bakerstreet | Healing the Broken

"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.

Moriarty was occasionally unresponsive to physical affection when sufficiently distracted. When that happened he did nothing to discourage it, but didn't show any kissing-back reflex either. Otherwise, enthusiastic urgency or vehement rejection, or some complex combination of the two, were his standard modes. Not this time.

Teeth? No teeth. Jim's mouth was sensitive and responsive, but uncharacteristically pliant. He leaned into the kiss, lips warm and gentle, all his attention fixated on the interaction but he made no attempt to employ his tongue or hands, or grind his hips.

Odd though the behavior was, Jack liked gentle. True, any ~~minute~~ second now he'd be bit or poked or someone would avail themselves of one of his inobvious weapons, but it was nice to pretend this might be normal. Didn't have to be anything at all, just a kiss, just a tip or a list towards him. Pulled the blanket up over them then wrapped his arms around James again. His favorite person tucked and snuggled, Jack rumbled contentedly, whether he was or not.

Tempting to tell a no point story about when he small and things hadn't yet completely turned ugly. How his mother took him to church on Easter morning, dressing him up in a proper suit and short pants, a useless waistcoat, and little boots. But he didn't want to hear what he would be told in exchange, didn't want another mind sucking worm to get in his ear and give him nightmares about Jim's life 'before' that would blend into their last worst day.

Jim kept the kiss going for over a minute before pulling back just enough to whisper against Jack's lips. "Sorry about that. It seems I've temporarily forgotten how to think before I speak."

Had let himself get lost, to fall into what he liked best.

"No damage, Love," finding his voice a little hoarse as he looked up at him. Nor had Jack really gone anywhere. "I can only affect those things within reach," arms tightening around James. "Good news, you're here."

Jack had an interesting opinion on what constitutes damage, but Jim already knew that. Maybe his precious Tiger had lost the ability to recognize any pain that didn't immediately kill him, but it was obvious to Jim that he was still plenty sensitive to emotional hurt.

"I'm here, and I know that not every one of my secrets is worth sharing." He ran fingertips over Jack's cheek, feeling the familiar patterns of those tiny ridges and valleys that lay invisible just under the surface, then echoed the sentiment Jack had expressed just a moment ago. "It's alright."

A quick grin vanished as quickly as it appeared. His own secrets were either shallow or weren't worth sharing either. "They are yours to share and give away as you choose." A trail of pebbles one of the Holmes might use to track Jim back to where it all began. Except they weren't looking anymore and it was just Jack.

Of everyone around him, Moriarty had picked someone out of the wilderness for no good reason Jack could discern and somehow made a companion out of them, someone who wouldn't actually stab Jim through the heart and would do amazingly stupid things for him based on blind trust when all he ought to be doing was the opposite.

"Stories are worth sharing, however. Even if they're irrelevant and trite." James rubbed the tip of his nose playfully against Jack's. "Those might even be the best kind to tell."

If the Holmes boys had ever got their grabby little claws on Jack, Moriarty was quite certain they would know better than to try pumping him for that kind of information. If Jim wouldn't tell the Queen's interrogators anything truthful or remotely useful on the matter, anything he told Jack would have to be a colorful basket of lies. Even the truth would be useless in trying to understand the madman, why waste time?

"Doubt stories of my first heist would impress you." Glad they were moving farther away from Easter and other associated holidays. Family celebrations never ended well, mainly because afterwards never happened in front of guests or the public. "You just want to hear about my first gun and what I shot with it."

If he ever said anything at all, it would be to critique their techniques. Knowing Mycroft, he'd just lock Jack up in solitary until he was pacing and arguing with himself. Not that he ever argued with himself about anything important, it was always stupid crap. Nor were any of them here, expected to be here, or were invited.

"Ooh yes I would love to listen to you talk about your guns." Oddly, that was said without a hint of sarcasm. Moriarty didn't personally give a damn about the weapons themselves, but any time Jack had bothered speaking on the topic (usually a few words and it was over) he seemed so enthusiastic (barely detectable) that it always brought a smile to Jim's face. "Did you hit yourself in the chin like Indiana Jones with his whip?"

James shifted his weight to one side and pressed his face against the side of Jack's neck, curling up against him in preparation for a nice bedtime story. Story or not, sleep would catch up to Moriarty soon enough and hold him in its grip until the fever reducing medicine gave out again.

"No. Nor did I shoot my eye out." Would stay until James fell asleep then begin the cleanup of the fallen tray and start a fresh pot of tea...or, because Jack's arm was under Jim's head, just lay here, trapped, perhaps falling asleep. Found himself dozing earlier that day when the sun streamed in, had missed that luxury. Was grateful that they were in the tallest building around, however, which leveled the ground when it came to another sniper. "It was an air rifle."

Could still feel that first weapon in his hands, having heard about soldiers stripping and cleaning their weapons blindfolded, Jack, or John as he was called in those days, taught himself to do just that, opening one eye when he had gone wrong and had to start over.

"Supposed to start with tin cans. I, however, was sent after moles." The moles had been terrible that year, blamed for eating his aunt's bulbs and gnawing their way through the garden. Knew now that it was field mice using the moles tunnels. Moles didn't care for veg. Spending a relatively carefree summer hunting moles was deemed to be a reasonable vacation and he had been allowed to go to the estate. Little did he know that vacation away from boarding school would be his last, all because of what happened next. "I had missed plenty, but I noticed that one appeared very regularly near the garden fence and I staked it out." Had planned his cover carefully, didn't bring snacks after the first day because ants found him, but, "On the third day I had the brown bugger in my sights and with pop, I dropped him."

Jack remembered his first triumph, that first thrill, the first time he remembered to use everything he had learned to do over the week before. These days it was grim satisfaction, but that day, that day it had been magic.

"I grabbed it by the neck and ran over, whooping the entire way, to show my aunt," who had promised to reward him for saving her bulbs, "She looked at it and shrieked. Screamed for my uncle. Screamed at me, telling me what a horrid little boy I was."

Jaw tightened. Jack stared up at the ceiling, at the netting over the bed that was mere decoration compared to what they would be using if they went through with traveling the length of Africa.

"I was never invited back." Spent all holidays and vacations, unless he was invited out by another boy, at school. "Because I had shot my aunt's terrier."

"Why wasn't she grateful? That particular sort of nasty little beast is a much bigger pest than any garden mole could ever be." Jim was in the process, intellectually, of partitioning off all of the more gruesome parts of his own childhood. In the meantime, it was still a conscious effort to steer his thoughts away from the likely reaction his own aunt would have had. The image of little Jack automatically assuming that his assigned prey would be that large was endearing, but in a very sad way. What kind of person would send out an armed assassin without bothering to provide even the vaguest description of the intended target? The experience must have made a strong impression on Jack. Moriarty had always known him to be absolutely fastidious about eliminating all doubt that he had the correct victim.

Even though he was feeling under the weather, storytime only made Jim more interested in being awake to hear more. "Did you get to keep the gun, at least?"

"Yes." He muddled with whether or not the netting was the right size to keep out biting bugs on any size bed, then came clean. "No. That was my first real heist."

Had to filch the key to open the gun case, break the weapon down in the dark and distribute the weight in his singular bag and on his person. Put on the train for the school and picked up on the other end.

"Which led to my second at a gunsmith's." Somewhere along the way he had lost a piece and went to a gunsmith to see how much for a replacement. "Ended up working there," to pay off his second heist, which hadn't gone as planned. But because of it, he knew how to bore out a new barrel and how to make repairs and other adjustments that had been vital down the years. "Bought my first scope there," no more incorrect identifications.

But the gun, real and accurate as it was, was a child's toy.

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