I'm not really…. I dunno… Erm… I guess I'll just jump right into it, shall I?

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, or James Moriarty. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and in this case, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss).

WITH A PRICE

"You know, boys, I never do anything for free," Jim Moriarty said from behind Sherlock and John as they crossed the street. The three of them were wandering around the Portobello Market at Sherlock's request – something about how Mycroft was less likely to see them there. The entire operation, sneaking around London with the man who six months ago tried to kill them, made John's stomach twist with nerves, but his heart was racing and he felt unusually alert.

"Of course, Jim," Sherlock said. "Price is of no concern to me, but I—" he lowered his voice "—I require your assistance."

"Oh!" crowed Jim, sending gooseflesh across John's skin. "Well good!" They had reached a deserted stretch of road, so John was clearly able to hear Jim's footsteps as he drew close behind him. John could feel Jim's eyes on his back as he said, "But it's not necessarily money I'm interested in, Sherlock." John couldn't keep himself from shuddering, and Jim laughed quietly.

Sherlock was a much faster walker than John was today, and was already some paces ahead. Jim, of course, was lagging deliberately behind.

"Do you like that, Johnny-boy?" Jim said in his ear. His breath was warm and moist on John's neck. John didn't answer. He tried in vain to increase his pace, but his bad leg refused to cooperate. Sherlock rounded the corner ahead. As soon as he was out of sight, Jim seized the collar of John's sweater, pulling him into an alleyway. John's cane fell to the ground with a clatter as Jim pushed him against the wall. John held his breath, trying to force his heartbeat to slow down. Jim slid one of his knees between John's thighs.

"You're a hard man to control, Johnny," he hissed. His eyes raked over John's body in a way that was at once possessive and condescending. "Not that I haven't tried." He grinned, his unusually sharp teeth white in the midday sun. "Sherlock played right into my hands, but you..." he pressed his body closer to John's, "you required quite a bit of…convincing." Jim slid his body against the doctor's and a shuddering moan escaped John's lips.

That was the only thing Sherlock did not – would never – know about that night at the pool. John had not come quietly. He had fought tooth and nail, taking down two of Moriarty's thugs before the man confronted John himself. With a sniper's laser trained on John's chest, Moriarty had explained in agonizing, explicit detail how the night would proceed, right down to the part where Sherlock would die and Moriarty planned to, in his words, "fuck you senseless on the floor, Johnny-boy."

But it was not until John had thrown his body against Jim's that the villain knew how affected John had been by his threat. With a raging hard-on, John had wrapped his arms around Moriarty's neck, threatening both their lives to save Sherlock's. Ever since then, Jim had been trying to get John to slip, to tell Sherlock what had happened, to tell how Jim had kissed him as Sherlock lay unconscious before the ambulance arrived.

Jim chuckled, and the sound sent a chill down the back of John's neck.

"You remember it well, don't you?" he said. John nodded wordlessly, his mouth dry. "And how lucky you are he doesn't believe you." Jim leaned closer. "Doesn't believe that his precious army doctor could want someone like me. But you do want me, don't you, Johnny? You want me to fuck you senseless on the concrete floor, until you can't stand, isn't that right?" John turned his face away, but Jim was not deterred. He pressed his lips to John's neck, and the doctor shuddered.

"Sherlock…doesn't know," he gasped.

"You never told him?" Jim said, a wild smile crossing his face. "You are a naughty boy, aren't you?" Jim ground his hips into John's, and John could feel the other man's erection pressing against his own through the fabric of his jeans. Jim's smirk grew and he leaned in again, parting John's lips with his tongue.

As they kissed, Jim undid the buttons on John's jeans and began to work them down over his hips. John could feel his cock straining magnificently against his boxers. Jim palmed his erection through the thin fabric and John's knees buckled.

"Oh, no, Johnny," he said. "You'll need to stay standing for this one." Before John could formulate a reply, Jim knelt, inching his boxers down around his thighs. John's cock sprang free, only to be immediately swallowed by Jim's waiting mouth.

John's eyes rolled back and he bit down hard on his lip to hold back the moan building in his throat. Jim laughed, a low humming sound that sent delicious vibrations along John's length.

"Oh goddd…" he groaned. Jim was doing something with his tongue that –ohgodohgodyesTHERE – and John could feel the pleasure tightening like a spring in the pit of his stomach. Jim set an unrelenting pace, sucking on John's cock with long hard pulls that had John trembling, sweat beading on his forehead. He clenched his eyes shut, his teeth gritted against crying out. Jim's hands were splayed against his thighs and John felt his muscles contract as the pleasure reached a fever pitch. Jim slowed, dragging his tongue down John's length with enough pressure to squeeze tears from the blond man's eyes.

"Jim!" John gasped as his orgasm ripped through him. His eyes flew open and his spine arched backwards. The brick wall bit into his scalp, adding to the sensation and eliciting a strangled noise from his throat.

Jim swallowed obediently, a smug smile plastered all over his pale, pointed face. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive head of John's cock as it left his mouth and John could not suppress the cry of delicious pain that escaped his lips.

Jim stood in one fluid motion, habitually straitening his blazer. His eyes raked cruelly over John where he leaned, undone, against the wall. John blushed, all too aware of the tear marks on his face and the way his cock was hanging limply over the waistband of his underwear. He hurried to clean himself up, pulling up his jeans and zipping them up as quickly as he could.

A teardrop inched slowly down John's face. He raised a hand to brush it away, but Jim took hold of his wrist. John held his breath as Jim leaned in and licked the tear from his face with his long, pointed tongue.

"Delicious," Jim said, running his tongue obscenely over the points of his teeth. John's eyes followed his tongue with morbid fascination, and he leaned in to kiss Jim hungrily, all but drinking from the darker man's mouth. "Sherlock doesn't know what he's missing," Jim said with a grin when they broke apart.

"You can never tell him," John said quietly.

"Why, because you're so keen to?" Jim said, smoothing John's hair where he'd leaned against the wall. John didn't answer. "This is going to be fun," Jim said with a smirk.

"Let's get out of here before he comes looking for us," said John, tearing his gaze away from Jim's dark eyes. He bent to pick up his cane and limped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Jim followed close behind.

Sherlock was heading towards them.

"Where have you two been?" he demanded, looking suspiciously from one to the other.

Jim put a hand on John's shoulder. "Johnny-boy and I were just discussing the matter of payment." He grinned. "I think we came to a rather…satisfactory conclusion, don't you?" Jim slapped John's shoulder with much more force than necessary.

"Yes, we did," John mumbled.

"Very well," said Sherlock, turning on his heel and leading the way once more down the road.

I am insanely terrified right now. I can't believe I just wrote that and aah! Took a break from my current Kirk/Spock to write this up, but I'll be back to that now that I'm done with this. Now I'm going to go hide before I lose the nerve to post this. *hides*

PS: title is based off the new ABC series 'Once Upon A Time' because Mr. Gold is deliciously delicious and creepy.