Where are we going, exactly?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Moriarty questioned with a tsk or disappointment. "One of my flats, of course."

"Why?" The assassin had wanted to speak with the man, but this hadn't been quite what he'd had in mind nor had he intended to see him when the assassin was as vulnerable as he was. Though it was fairly obvious that neither really meant the other much harm at this point. John vulnerable because of the bullet he'd taken for Moriarty's sake while the other had ensured his own safety in more ways than one in return.

"I know Sherlock's sending you out to recover. The luggage and all that is a rather large giveaway, really. This in mind, I've decided that you'll be staying with me!" Moriarty explained happily. Almost giddily. Like an over excited child even.

"I—"

"You're staying with me, Johnny." Moriarty repeated. The assassin didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

The flat that Moriarty took him to was different from the other one he'd been in. John wasn't overly alarmed because of that because the man had several flats. This was appearing to be just as nice if not more so than the last one he'd stayed in. Moriarty hadn't needed to take any luggage when they arrived as the criminal had some of his people do it for him. John didn't get a choice in helping or not as Moriarty, the assassin was soon realizing, was worse that Sherlock about the idea of bed rest. Odd as that sounded. As soon as they were in the flat John was being sat down on a couch and told to stay. Leaving a still rather confused assassin to sit in place as he waited for some kind of clarity as to what was going on.

"Shirt off, Johnny." Moriarty eventually sang as he sauntered back into the room with a med kit. "Just going to check your stitches, no need for that look." John slowly peeled his jumper and shirt off in response as the criminal slid onto the couch with him. He positioned John so his back was to the criminal and he felt cool fingers poke at the stitched area curiously. After the other was through with investigating the wound John felt disinfectant gel being applied and then a bandage being applied. The thing wrapping around his midsection which involved getting a bit closer to Moriarty that the assassin would have normally liked. By the time the other was done and packing up the med kit again John was glad to get his shirt back. It still felt off to be in a vulnerable position around anyone.

"Looks to be doing well," Moriarty murmured, seemingly pleased by the fact.

"I'd hope so," John replied as he turned so he could look at the criminal. He'd changed out of the cabbie attire, but only into a pair of nice jeans and a white button up with a collar. Casual clothing for a man that wore Westwood suits, it seemed.

"Someone's missing their contracts," Moriarty taunted lightly.

"Well it is what I do for a living," John retorted.

"It's also how you curb that little addiction you have," Moriarty said, eyebrow raised. He was right of course. John liked the thrill of a contact, of killing, even of being in the same space as James Moriarty. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins because of the danger had always been his addiction. To him it was more powerful than the rush of a high or the buzz from getting drunk.

"All the more reason for me to want it to heal," John stated, but was moving on now that he had the chance to talk with the man. "You framed Moran."

"Told you I'd handled the situation, didn't I?"

"You framed your sniper."

"Yes, I had thought we'd established that by now."

"Why? Because he helped those Russians get to me?"

"Why else, Johnny?" Moriarty questioned, giving John a look. "He defied me and tried to move against me by attacking you."

"Yeah, I understand that." John replied, brow furrowing despite himself as he just tried to understand.

"Obviously I can't very well allow the man to think he can do whatever he likes, and you needed a cover anyway. Little Sherlock was getting closer to you."

"Speaking of, you covered for me…You told Sherlock you'd kidnapped me."

A beat. "Yes."

"You could have easily just let him figure out what I was,"

"You could have let your Russian friend shoot me." Moriarty's response was low. Eyes dark and focused as he took in John. As if trying to figure something out, but not really getting anywhere no matter how hard he tried. The assassin could relate to the feeling.

"Well that'd just be boring, wouldn't it?" John questioned, holding the other's gaze. After a moment Moriarty's lips quirked into one of his smirks.

"Yes, it would be."

Hi! So finally, after sixteen chapters, the Johniarty feels are taking place. I probably should have warned people before, but I am a firm believer (for my own writing) in the gradual introduction to any kind of romance or relationship, especially given these two and the circumstances surrounding them. So thank you for being patient

Also, to those who have reviewed and/or given constructive criticism in the past I really appreciate it. Other writers out there will definitely understand how much it helps if even one person says something about what they're writing. So again, big thanks to you guys for even taking the time to read this fic.

Have a good day

Reaperess ^_^