The puppet master was sipping his afternoon tea when Moran so rudely rushed in raving like a wild man.

"They're living together! It's just like normal except worse! If you'd just let me kill them both it would have been so much simpler!" Moran raged, stalking around the room like a caged lion.

"I told you. The timeline would have corrected itself." Apparently Moran was not in the mood for patient apathy. With a growl he overturned the tray that held the puppet master's teapot.

"Fuck the timelines. I want him dead." Moran breathed deeply under the puppet master's judging glance. When he had calmed enough to speak in a normal tone of voice, he stood directly in front of the puppet master, focusing every bit of rage and ferocity into his words. His tone may have been calm but any ordinary person could see the rage seeping out of the seams of Moran like steam. The puppet master was no ordinary man, and it was impossible to ignore the man's attitude problems.

"Calm yourself Moran. You betray your emotions."

"Don't think I don't know who you are. That I don't recognize you." Though calm, the threat implied by Moran's tone was displayed bond and clear across his face. Yes, Moran was quickly outliving his usefulness. And as his most recent outburst showed, he wasn't particularly intelligent. He'd overplayed his hand, but Moran didn't even realize.

"Do not attempt to threaten me. You are my guest. If I wanted I could send you right back to your brooding in that disgusting bar. Is that what you want?" He took Moran's silence as a surrender. "Now, to your original concern. I am in fact aware of the doctor's new living arrangements. But it is far from what they had been or could be. There is more distrust than companionship. And now that I've indulged you, it is my turn. The swimming pool. I assume correctly that yon were the sniper?" Moran nodded. "So now I ask, what was supposed to happen?" Moran took a moment to answer.

"Well, Irene wasn't supposed to call in a favor like she did."

"I have dealt with that. Ms Adler is currently tied up in a fashion to which she is entirely unaccustomed. What else?"

Moran didn't like the man one bit, but he had to appreciate the utter coldness with which he regarded other humans. They weren't people to him. It grounded Moran, brought him out of his rage and reminded him of his goal in the entire exercise. Getting back Moriarty. "Well, we waited for Holmes to contact us and leave, then we snatched the doctor and gave him a bit of a wardrobe makeover. Holmes did exactly what he was supposed to do until he pointed a gun at the damn vest." Moran could still feel the cool metal of the trigger on his index finger, could still see the impossible standoff. Could still remember every detail of Moriarty's face as he watched it for a signal, a sign, anything.

"If I were to arrange it so that you were once again the sniper, could you make certain events would transpire has planned?" Moran nodded frantically without thinking. He was a sniper, the best before he'd been thrown out.

"Just one problem sir." The puppet master eyed Moran carefully. He had a lot of gut, but he didn't know when to quit. "How am I going to get in there? This isn't my universe."

"It may not be your universe, but there is still a you here. Now go shave or do something with that dead rodent on your face. We've got to kidnap you without you knowing it."

He'd been at Baker Street a grand total of five days and already he was beginning to question his sanity is the choice to move in with Sherlock Holmes. For one thing he kept getting mistaken for the man's boyfriend. Not that he had a problem with it. His own sister was with a woman. It was just more than a little unnerving to see how little his new flatmate cared. Not once did he refute the incorrect assumptions of passersby or restaurant staff. And then there were Sherlock's personal habits. John firmly believed that flatmates should know the worst of each other before moving in, but nothing Sherlock had said could have prepared John for the incredibly unique experience provided by living with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock said he played the violin late at night. He'd left out the part where he would not talk for days, then babble endlessly. He'd he on the conch for hours wearing god knows how many nicotine patches on his arms. And he never ate. The first thing John had done was go shopping because the only thing in the flat's fridge was a bottle of mustard and a severed head. Somehow, he didn't think it was exactly edible. The first day he'd been worried, but Mrs. Hudson soon reassured him that this was perfectly normal. As a doctor he'd found it difficult to ignore, but Sherlock had been too busy dragging him around London chasing clues left by a sadistic madman to really focus his attention on the matter. Really he wasn't sure whether he should be more focused on the not eating or the man's incredibly narrow focus on his cases as puzzles rather than as people. It was disturbing really how little regard the man had for human life. But he was also the most interesting man John had ever met. Just when John thought he'd figured him out, there was another facet. It had only been five days but John felt like it had been a lifetime. He found that he didn't have to learn where rooms were. He just knew. He knew where the books were and where Sherlock kept the kettle and tea, the only really edible thing in the entire flat. He just knew.

It was the first real alone time he'd had in five days. Sherlock had gone out without a word. John didn't expect anything else. He'd just tucked himself into the armchair by the unused fireplace and began reading one of the few books he had brought with him. It wasn't anything particularly special, just something he'd picked up for a few pounds at a secondhand shop. He was only a few chapters in when he heard the ring of the doorbell. He stood and placed his book upon the only empty place on the massive book shelf the flat boasted along the wall. It was the top shelf all the way in the corner. In the background he could hear the doorbell again. He reached up and pushed the book into place. Something in the corner of the shelf caught his eye. A camera? He pushed himself up on his tip toes to get a closer look. Definitely a camera.

"What are you?" He reached towards the camera. Suddenly there were hands on his arms pulling him back. A bag was on his head. He struggled, throwing his weight at his captors. There were definitely two. He yelled. One of his legs was being held down. The other was flying wildly.

"Doctor, I would stop struggling if you ever want to see your house keeper. It would be terribly unfortunate for her to walk in right now." John could feel the unmistakable press of a gun on his chest and he ceased his struggling. One of the captors pulled him up and they each grabbed an arm and pulled him down the stairs. His feet dragged uselessly atop the steps. He couldn't tell where he was but he could hear the door shut behind him, could feel as he was unceremoniously shoved into some sort of car. He could hear it drive away. He tried to track where they were as the vehicle turned but he soon lost track.

"Alright doctor, it's time to listen very very carefully." It was the same voice that he'd heard before. It was deep and gravelly. John decided he didn't like it very much at all.