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Moriarty's pajamas had got little yellow ducklings on them. John wasn't sure why that surprised him.
"Forgot your teddy bear, did you?"
Sherlock was wearing an old shirt that made his legs look longer and also skinnier. John would have complained about it, except that the shirt was already a hard-won concession (price: one blowjob) and a vast improvement over Sherlock not wearing anything at all.
All of which left John the only one with proper nightwear. Well, him and Mrs. Hudson, but she wasn't around right now, and John devoutly hoped she wasn't going to show up either; hilarious as it might have been to hear her rip into Moriarty like he was the devil incarnate - which, actually, not that far from the truth, there were such things as personal safety to consider.
"I'm all grown-up now, Daddy. I like sleeping with real dolls. They're so much more fun to play with."
John looked at Sherlock 'a little help here'. Sherlock shrugged. 'not my problem'. Typical.
"Oh, that's nice," Moriarty said. "And naughty. Naughty, John, talking about other people as if they weren't there. I like that. Mom and Dad having a little private talk."
"I'm not your mother," Sherlock said curtly. 'there. happy?'
"Then what are you, Sherlock? What's a hero, without a proper villain? What's a happily married couple without some bloke one of them's seeing on the side?"
"We're not married," John said, because he'd got that reference loud and clear, thank you.
"The great Sherlock Holmes and the oh-so proper Doctor John Watson. Living in sin." Moriarty grinned widely. The pajamas didn't make him look any less mad, although they did make him look less like a psychopath who blew people up for the hell of it and more like ... well.
John didn't have any plans to be bringing over the boyfriends to meet the family, that much was for sure.
"Do grow up, will you? This is the twenty-first century."
"I wasn't talking about the sex," Moriarty said. "Although really, Sherlock. Kitchen tables are so twentieth century. Did you know I'm a wanted man in sixty-three countries?"
"How do you - " John started.
"Sixty-four," Sherlock said. "You forgot Dubai. Cameras."
"Dubai, Schmubai. What the fuck is in Dubai, anyway? Spoilsport."
"Cameras? What cameras?"
"A lot of money. His, of course."
"You watched us have sex," John said slowly, then, turning to Sherlock: "You knew about this. You let him watch us have sex."
"Bo-ring. It's just paper. Or numbers. Mostly numbers, really. Add a zero there, remove a few here and there, and there you are, from prince to pauper. Or pauper to prince. Much more fun. And it's only fair, isn't it? Not as if they earned all that money."
"Consider the alternative," Sherlock said. "And you didn't earn it either, did you?"
"It was there, I took it. You were there, I watched you. Still got the tapes if you're interested, although I must tell you, John, I expect the live show to be so much better. They always are."
"Fine," John said. "I'll just ... lie back and think of England or something, shall I?"
"You should think of me," Moriarty said. "All those boring little people who're just going on and on and on with their boring little lives, because oh, too bad, I'm busy tonight. Does that turn you on?"
Sherlock glanced at John. 'keep calm, will you? musn't upset our houseguest.' "You're not his type. You could be, if you made the effort, but right now, you're not."
"Oh my, that does sound awfully much like a challenge, and you do know how I feel about challenges."
"Let me guess," John said. "You think they're boring." A man could always hope, surely. Granted, Sherlock hadn't exactly swept John off his feet the first time they'd met either (or actually, he had, but that was besides the point) and supposedly, Moriarty was almost as smart as Sherlock was.
"Not always. And I do like to play a bit sometimes, instead of just watching all the time."
"Well then," Sherlock said, "meaningless chitchat and pleasantries out of the way, shall we get on with it now? Don't know about you, but I did have some other plans for tonight."