Hey guys! This is my newest story, I've caught the Jim/John bug and it won't go away, so here is a fic I'm writing for this all too neglected pairing. It is, by far, my favorite!Also, keep in mind that all my works are unbeat'd so any mistakes are mine. I do my best! Sorry! XD Please leave me some feedback! And if you have any John/Jim fic reccommendations for me, please send them my way! Enjoy!

Heartbeats

Chapter One

Invitation

The moment John's feet hit London pavement again he felt a strange sense of loss. There were other like him, injured, pieced back together in a hurry and placed on a plane to return home. Invalided. John's military career was now over. He licked his lips hurriedly as he picked up his bag with his good arm, his other in a sling. It was hard to make that first step, but by the fifth step, John was growing numb inside, and he was beginning to sag.

Three days later, John began to limp...

Three days after that, John saw a therapist for the first time...

John found himself seated across from a woman of color who held herself well. Composed, firm, and lacking most human warmth that John wished he had in his life. When he'd first returned, staying with Harry was his only option. He'd cut that short, kept it brief, and left with a cast off phone for a gift and a begging plea to "Keep in touch" from his already quite inebriated sister. Now he was here, a cane propped up against his chair as he avoided direct eye contact and questions he didn't have good answers for.

"What do you want to do now that you're home, John? What is it you really desire?" she asked calmly. John glanced out the window and sighed.

Danger... Adventure... A rush... he thought to himself.

"A normal, peaceful, sensible life I s'pose. I have a chance at that again." he said softly, his tone somber.

Yes, the rush. He needed the rush. The army had been his way to satisfy a craving in him that he really had no control over. When he was a younger man, he'd played competitive sports. He played rugby, joined wrestling, and even swim team all to distract himself from his desire for danger, mischief, and chaos. It hardly worked. Sometimes he'd pick fights just for the rush of hitting another person, and other times he'd commit a petty crime like theft or perhaps vandalism. These activities created a war inside John that he could hardly control as he grew. His desire for the rush of it battled against his moral compass until John was unsure if he could handle it.

It was in Uni that John realized he had a very severe problem. John had picked a fight while a bit drunk and nearly killed the other young man. He was so ashamed of his loss of control, that he decided it was time to put his desires to good use. He signed up and became an army doctor. The lives of hundreds passed through his hands and he was able to save lives as easily as he was able to take them away. The gunfire, the smell of blood and sweat heavy in the desert air. It was like home. And now... He was here again. This den of rules, regulations, restrictions, and no outlet anymore. Nothing could ever compare to what he'd felt when he gunned down the enemy or pulled a bullet from a gaping, gushing wound in another man.

John wasn't able to control himself once home for very long. The first thing he did when his resolve broke was steal a pack of gum. It was such a simple thing. A single pack of gum. That one thing was such a strange feeling of relief washing over him that he could hardly contain the ecstasy it brought. It wasn't long after that, that he began to try newer, more dangerous forms of theft. Picking pockets became a new hobby. John kept every ID in a box beneath his bed like trophies.

After a while, the rush of theft wasn't enough. Hobbling about the streets of London on a bad leg with a cane grew tiresome. So, he resorted to something a little more dastardly. A mugging. It had been so easy. He'd simply dropped his cane and threw himself to the ground. When he cried out for help, the man had rushed so willing to his aid, right into the trap. He never saw John coming.

One mugging lead to a string of muggings, all a bit different but principally the same. It was a pattern and John was forced to quit, thankful no one had gotten a good enough look at him to identify him.

John found himself spiralling into apathy soon after. What more could he do? He lacked the creativity to continue with something new, and found himself utterly out of ideas and options for his only outlet. So time went on...

It wasn't until one agonizing month later, that John's boredom was shattered. At his little squalor flat one day, he was delivered a parcel. There was a knock on his door, and when he answered in confusion, all there was, was a small box on his doormat.

It was a plain looking parcel, wrapped in brown paper and addressed to simply "John" as if the sender knew him personally. John wasted no time going to his desk and opening the mysterious package. Inside the paper was a plain black box. John lifted the lid and within there was a Baretta M9 pistol, and a card. John was alarmed by the contents and looked around nervously as if he'd be caught. He felt the blood rushing through his veins in that familiar, intense, and gratifying way. He was practically trembling with the high of it as he plucked the clearly expensive card stock from the box and read the carefully scripted note on it's textured surface.

I've taken notice of your activities. You have potential, John. This is an unregistered gift, from me to you. If you're looking for something more than petty muggings, bring it to Pordue's Tailor and tell them I sent you. I have faith you won't go to the police with this. Where would the fun be in that?

Sincerely,
Moriarty

Caught completely off guard by this strange package and note, John wasn't sure what to do. On the one hand, he was dealing with someone clearly dangerous, who knew about what he'd been doing, and had access to unregistered weapons and he shouldn't involve himself with an individual so powerful. On the other, this was the most interesting thing that had happened to him since he quit mugging people, and he craved a new rush, a new distraction. It didn't take long to make up his mind. He decided to go. It wasn't until John was up and dressed, heading for the door with this illegal weapon tucked in the back of his jeans that he realized...

"I won't go to the police..." he said softly to himself, as if surprised by his own behavior. He shook his head and laughed softly, startled and impressed at the same time. It was as if the sender had predicted his future. He really hadn't considered going. Not even for a moment. John ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. There was something terribly wrong with him. And he was feeding into it.

When he arrived at the building he was a little startled by how posh the place was. It was way beyond John's pay grade (considering he was living on the dole) and he felt odd going in there in his jumper and jeans. When he stepped inside he felt like he was walking into a ballroom instead of a Tailor. He glanced around nervously and approached the receptionists table, eyeing the brunette behind the counter almost warily. She was around her late thirties, curvy, and she gave off a definite aura of dominance as well as sensuality. Her torso was hugged by a black corset over a white blouse with a knee length black pencil skirt. Her long legs were slipped into black hosiery and disappeared beneath the desk, out of John's sight.

"Uhm. Hi." John greeted with a small half wave, practically oozing his awkwardness into the air around him. The woman looked up and raised a brow.

"Can I help you?" she inquired in a somewhat bored tone as she eyed John's appearance quite critically. John swallowed uneasily and his tongue darted over his lips nervously. He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet.

"M... Moriarty sent me." John stated in a ragged whisper. The woman's face lit up with recognition and she stood immediately, her expression melting into a warm smile.

"You must be John." she said, her tone suddenly worlds more inviting than before. He was taken aback and even more intrigued by the fact that this 'Moriarty' character had really planned all of this out. "I've been expecting you."

She stepped out from behind the table and took John by the hand and lead him back into a back room where measurements were obviously taken in private. He was startled by the suddenness of her pushing him to sit down on a stool in the center of the room.

"I'm sorry, and you are?" John inquired of her. She didn't respond with her name, merely held up a finger and smiled at him, before turning on her heel and heading down a short hall to the left of where John sat.

"Wait here." she said firmly. So John waited. Uncomfortable as the situation was, John's heart was hammering in his chest with excitement and a strange sense of joy. This was the most fun he'd had in what felt like ages. When the woman returned she was carrying a garment bag.

"Strip down, love." she instructed calmly, as if it were the most normal of requests. John froze, giving her a bewildered stare. She huffed and shook her head.

"Now, John. Wouldn't want to keep Moriarty waiting." she insisted as she unzipped the bag to reveal an incredibly expensive suit beneath.

"Wh... Am I meant to wear that?" he asked, not sure how to respond to all of this. The woman nodded quickly and John knew he couldn't bring himself to leave. So he stripped off his jumper and jeans and with the woman helping him, put on every piece of the suit ensemble. It was a deep navy color, almost black, with pale periwinkle pinstriping. The stripes were so thin they weren't at first visible. His dress shirt underneath was a shade of baby blue made masculine by the solid navy blue silk tie, held in place with a white gold tie clip. The woman made him slip on a pair of rather functional yet still stylish (far too stylish for John's taste) black boots, and a pair of leather gloves. John tucked his gun into the back of his slacks and adjusted all the clothes which fit him like they were a second skin.

As he examined himself in the mirror he wasn't sure what to make of himself. He looked smart, but almost dangerous. His body looked good while gripped in designer fabrics. The woman gave a content sigh and then handed him a card with an address on it as he finished up fixing his cuffs and collar one last time before a full length mirror. John took the card and then looked at the woman questioningly.

"What's this?" he inquired, to which he received a roll of the eyes from her.

"Get a cab and go there. Moriarty will be waiting." she said, ushering him to the front and out the door. John stopped on the threshold and looked to the woman again.

"I never did catch your name." he said, meeting her eyes. Her lips quirked into a smirk.

"Irene. Now go." she said, giving him a push and shutting the door behind him. John stared at the door a moment longer before heading down to the street and hailing a taxi. He rattled off the address to the driver and sat back with a sigh. He watched downtown fade into warehouses and soon he was stopped in front of an old shoe factory. He got out and paid the cabby who scoffed at him and drove away, leaving John to stare up at the building, slightly anxious. He hadn't even noticed he'd left his cane behind.

He stepped through the slightly ajar door and into the building wandering around for a while. He called out, a few times, and to his chagrin, no one answered. It wasn't until John had nearly given up, that he was greeted with some form of response. The dimly lit warehouse was suddenly was filled with lights that all switched on at once nearly blinding John, who threw up his arm to shield his eyes as they adjusted.

"Johnny!" came an all too warm and cheery Irish lilt. "You made it! I'm so glad!"

John blinked until his vision cleared and he was able to get a good look at the man at the other end of the room who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. He was well dressed, dark haired, dark eyed, pale skinned, slight bodied, and... Grinning like a madman. John nodded, slowly stepping closer.

"Yeah. Uh... Thanks for... the gun and... Suit. Uhm. What exactly is it you... want?" John asked as the man who he could only assume was Moriarty also stepped closer. They stopped at a safe distance of a couple yards apart.

"Jim, Jim Moriarty." the man said to John, extending his hand. John was forced to come closer and shake it. Jim's grip was firm and commanding and John was a little caught off guard by it. Jim shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief. "And you are quite welcome. It was my pleasure, really. And I'll get to what I want, as soon as you pass my little test."

John felt his body tensing, his heart skipping a beat as his mind ran through all the possibilities. The anticipation alone was almost too much to bear. Jim looked him up and down as John stepped back, his eyes so hungry that John felt naked and exposed under their gaze.

"What test?" John asked, his voice cracking a bit, his mouth going dry. Jim giggled. Giggled.

"Sebaaaaastiiian!" Jim called in a sing-songy voice that made John want to cringe. There was something almost sadistic and dark about the way Jim looked and sounded just then. John found himself wondering "God, why does that excite me?" as he witnessed it. A moment later a strong, tall, dark haired man that John guessed was "Sebastian" came into view from a doorway to the left, dragging a struggling, sleezy looking man by his hair out into the room.

"John, do you have your gun?" Moriarty inquired as Sebastian threw the schlumpy man down to the floor between John and Jim. John reached back and pulled the gun out slowly, his fingers itching against the metal that had been warmed by his own body heat. Jim grinned at the sighed and nodded.

"Wonderful. Now shoot this man in the head." Jim instructed.

John's face went from curios to incredulous in seconds.

"What! Why!" John demanded.

Jim sighed.

"John, I provide an important service to the people of the world. A service I think you are well suited toward. That is why you're here. I am being paid to do away with this scumbag. And I'm willing to share the profit with you, if you kill him." Jim explained calmly, a small smile coming to his face as if they were discussing stock exchanges and not murder in the first.

"I won't murder someone for money." John argued, his grip on the gun tightening.

"You mean you won't murder someone for money now that you don't have a good cause to do so." Jim corrected. John's eyes widened as Jim tutted at him, shaking his head. "Johnny, I know all about you. I know about your habits as a young man. Your fights at Uni, and about why you sighed up for the army. I can see it in your eyes. You're like Sebastian here. You need that danger to make life interesting. You need that rush to be content. I gave it to him. And I can give it to you. I'll even give you a cause... I'm being paid to kill this man for what he did to my employer's daughter. He raped her... a seventeen year old girl. Honor student, track champion. A sweet girl... I was more than happy to undertake the task of putting her tormentor out of his misery for a meager fee. Are you?"

John stood there, stunned, unable to formulate a good response to this situation. He stared at Jim for a while, then down at the man who was struggling against his binds furiously, growling against a gag in his mouth. Jim cleared his throat.

"I'm waiting John." Jim said, his voice thick with barely contained frustration. John looked up at Moriarty again, meeting his eyes.

"How do I know you're not lying?" John asked, clicking the safety off. Jim's lips stretched into a smirk as he met John's eyes, his own twinkling with mischief.

"You don't." came his simple reply.

There was a long moment of painfully tense silence... And then John pulled the trigger.

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