Ain't I a stinker? Leaving you on a cliffhanger like that...I feel okay about it.

Got a Sherlock tee shirt ordered :D I am so excited!

Okay,so back to the actual plot; I love me some 'Moriarty messing with John's head' banter. I've taken artistic license with the geography of 221B Baker Street, moving around furniture and whatnot. So if your really not happy that the sofa's not against the wall, sorry.

This chapter's a little late as I've hit the ground running at college. Lots of very busy stuff going on.

Oh, and anyone who wants to solve the mytery of whatever Sherlock and Ruard got up to in 'The Strange Affair of the Scottish Pumpkin', feel free to write it yourself, I would love to know your theories :) xx
...

'Hello Johnny.' Moriarty smiled.

John froze, the mere sight of the man seemingly knocking all the breath from his body. He hadn't clapped eyes on Jim Moriarty for nearly two years, and certainly wasn't keen on rekindling the acquaintance. He couldn't make a break for the door, who knows what Moriarty could do to the flat (arson in all probability). John's eyes flickered to the telephone, betraying his element of surprise should he try and contact Sherlock. Moriarty tilted his head to the side and fixed him a patronizing stare.

'Would you really risk it Johnny?'

John said nothing, keeping his face blank. Knowing Moriarty, any little sign of emotion on his face, any little tell and he'd use it as some kind of weapon. He kept his eyes on the man who was smiling at him almost genially. Moriarty gestured at the armchair in front of him.

'Take a seat Johnny.'

Yeahright, John answered mentally. When he didn't respond, Moriarty's face lost some of it's friendliness.

'Sit down.' he ordered. Reluctantly, John did as he was told, watching the smile edge it's way onto Moriarty's face.

'There, that's better.' Moriarty beamed, contuiniung his one-way conversation. 'I must say Dr Watson, that eye-patch suits you rather well. I guess Sherlock has a thing for pirates.'

John gritted his teeth but otherwise said nothing. His fingers curled up into tight fists in his lap. Part of him told him that he'd have to speak up soon, or Moriarty could lose his temper.

'How did you get in?' he hissed. Moriarty rolled his eyes;

'Oh please...like Sherlock, I have friends that owe me favours, and one justsohappenedto work in a locksmiths. Isn't that funny?'

'Hysterical.' John hadn't heard anything less funny in his life.

Moriarty frowned slightly at John's less that enthusiastic response. 'You know,' he continued mildly, rubbing his chin 'I was hoping we'd have a nice little chat one day. Last time you were unconsious for a lot of it, and even then it was more along the lines of 'do as I say or I kill you'. But, no time like the present is there?'

'What do you want?' John snapped, the thrill of fear making the fine hair on the back of his neck stand upright. He felt sick to his stomach simply watching Moriarty lean back on Sherlock's sofa, but found he didn't really want to look away. It was like trying to outstare a cobra.

'Don't be rude Johhny.' Moriarty chided sweetly, 'There's a line between being direct and just being mean.'

Gritting his teeth, John magically prevented himself from trying to strangle the man then and there. For a split second he wondered if he could make a mad dash for the door, or if he could call for help. The thought of trying to outrun a bullet quashed the first theory, and fear for their landlady stopped him from trying the other. Maybe he'd already silenced Mrs Hudson in some way? If he'd hurt her, John would kill him, he really would.

'Mrs Hudson?-' he began, but Moriarty cut him off.

'Oh relax, your granny's fine.' He said airily, 'She's down the Post Office. I was careful to make sure we weren't interrupted.'

'You killed that little boy.' John said angrily. Moriarty waved his hand.

'Collateral damage.'

'Why are you here?' John demanded. Moriarty fixed him with a gaze in a way that gave John the uneasy feeling that, like Sherlock, Moriarty had the uncanny ability to read his mind.

'But I do have one teensylittle thing that caught my attention.' Moriarty continued, leaning forward and resting his chin on steepled fingers. 'Just a little itch I need scratched. Word on the street is that Sherlock and you are an item Johnny.'

John's stomach turned to lead inside him. OhGodheknows.

A truly viscious smirk illuminated Moriarty's face and the ghost of a chuckle rumbled deep n his throat. John didn't even open his mouth, but somehow the man knew. This was bad, this was very, very bad. This was 'pack your bags and move to Mexico' bad. Anything he could say or do would condemn them further. But surely staying silent told Moriarty everything he needed to know. The man clapped his hands like a gleeful child, seemingly ecstatic at this new development.

'My my, how exciting...' he purred, leaning backward again. Suddenly he let out a soft chuckle, making John jump.

'Well, there's no accounting for taste I'm sure. Don't get me wrong Dr. Watson, you have your own merits. But Sherlock is a different creature entirely. Truth be told, to my eyes, it's like a panther dating a bumblebee.'

Despite his crippling fear, John felt a stab of annoyance. Bumblebee?

'But I digress,' Moriarty continued smoothly. John felt he couldn't breathe, the once cosy room was now opressive and stifling. Moriarty sighed, apparently tired of his one sided conversation. He leaned forward again, eyes fastened on John's face.

'What's it like?' he asked breathlessly.

John glared; 'What's what like?'

'You know Johnny,' Moriarty hissed softly, eyes gleaming. 'What's it like with him? What's it like when he kisses you?' Moriarty then disregarded personal space entirely and closed the gap between them, inches apart from John's face, an undisguised lascivious look in his eye. 'When he touchesyou?...'

John flinched backward, realising too late he should have gone to the side, Moriarty's hands were now either side of him, blocking any possible escape routes.

'What about when he fucks you?'

'None of your fucking business!' John snapped, giving the man a look of pure poison. Moriarty's eyes widened. 'Oh...you haven't yet?'

John's breath hitched. No, they hadn't. Just his luck, for his boyfriend to have a nemesis with the same magical deductive skills. How could he have given it away?

Moriarty shivered with delight, 'And it is my business Johnny. Verymuch my business.'

For a second the two men stared at each other, John's pulse racing. To his immense relief, Moriarty backed off, releasing him.

'You know, I was just browsing your lovely flat here. I never figured you for one to keep toys in your room Johnny.'

He fished something out of his breast pocket and held it aloft. John could see it clearly between the man's forefinger and thumb. A tiny plastic soldier.

Every muscle in John's body tensed.

'Give that back.' He snarled. A smirk crossed Moriarty's face. He turned to John and held his arms wide.

'Make me.' he purred. 'What's so special about it? It's only a lump of plastic.'

To John, it was not justa lump of plastic. The toy soldier had been given to Sherlock by Anderson whilst John had been unconsious in hospital. Sherlock had then in turn given it to him. There was an unspoken agreement between the three of them that the toy was a good luck charm, a symbol of hope for him. Sherlock had told him to think of it as a symbolic protector, since it had kept watch over John when Sherlock wasn't beside him in hospital, or at night. Moriarty wasn't taking that away from him.

John lunged. A momentary look of shock rippled over Moriarty's face, but was replaced by an ice-cold glare. Snarling, them man grabbed John by his bad shoulder, digging his fingers into the ruined flesh.

The pain was like a bolt of lightning. John instantly dropped to his knees on the floor, his face twisting in a pained grimace. Moriarty brought his face close to John's ear, his breath hot on his cheeks.

'Try that again Johnny sweetheart, and you will severly regret it.' he hissed maliciously. He briefly clawed into the skin, making John gasp with shock. Thankfully he let go, burying his other hand into John's pocket, fishing out his phone but gently placing the toy soldier in it's place.

'You boys break my heart sometimes.' Moriarty said simply, without any discernable emotion. John struggled back to his feet, panting heavily.

'Ok, you have my attention.' he snapped. 'Why are you here?'

'Hmm? Oh, I have a request, an invitation if you will.' Moriarty chirped, the childlike candour back in full force. 'If you'd be so kind to bring Sherlock along.'

John narrowed his eyes, uneasiness clenching at his insides. 'Bring Sherlock where?' He knew he shouldn't rise to the bait, but living with Sherlock Holmes gives you a healthy sense of curiosity. Moriarty smiled broadly.

'I believe you're familiar with the Vauxhall Arches? If memory serves me right you glimpsed my good friend Oskar there.'

John nodded curtly. Oskar Dzundna, better known as The Golem, had escaped him and Sherlock all that time ago in the arches. He'd never seen Sherlock so pissed off.

'Good. Tell Sherlock to meet me there tomorrow night.'

'Or what?'

'Do you want to hear the alternative? It'd include a lot of pain for you and those within a three mile radius.'

John shot him a look of undisguised venom, which failed to receive any reaction. Jim Moriarty was obviously used to people glaring at him.

'So it's settled then.' Morairty trilled, 'You and Sherlock meet me tomorrow night. Vauxhall Arches. I know you won't forget Johnny.'

With that, Moriarty's fingers began flying over the keypad of John's phone. John couldn't see what he was typing.

'What are you doing?' He demanded. Morairty tossed the phone back to him.

'I'd love to stay and chat a bit more Dr Watson. There's so much I'd love to ask you...'

'Get. Out.'

Moriarty pouted, not the reaction he was hoping for. The tip of the man's tongue ran over is lips.

'My my, does Sherlock like it when you take charge?'

John made to physically throw him out, but Moriarty slid out the door, slamming it behind him. John could hear his laughter trail off, it sickened him to the core.

Letting all the air escape from his lungs, John allowed himself to collapse heavily on the sofa. He took several deep breaths, balling his hands into tight fists.

He'd have to comply with Moriarty's request, that much he knew. He couldn't risk the lives of innocent people. But could he lead Sherlock into what was clearly a trap? Leaving Sherlock there was out of the question, he'd rather face an eternity back in the darkness at the mercy of the Sculptor than let Sherlock meet Moriarty undefended.

He glanced at his phone, deciding to inspect the damage:

Messages- Sent
Sherlock:

You should get yourself a boyfriend with thicker skin. This one's a little touchy. M xx

Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

John closed his eyes, mind reeling. Several minutes later, he heard the downstairs door crash open. Sherlock had obviously got the text then.

'John! JOHN?' came the muffled baritone of Sherlock's voice, sounding panicked. The door to the flat swung open as John reopened his eyes and saw Sherlock leaning against the door frame, out of breath. The man seemed to sag in relief to see John unhurt.

'Oh thank God.' he half-whispered, rushing forward. John barely had time to do anything before he was scooped up in Sherlock's tight grip, Sherlock's face buried in the hollow of his neck.

'Are you alright? I ran straight here.'

'Easy, easy...' John soothed, lightly stroking Sherlock between the shoulder blades. 'I'm ok, it's alright.'

Sherlock released him, his quicksilver eyes wide as they scanned John's face.

'Moriarty was here?'

John nodded dumbly. Sherlock frowned slightly, then stood up and crossed the flat in one fluid motion (God he's so bloody graceful). John heard the key in the lock as Sherlock twisted it, sealing the world out.

He turned back to John. 'Tell me everything.'

For a moment John just stared at the floor, his fingers laced so tightly together he felt they might break. Should he tell Sherlock? What would he say? Tell him to run? Or say nothing at all?

He raised his gaze to see Sherlock staring intently at him. A cold wave rolled across his shoulders. He could never hide anything, not even if he tried.

Distantly, he felt his mouth open and before he knew it, everything that happened during Morairty's brief visit tumbled inelegantly out. When he could bring himself to look at Sherlock he was met with nothing but an expressionless mask that seemed to harden ever so slightly when he described them moment he tried to fight back and got his shoulder hurt. Sherlock's expression didn't change when John finally reached the topic of Moriarty's 'invitation', but his eyes took on that sharp quality he got when faced with a challenge.

John hesitated before opening his mouth again, he already knew the answer, but he voiced the question anyway.

'So-So what's the plan?'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, 'Well, I'll go and meet him obviously.'

ObviouslyJohn thought to himself.

'Sherlock are y-?'

'Hey,' Sherlock smiled thinly, 'It's only a chat with our friendly neighbourhood psychopath.'

John heard no humour in Sherlock's voice and met his gaze steadily. The smile was gone, replaced with a steely expression.

'Right,' John said, nodding. 'So that settles it.'

'Right.'

'We'll probably get shot at if we bring the police-'

'Woah, woah, woah.' Sherlock held up a hand, 'We?You're staying here. It'd be safer.'

'Not bloody likely.' John retorted, glaring back. 'If you think for one second I'm letting you go alone your even stupider than you look.'

Sherlock said nothing, but continued to look at John with an almost melacholic resignation on his face. There seemed to be a soft regret in the detective's eyes, as if he wished John wasn't quite so loyal to him. After all, being close friends got John into the horrifying mess with Markin and Sculptor only six month ago. What about now? When they were together? What could happen to him? To them?

'And don't even try to stop me.' John ploughed on mercilessly, 'You know I'll find a way, consequences be damned.'

Sherlock sighed, then leaned in and placed a firm, chaste kiss on John's lips. 'You're reckless.'

'Er, excuse me? Pot. Kettle. Black.' John smiled.

They sat side by side on the sofa, each lost in his own thoughts, feeling the reassuring warmth and pressure of the other next to them. Neither moved for quite some time.

...

First things first; how was Moriarty? I was so terrified I'd get the characterization all wrong, I deleted quite a bit of dialogue just in case he came across as the King of Molesters.

(Just a bit of unashamed fangirling: I SAW RAMIN KARIMLOO IN CONCERT!)

Next chapter: Sherlock finds himself invited to partake in a second 'game', which also holds a nasty shock for John.

Addio my darlings :)