This is a combination of Johnarty and Johnlock. The first chapter might be a bit boring for some of you readers, but trust me, the smut will come in some later chapters I'm working on. This is my first fanfic ever, so i hope you like it. Reviews are welcome and would be extremely appreciated! ~kels

A man sat at on the bar stool of a pub deep in London, he had short blonde hair sweeping his head and a short stature. He stared blankly at his beer with an expression he held a lot of the time on his stony face. His name was John Watson, and he was waiting. Waiting for the right timing, for the perfect punch line. After all, he was an expert in these scenes.

John had just called it off with a girl. Well, she called it off with him, but that wasn't the point. Her name was Serena, or maybe it was Sarah; anyway he'd met her in this exact pub, in the exact same way he'd met the girl before her, and the girl before that, and before that, and that, and that.

He looked over his shoulder and spotted her, a woman with long light brown hair, a sloping yet pointed nose and deep-set brown eyes; a slim body draped with slacks and a dress shirt complemented her almost elf like features. The corner of John's mouth twitched into a grinning smirk as he saw her coming his way. She stepped up to the bar, ordering something fruity and feminine. John leaned towards her and asked giving his most charming smile, "Would you like something besides that drink to keep you company?"

She looked up from her purse, which she was fumbling with to find something to pay with. She beamed a bit teasingly, "Only if it's good company."

John stood and slid closer to her removing 5 pounds from his jacket pocket and handed it to the bar tender keeping his gaze on the woman. "I can promise you, I'll be outstanding company." He told her sportively.

She looked him over discreetly, and lifted her hand out for a handshake and purred, "I'm Samantha Nelson."

John took Sam's hand but turned it over and stole a kiss on the back of it, "Flattered to meet you Sam; John Watson."

Hours had passed by, all the while John and Sam chatted over their drinks. He would make a witted joke and Sam would chuckle along with him. Sam would tell about her job as a receptionist and John would laugh at her stories. John behaved himself, being a true gentleman, though the chemistry between them was boiling. But it was missing something, and John could feel it in the pit of his stomach. An itch that could never be scratched; yet john showed up every weekend trying to find the woman that would soothe the itch.

At the end of the night, John left the pub with the woman's number in his mobile and a hope that Sherlock hadn't noticed his leaving.

John arrived at his flat on Baker Street, quietly stepping up the stairs and into the living room decorated with a collection of oddities. John had quarreled with Sherlock about doing something with all of this junk, but had miserably failed not being able to keep Sherlock on the 'boring!' topic of organization. I know where everything is and that validates as organized! Sherlock had informed John defiantly.

John walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, setting his phone on the counter, and didn't even stop when he saw that Sherlock was standing at the mess of a kitchen table looking intently into his microscope, exactly as John had left him.

Sherlock Holmes was a tall lanky man, with high cheek bones and other sharp structures on his long face. He suddenly looked up at John making his black and curly hair tremor with the movement and told John dismissively, "Get me one while you're at it." John rolled his eyes and continued to make a second cup for Sherlock. He opened the fridge to a horrific smell and a worse sight. Sitting on a plate sat a disembodied foot, rotting and pasted with dirt. John contracted from the smell and quickly took out the made up tea and slammed the fridge shut. The tall man kept his eyes on the other shorter one and abruptly spoke, "You've been out." He said it as a statement, not a question, Sherlock never really had to ask questions.

"If you weren't so wrapped up in whatever's under that slide, you would've noticed when I'd left." John contorted, not angrily though; he was used to Sherlock's habits and didn't really mind this one. But other habits, like the foot, were ones John just had to put up with. John sat the pot on the stove top and poured in the tea, heating it up.

Sherlock took a deep sigh and observed hurriedly, "Your sleeve is damp, probably from holding a drink. You only drink tea or beer, so it must be a beer from that pub you've been visiting every weekend. Unless you started wearing a floral cologne, you met yet another desperate girl."

"Sherlock!" John grumbled, warning him to stop.

Sherlock continued as if John hadn't said a word, "You got her number, there are finger smudges on your mobile that are too small for your own prints, from when she typed in her contact." Sherlock swooped up John's phone from the counter and turned it over, "Suggesting from the keys that a more polished her name consists of 1 A, 1 M, and 1 S. Best likeliness that her name is Sam." He paused and reservedly corrected with a minor grin, "Or his name."

"Oh shut it," John snapped, "it's short for Samantha."

"Of course." Sherlock agreed and returned to his microscope. Just then the kettle screeched its announcement that the tea was heated. John took kettle off the stove and made up two cup for himself and Sherlock. He sat one of the tea cups by Sherlock, then took his own into the living room and got comfortable in a chair with his laptop.

"I still think we might have had something there." John protested taking off his jacket as he and Sherlock crashed into their flat.

"Oh please, my dear little angel has been missing for 3 day, please Mr. Holmes won't you find her?"Sherlock scorned as her removed his dark blue scarf and black coat. "It's obvious, John. Her daughter has simply run away, children around that age's hormones are off the charts. You know; rebellion, resentment, anxiety, and all that. She'll be back with her mother within a week."

John paused thoughtfully and asked, "So, did you ever go through a rebellious phase?"

Sherlock made a scoffing sigh and answered, "I had more control over myself. But I'm sure if you asked my brother, he'd say I'm still in that phase." as he strode towards his room, unbuttoning his shirt to get into something more comfortable,

The blonde raised his eyebrows doubtfully and asked wittily, "Who cares what Mycroft says?" Sherlock made a small chuckle with a humored smirk and closed his door lightly. John shook his head and laughed to himself just as his mobile vibrated in his pocket. He drew it out and checked the message

Had a great time last weekend, are you free tonight? –SN

John was slightly surprised at the text, he hadn't talked to Sam since that night and didn't expect to hear from her. Granted there were loads of numbers John hadn't used in a long time on his mobile.

Yeah, meet me at the pub in 30 minutes. –JW

"Sherlock? Sherlock I'm going out!" John called out to hear through the walls, "I don't know when I'll back!"

Sherlock hollered back slightly displeased, "Fine, alright." John took that as a goodbye and got his jacket back on stepping down the stairs. They moaned at him in protest, as they did every time from their old age.

John made his way through the streets until he could catch a taxi. Once he finally got one he slid into the back seat, "Where to?" the cabbie asked in sing song voice

"Old Man's Pub, please." John answered distracted by his phone

Already there love. –SN

John looked from the text to the cabbie and back again, "In a hurry please." John called to the cabbie hastily. The cabbie obliged stepping hard on the gas petal, sending John back against the seat and to slide a bit from side to side with each turn. John tried to keep composure tightly holding onto the handle on the roof of the car.

Soon, sooner than usual, John arrived at the pub and stumbled out of the cab. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, the taxi immediately sped up back into traffic; threatening to hit other cars, the cab honked several times. John looked back at the direction the cab flew off to in surprise, in all his life he'd never seen a cabbie drive like that.

He shook his head dismissing it and strode into the pub, making up a charismatic smile for Sam. He swept the booths and stools with his eyes but didn't see her. John took out his phone

I'm here, where are you? –JW

In the bathroom, I'll be out in a minute. Go ahead and pick out a booth. –SN

John put his phone away and started for a booth in the far corner and took a seat. The soldier waited anxiously for Sam, looking around for her and squinting at the menu at the bar; though he'd visited this pub enough that he knew everything on it.

John checked his phone for the time after 6 minutes, when he did; he heard someone walk up to the booth and looked up just in time to see them sit across from him. He started his smile, thinking that it was Sam when he heard them, but his face fell to a blank and menacing glare when he registered who it was.

"Hellooooo, Johnny boy!" the man greeted happily as he crossed his legs. John just stared, unable to come up with a response. The man feigned disappointment, "Aren't you glad to see me?" raising his hands to present himself.

John thought of what to do suddenly and whipped out his phone, quickly texting Sherlock

Moriarty. –JW

Moriarty was a man slightly taller than John, who had deep set eyes and dark combed back hair. He constantly wore a suit that greatly contrasted from his voice which he played with in every word. Moriarty tisked John, "Oh, that's not going to do you any good." John turned suspiciously to Moriarty for an explanation, but he merely shrugged.

John took a deep irritated breathe, Sherlock had told him if something like this was to happen with either Mycroft or Moriarty, John was to stay silent that hopefully they wouldn't catch on to everything about him. But John had to seriously consider whether or not he was going to speak anyway. He'd never gotten his revenge on Moriarty for what he did to Sherlock and himself; and John wasn't one to keep quiet. But he couldn't do much in public, "What are you doing here?" John asked with a biting tone.

Moriarty studied John smugly for a long moment, like he was satisfied with what he was seeing, "Isn't it funny, how you can just bump into people?"

"I'm not going to tell you how to can get to him if that's what your here for." John instantly presumed, holding even eye contact and voice.

"Oh, why would I want that?" Moriarty inquired critically, "I know what he's doing at this very moment. You see, I know a guy, who knows a guy; if you catch my drift."

John suddenly remembered what had originally brought him here, "Wait, where's Sam? She,"

"Don't worry about it, love. Besides you didn't really like her anyway." Moriarty hummed.

John became defensive, though it was true, "What did you do to her?" Moriarty ran his thumb and pointer finger across his mouth in a motion that said my lips are sealed. John's jaw dropped and he repeated with much more alarm, "Oh my god, Moriarty what did you do?"

Moriarty face darkened, "What do you think I did?" John didn't even want to think about it, he just gawked at the man across the table. Moriarty prompted to John, "Ask me what I want, Johnny boy."

John hated to play along, but he didn't seem to have another choice, "Then what do you want, Moriarty?" John demanded, annoyed by the sharply dressed man.

"Please call me Jim love."

"No, what do you want."

Moriarty's exposure suddenly sifted on cue and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers. His face became grave and casted by darkness, but there was still a twinkle in his eye. "I have a little proposition for you, but you can't quite act it out on Baker Street."

"So what?" John snorted, "You're going to abduct me again, hmm? Make Sherlock dance to try and discover me?"

Moriarty looked up at John, lifting an edge of his mouth in a smirking grin and said in a low voice, "Something like that." He raised one of his hands and snapped his fingers curtly.

Two men got up from their places sitting on stools at the bar and made their way towards John. They were tall and large, almost like body builders; and obviously much stronger than the stout soldier. John jumped out of the booth and sprinted for the door in an attempt at getting away, but it was futile as the two body guards caught up and locked their arms with his. John struggled and thrashed in the two's grip, knocking over some furnishings, and wasn't getting anywhere fast as they toed him to the back exit. "Help, please no!"

Moriarty calmly stood up and paced to the bar in long steps, where the only witness, the bartender was standing at his post in horrified shock and a telephone in his hand ready to dial. Moriarty took out several hundred dollar bills and pressed them on the counter towards the bartender, "I think that will cover the costs, for," he leaned forward and rumbled, "customer confidentiality."

The man behind the counter nodded rapidly in understanding, yet still fearful, and dropped the phone to the ground. Moriarty smiled grandly and exclaimed good-naturedly, "Good then," he stepped a number of steps towards the back exit then turned back looking around the pub, "You know what? I kind of like this place, I might just visit back again." He winked at the bartender then pushed the exit open and walked into the back alley, where John and his hired help were waiting for him in a taxi.

Moriarty rounded the vehicle and hopped into the driver's seat taking a tight hold on the steering wheel. He turned to look back at John and grinned. He sat in the seat, trying to keep a brave composure, but was failing. John suddenly roared, struggling against the handcuffs and tape he was now restrained by, "Moriarty you crazy bastard, let me go!"

The driver didn't even flinch, just continued to smile then said in a voice John had heard before, "Where to?" One of the guards took out a towel and abruptly held it up to John's mouth and nose as he was distracted by Moriarty's words, making John lose consciousness from the chloroform.