AN: It may be a week early, but Happy Halloween!

Disclaimer: I so don't own Sherlock, nor do I own anything else you may recognize.

John adjusted his black cape for the third time in less than three minutes with nervous fingers before finally squaring his shoulders and striding forward, flashing his invite at the hotel's doorman he slipped inside and joined the upscale costume party underway in the ballroom.

Sara Sawyer, his boss, had brought him the invite for this thing the week before in between his patients claiming that everyone in the office was going, a lie he hadn't needed Sherlock's powers of observation to detect, and that if he didn't show up he could kiss his job goodbye.

It had taken Sherlock less than five minutes to deduce that she was being threatened to threaten him into going, that the invite stemmed directly from Moriarty himself and exactly what the mad bombers motivations were; and that had been without setting eyes on the invitation itself or hearing the words from Sara's mouth directly.

To say that Sherlock and he had had a few fights over whether he would be allowed to go or not would be an understatement, but here he was and that was saying something for his determination.

Grabbing a glass of some blood-colored but fruity substance, John was soon getting restless as he stood on the sidelines of the dance floor in his paint, wig and costume watching the rich kids he had nothing in common with gyrate to the techno beat.

After half an hour of being a wallflower- not his normal routine at a party- he'd had enough and so retreated to the restroom, at least in there he would be able to ensure that his make-up was still in place- he had worked so hard to get it just right.

"My, my, Johnny. Just who are you supposed to be with that black hair, white face and red lips? And the long cape? Surly this isn't some new age version of Dracula I'm seeing? That would be so... ordinary." John took in the man who had slipped in behind him and locked the door through the mirror- Jim was wearing all black except for a blood-red tie, he even had tiny black horns poking out of his forehead- then in a flash the doctor turned and dropped the cape.

"Care to take another guess?" John inquired as he showed off his full costume with its black leather corset, garter belt and ripped fishnet stockings.

As the Greatest Criminal Mind of the Century stood gaping at John's outfit said man strode towards him on his sequins covered platform heels and got right into his personal space, pressing right up against the other man so that their lips were barely separated by a hair's breadth.

"Sherlock told me why you wanted me here tonight, he said you wanted to have your way with me and then leave me broken on his doorstep. Is that true, Jim? Do you want to have me begging and writhing underneath you? If you do then all you need do is ask." Pressing a feather light kiss to the Consulting Criminal's lips, John unlocked the door and stepped out.

Poking his head back inside for a moment he cleared up on point he didn't think was quite clear enough.

"And my outfit isn't Dracula, its Dr. Frank N. Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. If you want to talk anymore about any of this you know where to find me." Slipping out of the restroom for the last time, John made his way to the dance floor to finally have some fun now that the business of the night was out of the way.

Swaying his hips to the beat as he walked out onto the open floor, John had no idea about how many heads he was turning; but someone did, and he was pissed off by it.

The little pet had just proved himself interesting, and no-one was getting a chance with him until Jim had his.

As a group of interested pretty young things began to surround the sexy new dreamboat in their midst Jim reached an internal decision and began approaching the dance floor himself.


Jim had a predatory smile on his lips as he crawled onto the bed after the good doctor, he finally had John up in his room after a hellish chase across the dance floor to terrible music and was now going to take full advantage of him.

The pet may have shown bravado before, but Jim was sure that he would be a whimpering mess before the night was through; and he would use every trick in his considerable arsenal to see that it happened.

"Keep the suit on," John demanded when Jim began to remove his tie, "I've always wanted to be pounded into a mattress by the devil." Smiling the smile that had made other men weep, but not John Watson who just moaned at the sight, Jim decided to give the pet just what he was asking for.


John dragged himself into 221b Baker street around midmorning the day after he had left for the party with a satisfied smile on his lips and a limp to his bouncing step.

A quick change of clothes, he had showered before he left the hotel room and the mad genius still sleeping there, had John feeling more himself as he went back downstairs.

Passing the sitting room up, John went straight for the kitchen and made two cups of tea, he soon returned to the sitting room and handed one to the man who had waited up all night for him- not that said man would ever admit that that was what he had been doing.

"So how was he?" Sherlock asked after a long moment of silence, and John didn't need to ask what he was talking about.

It had been his winning argument that had gotten him Sherlock's permission to go to the party after all, his having the hots for Jim Moriarty. Sherlock had been completely disgusted by the very idea but had eventually agreed that it would be better to let John get it out of his system rather than having it fester and present itself at an inappropriate moment, like maybe if Moriarty were ever in John's crosshairs.

"Not as good as I expected, but better than I had hoped." John answered honestly and happily watched the fleeting smirk that passed over his flatmate's face at his criticism of Sherlock's archrival's prowess in bed- or lack thereof.

"Alright then. And now that it is out of your system I expect this entire circumstance to never again be mentioned." With that statement Sherlock stood and made his way into the kitchen to finish up experiments he had been unable to complete while John had been with that... man.

Sherlock decided, after having to dispose of three ruined experiments, that he was never letting John back into a situation like that again- no matter what the good doctor's baser urges wanted- it simply had too much of a negative impact on his research.


Jim woke up snuggly and comfortably tucked in bed, so it took him a moment to realize he was alone in the huge room.

Sitting up fast he fell back with a gasp as every over stimulated nerve in his body all complained at once at the abuse he had lavished on them the night before when he had been turned into a whimpering mess by the expert hands of the good Dr. Watson.

Groaning his displeasure at this turn of events, Jim carefully sat up for a second time and noticed the pain reliever and glass of water on the night stand next to a note.

Ignoring the pills out of inbred caution against poison, Jim picked up the note that was obviously from John.

Sorry to run out like this, but you know how Sherlock gets and I can't risk leaving him home alone for too much longer. Last night was great, so thanks for that. Call me if you ever want to do it again, but do be prepared for Sherlock to interfere if you do, he only let me meet with you last night because I was insistent.

Jim set the note down and picked up the pain pills, no longer caring if they were poisoned or not.

John Watson, the man he had planned to break apart and abandon, had just shown him how to do just that in a far more elegant way- by doing it to him.

Relaxing back against the head-board, letting the pills do their work, Jim started making plans.

He had to have John again, had to, and he would not let anything- not even pretty little Sherlock- keep him from that magnificent doctor that had just rocked his world.