Theme Prompt - Tender

Resting comfortably high up in the rafters, Moriarty watched as Greg Lestrade rescued John and Sherlock. He had to hold his hand over his mouth to silence the giggles that kept threatening to escape. It wouldn't do for them to discover him up here. To find out that he was the architect of their "rescue". It was so simple.

Give enough time for John's phone to die so that it could no longer be traced and he could shut down the device that kept the signal bouncing around. Then wait while Lestrade grew ever more frantic and sleep-deprived. When the DI was ready to grasp at any hope, any possible tidbit of information that came his way, call in an anonymous tip. Just the address so that the call couldn't be traced. Then just sit back and wait until the show started.

It only took about 20 minutes for Lestrade to show up. Moriarty was rather surprised and impressed that the man had come alone. Though he supposed the DI didn't want to scramble a massive team if the lead turned out to be nothing. Watching Lestrade pick the locks was almost more entertaining than setting this whole thing up. He was a fast learner and had the door open quickly.

Watching Lestrade usher John and Sherlock out, Moriarty allowed an almost tender look to cross his face. Whatever else happened, he truly believed he and Sherlock were connected. If with nothing else, at least with their intellects and their first forays into what would eventually become their lives. Moriarty didn't waste his breath on a possessive growl as he saw John wrap an arm around Sherlock's waist to help him into the car. He just bit his lip and promised himself that he would have some fun with the doctor before killing him slowly.

Once the DI's car drove away, Moriarty climbed out of the rafters and wandered into the room Sherlock and John had been in for the last three weeks. He fancied he could almost feel the desperation and sorrow in the room. Knowing how long it took someone to die from starvation and watching it were two very different things. And these two were so stoic about it. Never a scream, never a yell, never a whimper. It was boring which was why Moriarty had decided to free them in the first place.

Walking out of the room, Moriarty grabbed his phone and pondered what his next move would be. He doubted he'd be able to kidnap them from the hospital again; John would be wary of that. And he had no doubt Lestrade would put in place security teams to watch the doctor and the detective every moment they weren't home. An idea crossed his mind and he grinned ferally.

Gary, you feeling up for some planning? -JM

Sure, boss. What did you have in mind? - GW

I want you to find a perch near Sherlock's home. You have to be able to see the chair John sits in through the window. Then be ready. - JM

Planning on a little assassination, boss? - GW

Yes, yes I am. I want Sherlock and John is getting in my way. And to burn the heart of Sherlock, I simply need to destroy the physical manifestation of it. - JM

All right. I'll text you once I've found a spot. - GW

Moriarty put his phone away and decided to amend his earlier plan of making John suffer a lingering death. John didn't matter anymore, except for the ways he could be used against Sherlock. All that mattered now was the arrogant detective who thought he could outsmart Jim Moriarty.

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Greg drove to a small diner near the hospital and left John and Sherlock in the back while he went in to order. He vaguely remembered some training he'd gotten a long time ago saying that the two men shouldn't eat anything solid since they'd been starved for so long. Greg ordered two bowls of beef broth and a sandwich that he could eat in the car. Sherlock had been right: he'd been living on crappy microwaved food for about 2 weeks now and something different sounded wonderful.

When his order was ready, Greg carried it back out to the car and handed the bowls of broth to John. He didn't want Sherlock to start gulping down the soup and make himself sick. Chances were, John would know how fast and how much they could eat, safely.

"Take it slow," Greg advised, turning around in his seat to stare at the two behind him. "You haven't eaten anything in a long time. You don't want to get sick."

John nodded and took a small sip of the broth before coaxing Sherlock to do the same. They ate slowly as Greg drove back to the hospital and the DI could see a definite difference in both men. He jumped a bit when Sherlock spoke suddenly behind him.

"I don't want to go back to the hospital," the detective declared. "We are both fine. We just need some time to recover from this."

"You're going to the hospital if I have to drag you in there myself," Greg threatened, glaring at Sherlock in the rearview mirror. He parked in the ambulance unloading area, knowing that neither John nor Sherlock would be up to much walking.

"He's right, Sherlock," John said, rubbing a hand over Sherlock's arm. "We have to be checked out, at least. We won't stay long, I promise."

Sherlock looked at John for several long moments then nodded, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. John gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and helped Sherlock out of the car. Greg hovered close as they walked into the hospital, making sure neither man fell.

The visit went quickly, the doctor trying to keep them in the hospital overnight. John was having none of it, though, falling back on his expertise as a doctor. He knew what they needed to do to recover from the starvation and what not to do. Finally, John and Sherlock signed out of the hospital and were driven to their flat by Greg.

"If you could do some shopping for us, it would be tremendously helpful," John said to Greg once he and Sherlock had made their laborious way up the stairs. Greg nodded and made a quick trip to Tesco once he had settled John and Sherlock. Carrying the grocery bags back upstairs, he paused for a minute in confusion as he saw what looked like a sniper's sight on John's chest.

The doctor had fallen asleep in his chair, Sherlock across from him just as asleep. The dot disappeared almost as soon as Greg saw it. Shaking his head, he carried the bags into the kitchen and put away the cold items. Exhaustion was making him see things, he concluded. Leaving a short note for John to call him for anything they needed, Greg left the two men to catch up on their sleep.

As he closed the door, Greg didn't see the sniper's sight land on John's chest again. It hovered there for several moments, bouncing around. Then it disappeared again.