InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I'm a big ol' shining star."

Charlie Price (charlieprice) wrote in expresslogs,
@ 2012-07-18 16:15:00

Entry tags:

{james moriarty, {john watson

Who? John Watson & James Moriarty
Where? Mini-kitchen.
When? Wedenesday afternoon.
What? John runs into someone he hoped he'd never see again. James meets John for the first time. Oh, time travel, thou art a heartless bitch!
Warnings? Language, PTSD/flashbacks, cruel, cruel words. Will update if any shit goes down.

Since his birthday, John had pretty much been on a constant high. It had taken a long time for it to sink in; he'd forget until he went to wash his hands or something and saw the ring again. The other day, he'd gone running into the room he shared with Sherlock, grabbed him into a hug, and screeched 'we're engaged!' over and over to a very confused ~~boyfriend~~ fiancé. Sherlock was having a much calmer reaction, but John was enjoying the extra smiles he was getting out of him. Sherlock was happy, he could tell- they were both happy.

So happy, that he had just about forgotten about the rather unwelcome passenger on the train. Even when Sherlock had drugged him, and he'd ended up spilling the truth to James about their future connection, it didn't seem that important. Moriarty wasn't the same man, yet. He was a potential threat, certainly, but not an immediate one. Plus, he and Sherlock were quite a few steps ahead of him. It would take Jim time to plan something, and hopefully there was enough to keep him busy on the train. Hopefully, he wouldn't have a chance to get too bored.

Still, that didn't mean that John really wanted to spend any time with the man. When he walked out of the infirmary and into the kitchen, he felt frozen to the spot at the sight of James Moriarty. Shit.

He looked behind himself, considering backing quietly out of the room and back into the infirmary, hoping that he wouldn't notice. His left hand felt at the small of his back, the sight reassurance of feeling his gun on him. Not that he wanted to use it. He would back away- he took a slow step back toward the entrance... but it was too late. The eye-contact sent a chill of dread through him.

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charlieprice
2012-07-21 07:45 pm UTC (link)

Jim's expression did little to move John; he remained steely and unaffected. He'd seen how easily he could turn on the Richard Brook act, and he wasn't about to be fooled into thinking that this man felt any real regret, although perhaps that wasn't the right word for things that were yet to happen. Regardless, he doubted that the man in front of him was really that far removed from the Jim Moriarty he knew.

"I can't forgive you for something you haven't done yet. Maybe you are a different man," John was speaking as calmly as he could, although he didn't quite believe his own words. "But I'm sure that you can understand that it would be too painful to begin anything like a friendship, now. It's not personal," he insisted, although it was a lie. He despised him as a human being, how it couldn't be personal, he wasn't sure.

"I suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. Not your fault-" he hastily added. "It was there before... and I tend to avoid my triggers as best as I can. It is... better for everyone. And you remind me far too much... well, you understand, I'm sure," he explained. It was the best he could do. Sherlock had attempted to portray him as mentally unstable and unimportant. Maybe it was better to play up to that stereotype, make himself seem... unhinged, but ultimately uninteresting. Or would he find even that interesting? It was so hard to tell what made Jim tick.

Sherlock has forgiven-

John felt a stabbing pain in his chest just at the words, although he tried to hide the flicker of pain from his expression. He was sure that wasn't true. Sherlock was good at masking his emotions, burying them deep inside... he couldn't have forgiven him, not really. He was just playing the game. But just knowing that fact didn't stop it hurting. He didn't correct Jim from referring to Sherlock as his friend. The less he knew about their true relationship the better, he assumed.

"Oh, you won't lose him as a friend, I'm sure. He's terribly stubborn, and not likely to listen to anything I have to say about it," he told him, almost dismissively, trying to pass it off as a non-issue. "I'm sorry about all that, I was just trying to protect my... friend. I see now that you're not quite who I expected you to be," he was lying through his teeth, and it didn't really suit him. His heart was hammering away in his chest; he hated that Moriarty could have this affect on him. He wasn't used to feeling intimidated. But he definitely didn't want to see what Jim would be like when he was 'devastated'.

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so_changeable
2012-07-21 10:00 pm UTC (link)

"Yes. Yes. I'm being selfish. I'm sorry." There came the mentally imbalanced bit. Jim could believe it, if only for the diagnosis; shell shock could make the boldest of men look like frightened rodents, most of the time. But it was hardly the whole story. How he itched to crack this man's mind open; that would take time, though, or a ball peen hammer, and he had neither at the moment.

John Watson was a horrible liar. Here and there it rang true, but even without Maryanne's augmented senses, Jim fancied he'd have been able to pick up the speeding heart, the sweat beading on his forehead, the adrenaline racing at the mention of one name: Sherlock.

"You're so keen to reassure me," Jim said, taking a slow step forward, peering at John with naked curiosity now. "That he won't listen to you, not that you'll stop warning him against me. Disappointing. But I understand, John. I really do." His 'friend'. Such telling pauses. "I can't bring myself to hold it against you. Not someone who's been through such trauma. My face alone must be a horrible reminder. But Sherlock..." Jim spun on a heel, barely hiding his grin.

"I have trouble making friend, John. Most people don't believe me, but it's true. I have even more trouble finding people as... understanding as Sherlock." Once his face was flushed enough, he looked back to John. "I must sound like a child with a crush, but you understand, it's so rare an experience for me. The glances, the poetry, the gentle touch- I shouldn't be repeating this. I nearly lost my head the first time. But it would upset me beyond words if I were to cause him any distress. And you, the stalwart friend- should my... closeness with Sherlock become a problem... all I can do is assure you I mean no harm." He smiled shyly at the ground, as if relishing a private memory.

"Truly. No harm at all."

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charlieprice
2012-07-22 11:58 am UTC (link)

John gave him something that could have been a smile if it had actually reached his eyes, but instead seemed something of a grimace. He was desperate for the conversation to end, but Jim didn't seem too keen to let him go just yet.

Oh, that was interesting- John hadn't realised just how he had gone about reassuring him, but of course Jim was very observant. John gave a short laugh, and a shrug. "Yeah, caught me!" he admitted, although he didn't try to add any assurance that it wasn't meant that way. He didn't change his tone, he didn't alter his words. He wasn't about to be happy about Sherlock's 'befriending' Moriarty, even if he did (mostly) understand his partner's intentions.

But then Jim said his name, and John silently cursed himself for just how instantly he perked up at the very sound of it. Oh, he wasn't enjoying where this conversation was going-

His eyes narrowed slightly at the word crush, head tilting slightly as he tried to figure the man out, search his apparently blushing face for a clue. It was fine. Even if Jim really did have a crush, it didn't mean that he would get Sherlock. But Jim kept talking, and John felt a wave of nausea washing over him.

"Poetry?" he repeated, trying to feign a casual interest, although it came out more like an accusation. He could hardly keep the pain from his expression. He remembered Sherlock reading Keats to him, remembered how intimate and intense that afternoon had been... and his head was spinning.

And Jim wasn't done. If it had been anyone else, John might have made a joke to put them in their place. Something about Sherlock preferring rough touches, in fact. He hated the Moriarty just stunned him into silence. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling the anger rising. He uncrossed his arms, the fingers of his left hand curled in and out of a loose fist a couple of times, before his thumb found the ring, absent-mindedly running along it where his finger met his palm.

"I'm sure it won't become a problem," he told him, the words coming out rather more like a threat than he had intended. And yet he was pleased about that. He wanted to punch that smug fucking look right off his face. "And as long as he's... unharmed, we won't have a problem, either," he told him, giving him another one of his unfriendly smiles.

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so_changeable
2012-07-22 08:33 pm UTC (link)

Jim's eyes stayed trained on the floor, the shy smile melting into a frown of concern. he fidgeted with his own fingers, though of course he had no ring to lay with. If he missed just one of John's twitches, his facial contortions, the unutterably delightful way the man was barely holding back his rage, Jim would simply smack himself.

"Harm? Doctor, doctor. However many times you need reassurance- I know what seeing my face must do to you, even if reason tells you I am not the man who did the horrible things. But I would never harm Sherlock." He flushed again, toying with his fingers and leaning nearer his sandwich. "Unless he asked me to," he added in a murmur, nearly inaudible. Nearly.

"But yes, we did exchange poetry. Favourites, here and there. He's leant me a little book of Keats; I should get that back to him- if I can bear to part with it." Jim stared off into a distance that didn't exist, blushing again. It was never entirely feigned. "He seems to share my fondness for the dramatic. He's got such a voice- and he so happily indulged my love of the romantics. What are all these kissings worth..." He mused a little longer before he seemed to snap himself to clarity, remembering he wasn't alone.

"Forgive me. It isn't just the train. It's been such a long time since I met anyone quite so... but you must understand. You're married." Jim pointed vaguely at the ring, a note of pleading in his voice. He used to be able to watch himself perform these little vignettes at home; maybe he would entreat Harley to set up some cameras. "You remember all those firsts, those little moments that made your heart stop- when they return your glance, yield to your touch, "I would never deny you"... it's as though it's never happened to anyone else in the world. If someone were to threaten that bond, even if you- if you deserved it- but I don't, John. So I need you to believe me. I would never let him come to harm. You're a very good friend, and if you and I can't reconcile, then surely, we can agree to Sherlock's well-being."

Inside, as he sometimes was able to picture, Jim was bouncing up and down, clapping his hands like a child. It was nearly too much fun.

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charlieprice
2012-07-25 10:03 pm UTC (link)

John could feel the rage rising up in him at an alarming rate; maybe he should have considered his therapist's suggestion that he took some anger management classes, after all, because it was getting harder and harder to resist the temptation to lash out violently. But what did he expect? Either Jim did have a crush... or as John was quickly starting to suspect, he knew the truth (or had at least guessed at it) and he was deliberately trying to provoke some sort of reaction from him. John didn't want to give him the satisfaction... but he was sure that his face was getting slowly redder to go with the pounding of blood he could feel in his temples.

And then he mentioned the Keats, and John felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. Anger quickly changed to hurt, his mouth opening slightly to protest, and an alarmingly sad little 'oh!' sound escaped him before he knew what he was doing. He clenched his teeth together again, swallowing down any further noise. Don't give him the satisfaction. Sherlock's voice. John knew the things that Sherlock's voice could do to him, but he also recalled how private their poetry readings had been. How he hadn't wanted anyone else to be allowed to see that side of Sherlock. He was afraid, suddenly, that he might cry. Soldier the fuck up had become his internal mantra.

His expression changed to one of confusion when Jim said that he was married, and his eyes followed his gaze down to his ring finger. Instinctively, he moved the hand out of his view, clasping his hands together behind his back in a rather military stance- and it gave the added reassurance (or perhaps- temptation) of feeling the bulge of his gun, again.

He nodded along, jaw clenched, although it was unclear if he was nodding in agreement, to say that he understood, or whether he was nodding along with his own internal monologue telling him to kill the bastard right now. Yield to your touch. What the fuck had been going on, on their "dates". God, John had asked him to stop calling them that.

He didn't know what to do- Sherlock assumed they were on the same page at all times, and while that was usually true, when it came to the complexities of Moriarty's games, John usually felt about ten paces behind everyone else. Should he own up to being Sherlock's fiance? But then- if Jim truly did have a crush, would he then feel led-on and go into some sort of rage of unrequited love? John had already fucked things up with Jim at least three times already. He didn't want to put Sherlock in any more danger. Play along for now, confer with his partner later?

"Right. Well. That's all- very- romantic and what have you," he said, bitterly. "Look, I don't want to see Sherlock hurt, you don't want to see Sherlock hurt, we're on the same side here, apparently. It doesn't mean we have to be buddies. I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. Sherlock can do what he pleases, I'm not his babysitter," he told him, changing his tune a little. Apathy was best. Act like he didn't care- which was easy in words, but impossible in posture.

"All right? We agreed? As long as he's... safe, we can just... play nice."

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so_changeable
2012-07-25 11:22 pm UTC (link)

John Watson looked like a water sac about to burst. Filled with blood, Jim amended silently. Crimson sloshing here and there, little squeaks and wrinkles forming and disappearing. It was the best fun he'd had in- well at least all day. Watching rage and heartbreak fight for the good doctor's attention, while stoic determination desperately trying and failing to keep them all inside without a show. It was beautiful.

God, his pleasures were small these days.

"If we can't be friends- I understand, John. I really do..." Disappointment and concentration, fingers laced in front of him, while he looked at the floor, as though he were trying hard to work something out. Not quite managing it. "I'd be frightened of me too- with your condition. But you're right. We are on the same side-" Jim's mouth snapped shut, the light of realization appearing in his eyes, fixed directly on John.

"Oh no, no- the way you've said it- romantic- I didn't realize." Jim took a few hesitant steps forward, as though he meant to reach out and reassure the man physically, but thought better of it, lowering his hand before contact was made. "I've seen it before. I- I think I understand." He swallowed, both for effect and to keep the laughter where it belonged, locked away until he had a place and time to scream it to the skies.

"It's one thing to have a best mate who just happens to be gay- but when they find someone-" His shoulders fell. "It can be disconcerting. I'm so sorry. John. I never took it into account. I haven't made you uncomfortable, have I?"

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charlieprice
2012-07-29 12:04 pm UTC (link)

John managed to just nod along, hoping that the conversation would end there. We can't be friends, but we're on the same side. That was enough of a conclusion, wasn't it? Everything in John's body was just screaming at him to get the hell out of there, it was only by sheer determination of the mind that he was managing to stop his muscles from walking him right back out the door. And it was apparent- everything was taught and tense, his shoulders ached with tension.

And then the mood changed. John felt his heart sink- or perhaps it was more his stomach. That sick, queasy feeling was back. He was silently cursing himself for using the word romantic. Was he just putting ideas in the other man's head, now? No- it was a mind game. He had to keep his cool, he had to play the game. His eyes were drawn to Jim's hand, fearing the possibility of a touch- he moved half a step away, just as Jim decided against it, anyway.

"Uncomfortable? No, no-" he responded, less than convincingly- he was angry. Really angry, and now it wasn't just about someone trying to steal his partner, it was much, much deeper than that. He hated him- he hated every single thing about him, and it was really, really difficult to keep that out of his tone, his expression, his stance. Even if he hadn't been involved with Sherlock, he would have hated him.

"Look, best of luck to you and all that. It's really- it's not you, I'm just- like you say, it's not the ideal circumstances for someone in my condition. The train, I mean. Any of it. I'm not- I won't interfere. Sherlock can make his own decisions, I just- I just want him to be happy," he rambled, getting rather twitchy, looking desperately for the best way to make his exit. "Just- don't hurt him. You won't hurt him-" he insisted again, it was more a request than a question, his voice shaking slightly with the stress. As long as Sherlock was safe- Jim could say anything. John didn't even mind if he hurt him in Sherlock's place, although he doubted Sherlock would agree to that one.

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so_changeable
2012-07-29 07:13 pm UTC (link)

"I understand. Really, I do. It's difficult in any case, isn't it? When you think someone might steal your friend away." Small pleasures or not, John was a joy. Sherlock being his own kind of pleasure entirely, and he came with little plastic toys on the side, as well. He took a few steps forward, just short of actually taking John's hand with concern.

"Thank you. Really. It know it's hard for you to say, but thank you- for your support, your luck. I know it's only been a few dates, but-" He looked away, blushing. "I won't make it worse, going on about it. But I'm not going to hurt him. Of course I'm not. Everything's going to be just fine, really." Jim sounded almost desperate to comfort the other man. Memorizing every detail of his face, even from a sidelong glance. He had other people to entertain him, but surely this was the best.

"You see now? Why I wanted us to be friends."

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charlieprice
2012-08-01 12:52 pm UTC (link)

And there it was: steal him away. Such a simple suggestion, and yet it sent a chill right through him. There was the crux of the matter- there was his worst fear, apparently.

It wasn't that he thought Sherlock could be stolen away. He knew that Sherlock would never let it happen; he had promised he was never going to leave him again, and he had a ring on his finger to prove it. He didn't think for a second that Sherlock would leave- not willingly. And that was what he was afraid of; Sherlock also hadn't willingly committed suicide, but that was the kind of power this man had. John hoped that the same feat wouldn't be possible on the train- and yes, it would certainly be more difficult to pull off, but if there was something they had plenty of, it was time. He knew what James Moriarty was capable of; maybe there would be nothing they could do to stop it. If Moriarty wanted them apart...

Now, he really felt sick. Sick and dizzy, and he was sure his expression was sinking even more with every passing second. He felt about ready to just cave in on himself.

Dates. He gritted his teeth at the word, feeling his jaw clench visibly as though he'd almost been struck in the face. His normal reaction was an urge to threaten him- he wanted to get right up in his face and make it very, very clear that Sherlock was his and no one touched him. With anyone else- well, he was sure anyone else would have been sporting a bloody nose by now. He wasn't himself with Jim. It was like playing with a live grenade, he didn't want to accidentally pull the pin.

He gave him a stern nod, swallowing back any cruel words that came to mind. He forced a sort-of smile. "Mmhmm. Well, give it time. I'm sure I'll..." -God, he hated this, he hated every second of it, he wanted to fucking scream - "... I'm sure we'll get on just fine."

Was that convincing? Doubtful. He needed out before he made it any worse. "Well- I'll... let you get on," he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchen.

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so_changeable
2012-08-01 08:58 pm UTC (link)

Jim very nearly wanted to cry out. Oh no, stay, let me make you some tea, but he'd pushed it just far enough, and if he wanted to play again later, it wouldn't do for the good doctor to burst a blood vessel and stroke out right there on the kitchen floor. They were in a survival situation, you had to make rations last, and anyway, Jim had never been one to gorge himself. There was never enough for that, no matter where he was.

"I hope so, John. I really do. Because I can tell he means a lot to you, and well- I know you want him to be happy. I can see that." He took a tentative step forward, as though unsure, looking nervously at the ground, but ultimately stuck out his hand in John's direction. "Thank you for coming to speak with me. It means the world. You're a good man, John Watson."

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charlieprice
2012-08-01 09:37 pm UTC (link)

John wasn't even listening anymore; he couldn't. The part of him that wanted to get the hell out of there had taken over, and he could feel every muscle just quivering as the flight response took over. He was nodding, wide-eyed and clearly desperate for him to just let him leave. He hated that his military composure always seemed to slip around Moriarty. He hated feeling so exposed and vulnerable, especially with him.

He was still nodding as Jim moved closer, although he instinctively took a little shuffle back, out of harms way. He looked at Jim's offered hand as if it were a loaded weapon, ready to go off. His heart was racing; a snide, dare he say jealous part of him wanted to deliberately ignore the hand and walk away. That would be a ridiculously childish snub, but one that he felt would give him great satisfaction, as pathetic as that was. Furthermore, the thought of feeling his skin made John feel rather queasy.

No, he had to do it. He had to keep up the act, for Sherlock. He gritted his teeth again, gave him a stern nod, and made sure that his handshake was firm and confident, the absolute opposite of what he felt. "Good day, Mr Moriarty. It was- a pleasure," he lied, dropping his hand again. He gave him another little nod, and backed toward the exit for a few paces before he risked turning around to leave properly.

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so_changeable
2012-08-01 09:59 pm UTC (link)

Cameras. He needs cameras, when they stop in civilization, he needs them everywhere, because memories are pristine and all that, but what he wouldn't give to be able to watch this over and over and over again.

It's a passing fancy, and he turns back to his sandwich, completely unwilling to wipe the grin from his face. Pleasure. That was exactly what it was, Jim thought, steadying his food to bring it back to his own cabin. A pleasure indeed.

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