John woke in a bed. It was a nice change, but it took the assassin several moments to process why he was in a bed rather than tied to a chair in an artificially lit room. Everything came back to him slowly, and once it all clicked he was trying to sit up and figure out where he was. He remembered starting to fall asleep while Sherlock and Jim –he still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact both of them had worked together to get him back—bickered like school children. The assassin glanced around the room he was in, pleased with the cool darkness the room was bathed in rather than bright white fluorescents. His eyes were adjusted to the darkness and after glancing around he concluded that he most definitely wasn't back at 221b. He wasn't in his room (or even Sherlock's, for that matter) and the overly large bed he was curled up in comfortably wasn't his either.

John stretched his limbs and sat up a bit. He promptly ignored how sore and stiff his body was in favor of trying to figure out where he was. This wasn't the same bedroom that he and Jim had used before Mycroft had taken him. True that he'd only seen it the one night, but considering he'd gotten intimately familiar with the bed that night he knew that it wasn't the same one. Which had his mind wandering as he wondered where he was. Jim must have decided to let him stay with him after all. Odd considering how against it he'd been.

He loves you.

A grimace twitched onto his expression for a split second. Of all people to listen to about things like that he doubted that Sherlock would be one of the best choices. Besides, despite the criminal's recent behavior there couldn't actually be a realistic chance that Jim Moriarty loved anyone. Let alone him. Even if the man did love him, what did that mean for the assassin in the first place? He'd already seen what could come out of something like that as Mycroft had been so kind to demonstrate. There was also the question of whether or not John himself even felt anything for Jim. The biggest factor that might have held him back from actually letting himself feel anything for the man was, of course, Sherlock. It would be a betrayal to feel anything for his enemy. Considering that he'd already betrayed the detective enough through everything he'd already done he didn't need to add to the list. Except…Sherlock had been the one that told him that Jim loved him in the first place. When he had the man hadn't seemed necessarily upset about the news, and when he'd learned that John had had sex with Jim already he hadn't seemed upset then either. So was using Sherlock as a reason to keep from feeling anything even a valid excuse anymore?

Not that it mattered, at any rate. John had already concluded that Jim wasn't capable of loving him. A good shag –fantastic, actually—didn't mean anything in the long run. With a sigh, he tried to push the sheer absurdity out of his mind. Instead of dwelling on it all further he focused on the present. He needed to figure out where he was exactly and when he would be able to get back to Sherlock. The assassin attempted to sit up fully, and he groaned under his breath when his head spun with vertigo. He waited for it to pass before attempting to move again. This time he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and get his feet underneath him to stand shakily. It was only then he noticed he was actually wearing clothes now. Simple attire –sweats and a loose shirt. It was comfortable and kept him covered, however, so it was perfectly welcome to him despite the knowledge it meant someone had dressed him while asleep. It would have likely been Jim's doing at any rate, and it wasn't as if the man hadn't already seen everything.

After standing it was much easier for John to get his bearings before padding towards the closed door to the bedroom. The flat was quiet, so he wasn't sure if he should expect to be alone of not. When he made his way into what he presumed to be the sitting room he found that he wasn't alone at all…His host was just asleep. Jim himself was sprawled on a sofa and breathing deeply. The man looked a mess. His normally immaculate appearance was now anything but. Disheveled hair and 'casual' wear. It occurred to John to check the time and he went to a window as silently as he could manage given his past week in Mycroft's hands. It was dark out, and after a quick confirmation of the time he found it was incredibly early. Nearly two in the morning, and it had John silently wondering how long he'd been out for.

A small sound behind him, and John's attention was back on the sofa. Jim had only shifted a bit to get more comfortable. It looked as if the man had fallen asleep on accident, so it wasn't a surprise he wasn't entirely comfortable. Given that he had time to himself and he needed to collect his thoughts anyway, John set about looking around the sitting room silently. The whole setup was so posh it gave him the childish urge to break or steal something. An urge that had him stifling an inappropriate giggle that may or may not have shown he wasn't really in the soundest of mental states. Was he strong? Yes. Had he endured torture once or twice before? Yes…but Mycroft was in an entirely different category. He'd always been tortured for information in the past. Before he'd been kidnapped he'd never actually been tortured just for the sake of being tortured. He didn't really count the run-in with the Russians that had took him months back as being beat was by far preferable to what went on in the god forsaken little room. Just being beat would have been fine. As it were, however, John wasn't 'okay' or 'fine' even if he refused to let anything other than a brave front to be shown to the outside world. All while lying to himself. What else was he suppose to do? Break down in the flat of the world's only consulting criminal? No, he needed to stop being weak and just deal with everything as he always did. Shove it all away and attempt to forget about it.

Shaking his head as if that would help, John padded around the sofa which Jim occupied to find the kitchen. Spacious and well-stocked. The flat, posh as it was, looked lived in rather than the last one he'd been to. It wasn't until he was in the kitchen that he really remembered that he was starving. Quite literally, too. After the week of captivity and not knowing how long he'd remain there he'd just gotten used to the feeling of constant hunger and thirst. Naturally, the first thing he did was get a glass of water and down it. After that he took it slow and was careful about intake so he didn't shock his system. With that out of the way, John made for the refrigerator to root around for something to eat that didn't require much prep as he didn't want to wake Jim…not yet.

In the end he just settled on some crackers and some cheese he'd found. It was meager, but it was still food and to John it tasted incredible. With little left to do, the assassin just settled down at the bar in the kitchen where he sat on a stool. He rested his head on his folded arms and was content to just sit. He didn't feel obligated to think as he knew that would lead one of two ways; Mycroft or Jim. He didn't want to think about either at the moment.

Jim woke with a start before cursing himself. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and as always he was furious with his body betraying him for something so simple and boring like sleep when there was work to be done. The criminal sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair with a grimace before standing. He was then padding into the kitchen with the full intent on getting coffee brewed so he didn't have another incident. He even managed to get halfway through the process before he realized that something was off about his surroundings. Turing slowly, Jim looked to the counter and blinked at the slumped over form of the man sitting at it.

John's back was rising and falling with each soft, deep breath he took as he slept balanced on the stool he was sitting on while slumped onto the counter. The assassin looked almost peaceful. Cute and fluffy rather than the deadly creature he was. Forgetting all about his endeavor for coffee, Jim slunk forward and studied the fascinating sight before him unashamedly. A slightly slack jaw and a face that looked a good five to ten years younger with all the lines smoothed out in sleep. The short blond hair was a bit spiked from being asleep and a grin split Jim's lips as he got the rather abrupt mental image of a hedgehog. Adorable and spiky. Yes, that did suit John Watson. Dark eyes continued their examination of the man's sleeping, unaware form. In the time that the assassin had been in Mycroft's hands he'd lost weight. It was just enough for someone with eyes like Jim to notice. The once tanned skin of John's body had also paled a few shades from lack of exposure to sunlight. A split bottom lip was slowly healing up, and a few other minor lacerations on the face that were minor at best. Jim had seen the worst of the wounds briefly in the car once he and Sherlock had retrieved John, but once he'd gotten back to his flat? The criminal had taken the imitative to further examine the state that John was in.

Severe and heavy bruising littered John's entire torso. The front mostly, but there were signs of the assassin having been held down and lashed across the back at one point. The marks there had needed intensive cleaning as they'd been teetering on the edge of infection, but Jim's meticulous attentions had saved that headache. He doubted that John had even realized that his back was bandaged at all yet, but he likely would. Of course, the man's back hadn't been the only concern. A fractured arm –right and non-dominant. It was a rather straightforward fracture that was hardly the width of the side of a penny and located in the forearm. Jim had wrapped the arm and intended to force John into a sling once fully awake and alert. There were other signs of abuse –electrical burns, lacerations, evidence of water boarding even. It made Jim's blood boil to rethink over every scrape and scratch that marked his assassin.

There it was again. Jim straightened from the crouch he'd slipped into beside John while observing him as his train of thought came to an abrupt halt. The possessiveness he felt towards John was resurfacing yet again. The thing that he couldn't quite explain as it wasn't the same brand of possessiveness that was normally so typical of the consulting criminal. This was different. This was something that had chilled him when he'd first learned that John had been kidnapped, had drove him to seek out the aid of Sherlock Holmes of all people, and had urged him to spend a good hour or two carefully and methodically tending to each of John's wounds while the man slept deservedly.

What was wrong with him?

If he were to listen to Sherlock it was love. The detective was no closer to understanding emotional connections and commitments than Jim or even Mycroft himself. There was no possible way that the Virgin could know that the issue in his and John's connection was love. It was an impossibility for one, wasn't it? He'd had his first kill at the age of eleven, after all. He wasn't exactly the text book psychopath, but he certainly wasn't sane enough to actually be capable of an emotional connection with anyone ever. After John's reaction to their romp before his kidnapping, Jim doubted further that the assassin would be anything but disgusted with the idea of being any closer to him…and why did that hurt?

Frustrated now, Jim turned on his heel and started up his earlier goal to make coffee. He needed the caffeine far more now. There were so many things that couldn't be logically explained, too. All of them regarding his own behavior with this ridiculous matter. It made logical sense that he keep John close until Mycroft lost interest in hunting after him. He had plenty of flats all over London –but he'd taken John back to his primary flat rather than one of his many others. They were in his actual living space. The flat he frequented, worked out of, and primarily stayed in. The last flat he'd kept John in to recover had been one of his nicer one's, but even then it hadn't been the one flat that was the most important in the chain of them. So why had he brought John here? Was it some misplaced show of trust? Security? He'd also left John unrestrained. While it was true that John wasn't in the best of conditions that didn't mean the man wouldn't have been able to easily slit his throat while asleep.

Jim was brought out of his thoughts as the coffee maker gave an obnoxiously loud ding. Grimacing at the unexpected sound, the criminal was quick to shut it off before pouring himself a mug full of coffee. He didn't bother with any milk, sugar, or cream. He merely sipped it black and only minutely cringed as he practically burned his mouth with the overly hot drink. The taste of the black coffee was strong and bitter, but at the moment he didn't mind it. It helped clear his mind and focus him.

"Jim?" At the sound of his name the criminal looked up. John was looking right back at him. Apparently the coffee maker had been loud enough to rouse the assassin after all. The use of his name still threw him off a bit, but it was nevertheless oddly…nice? Hearing it spoken without malice or contempt was new to him still. Yet another oddity that was John Watson.

"Johnny?" Jim returned, a black brow raising. Several beats of silence filled the air and he began to wonder if John was going to say anything else.

Then; "Mind if I have some?"

"Hmm…If you insist." Jim huffed, putting on a show of the act being a complete inconvenience to him when they both knew it was anything but. He slid a mug filled with coffee fixed the way he knew John took it (it was easily deducible, really) and was pleased to find the small smile playing at the corners of the other's lips. Again, an odd feeling and it was all linked to John.

John. John. John.

"Thanks," the man intoned before sipping at the coffee himself without waiting for it to cool. It seemed that they both needed similar things from the coffee, and the thought brought about an errant twitch of lips.

"Of course, John." Jim hummed, and it took several moments for him to understand why he sensed the sudden tension on the other side of the counter. Oh.

"You called me John," the assassin murmured.

Jim nodded once. "Just so."

"You never call me John," he pressed further, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"Are you quite finished marveling over a slip of tongue? I'll be more than happy to continue calling you Johnny, and I plan to already."

Crestfallen expression and silence hidden behind a seemingly innocent sip of coffee. The other's mask had long since slipped, it seemed.

"John," Jim said, purposefully speaking calmly and lowly. One might even say soothingly but he was still Jim Moriarty, and he was not one to offer comfort…Yet he was now, wasn't he? "I do know you better than you'd like…You're putting on a brave front for the world. For me. For Sherlock. You love the danger and adrenaline of what you do, but when it does backfire and something goes wrong you hate to appear weak in the eyes of other's.". John set his mug down and wrapped his fingers around it for what Jim could only assume to be warmth. It was plain to see that he was hitting the nail on the head, and John looked ashamed. Ashamed for weakness. Jim could empathize with the feeling. He leaned forward onto the counter.

"You. Are. Not. Weak." He said, emphasizing each word. "A weak man would have died enduring what you have. A weak man would have given up on his life and let it all go –would have allowed himself to float away like some insignificant piece of trash. You, John Watson, are still alive and kicking. You haven't given up, and you haven't broke."

"Where the hell is this coming from?" John demanded suddenly, and now the mask was reforming as the other's expression was guarded. "All this…sentimental bullshit?"

"Would you rather I toss you to the wolves?" Jim questioned, lips pursing. "You do, don't you? You don't want to think about the possibility that someone might actually care about little Johnny-boy."

"You don't give a damn," John muttered, and didn't that sting.

"No I've only risked everything to go after you, stitched up your wounds, and kept you safe." Jim spat, dark eyes narrowed.

"Careful, someone might say you love me." John shot back.

The words tumbled out before Jim could actually properly and rationally think. "Maybe. I. Do." He hissed, stalking out of the kitchen and leaving the half empty mug on the counter. The tell-tale sound of a stool scraping against the floor should have alerted Jim to the assassin coming after him, but the criminal was far too busy berating himself for saying something idiotic. The fingers closing around his upper arm had him whirling around with teeth bared in a snarl. Eyes cold.

"Best to let me go," Jim spat. "This isn't a game you want to play with me."

"Shut up," John snapped, but his wide blue eyes betrayed him even as his voice was hard and hostile. Jim opened his mouth to retort, but found himself being yanked forward instead. Before he could process what was happening he found lips crashing against his. Demanding and right there. For several seconds Jim tensed further and very nearly threw John back before the very same tension flooded out of his body again. A shameful sound escaped parted lips as he was quickly reciprocating. Deft fingers slid forward, one hand to John's waist and one to the back of his head to slide through short hair and take control of the kiss. He pressed his body forward and used his small height advantage over John to crush his own mouth against the assassin's.

When they pulled away both men were breathless, and neither was willing to go much further away from the point where their lips brushed together. "Actually, I think I want every part of this game." John murmured, and Jim's lips twitched into a smirk.

Hello! So…yeah, that happened. I feel like this was an awful way to end, but it's how it happened. Anyway, I'll be debating adding an epilogue later, there's also that one-shot I promised of the night before John's kidnapped by Mycroft, and of course there's the new fic I'm thinking about writing. So! I ask that those who have stuck with me, and even people who are new and interested, leave me a comment saying what you'd like from me. That epilogue, that one-shot, and/or the new Mystrade fic.

For now, however, I think John and Jim are done and it's time to move on.

Have a good day,

Reaperess ^_^