Dedicated to: Recividism
Summary: John and Sherlock have met before.
John dressed in last night's clothes, mentally thanking the stranger -no, Sherlock- for showing him a whole new world, opening up his eyes before he left for the army. Scribbling a note down, he placed it on the nightstand. Hesistating a little, he combed back the brown curls and pressed a kiss onto the forehead.
Unbeknownst to him, an icy-blue eye peeked out from beneath the covers, watching his form close the door gently. Yawning, the naked figure snatched up the note and read it.
Thank you. For everything.
Soldier John Watson
"John Watson?!" Mike Stamford exclaimed," It's me! Mike! We went to Bart's together!"
"Mike?! You look... different."
"I know, I got fat. What happened? I heard you were in the army getting shot at!"
"I got shot."
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"John Watson. I've waited long enough."
"Sherlock? My god... Sherlock!"
"Sentiment. Blergh... But for you..."
"You killed a cabbie for me."
"Wasn't a very good cabbie, was he?"
"God no. You should've seen the turns he took."
"Very clever and all, but you could've just called me. On my phone. I'm sure the brother of Sherlock can do that much at least."
"No. He told me you were the Government. You aren't here to hold me hostage, only to talk. No snipers around, despite knowing my track record in the army. Most likely, family member. Too young to be a father. Brother or cousin, perhaps? But cousins of Sherlock wouldn't be as protective. Put off by his behaviour. Blood of intellectuals too dilated. So, brother."
"... You're a different species than the rest of the population. Not a goldfish, a -
"Wolf! I though you were the loyal puppy, eager to please your master, but you were a wild dog that can only be tamed by Sherlock. What a turn of events, I would say. Ladies and gentlemen, John Watson." Moriarty drawled, amused.
"Takeout. I just want to stay with you."