Thank you to everyone who is still here! You readers are the reason we do this :3
btw - In this version, Mr. Hudson was murdered. It'll make sense in this chapter C:
John wakes blearily to the chiming of his mobile, and he grabs at it tiredly. The message wakes him up dizzyingly fast.
Mrs Hudson's back from vacation. Maybe we'll drop by and have some fun ;) Meet us at the flat if you care about the lovely landlady. -JSV
John panics. He looks at the sign off and tries to make something out of it but fails. He sits on the edge of his bed, contemplating whether or not to bring Sebastian.
That problem is solved all too quickly.
Bring any one else... BOOM. -JSV
x
Across London, the three are grinning at each other, knowing John won't resist the invitation. And looking forwards to the fun they'll be having when he's here.
Sherlock rubs his hands together and shuffles a little closer to Victor who chuckles lightly. Oh the look on Johnny's face when he's sees him. He smiles at the thought.
X
John feels his stomach churn. He knows, god dammit, that if he goes, he's likely going to his death. Or worse. But he can't just let them hurt Mrs Hudson. He can't. So he walks down the stairs, shoulders back and jaw taut as he retrieves a handgun. If he's going down, he's bringing at least one of the bastards with him.
Sebastian looks at him sharply.
"Where are you going?"
John curses. He's wanted to leave before Moran woke up.
He manages to keep his tone level.
"Nothing in the bathrooms. Have to go to the store." It's a pitiful lie, but he can't risk bringing Sebastian with him.
Sebastian says nothing although he seems suspicious. That's when John notices how much he was sweating despite the fact that there was no heating in the house.
John knows haw bad nightmares can affect someone and he's suddenly itching to comfort the man, but the silent buzzing of the phone in his pocket reminds him that he can't delay. Not if he wants Mrs Hudson to stay safe. He swallows.
"I'm sorry." And then he bolts for the door.
x
On the other side of London, Sherlock's phone buzzed, he fished it out and smiled.
"He's on his way." Victor smiles in return allowing an arm to slide around his former lover's shoulders, squeezing slightly.
X
The cab ride is silent, and John sets about disassembling and reassembling the gun. The cabbie makes an attempt to protest. The glare he receives makes any noise die in his throat, and he doesn't even bother collecting payment before he drives off, dropping John off at the door to the flats. John takes a deep breath before pushing open the door and climbing the stairs, gun in hand.
Sherlock freezes as soon as he heard John's footsteps on the staircase. John bursts into the room handgun in his palm. He looks around wildly before seeing Sherlock say in his old chair with Jim to his left and another man, who John had never seen before, to Sherlock's right with his arm around the detective's shoulders.
Jim smirks, singsong voice drifting through the flat from where he's sitting in John's old chair.
"Put it away, Johnny boy. We have people who'll take down the old bat before the bullet even leaves your gun. Slide it over." Sherlock snuggles closer to Victor, who is so far simply smirking at John.
John hesitantly puts the gun on the floor and slides it over to Jim, eyes fixed on Victor and Sherlock curled up beside him. He might as well have been sitting on his lap they were that close.
"Who are you?" John snaps at Victor.
Jim picks up the gun with a smirk, twirling it around his finger before pulling out the magazine and tucking it neatly into his jacket pocket.
Victor presses a kiss to Sherlock's curls before gently untwining himself, standing up in front of John. Easily dwarfing him in height.
"Victor Trevor. And you must be John," he says, distastefully. He raises a brow at Sherlock. "He's not much."
Sherlock shrugged and glances at John for only a split second before returning to Victor.
"Guess that's why I chose you and not him."
John physically tenses at the harsh words, staring a Sherlock. The sharp black suit and tie. Hair, short and wild.
A luxurious grin curls Victor's lips.
"Oh, would you look at that. The poor dear is still smitten. How cute." He circles around to behind John, resting firm hands on the man's shoulders. Knows he won't protest. "What do you say we give him a last... meal?"
John gulps, only half knowing what Victor means. He shuts his eyes, hoping Sebastian had found a way to where he was and was ready to gun the bastards down. He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of Sherlock moving to get up.
Jim simply leans back in John's chair, propping up his feet and looking all too pleased with himself as Sherlock stands, the suit somehow making him look taller than usual, though Victor still dwarfs him.
Violinist's fingers come up to trail along John's jaw, down to his throat and then back up before the ex-detective takes John's lips in his own. Victor's hands move to grip John's wrists, pinning them behind his back.
John tries to fight Sherlock but God he's wanted this for so long. He leans into him but just as he pushes toward Sherlock, Sherlock pulls away. He lets one of his hands trail across the doctor's chest and hips.
There's no love in the man's gaze. No affection. Just the cold curiosity John knows so well from watching Sherlock examine corpses and interrogate witnesses. And he realizes with a sickening lurch that he's become an experiment. Worthless but for the man's temporary amusement.
"Sh-Sherlock, please-"
He trails off. He doesn't know what exactly he's asking for.
Victor squeezes and lowers his lips to beside John's ear.
"Please what? There's something that you must understand Watson. And that's Sherlock's mine now. He chose me. You see him fighting for your freedom? He saved your life and you didn't seem to care. You said it yourself."
John shudders and looks away, jaw working convulsively.
"Sherlock, listen to me, alright? He beat you. He hurt you, which is something I have never done, and would never deliberately do. Moriarty? He tried to kill you. Think about what you're doing, Sherlock."
At this point Jim stood up and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist.
"And yet, you left him for dead when you knew he was going to be harmed." Jim shrugged and looked at Victor. "Let him go. Let Sherlock decide."
John wrenches his wrists away, hesitantly reaching for Sherlock's hands.
"Sherlock, please. Please just think for a moment. You don't seriously believe I left you there? I left for reinforcements, Sherlock, and you know that was logical because I was outnumbered. I would never leave you like that, Sherlock, I promise, but look at who you're with. The bastard who kidnapped you in the first place and the man who broke your heart and beat you in Uni."
Sherlock tore his hands out of John's.
"If you were leaving for reinforcements then why didn't you come back? I gave you a chance John. I waited and you never arrived so now I'm with the people who are there when I call."
Sherlock stood away from John and walked back to Victor, wrapping his arms around his waist.
"I was trying, Sherlock! People were sent in to help you! Try and negotiate, because it was a fucking fortress. And you and him," he snaps, glaring at Moriarty, "shot them. You killed your own brother, Sherlock, the only damn person who could pull any strings for you! And Greg is bedridden and can hardly fucking walk!"
Jim just clapped his hands together. "Johnny Boy's getting angry now things aren't going his way." He laughed. Sherlock said nothing, gripping Victor's jacket tightly.
Victor smirks, sickly sweet, at John, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's head.
"Shhhh. Don't let him upset you," he murmurs. Jim smirks, sidling up behind the doctor. "You've been replaced, Johnny boy."
Sherlock buried his head in Victor's chest, inhaling the man's familiar smell. It hadn't changed since university. Like chocolate and orange. He risked a glance up and saw John staring at him, shell shocked.
John snaps. "Sherlock! Who the hell was there for you for the past 6 years? The first 3 years of crime solving, then you going off and playing dead- who mourned for you? It wasn't these bastards! And then you came back and I forgave you! I lo-"
He cuts himself off before he can say something to provide even more leverage.
Victor lifts his lips from Sherlock's head and smiles.
"What was that Johnny?"
John clenches his fists by his sides' and bites the inside of his cheek.
"I love you," he finally forces out, gaze lifting to look at Sherlock, jaw working. "Please don't do this to me, Sherlock."
Sherlock says nothing for a while.
"Well you should have thought of that before. I'm sorry John. Now go."
Being shot had hurt less than those 3 little sentences, and John feels something crack, eyes falling shut. Jim hums, smirking at Sherlock over John's shoulder.
"Oh, darling. Let's not leave him... unsatisfied." His smirk turns coy. Sexual.
Sherlock peels his hands away from Victor's jacket and turns to face the doctor. He sees Jim behind him and immediately plasters a fake smile across his face. He begins walking forwards and John squirms uncomfortably.
John shudders as Jim's fingers reach around him to slip beneath the hem of his jumper and tug it off smoothly, realizing with sickening clarity exactly what is about to happen.
Sherlock tugs on the buckle of John's trousers sliding the belt out of the loops and wrapping it around John's hands. Tying them together. Behind them Victor sits in Sherlock's chair, crossing his long slender legs and John can't help but mentally curse because Victor was the complete opposite of him. The two couldn't be more different.
A new thought enters his head, unbidden, and his stomach turns miserably. Maybe Sherlock never actually cared about him. Maybe he was just an experiment. A replacement for the skull, but otherwise useless. He doesn't even attempt to struggle as Sherlock and Jim get to work stripping him, feeling his throat close up in a mixture of sadness and betrayal.
John swallows hard and something sharp bites into the back of his thigh. Blood begins to run and John snaps his head around and squirms.
"It's no fun if you don't struggle." Jim laughs with a bite.
John hisses.
"I'm not here to be a fucking show-pony. You want to have fun, fine, but don't expect me to take a voluntary part in making any of you bastards entertained."
Jim pretends to be hurt.
"Ouch. That hurt Johnny." The knife dug again making John squirm involuntarily again.
Meanwhile Sherlock hooked his fingers around the waistband of John's trousers and pulled them down sharply. Victor had got up and left the room returning with and old woman blindfolded, of course, in tow.
John blanches immediately, jerking against their grasps with a livid snarl.
"No, don't you dare touch her. You said if I came you would leave her alone. I'm here," he hisses. "Let her go. She isn't part of this."
"John is that you?" Mrs Hudson's weak voice sounded strained and panicked. Victor was stood behind her, forcing her to sit down in John's old chair. Facing John, of course she didn't what was happening to him.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, it's me," he says, glaring viciously at Victor and wishing looks could actually kill. "Leave. Her. Alone," he snarls angrily, hissing in pain as the knife cuts into him again. "I'll be your bloody entertainment, but let her go."
Jim looks at Victor and nods. John smiles thinking he's won but Victor didn't let Mrs. Hudson go, instead he cut through the blindfold and the fabric fell to the floor. Leaving John's body in full view.
John isn't embarrassed for himself, per se. The army kind of cured him of any self-consciousness in that regard. But he doesn't want Mrs Hudson to see this, so he glares at Victor.
"If we're going to be doing this, it'd probably be easier if we were in the bedroom."
Victor just smiled.
"Oh no!" He trots over to the windows and throws back the curtains. "Much airier in here. Lighter." His voice just sounded like velvet, soft and smooth. John could feel Sherlock go weak beside him, slightly scared on why the man's presence and even his voice affected him so much.
John lets out a weary sigh.
"Just put her in another room, please. I'll do whatever you want me to; just don't make her watch this."
Victor looked at Jim but the criminal shook his head.
"Keep her there." He turned back to John. "This going to be so much fun."
Mrs. Hudson has been sitting quietly up until this point- save the few seconds when she'd first seen John's... state. But she'd looked around and kept careful watch on the situation, and determined exactly what was going on. So she meets John's eyes for the quickest of seconds- reassuring- before yawning and suddenly bringing the heel of her foot up to connect with the criminal's skull in front of her. He drops like a stone, and suddenly the gun and magazine he'd had in his pockets are in the hands of Mrs Hudson and aimed straight at Victor.
Victor froze; he glanced at Sherlock who stood away from John and in front of Victor, placing himself between the gun and his lover.
"You're going to shoot me, Mrs Hudson? After everything we went through?"
John blinks incredulously at Mrs Hudson as he pulls back up his trousers, walking over to the fireplace, which was almost never on, and pulling the gun he'd hidden inside the bottom of the chimney- unbeknownst to Sherlock- out and aiming it at the criminal, still smiling a bit at Mrs Hudson.
The woman glares at Sherlock, still unknowing of his previous kills.
"Sherlock Holmes, I wouldn't shoot you. Normally. But this isn't you, and he certainly isn't you, so I suggest you leave before I pull this trigger regardless. I love you like a son, Sherlock, but by God, I will kill you if you make me."
Jim was now back on his feet, stood beside Victor with Sherlock still in front of the gun.
"Obviously you haven't heard the news? Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper is dead by Jim's hand and Severin Moran and Mycroft Holmes are dead by mine. You think I won't hesitate to give the order that allows eighteen highly trained snipers to open fire? Then you're wrong."
Shock registers for a split second on her face before she wipes it away, though she's clearly upset.
"Is that the case, John?" John nods, and her jaw sets angrily. "Well then."
Her finger tightens on the trigger and Jim drops with a shout of pain, a bullet through his knee.
Sherlock wonders if he should move but with John's gun now trained on him and Victor, he wasn't going to risk it. If Mrs. Hudson could shoot someone then so could John. He backs up until his back is against Victor's chest. Victor wraps his arms around Sherlock, pulling him closer.
It's John that fires the next bullet, face impassive. Said bullet buries itself in the skull of a shrieking consulting criminal.
The shrieking stops. And John watches the blood of the now-deceased James Moriarty spread across the floor.
Mrs. Hudson aims at Victor.
"Get. Out."
Sherlock stares at Jim for a while. Victor untangles himself away from Sherlock and walked towards the door. Sherlock makes a move to follow him, eyes still on the dead criminal on the floor. Victor grabs his hand and pulls him out the doorway and down the stairs. John hears the front door open then close. He walks over to the window, gun still in his hand, and watches the two of them walk away, hand-in-hand and can't stop the pang of jealousy in his stomach.
Mrs Hudson falls into the chair, setting down the gun and shaking slightly. John sits next to her and pulls her into a hug, trying to calm her down as best he can. He knows how upset she is that Sherlock has changed- he feels just the same. His voice is soft.
"Mrs Hudson, clearly you aren't safe here. We have a safe house, and you need to come with me, okay?"
John helps Mrs Hudson down the stairs.
"Anything you wanted to get from your flat first? We probably can't come back for a while."
She shook her head.
"I'll be fine. Come on." The two walked out of the front door and hailed a cab. The ride back to the house was quiet and neither person said a word. After paying, John stepped out the cab, helped Mrs Hudson out then led her up the steps to the main doors.
In the living room Sebastian was still laying down on the sofa eyes closed at first but sitting up as the two people came inside.
Sebastian flits his gaze between the two, nodding cordially at Mrs Hudson; he put two and two together and swung around, shooting a half-glare at John.
"You went to the flat? Without backup?"
John nods. "Jim's dead."
Sebastian face looks torn between being upset and jumping for joy.
"And Sherlock, is he alright?" As much as he wanted too, he couldn't hide the concern in his voice.
John nods.
"Yes. He's alive. He's with Victor, though." He's of the opinion that Victor is someone he would like to personally shred. "Hopefully, with Jim gone, Sherlock might be able to get some sense into himself."
Sebastian doesn't seem so sure.
"If he's already at a certain point, there's no helping him."
John sighs.
"We can at least hope that maybe he'll snap out of whatever the hell Jim did to him." He shrugs a bit. "Anyways, we need to find room for Mrs Hudson."
Sebastian smiles at the old lady, John could see the warmth in the expression and wondered what lurked behind it.
"Take my room, I'd feel happier down here where I know there's a gun if I need it."
She smiles at him brightly.
"Oh, hello dear. I haven't seen you in a while," she says, walking over to Sebastian and pulling him into a hug.
John blinked.
"Am I missing something?" He laughed and looked between the sniper and his landlady.
Mrs Hudson laughs a bit, pressing a kiss to Sebastian's cheek (much to the sniper's laughter.)
"Sebastian here is my ex-husband's son," she explains, smiling before turning back to the sniper scolding. "You never wrote me, Sebastian Moran."
Sebastian puts up his hands in mock surrender. "Things went downhill a lot after you split from Dad. I tried when I was abroad but when I was forced to start working for Jim, I didn't want to make you a possible target and end up like Severin."
He grows quiet towards the end of his little speech.
She claps a hand over her mouth before sitting down next to the sniper, pulling him close.
"Oh, you poor dear. Severin too?" She lets out a sad sigh, almost in tears herself before she pulls it together. "Who did it?"
Sebastian allows himself to be pulled close to Mrs Hudson.
"Sherlock." He hisses. "The bastard put an air bubble in his IV. He had a seizure. I was there with him when he died."
He lowers his head.
She sighs heavily.
"Oh, sweetheart. You know he isn't in his right mind, not that that excuses him." She rubs his shoulder soothingly. "It's okay, dear. I'm sure he's in a better place."
Sebastian licks his lips, shakes his head and quickly pulls himself together, sighing as well. He looks up at John.
"What now?"
John opens his mouth to talk before there's a sharp rap on the door. In seconds, everyone in the room has a gun aimed as John walks over to the door and opens it.
He curses and stumbles back at someone who looks eerily similar to Jim. Not quite twin-level. But oddly close.
John raises the gun in front of him, tilting his head at the newcomer.
"Who the hell are you?"
Sebastian pales but holds his rifle as steady as always.
The man sighs and leans against the door, voice a gruffer version of Jim's Irish drawl.
"You going to let me in, Sebastian, or are you planning on leaving an old Army mate out in the cold?"
Sebastian looks at him sharply, lowering his rifle but keeping his finger on the trigger. He gestured for the man to enter.
"You try anything and we will not hesitate to shoot you James."
His eyes narrow marginally as he casts a look around the room, stepping inside and giving Sebastian a long, considering look.
"Who killed him?"
John hadn't lowered his gun and looked at the man, face emotionless.
"Depends who's asking."
He turns, looking the short blond over quickly before tilting his head.
"Colonel James Moriarty, previously of Her Majesty's Army," he replies coolly, unfazed by the guns.
John curses but his gun hand still hadn't wavered.
"How'd you hear so quickly? And how did you know where we were, this is a safe house for a reason."
A small smirk taints his features as he looks down at the significantly shorter man. Apparently he was far taller than Jim.
"Well if I told you that, you'd try and fix it." He glances over at Sebastian, cocking a brow in John's direction. "He did it, didn't he?" It's less of a question than a semi-amused statement.
John freezes, tensing up and James can sense it a mile away.
"Where is he?"
James lets out a soft snort.
"You shot him in the head, mate. He's quite dead, I assure you." He glances down at the gun. "Put it away, son, you don't need it. I'm actually rather impressed.
"Why should you be impressed that I killed your brother?"
John lowers the gun but like Sebastian keeps his finger on the trigger.
"Because no one else has been able to with that little army of his," he replies simply, walking over to one of the armchairs and sitting down, looking between Sebastian and John with an expression of entertainment. "I'm unarmed; if that makes you two feel any better."
"It doesn't." John shot back. "Why are you here? It sounds like you wanted your brother dead."
He laughs at that, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. Apparently cockiness is a trait the pair shared.
"I didn't want him dead, per se. But I don't particularly mind. Knew it was bound to happen sooner rather than later." He shrugs. "Congratulations. One down, three to go."
"Three? What are you talking about?"
John hated knowing so little about this man although it was clear Sebastian knew him, of sorts.
James raises a brow, glancing over at Sebastian.
"Never told you, did he?" he asks needlessly, a grin playing across his lips.
"Stop talking in fucking riddles and tell us then." Sebastian's fists curled, gripping his rifle tighter.
He sighs, waving a hand.
"Yes, fine. Impatient. There is- was - four of us. Siblings. James, James, James, and Richard. I'm the eldest, then Jimmy and Richie- twins, of course- and then James." He smirks. "Da was terribly uncreative with names. Or, the more likely explanation, he was hoping one of us wouldn't be a disappointment."
"Where's the other two?" John snapped. If there were still three more Moriarty's then there was a chance one of them could rebuild the web and that meant huge trouble for both them and Sherlock. "Could one of them rebuild the web?" He glances at Sebastian and Mrs. Hudson. "Assuming Sherlock and Victor won't take charge."
James seemed to flinch and growl at Victor's name.
James scrubs a hand irritably through his hair.
"I told him to knock that bastard off when he had the chance," he mutters irritably before snapping back to the present. "Hypothetically we could, yes, but I have little interest in taking care of that hellhole, and James is a Stationmaster in Brighton. Married. He has no idea what the hell Jimmy's been doing up here." He turns to Sebastian, grinning. "And you already know Richie. Intimately. Not that you knew that, of course. They made a game out of you. Playing each other and switching back whenever the fancy struck."
Sebastian ignores him, although he mentally shudders. John doesn't feel any better in James' reluctance to take over.
"You knew Victor? He's played up in the past?"
James nods.
"Yeah, he has. Slimy little fucker. Sucking up to whoever he thinks is important and then throwing him under the bus."
Sebastian looks up.
"He was planning to overthrow Jim?"
"Sebastian, half of the Empire was planning on trying to overthrow him. Be the coup of the century, certainly," he retorts. "Yes. Jim didn't see it, though. Or thought Victor didn't have the balls. Either way, doesn't matter. Victor will certainly try to take over now."
"Along with Sherlock. You think he'll do it?"
Sebastian asks and James nods grimly then links his finger together.
"Who's this Sherlock fellow? He seems interesting."
John frowns deeply.
"He is- was- a detective. My best friend. Jim kidnapped him and tortured him, and now he's every bit as psychotic as your damned brother was."
Sebastian nods.
"He killed Severin."
James' looked shocked for a second then his face broke out into a grin.
"Jesus. Though, in all fairness, Sebastian, that was going to happen sooner or later. Severin, I mean. To be totally honest with you, I'm surprised Richie hasn't been murdered yet. He's such an easy target."
Sebastian brought his gun up sharply, looking like he was about to break James' neck.
James rolls his eyes.
"Oh, please, Sebastian. Jim was already planning on killing him anyways. Save your bullets," he drawls, leaning back and looking more or less unconcerned. Contemplative. "Actually, Richie will probably try and take over as well as Victor. That'll be a hell of a show," he muses.
"Is Victor and this Sherlock character together?" James continues, enjoying the look on both Sebastian and John's faces. "I'm guessing each of you have had a history with this so called detective, judging by your need to spill Trevor's blood."
He laughs, leaning back into the chair.
John growls.
"I already told you we were best friends. He made perfectly clear that that was all."
Sebastian says nothing.
James notes Sebastian's silence and laughs. "Cat got your tongue?"
John glares at Sebastian angrily, seeming to forget James.
"You fucked him?! While he was being tortured by your fucking employer?"
James looks very much like he wants a bag of popcorn.
Even Mrs. Hudson looks shocked. But Sebastian still stayed silent.
John stalks over, grabbing Sebastian by the collar.
"You fucking took advantage of him, you piece of shit," he hisses, enraged.
Sebastian drops the gun as John grabs him. James is practically jumping up and down in the armchair in excitement. He picks up one of the apples from the bowl beside him and bites into it.
"My bets are on the doctor."
John shakes Sebastian when he gets no reply, perilously close to punching the man.
"Answer me, you pathetic-"
Sebastian's reply is icy.
"It's hardly my fault he picked me over you."
Mrs Hudson squeaks in alarm.
James giggles. He wriggles in his chair.
"Ooo, Jimmy would love to see this." He laughs again watching the two blonds; it's obvious that Sebastian is all around larger and stronger but this little doctor seemed pretty worked up.
James seems to be forgotten in the rapidly rising tension, and he takes another bite of the apple as the situation escalates.
John looks hurt, for a moment, almost like he's been stabbed, before he snarls.
"He didn't choose you. He was being tortured. You raped him," he snarls, a fist slamming into Sebastian's cheek.
"He made no attempt to stop me. Cheering me on almost."
Sebastian growls, flipping one of his legs outwards, kicking John's legs out from under him. John stumbles back letting go of Sebastian, the sniper struggled back and leaned on the edge of the sofa.
John glares.
"Of course he didn't try and fucking stop you, because you're just as bloody PSYCHOTIC as Jim was! He was already raped once by Jim, and fighting nearly killed him. Of course he didn't fight you! But then, you're just desperate for someone to actually want you, aren't you, because clearly Jim used you for nothing."
Sebastian steps forward, bloody cheek forgotten, swinging his fist in a large circle. The edge of his knuckles crack into the side of John's skull, momentarily dazing him.
"Don't you fucking dare compare me to him. I wouldn't hurt Sherlock intentionally ever. Are you forgetting that that was the reason I was in hospital to begin with. I was stabbed by Jim for trying to help him as well as being beaten black and blue myself."
James giggles, making no move to break it up whatsoever.
John staggers, head spinning from the force of the blow.
"Oh? You certainly didn't seem to give a damn when you brought him in," he retorts. "You're the one who gave him to Jim in the first place, or did you forget that in your little delusion."
"I had nothing to do with Sherlock's capture. You seem to forgetting that even though you're the one who saw them." Sebastian snaps. "Are we really going to do this now?"
James grins, taking another bite of his apple.
"Oh, no, boys, don't stop on my account," he singsongs, sounding remarkably like Jim.
John glares at Sebastian.
"You think when all this is over, he's going to come running back to you?"
James makes a point of crunching a bite particularly loudly, a smirk curling his lips as he raises a finger.
"Well, e' isn't coming back to you, darlin'."
John suddenly turns on him. "Oh, and you'd know?"
He smirks.
"Ah, yeah. You're going to have to kill him anyways. Or he'll do it himself. Either way, neither of you is getting him. Unless of course you two want to go and get involved with criminals. Again," he says with a significant glance at Sebastian as he crunches down.
"Also killing Trevor won't help, that'll only make him mad and probably kill you as well. Probably be best to leave them be." James shrugs.
John turns sharply on his heel and walks upstairs, needing to distance himself from the situation, and James just looks smug.
Greg looks at John as he storms in.
"I heard shouting, what's happening down there?"
"Jim's brother is here, and Sebastian is a fucking dick," he snaps, scrubbing a hand through his hair and only just realizing that he still has his gun.
Greg sighs.
"What'd he do? And Jim has a brother? Where's he and Jim now?"
"He fucking had sex with Sherlock while he was being tortured. And Jim's dead. I killed him."
"Shit John. I heard Mrs. Hudson, is it safe to leave her with Moran?" Greg tries to sit up, hissing.
He snorts.
"Apparently she's his stepmom," he replies, agitated. "And James is just as much as a fucking ass as his brother."
"Okay, what's he done? And that thing with Moran and Mrs. Hudson? Seriously?" Greg chuckles a touch.
John snorts.
"Yes, actually." He waves a hand. "He's just being a cocky bastard and flinging around information just to rile us up."
"Your cheek's bleeding. I'm guessing that was Moran."
John sighs, bringing a hand to his cheek and only just now noticing the blood.
"Yeah. Packs a punch."
"He's a big fella. Still, him and Sherlock?" Greg shudders slightly.
"I know!" he exclaims, shaking his head. "He took advantage of him and now he's acting like he bloody cares."
"Has it ever occurred to you that he might? He was being beaten shitless for it by Jim." Greg tilts his head.
John snorts irritably.
"Oh, not you too."
Greg puts his hands in the air, wincing lightly.
"I'm only saying John."
John groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
"He raped Sherlock. What he did afterwards doesn't cancel that out."
"Hmm, did he actually say that he slept with Sherlock specifically? Maybe you're jumping to conclusions here, John. You're worried about Sherlock."
Greg tries to reason with him knowing full well that if he could kill Jim he could easily kill Sebastian.
"No, but he didn't try to defend against it and pretty much acknowledged that he did it." He knows exactly what Greg is trying to do, however, and attempts to calm down a bit.
"The last thing we need is tension among us here. We're pretty much facing the end of the world without Mycroft here. With Molly and Severin gone, they're homing in John. Soon there's going to be nothing we can do but watch." Greg laid his hands in his lap and tilted his head to the doctor. "Go back down there and get this sorted out. And be careful, it sounds like James is trying to break us up like this." He shot John a stern father like look until John turned and walked down the stairs.
James is in the kitchen at the microwave, and as John comes down he pulls out a bag of popcorn, grinning at him. Sebastian's face is stormy as John comes down.
James walks back into the front room and sits back down. John hisses through his teeth.
"You never actually mentioned what you're doing here."
James grins.
"Just havin' some fun. And I'm all out of popcorn," he deadpans, vaulting over the back of the couch and plopping down on the cushion.
John glares at the Colonel for a few seconds before looking around the room.
"We need a plan. They're picking us off one by one. It may slow down now Jim's out of the equation-"
"Don't think so." James said in that singsong voice of his.
James munches down, smirking.
"Richie or Victor- or this Sherlock character- are going to come after you full force now. The Empire is international. Nowhere to hi~ide," he sings, popping back a mouthful.
John pales, even Sebastian's mouth hung open for a few moments.
"There has to be something we can do."
James snorts.
"Even if there was, what gives you the idea that I would help you?" he asks, swallowing down yet another mouthful.
He hums a bit, seeming to consider it.
"Bragging rights aren't quite enough, I don't think."
"Well then what is it that you want?" Sebastian snapped.
Silence, for a few moments as he contemplates, before he breaks out in a grin. "I want Sherlock."
John shakes his head almost immediately but it's Sebastian who speaks.
"What would you want with him? You hardly knew who he was an hour ago."
James shrugs slightly.
"Doesn't really matter, now, does it? I'm the only one who has the information you need. You don't have much choice, way I see it."
"We're not agreeing to this until you tell us why you want Sherlock." Sebastian put his foot down and stood up straight, back tensed.
James smirks.
"I don't see why it matters. You two were planning on killing him anyways," he drawls, popping back a mouthful.
Sebastian's lips curls into a snarl.
"If and only if it came to that." He pauses before carrying on, tone a lot more threatening than last time. "What do you want with him?"
James hums, standing up and setting aside his bowl. His height matches Sebastian's almost exactly.
"Mm, I don't know. He must be gorgeous if both of you are this in love with him."
Mrs. Hudson, all but forgotten, squeaked slightly as Sebastian stepped forward and went to swing his fist into his neck or head. James twisted himself and caught Sebastian's fist in his hand.
"Not wise." He growls, twisting Sebastian's wrist.
He moves his leg carefully, flipping Sebastian over onto the coffee table in what seems to be an effortless move, slipping the gun from the man's holster and cocking it, aiming at John- the only other person in the room with an unrelinquished weapon.
"Here I thought we could play nice."
Sebastian groans in pain as pain shoot up his back. He hears a click and looks up. Not only does James now have a gun in his hand but so does Mrs. Hudson. She'd scooped up one of the handguns that had been knocked off the table and now had it firmly in a two handed grip.
"This is for hurting my boy." She swings the gun sideways; the butt of the gun hits James' right temple and he staggers sideways.
James lets out a pained groan, moving quickly to haul Sebastian up onto his feet, keeping his back pressed against the older Moriarty's front, carefully pinning his arms behind him and pressing the muzzle to his forehead.
"Put them down. I'd hate to get blood all over your lovely new place."
"Shit." John mummers. "Should have guesses that you were just as slippery as your brother."
He lowered his gun to the floor and kicked it away from him.
James looks expectantly at Mrs Hudson, knee digging up into the sniper's back and earning a pained hiss.
He smiles pleasantly and releases Sebastian, honestly more or less unconcerned.
"You'd do well to remember that if you kill me all of you are going to be picked off like fish in a barrel," he notes as he tucks the gun into his own waistband.
"As you've already made very clear." John hisses back, watching as the Colonel made his way back to his chair and picked up his bowl again.
James smirks.
"I do hope so," he drawls, grinning in a friendly manner at Sebastian. "No hard feelings, mate," he hums, digging his hand into the bowl once again.
Mrs Hudson had stepped forward and was fussing over Sebastian, making sure his back was okay. He waved his hand trying to get her to stop. John looked and James then at Sebastian.
"Did you to used to know each other?"
James answers before Sebastian can.
"Oh, yes. We were both Colonels. Two rival squadrons. Of course, he got dishonourably discharged a few years before me, so I daresay that rivalry should be all but gone now."
"Dishonourable discharge?" John stared and Sebastian. "What for?"
James just smirks, enjoying the growing tension between the two.
Sebastian glares. "Nothing important."
James tuts. "Don't lie now, Sebastian."
Sebastian shoots James the sharpest glare he could muster. His discharge from the army was one of the lowest points in his life. One of them.
"Rather not talk about it."
James rolls his eyes, and gestures at Sebastian.
"It's where he got his nickname. The Tiger."
John shifted his weight but said nothing, waiting to see if James would continue.
Sebastian lets out an almost inaudible snarl as James continues.
"Half of it was the poaching."
"Poaching? Animals?" John looked as Sebastian, half expecting the sniper to answer the question but James cut in.
He hums.
"To start, tigers. And then when that started losing appeal, his hunting groups," he says, waving a hand a bit.
"I thought your battalion was killed in a bomb explosion?" John paled. James just laughed.
"Is that what he told you? They did, sweetheart, but it wasn't by accident," he singsongs, ignoring the murderous glare he receives from Sebastian.
"You murdered your entire squadron? I thought punishment for that was death not discharge!" John was outraged. It wasn't that Sebastian lied to him; it was that he'd killed fellow soldiers. Innocents. They'd been over there fighting for their country only to be blown up by some poacher who got bored.
Sebastian says nothing, though he's clearly growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation.
James nods along.
"Yes, it is. But Jimmy was already verrrry interested in Sebastian here, at that point, and he made some arrangements for the usual punishment to be overridden."
John shoots another glare at Sebastian.
"So you got away with murdering an entire squadron of innocent soldiers. Must have worked out pretty well for you."
He leans back watching the two men stare each other before crunching down and breaking the moves to lay down on the couch, bowl set aside in its now-empty state.
"So I'm assuming since you two let it go so easily, I get Sherlock?"
It's obvious John wants to protest but sighs and hangs his head.
"You're sure you can help us?"
James nods.
"Then okay."
Hope you all enjoyed that :3
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