John glanced over his shoulder once again. He'd been doing so several times for the last few blocks as the large men tailing him were painfully obvious. They weren't trying to be subtle though. They were only trying to get to him as they pushed through the crowd of people on the streets without a care. Not a good sign...especially now that John could clearly see that they were Russians.

John Watson was not the person who Sherlock Holmes believed he was. He never had been. The companionable and kind doctor was nothing more than a mask to hide what really lay at John's center, and it certainly wasn't anything anyone else would likely expect. For several years now John had been an assassin, and as it were he was now one of the best in his profession. Years spent training and honing his skills had paid off as he was near unbeatable in close combat...when he didn't have five men nearly twice his size coming after him.

For some time now the Russian Mafia had been hunting John. There was a sizeable price on his head within their own circles, and the result was the men now coming after the assassin. The problem now, however, was that he didn't have his gun-the one that Sherlock was aware of, at any rate. The detective had nicked it off him earlier and John had never gotten it back. The assassin had a knife on him, but he was otherwise unarmed. That didn't leave him in a favorable position as the men hired to kill him drew ever closer. There was no point in trying to fight them head on. They would be armed with more firepower than John himself possessed. He would have called Sherlock, but even if the detective did answer John would then have to explain why he was being hunted by Russian hit-men in the first place. So when John came to the first alley available he ducked into and took off running.

It was going to be a boring day. James Moriarty knew that almost as soon as he woke in one of the many flats he owned in London. The criminal hadn't been able to play with his favorite detective as of late as he'd been busy. His empire was massive, and it required nearly all of his attention. Sherlock was a welcome distraction only when there was a break in Jim's routine which gave him some time to spare, some clients he didn't really care about. Lately, however, there had been problems a little too close to home. The Russian sects he had were always more rebellious as they tried to stick to their own rules and customs. The families there were less than thrilled to have Moriarty's influence anywhere near them, and they required a bit of a careful touch. That left him to ensure that nothing went too wrong and he kept a tight hold over them. So far, everything had been running smoothly enough and that was what had the criminal bored. Nothing exciting was happening, and he wasn't free to go off and make something exciting happen. Like strapping people to bombs so he could watch Sherlock Holmes scurry around in an attempt to prove he was cleverer than a man he'd never met before. That had been fun.

Considering all of this, and the general lack of excitement he was expecting out of his day, Jim was honestly surprised when his phone went off. He was sitting at his desk with his feet propped up on it as he himself leaned back in his chair, laptop balanced on his legs. For a few moments Jim simply stared at his phone ringing away happily on his desk.

Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin' Alive! Stayin' Alive.

The criminal leaned forward and snatched the phone with a raised eyebrow. A quick check of the number and Jim was surprised to find that he was honestly confused as to what was going on. He didn't recognize the number, he didn't have it saved as a contact either. Someone new then? That was rare anymore. Nevertheless, Jim was sliding a thumb over the screen to answer the call. Things were starting to look promising.

"Hello?" Jim asked, answering the phone as he set his laptop back on his desk and sat up.

"I need you help," an all too familiar voice said from the other end, and a slow grin split Jim's lips.

"What could you need my help with, Johnny-boy?" the criminal purred.

Calling Moriarty off all people was definitely what one would call a worst case scenario option. Lucky for John, he didn't really have all that much choice. He knew London like the back of his hand and was more than capable of losing a tail or two, but he wasn't going to risk his life when he knew the odds were not in his favor. He wasn't trying to outrun idiots after all. These men weren't police officers. They were trained killers as well, and their payment rested on whether or not they caught up with John so they could shoot him.

"I may be-" John hissed out a curse under his breath as a bullet missed him by less than a centimeter. The gunshot was audible. No silencers then. Wonderful. "-May be in a bit of a situation."

"Where's your master, Johnny?" came the reply, the criminal's Irish lilt coloring his words. "Why not call him?" John ducked into a new alley in an attempt to get out of the direct line of fire for a few moments. He didn't stop running.

"Don't think he can help with a group of Russians after me," John replied. Another gunshot seemed to emphasize his point as this one went straight past his phone, the gunshot echoing in the alley. They were getting closer.

A pause on the other line. "I don't think I'm interested."

"I'll owe you one," John snapped back,

"I don't need a doctor, Johnny." Moriarty scoffed, and John's jaw tightened.

"Then just do it so you can brag about it to Sherlock later." John tried. "Or you can listen to me die horribly over the phone, and you won't be able to ask how I know all about the Markstein killings last week."

"Sherlock took the case," Moriarty replied. "Of course you'd know about it."

"Sherlock is still working the case," John corrected. "I know who contracted a killer for the brothers, and I know who the killer is." Silence reined for a few moments as if the criminal was thinking. John was left to continue running and ducking into different alleys...Dead end. John came up short as the impassable wall seemed to mock him. When he turned around he found the Russians, some winded from the chase, were all grinning to each other as they approached John. The assassin was cornered with nothing but a concealed knife. He was fairly calm considering the fact.

"You might be interesting yet, Johnny-boy." Moriarty eventually responded. The Russian closest to John gave a jerk as his brains were blown out by a high caliber rifle. The man pitched forward and collapsed only to be soon followed by his fellows. All dead, and all of them with their heads blow wide open. John barely caught a glimpse of red laser sights before they were turned off. The assassin slumped against the wall he'd nearly been trapped by and simply looked at the bodies. Not alarmed in the slightest.

"Thanks," John finally said, remembering that he was still connected with Moriarty.

"I'll pick you up at eight," the criminal responded happily. "We have so much to talk about."