Everyone Loves Richard Brook
Time is a Terrible Healer

Richard Brook: Is Real
Part Two

John was getting better. He really was. But he wasn't.

In a years time, he was back to normal. He'd broken out of all of the habits that he had learned from being with Moriarty. But he hadn't. He had a handle on his anger again. But he didn't. And he was happy with his, admittedly unusual, relationship. But he wasn't. John was back to normal and they couldn't be happier. Only, there was something off. Sherlock didn't see it, Mycroft didn't notice, and Gregory's instincts were only minutely disturbed, but John knew it. John /knew/ there was something wrong, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

He felt absolutely fine and medically he couldn't be in better condition. So John couldn't find any source to this feeling and eventually, decided that it was caused by feeling 'unfinished'. John decided that he would only get rid of these feelings if he was allowed a final confrontation with his fear. He wasn't entirely sure what made him come to this conclusion, but he knew he felt very strongly about it and that was really all he needed. That was how people did it, after all, they confronted their fears and then happily ever afters. John really wanted a good, nice happily ever after. After he got his trauma out of the way, or most of it at least, he could finally get his relationship sorted out. It was slightly harder to bring up the request than he thought it would be, though. It was so obviously a bad idea, even to him, but he was driven to go through with it no matter what. He knew even if Moriarty was immobile, he could cause a great deal of damage with his sharp words alone.

So, as John sat on the sofa with his head on Mycroft's shoulder and Sherlock's head on his lap, he debated the best way to make himself sound less crazy than it was in his head. John absently stroked Sherlock's hair between his fingers, distantly trying to lull Sherlock to sleep. He had been doing well lately. Sherlock slept much better and John wondered quietly to himself why that was.

"You still have Moriarty locked up, right?" John started off innocently enough. Of course he was still locked up. If he wasn't, John was going to have a lot of less than kind words for Mycroft. His boyfriend glanced to him, grey eyes searching him for an ulterior motive that was very obviously there.

"Of course. You don't have to worry about him, John," Mycroft assured him, running a hand along his thigh soothingly. John smiled smalley.

"I want to talk to him," the little blond doctor explained as casually as he could. Sherlock nearly bashed his forehead on John's chin he was upright so fast. He adjusted himself to stare John dead in the eye, not amused in the slightest. It was a given that the thought of Moriarty doing anything more to their amor was going to be less than acceptable.

"No," the Holmes answered in coincidental harmony. Who said they couldn't agree? John glanced between them with a solid, determined stare.

"That wasn't really a question," John reminded them, instantly displeased by any attempt to control what was best for him. They clearly had no idea what was best for themselves (Sherlock especially), let alone him. He kneaded a palm into his thigh.

"I'm going to see Moriarty. For closure."

"You had plenty of closure when you shot him twice and fractured his skull. No," Sherlock insisted.

"That wasn't closure. That was bottled up rage. I need to know where he is and I need to know that I'm safe," John persisted, making it very clear that he was not going to budge on this subject. There were few times that he won against either of the Holmes, let alone both of them, but he was perfectly capable of doing so when he truly wanted to and they knew it.

"You are safe, John. Don't you feel safe with us?" Mycroft promised, quickly becoming weary of this situation. He wanted to escape but John wouldn't let him talk his way down another conversation.

"I do and I will know that so much better after I seen Moriarty in his cage."

"And what if he does something to you?" Sherlock kindly reminded him exactly what Moriarty was capable of without actually needing the words.

"You should be more worried about what I might do to him."

"Nothing," Mycroft drew on. "Because you're not going."

"Then I guess I'll just ask Anthea to take me. She's rather keen on overriding your decisions when it comes to personal matters. I'll just go alone while everyone's off doing something. Going alone is clearly the better choice." Unfortunately for Mycroft, John knew how to dance between his boyfriends. Anthea wasn't helpful in that matter whatsoever. She seemed intent on doing whatever kept John happy and ergo, Mycroft. It was purely to keep him working, and it worked, but he didn't like it.

"Fine," the Government gave in. "But if I think you're unsafe, it's over."

"I don't even need five minutes."

o-o-o

Moriarty was contained under very specific supervision. Due to the likelihood he would try to escape and his intelligence to do so, it was a tricky thing keeping eyes on him. Mycroft had already gone through half a dozen men and none of them even had direct contact with the psychopath. It just got to them, the paranoia that he was doing something and they weren't noticing. Mycroft, of course, checked on the man himself to assure everyone he wasn't and from afar, so did Sherlock. They couldn't actually risk putting Sherlock and Moriarty in the same room. Moriarty was at the end of his rope and Sherlock didn't know when to stop; they'd break each other.

Moran was typically easier to handle. He didn't try to escape, or free his boss, but he was very large and very violent. When he did decide to be violent, they quickly sedated him and he gave up. It definitely helped that John had severely maimed him. The two most dangerous men in London weren't so dangerous anymore. Supposedly. Mycroft didn't actually believe that and it only made him more reluctant to let John anywhere near either of them.

"Five minutes," Mycroft reminded the little blonde man. As much as he hated sending John in by himself, Mycroft would not step foot into Moriarty's cell making John's argument that he needed to go alone that much easier. John frowned slightly at him. He set a time limit assuming Moriarty would try something and John would need to be rescued. John knew they gave Moriarty too much credit sometimes. It was less harmful than underestimating him, but he was immobile and probably stir crazy. What could he possibly do? Still, John nodded softly in agreement and quietly followed the armed guard down the hall. The guard unlocked the heavy door and John padded in quietly. The door closed behind him loudly.

Moriarty turned his head up, looking no worse than he had before. His hair was a little disheveled and he was a little bruised, but he didn't look bare and he didn't look worn. It was truly the sign of crouching tiger. He wiggled in his binds and smirked.

"Moriarty," John greeted solemnly.

"Richard," Jim purred in response. John took swift, determined steps towards him, his shorter form easily looming over the seated criminal. He grabbed Jim's face in either of his hands, staring down at those listless, empty brown eyes with lively beige. Then his lips were on Jim's, desperate and needy.

"Jim," John breathed worriedly, peeking over his shoulder to where his hands were shackled tightly to the steel chair. He was bound so tightly, it hardly seemed fair. This wasn't Jim's fault. Of course, there would be no arguing that however. Why did he have to get the insanely powerful stalkers? "Fuck, Jim. God, fuck, I - I'm sorry Jim."

"Shh. It's okay Richard," Jim assured him. John brushed his hands through the man's hair, pushing it back into what it was better known as. John swallowed thickly.

"I don't know what happened." Everything was really fuzzy. John knew he'd done something, possibly under some kind of influence, but he wasn't too clear on what. He was with his bloody stalkers now and he had no idea why. No matter what had happened, why would he think that was a good idea?

"It's okay. You just have to help get me out of here now. Can you do that, Richard?" the criminal insisted, glancing towards the camera in the corner of the room. John nodded quickly, giving the man another apologetic kiss. It was his fault Jim was in here, he knew that, and he'd do anything to make up for his mistake.

"Whatever you need. I just- god I can't believe I did this to you."

"Shut up, Richard. You need to listen," Jim growled suddenly. John flinched. Same Jim, at least.

"Holmes, the old one, he has a chip, Richard. You need to get that. Okay?" he insisted quietly. John nodded again.

"Yes. I remember." That damned thing was what got him into the situation in the first place. Which was also very blurry, but John knew it was significant to something. He just couldn't focus on it like many things in his seemingly unusually short life.

"Good. Then you need to go back to the flat. I have a spare mobile hidden in the usual place. Call 'Back Up Two' and tell them they can have the chip on one condition. Hang up. Send the chip through the post to the address in the phone. Then come and see me again," Jim explained as swiftly as he could without losing the doctor in the middle. John was too well skilled in Moriarty to get lost with such a simple explanation.

"Got it." Flat, mobile, call, send.

"You're wonderful, Richard. I bribed one of the guards to fake some video and audio failures. Make sure he gets paid," the mastermind went on. "You should have enough time to see Sebastian. Tell him we're on plan b."

"I'm really sorry, Jim. I'll sort this out, okay? I'll see my doctor and everything," John promised worriedly. Something was clearly wrong with him. Jim might not show it now, but he was going to be really pissed about this later and John was not looking forward to that. He planted several more kisses on the man's lips before taking for the door with his new found information. The guard let him out and John took a quick pace towards Holmes.

"I need to see Moran," he demanded, knowing his time was limited as it was. He certainly didn't have time to argue with the creep.

"I don't think that's a wise decision," the older Holmes insisted, eyeing him with obvious disdain. He could tell something was wrong. He was a Holmes! Of course he knew when something was wrong! John cut through his thoughts as quickly as he could manage.

"I need to see Sebastian Moran," John demanded again, louder, sharper and more desperate. Holmes scowled, disapproving, but motioned to the guard anyways. John followed him anxiously. He could already feel the bile rising in his throat. His memory wasn't all that clear on anything after the group of lunatics had tried to kidnap him, but he just knew something bad had happened to Sebastian. He had done something bad to Sebastian and he had no idea why.

Because he was dangerous; one part of his mind told him. John silenced that part of his mind. Sebastian was probably the most deadly man he knew, but he wasn't deadly towards him. He had no reason to feel threatened by his boyfriend. The guard opened the cell door and John nearly lost his lunch. He managed to wait for the door to close before approaching the very confused, very aggressive, and very one armed man.

"What are you-"

"Sebastian. Oh god. I- oh god." John touched Sebastian's face tenderly, then down his neck to the empty sleeve.

"Richard?" Sebastian asked suspiciously.

"We don't have very long. Jim's down the hall. He says we're on to plan b," John explained quickly as to get it out of the way for more important things. Sebastian looked a little unsure, but whatever had brought it on wasn't verbalized. Instead, Sebastian grasped John's neck in his good hand, bringing him close and catching his mouth firmly. John gasped his wrist firmly, gladly returning the needy contact. Sebastian pressed him into the cold wall opposite of the door roughly, knocking the breath out of him and requiring John to pull away.

"Sebastian," he gasped softly, placing a nervous hand on Sebastian's wounded shoulder.

"Don't apologize again," Sebastian deadpanned immediately. John snapped his mouth shut and bit his lower lip nervously.

"But your arm-"

"You want to make it better? Make sure they pay, Richard. The old one especially. This is their fault. They made you do this," Sebastian assured him, capturing John's lips again with bruising force. The door snapped open suddenly.

"Sebastian Moran! You have three seconds to release Watson and back away," the guard shouted. Sebastian slowly put his hand up and backed away. The man motioned John out of the way with a hurried hand. He went with a final look at the man, worried of his well being proceeding this. Sebastian didn't offer him any comfort, only making John more nervous.

"John-"

John wasn't sure what was going on. He was distantly aware that he had just spoke to Moriarty, and Moran for some reason, but he couldn't remember any of either conversation. He glanced up to Mycroft with cloudy senses.

"Are you okay?" Mycroft asked with worrying anger. John blinked at him.

"Of course. I told you everything would be fine," John assured him, touching the older man's arm comfortingly. "I already feel better." It was like the murky darkness that had settled in the back of his mind had blown away. He felt the most lucid he had since this whole thing started. Mycroft didn't look convinced. He touched two gentle fingers to John's neck and John tilted his head a little to allow him to do all the looking he wanted.

"See? Perfectly fine," John promised again.

"I suppose." Mycroft didn't seem convinced. He wasn't paid much mind, however. John felt perfectly fine and was finally ready to move on with his life. His 'stay' with Moriarty was blurred and blackened from his thoughts and his memories. Perhaps repressing memories wasn't the best thing to do, but it felt wonderful. All he wanted to do now was get back to his life; no more Moriarty.

"Let's go home, Mycroft. Sherlock and Lestrade are probably at each other's throats by now."