Sebastian's mind was a whirl of raging thoughts as he left the café. He would find someone else. Someone better. How could he have fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes's friend in the first place? It must have been a fluke, a trick. Either that or he'd been out of his mind. A few rounds of scotch and an easy slut or two and he'd be back to his old self.

He wondered if two pm was too early to start drinking. He couldn't go back and face Jim, so he went and checked out a hotel room, fully intending to have a man in it by tonight. He'd fuck his problems away, and John wouldn't even care. And hopefully neither would Sebastian by tomorrow.

John's mind felt numb. He sat where he was for another minute or two before he silently pushed the chair back. It scraped across the floor, and John fixed his eyes on the floor tiles as he silently walked out. Once back at the empty flat, he traveled slowly to his bedroom, changing into pyjamas before slipping into the covers and curling into the position he'd been returning to for the past several days now. He felt hollow and empty, and for what seemed like the countless time that week, John Watson, army captain and doctor, cried.

The next day, John received a text.

So. How'd things go with Sebby? –JM

I imagine they went exactly how you wanted them to. -JW

Want to get your mind off things? I'm free this evening, and I have a massive collection of booze. Think it over. What does Sherlock have to offer you? Who else do you have left that cares in any way about your well-being? xxx –JM

Don't act like you give a flying /fuck/ about my "well-being". -JW

I'll take that to mean that I'll see you at 8. –JM

John didn't reply, just growled and threw the phone across the room. At eight o'clock, however, he had dragged himself from his room and was knocking on Jim's door, praying to God Sebastian wasn't around.

Jim opened the door with a smile. The lights were low in the house and there was a fire in the grate. Jim had gotten out a few bottles of incredibly nice gin and scotch. "I know you've had a rough day," he said, pulling off John's coat. He could slip into a normal, caring-sounding voice so easily that it was disarming, but his newly caring tone only made John feel uneasy. "Sit down, honey, and I'll get you a drink."

John was sitting in front of the fireplace to warm himself, staring blankly into the flames when Jim returned with drinks.

He thrust a glass into John's hand. "You think what I did was cruel, John, but I only revealed the truth: Sebastian's insecurities about you, his devotion to me...it only took a tiny nudge to expose them. I was saving you pain later on, believe me. Now drink up."

John remained silent. It was Jim who had caused all of this to happen. As John took a large gulp, he wondered about how happy he would be right now if Jim Moriarty never came into existence. No worrying about his friends or family getting killed, no worrying about getting forced into sex again, no worrying about lying to Sebastian. Fuck it. John downed the entire glass, making his throat burn and insides tingle.

"That's a good boy," Jim said, stroking John's back. "Feels better, doesn't it? Numbs the pain." His voice went dark. "Life is nothing but suffering, John, and the sooner you embrace that, the wiser you'll be. Love does not win, and sometimes the dark is the only place you can turn to when everyone else has abandoned you." He gently turned John's face toward him, then stroked down John's cheek slowly.

John continued to stare blankly into the fire, suddenly asking out of the blue, "Why Carl Powers? What did he do that made you want to kill him?"

Jim regarded him with surprised interest for a moment. "He bullied me to no end," he said blandly. "I was ostracized because of him. Believe me, nobody mourned when he died. Nobody in our year, that is."

"He poked fun at you and that warranted taking his life?" John asked, still not turning to look at him.

"It was more than poking fun!" Jim said suddenly, punching the couch in a sudden show if rage and malice that made John flinch. "He beat me. Hit me so hard on the nose that I almost had brain damage. Nobody tries to take away my brain from me. I dream of killing him still. I could kill him in a thousand ways and not get sick of it," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Killing's such an easy thing to do, John, and there are so many ways to get creative about it. It's the getting away with it part that is so very very difficult for ordinary people, though." He took a drink of gin, twirling his glass thoughtfully. "If you tried to kill me, for instance, all it would take would be a flick of a knife, a choke hold, a drop of poison. Even I can't safeguard against everything. But the consequences—would you ever be able to prepare for them? Would they ever be worth the short satisfaction of seeing me dead?"

John glanced over at him and then back at the fire. He didn't know why Jim's rant hadn't scared him. The fact that he had agreed with and understood most of what Moriarty had said chilled him. He grabbed the bottle that was set between him and filled up the glass as he spoke. "They would. Nothing would make me happier than seeing you dead," he replied conversationally as he popped the cork back in to the bottle.

"Then why haven't you done it yet?" Jim asked. "If you're not afraid of the consequences, what on earth is stopping you?" He smiled as John refilled his glass. Good. He couldn't wait to see John drunk.

"I'm not scared of killing, I've done it countless times. After a while, you grow numb to it. The consequences I'm worried about aren't ones that would affect me. They would affect Sebastian and Sherlock. Yes, I would probably be caught and carted off to Pentonville, and as much as living life in a cage wouldn't suit me, there are far worse things in the world." He took another large gulp. Maybe he should just do it. Jim was right, it wouldn't be that difficult.

"How do you know I don't have a system set up where Seb or Sherlock would die if I did? How would you know that you wouldn't die?" Jim looked him up and down. He knew John was tough, but this side of him he hadn't seen before. It was exciting. He wondered what it would be like if he gave John the reigns during a shag. As a masochist as well as a sadist, the thought gave Jim shivers. Still, he thought as he refilled his own drink, John would probably just get puppy eyes again and curl up and away from him, unaware of how a good, violent fucking could turn a bad day around, even when it was with someone you hated. Especially when it was with someone you hated.

"Because you don't. Why would you? You didn't and still probably don't think I'll kill you." He took a sip and held his hands out to the flames to warm them. "Tell me I'm wrong." He looked over at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Jim just smiled at him, his dark eyes dancing in the firelight. "Kiss me," he said. "Kiss me and forget everything. I will eat your rage, Johnny. I will suck it out of you..."

John was horrified by how tempted he was to do it. He just flexed his jaw and looked back to the fire, ignoring him. "I take that as a sign that I was correct." John swallowed and grabbed the glass to knock back the rest of it.

"Mmm, aren't you clever for an orrdinary person," Jim drawled, running a finger down John's ear. His phone rang, and he frowned, then answered it. "You want the day off?" He growled into the phone. "Well, you're clearly drunk right now, so what am I supposed to say? ...Fine, Sebastian, take tomorrow off, but you'll have double the work load the next day." He rolled his eyes and hung up, then smirked at John. "Well, Sebastian's off to fuck someone, apparently. He rented out a hotel room, which means he's getting some arse," he said with disinterest.

John flexed his jaw, but didn't say anything. He felt as if he'd snapped out of whatever weird mood he was in that was partially tempted to do things with Jim—like kiss him when the other had asked. What the hell was he thinking? Jim was the one who was making him miserable. And Sebastian...Sebastian was already moving on. Good. That was good, John told himself.

"More scotch?" Jim offered up the bottle. "Love hurts, don't it, babe?" he said it flippantly, but there wasn't that usual cruel undertone to it.

John glanced over at him and grabbed the bottle, silently poured himself another glass, sipping slowly this time. His head was getting foggy as he stared into the mesmerizing flames. "Why are you doing this?"

"You'll have to be more specific, Johnny."

"All of this! I can't be specific because I mean in general! Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?" John asked, turning almost desperately to Jim for answers. He felt like if he knew the exact reason why this was happening, it'd make him feel better, if only slightly.

Jim considered this for a moment. It was a fair question. Why was he doing all of this? He was a busy man. He didn't usually waste his free time with one other person, even if was to torment him in an entertaining way. It had all started as a way to control Sebastian, he supposed, but why it was continuing, he couldn't say precisely. So he gave John answered that seemed to him the post logical.

"It hurts me, John, to see someone get so bogged down by sentiment that they make such terrible choices. I don't mean fucking the enemy, God, no, otherwise I'd be guilty of that. I mean, allowing yourself to fall in love with the enemy when the enemy is devoted to everything you despise: murder, crime...me. Sebastian's loyalties will always lie with me, John—" He stroked his fingers along the back of John's neck in soothing motions. "It's sheer stupidity, and I cannot abide by stupidity. I also can't kill you without irking Sherlock, and my plans for him aren't ready yet. He stays out of this until I'm ready. That's how this works."

John twitched away from Jim's touch. He'd been wrong—knowing didn't help. Knowing just made things worse. He glared at Jim. "Well, as you clearly know, Sebastian and I aren't together anymore, so why do you care if I do something stupid? Like you said, I'm 'ordinary' anyway! And as I'm sure you know, ordinary people do stupid things sometimes. And since I'm not devoted to you, I don't work for you, we aren't even friends, for God's sake—my life and my mistakes are none of your Goddamned business!"

"Oooh! Johnny gets a bit mouthy when he's drunk!" Jim smiled. "Ask yourself, John…would you really be happier if I left you alone? Say I ignore you from here on out. What will you do then, hmm? Go back to Baker Street, be ignored by the detective, take a stab at dating women again and fail miserably? I can give you what you crave the most. I know why you were drawn to Sebastian in the first place," Jim said.

John scoffed at him. "You have no idea what drew me to Sebastian!"

"Fear. Danger," Jim said. "Correct me if I'm wrong: the final selling point on whether you wanted to meet him or not was that he was an army vet, like yourself. A higher ranking army vet. That's what did it for you."

John gave a disbelieving snort. 'That's absolutely ridiculous!' he retorted, but inside he felt less certain. He had liked that they were both vets, sure, and had already considered contacting him, thinking they'd have things in common, but when he'd found out Sebastian was a colonel, he had felt an unexpected surge of excitement.

Jim smiled as John's face slowly revealed a realization. He smoothly shifted from his seat and straddled John's lap, sinking onto it, and then ran his hands up John's chest, squeezing lightly at his pecs. "You want someone who is above you, John. That's what attracted you to Sherlock, who is intellectually above you. That's what attracted you to Sebastian, who can dominate you in rank and in size. They both give you the fear and the danger that you thrive on. I can give you that, John. The only thing that's stood in the way before now was your fragile, cumbersome heart," he traced a heart shape over John's chest with his finger, locking his dark eyes with John's, daring him to prove him wrong.

John's skin crawled. Jim was telling him things about himself that not even he knew, and it was a bit scary. John pursed his lips as he looked up into Moriarty's deep, dark, soulless eyes. "What's your plan, then? To burn it out of me?"

"Nahh, that's reserved for Sherlock, because he won't realize he has a heart until it's singed away and he's left with a smoking hole in his chest. Your heart is a dripping ruby and anyone can tell. If I tried to burn it, it would just turn to mush. I just need to redirect it and feed it the things it really wants. Not some bony miss to cuddle, or even some warm strong man who you can delude yourself into thinking loves you. I'll feed you on fear and power and the kind of recklessness that will actually get that red velvety muscle pounding with adrenaline. You will feel so...very...alive," Jim said, inching his lips closer and closer to John's.

John could feel his "red velvety muscle" starting to beat faster as Jim spoke. This was dangerous and he didn't want this, but oh, how he did. He kept his eyes locked on Jim's for a moment before they dropped down to his lips. "...You're sick," he whispered.

Jim trailed his lips to John's ear. "I'm right."

John turned his head away, just slightly. His hands tightened on the armrests, his knuckles white. "You're mad." He could feel Jim's heated, dangerous breath against his skin and it sent chills down his spine.

Jim turned John's face toward him. "Yes. And I'm right." He caught John's lips with his and pressed against him, a hand moving to John's throat.