Where are you? ~ SM
Christ. Jim? ~ SM
I did as you asked you arse. ~ SM
So now you’re ignoring me, huh? Stubborn fuck. ~ SM
Jim seriously. Pick up your damn phone. ~ SM
This isn’t funny… ~ SM
Jim? ~ SM
James? ~ SM
Boss? ~ SM
Last chance. ~ SM
Fine. On my way. ~ SM
Shaking hands shoved the phone away, Sebastian immediately swallowing a lump forming in his throat, a pang of dread settling over him. The sniper had been waiting hours for the phone call which would allow him to know that Jim was okay because he simply had to be. There was another option; Jim Moriarty had to live through this. He had to survive… but as the minutes dragged by Sebastian began to panic, sweating profusely as he took to a sprint and ran faster than he had ever run in his life, darting past trees; the scenery a blur.
He was probably paranoid. Jim was a survivor after all, he’d over-come more than anyone Sebastian knew. He’d achieved true greatness. He was the most dangerous man in London and his name was a mere whisper in the wind. Someone that intelligent would have planned ahead for this. He was much more intellectual than Sebastian, who knew he was the mere marksman at the end of the day. For the world could exist without him but every fairy-tale needed a good old fashioned villain - Jim himself had said so - and he was that villain. There was no other one out there capable of burning down London and reducing it to ashes.
Besides. They had so much to prepare for, so much more to accomplish. They had a dozen or so clients waiting for a response, they had limitless targets but most of all they had hundreds of nights to look forward to. Nights spent wrapped in eachothers arms, Jim grunting in complaint as the sniper slid his hands around his waist. Jim liked to often forget he was human but Sebastian made sure to remind him. Guaranteed he had four square meals a day as much as he could, sent him to bed and ignored any cussing coming from the genius. He also always remembered to duck when he heard hands picking up an object and bit back grins day by day knowing that pissing off Moriarty could lead him to sleeping on the floor like a dog. He was Jims. In body, in mind. In soul and in heart.
Yes Sebastian was paranoid. He’d get there and most likely find a note or two leading him somewhere else, he’d get there and perhaps the criminal would greet him with a dead-eyed stare and an Irish draw of his name. Maybe he’d even get there and the man would be in such a good mood he’d allow him to card his hands through his hair, murmuring the words, “well done, Tiger,” because Sebastian had listened to him. He’d done exactly as he asked as he always did. Daddy’s faithful companion. Sebastian had never once failed him and he wasn’t about to start doing now.
‘I’m good. I’m loyal. Damn it please let you be ‘kay. I’ll even let ya collar me you cunt. I’ll beg for you. I’ll do anything. Just be o-’
Sebastian froze having torn up the steps and flung open the door, blue irises widening in horror for there on the ground was blood being washed away down the drain, specks of rain to blame.
“Wh-? Shit.”
At that minute Sebastian swore his heart stopped, knuckles clenched so tight he wouldn’t have been surprised if his fingers had broken. Nothing from their plan had specified that blood would be involved. Jim was supposed to merely talk the detective to jumping from the roof and yes the sniper hadn’t liked it, why would he have? Yet he’d trusted Jim’s judgement… that had been his first mistake. The criminal had never hidden the fact he had a death-wish, he was always complaining how boring living was. It was daily occurrence for him to make a statement out of the blue that everything was so dull and mundane. He often got angry with Sebastian repeatedly for not giving him enough entertainment, but Sebastian had tried hadn’t he? It had been his job to keep him safe… could he have truly failed that?
“Fuck, no, fuck you.”
Sebastian slid his hands through his hair, collapsing against the wall and pulled at the strands, trying to think over that creeping trepidation. Okay so not everything had gone to plan, perhaps the man had been forced to get his hands dirty. Oh, well he wasn’t going to like that. He was probably scrubbing his skin somewhere. Maybe he’d even dropped his phone in the water or the battery had simply died? That had be the explanation, and so the sniper calmed, turning back, a bitter laugh leaving his lips as he headed back the way he had come. Jim was going to scold him from getting all sentimental and afraid. For acting tediously ordinary, for that was against his rules. Hunters were never scared were they? They were the predator. They didn’t as much as blink in the face of danger so Sebastian couldn’t either. Not unless he wanted to anger Jim and there was a time and a place for that, wasn’t there?
“Sorry, Boss. Just been stupid,” he muttered to himself, clouded in the beauty of denial, because deep down some part of him had to know he was wrong. That his first assumption, the one he didn’t even want to consider again was right, and that Jim Moriarty, that sneaky bastard had tricked him into giving up his gun, not for good but for the worst possible reason. Indeed he had to know for Colonel Moran had always known when something was wrong.
It was instinct.
-
Oh.
That instinct had plagued him ever since, and a yawn escaped the weary man’s lips, body pushing off the old mouth-eaten chair, tired eyes glaring at the television screen in front. Another sleepless night and more fags than he could count and he was feeling rough, but what did it matter anymore? He was useless, there was no reason for him to fight those overwhelming urges and he was clearly incapable of doing so. The numerous empty bottles surrounding him proved that, not that he cared. His flat was a dump, Conduit Street both his saviour and his own personal hell. He only left to supply himself with more abused substances. He had hit a rough patch as the two anniversary of Jim’s death came and went, as more months dragged, time passing like the pulse behind a bruise.
Sebastian was sure it would near three years before he was completely sober, and even he couldn’t be certain he’d stop. He’d tell himself day by day that he was better than his and that he was letting the man down even more. For Jim Moriarty had dragged him from the gutter once and it was a disrespect to his memory to return there, but the truth was Jim couldn’t really be gone. For Sebastian saw him everywhere, he saw him standing in his doorway, head shaking. He saw him in his bed wearing his dog tags, he even fucking saw him on the TV it seemed…
wait what?
Sebastian squinted towards the set, shoving his cigarette down and grabbed for the remote, turning on the volume, a familiar voice echoing throughout the small darkened flat.
Miss me? Miss? Miss me? Miss me?
Now that was a first. Jim had never spoken before, simply been there. Like a ghost in the shadows… what was going on, had the sniper truly lost it? Was this some fucked up hallucination?
He hadn't had that much had he?
