bakerstreet | Healing the Broken

Laughter in an exhale. "Wasn't that exactly what you offered when you interrupted?" Would never forget the blur through his scope as Jack was looking down the barrel at his targets.

More than a little drunk and bruised, having given better than he got the night before, and then up that morning to track and photo a flock rather than the next person he had decided needed to be checked out of the gene pool - there was always someone. Had been played poker the night before, knew the room, knew the people for the most part, knew the mood and it was not the night to win, except he had because cash reserves were running low. Not by a lot mind you, but enough to pay for his flat and food. He was Things turned ugly a little quicker than he had guessed, someone sliding across the table, through the coins and case and might be valuable heirlooms. For a man who had lost his inheritance, the paltry sum would have meant the difference between paying for dinner and taking what he wanted and he disliked taking from those who had little to spare.

It had taken over two dozen tries before Moriarty had managed to sail one of his little bank note flying airplanes past the photographer's lens, but the look on Moran's face when he first saw well over a hundred pounds sticking up in the grass like some ultra-fast-growing invasive weed species was priceless. "Well yes, a paycheck is always a good place to start, but there would have to be something more to keep a free spirit around after your pockets were adequately padded. Ooh, maybe I'm really good in the sack. That has some potential!"

"Mmm, you do have a certain something," happily pummeled and snuggled and filling his own arms.

Now, there were no minions to coordinate, no big plans in the air (that he was aware of at least, and none that Moriarty was currently capable of making), only the ones falling onto the floor that had been entrusted to Jack. They could afford the time to recover, the time to be lazy, the time to do nothing at all.

Mrs. Whatsit had left her mark on Jack. Even if he pretended that some scar, which he might never see unless heels over arse, was very much like others, it wasn't. Even if he had cut himself before, or dug out a bullet, or cause some other minor self harm, usually to forward healing, the emphasis was on minor and not a psychological scar. Could understand why some men named their dick and joked that it had a personality. His was certainly sulking and rightfully resentful.

"You were rather cocky at the time too."

"Oh hardly. If I had dared to get within three meters of you, or made some kind of noise to get your attention, that would have been cocky. Offering you something that wasn't cash in hand, or telling you that you'd have to sober up first? That would have been cocky."

What day was it? He would have to remember to ask. There was something about stitches coming out of Moriarty's face after five days, arse after ten. It would be nice not to wear the bandage over his cheekbone any more, it was really rather annoying when he got sweaty. At least Jack didn't have to worry about his own stitches, they would all dissolve on their own. Maybe they already had?

"Three meters and I would have had a new sheath for my knife, Love," just one more body on a path littered with the dead and destroyed. Drink had only made him meaner. Hadn't lost his temper, to his knowledge, not that he ever drank in public to unconsiousness, but it would have come out soon. He had been looking for an excuse to forget everything. Didn't shudder, but felt like someone had walked on his grave. "Would have missed everything."

Found by his family, if they threw enough people at him, he would have been locked up and detoxed and drugged until he stopped fighting.
It would have taken a lobotomy.
He had been an embarrassment.

"Oh rubbish, I was perfectly safe. I positioned myself so that all of your camera equipment was in the way. Would you really have flung everything to the ground and trampled it just so you could kill someone as harmless as I am, in broad daylight?"

Moriarty pressed his good cheek against Jack's. "Two meters might have been pushing it."

"I would have hardly had to move and you know it." Asked (well,, not asked, but skirted) a question he still had running around in his head to this day, "Although, your sniper," who became second string "would have splattered my brain...assuming he could hit that large of a target. Besides, you didn't look harmless."

"I'm sure that one of the six could have clipped you in the shoulder, at least." Oh, you didn't realize, Jack? Moriarty only switched to using a single sniper after he met you. Actually, Jim had briefly considered having one of them shoot Moran's camera lens to get his attention, but because his quarry was actually worth recruiting this time instead of just driving mad, he thought better of it.

"You don't think anyone looks harmless. Anyone else would have taken one look at me and been more wary of the ducks."

A 'six' he knew his eyebrow had bounced. That creepy crawly of his spine feeling had been very much present, and it hadn't been about the man in front of him.

"I don't make the mistake of thinking ducks are harmless either," cheek quirking. "But they seemed rather interested in the watercress."

Two of them were still in training! Experienced snipers are so hard to find, it's easier to look for talent and train them in house. "Ducks, amoebic dysentery, jackals, bees, Egyptian mummy curses, it's a wonder any of us are still alive."

Wouldn't go so far as to tickle him, but went with the impulse and blew a wet raspberry into the crook of James' neck. Laughter shook him, escaping as he rolled to his back, pulling James with him.

"I can't imagine..." breath stuttering and stopping with the continuing sound of good humor "You digging - digging up bones." Directing it, wanting to know progress and why nothing had been found, absolutely.

"Aah!" He flailed his arms briefly and kicked his feet in the air, the thrrrppp noise and accompanying sudden sensation were both unexpected and strange. Then he snorted in amusement at the ridiculousness of it, as well as the fact that he had just nudged the tray off the bed.

"You'll have to get me a pith helmet before I'll even consider it. And a whip."

"No, no," rolling his eyes at the crash and the loss of the tea he had been looking forwards to. What was done was done and Jack's to clean up, because he wasn't letting anyone near James while the man wasn't in top form. "Don't need you cutting your chin open like Indiana Jones. You should start with a crop. Practice making that lovely smack noise with the leather tab." Nearly offered to be his horse, but didn't.

"You're so adorable when you get all patronizing with me. Everyone makes the mistake of believing I'm harmless. Yes, my precious wary Tiger, even you." He rubbed his nose over Jack's, hoping to distract from the understandable aggravation over the inconvenient mess on the floor.

No matter how often Moriarty conjured insane surprises and dizzying plot twists out thin air, he would never run out of them. Not only did he have a huge reserve of unexpected expertise built up, he kept collecting bigger and better ideas and pursuing an ever increasing variety of obscure little hobbies to keep himself occupied. Even Jack, who had often been witness to these strange little diversions, had trouble figuring it out. Essentially, Moriarty had spent decades stuffing new magic tricks up the sleeves of his wizard robes faster than he could pull them back out.

No, Jack had never seen Jim handle a whip or anything even vaguely similar. It would be perfectly reasonable to believe that Moriarty simply hadn't been interested in learning how to use them. The reality was that he had played out all of the potential fun to be had with such common and mundane toys long ago and nothing less than straight up mutilation could hold his interest any more. The end of a whip, no matter how viciously barbed, could never compete with the destructive power of a properly wielded blade. Besides, why would he bother knocking the rust off that expertise in the interest of trying to amuse Jack? It had been obvious from the beginning that the man already had more experience with that sort of thing than he had been willing to tolerate.

And that right there, that was exactly the reason why he hadn't offered. Sometimes he was able to forget that Jim was there, lurking. There would be a particular gleam in the eye that would remind him right before the cruelty began. Deep down, he knew it. But if Jim wasn't there, right there, if James, for some reason packed up and left and didn't return, Jack might very well forget that dangerous side. No. He could never fully forget, not even then...could he?

"I'm not everyone," denying the truth even as he enjoyed James' slight weight on him. "I had imagined you directing the crew, with your pith helmet on, tapping the crop against your boot as you walked however." That particular tap tap sound making it easy to track his progress up and down the line.

"No, you're not everyone." Moriarty stretched out over Jack's body so he could cross forearms over his Tiger's collarbone and rest his chin on them. To complete the pose he could bend one knee to put a foot in the air, but he wasn't trying to play to any watching audience.

"You're someone who still believes I'm harmless, even now, because of all the secrets I keep from you. Anyone else would have been offered the privilege of learning the full truth, the hard way." There, now you know Moriarty's deepest, darkest secret: He knows your vulnerabilities, Jack, and made the active choice not to exploit all of them. "Jim" doesn't get free rein around you, despite the impression he likes to give.

Reached back to tug a fat pillow under his head. Privilege was a matter of perspective. What Jack didn't know couldn't be gotten out of him, no matter the methods used to gain it. There was a very good reason he didn't want to know everything. Couldn't lie to himself and insist that he could partition off his mind and keep things separate from himself. The only thing he had been able to successfully disengage from was pain and anger, letting them play out while he excused himself.

"I'd rather you didn't share." With Jack guarding Moriarty's backside, there was always the possibility of him getting caught while the mastermind slipped away. "Am content with the warnings you do give," before the shit hits the proverbial fan. Might think for a minute or three that he disliked knowing, but it was a relief not to have the entire truth, both for James' safety as well as his own.

Under his hands, temperature of James' skin was still a little higher than normal, but he was glad to have most of that mind present. Kept him on his toes. Had to admit, even if he hated being back in the city, his time back in London had never been dull. Regret at having returned, certainly, especially when visiting his mother. Her decline had been marked, the contrast, after his last night in the family home, unnerving.

"But I've never actually seen a pith helmet." James reached out to trace a fingertip over Jack's forehead and the bridge of his nose. His voice went softer as he launched into his own personal true confessions mode, one he was very unfamiliar with himself. "Never been stung by an insect, or ridden a horse. Never gone camping, or hunting, or hiking in the woods. Never been in the ocean, or a lake, or a pond. Never seen a waterfall."

"We can do all of that together, Love," his usual rumbling having gone gruff.

There were these moments that seemed to come out of nowhere, when he was absolutely certain that he loved James. It would hit him like a water buffalo then run off the other direction again. But when he lay there trying to figure out what happened, he knew exactly what it was and that he had to pick himself up or be gutted where he had been tumbled and sprawled.

"I'll be happy to light your cigarette to get leaches off of you and check all of your bits for ticks." That's how he got up this time, by turning the truth into a joke. A truth that would have Jim spinning in circles trying to look over his own shoulder.

Moriarty was more than prepared to turn any given topic into a joke, and the obvious complementary style for Jack was histrionic, which of course came naturally to Jim. "What? Leeches?! I'm not wearing a pith helmet if it will give me leeches! That's even worse than glacier snakes!"

He trailed his fingers up into Jack's hair and twirled it around, grinning with his mouth almost in reach, right in front of his Tiger's lips. Daring Jack to initiate physical intimacy was one of Jim's favorite pastimes, though it sort of defeated the point to do it as James. If there wasn't any danger of a volatile reaction, then it wasn't much of a dare, now, was it.

Teeth snapping together, but not going anywhere.

Leeches. Very real. With or without a helmet, but at least they wouldn't be in Jim's hair. "You are the one who made up the glacier snakes." Cellophane worms on cold weather beaches were rather interesting however.

A close haircut made it easier to look for bloodsucking insects.

Jim flicked his tongue in the air into the neutral zone, also not going anywhere. "What's next, the Easter Bunny? Are you going to tell me that the palace cats of the current Pharaoh of Egypt don't wear the traditional gold jewelry any more?"

If Jack is paying very close attention, he might recognize the personality traits as those of the recently unearthed Jimmy. Maybe the age-regressed benign stubbornly-stuck-in-fantasy-world registered to only at a subliminal level for Jack. Maybe he attributed it entirely to Moriarty's fever, but it wasn't that. Maybe there was something to the assumption that emotionally warped psychopaths must have deeply disturbed childhoods. Considering that Moriarty liked to suggest that he had materialized fully-grown from nightmare stuff and legend, not even admitting that he had a childhood at all.

Where had that come from?
I was wondering more about the current pharaoh?
"The Easter Bunny here would be referred to at the Springtime Hare. A little stringy unless slow roasted in some coals."

Were they going to discuss how Father Christmas delivered presents to good little Egyptian boys and girls? In a chariot of course.

"And fashionable felines encouraged pickpockets. Their toenails are painted gold however," making that up.
Could be true.
Doubt it

"We used to have rabbit for Easter dinner every year. Mother would tell us that she caught the Easter Bunny that morning, and they'd have to send out a new bunny next Easter." Jim's smile wavered a little. Something wasn't right about that, but he wasn't sure what.

Both eyebrows rose then immediately bunched.

"Jim?" He had been joking, but that wasn't one he heard back...especially not after meeting his twin separated by several decades or Mother Whatsit, whoever the woman turned doctor was, other than someone he never wanted to see again. Couldn't say that they wouldn't have rabbit or hare, but they would not, under any circumstances, have any for Easter. Goat, snake, anything but rabbit. Reached for his fallback, "It's alright."

If this was similar to the game Jim had played with Whatsit, Jack wouldn't take that path, didn't like what he had down it and was pretty sure that Jim's would scare the hell out of him.

Lifted his head and dared the teeth, closing the distance.

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