Jul 11, 2018
You should listen to Do Re Mi by Blackbear. It gives me mad angst mormor feels. i imagine Sebastian being the one to sing it.
Oh, yea, that used to be one of my favourites. Definitely a good listen.
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You should listen to Do Re Mi by Blackbear. It gives me mad angst mormor feels. i imagine Sebastian being the one to sing it.
Oh, yea, that used to be one of my favourites. Definitely a good listen.
Sort of requested by anon and a continuation from before
Also heavily influenced by this ficlet by mormorphone and this by cybaemen
Blue glass...yep, I will just go crawl in a hole now.
Anonymous: This could work for either Jim, Mycroft, or Sherlock. But one of them misses their wedding because of work. Woooo, angst ahoy, and right after valentines day too :P maybe they come back to an empty flat/their partner in the middle of getting their stuff. (Happy ending?) thanks dear!
((So it’s taken me a little under a year to finally think of a good way to do this prompt. So sorry for the wait, love. Sometimes it takes quite a while for inspiration to strike.))
Sebastian sighed slowly as he looked down at his watch, picked at an invisible piece of lint on the flawless black expanse of the one and only tux he would ever own, clicked his shined shoes together quietly…anything to avoid looking at the man beside him who was, incidentally, not the only man Sebastian wanted to be standing next to. But as his fiancé was nowhere to be found, he had very limited options. He finally looked at the officiate, nearly killing the man on the spot if only to eliminate the pitying look on his face forever. Another half hour of waiting ate up the rest of Sebastian’s patience and he simply stormed out without a word. The officiate would eventually get the hint, he supposed, if he hadn’t already. He pulled out his mobile and fired off a quick text as he headed out to the street to hail down a cab. You missed our wedding. If you’re not at the flat in twenty minutes, it’ll be hell to pay. -SM It was a good thing Sebastian wasn’t expecting a response considering he didn’t get one.
You’re unbelievable, you know that? I don’t know why I’m marrying you in the first place. -SM
Again, no response. He stayed silent as well, then, stewing in his own frustration and irritation until the cab pulled up outside their flat. He paid the fare and went inside to the elevator.
When he reached their floor, he could already tell that Jim was nowhere near the flat, and upon opening the door it was to find everything just the way it had been left that morning. Coffee mug on the end table by the sofa, dishes in the sink, various flotsam of a life littering the spacious sitting room. He ground his teeth around his anger.
Okay Jim, come on. This isn’t funny. You can go on and on about your fear of commitment, but I know you love me. I know you want to do this. So what’s the problem? -SM
Sebastian paced around the flat restlessly as he waited for a reply. When none seemed to be forthcoming, he stormed back out again, slamming the door behind himself, to stalk down to street level. He waved down another cab and spat out the address he wanted without so much as a ‘please’ or ‘by your leave’ and he fired off one more text to Jim.
Fine. If you won’t come to me, I’ll just come grab you. I’ll drag you down to the courthouse if I have to, but this is happening, Jim. You promised. -SM
Sebastian shoved his mobile into his coat pocket and looked out at London drifting by, settling into a sort of seething lassitude as the cab took him all the way across town into a shabbier area than the one he and Jim inhabited now. But this was where they’d started, and it was still where Jim came when things became too much.
Sebastian got out when the cab stopped and he walked with silent steps across the pavement and onto a small swatch of dying grass. Nothing could ever live where Jim was, after all.
He sat down on the ground and settled in with a resigned glance in front of him.
"I know you said you’d be working, but come on, love. This is our wedding we’re talking about. We’ve been planning it for over two years now," Sebastian said tiredly to the black headstone in front of him. "You promised me you’d always come back, if I needed you to. Well I gotta say, babe, the minimum requirement for a marriage is in fact two people, so I’d say I need you pretty badly."
He closed his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead into his hand, elbow propped on one bent knee as his shoulders hunched in as if expecting a blow.
"You know I always thought you loved yourself too much to really go through with the suicide option. Guess I didn’t really know you as well as I thought, did I? You make me sick, Jim. Rotting in the ground. Don’t make me dig you up and prove it’s you. Just come back and I won’t even bother to question who’s buried here, but don’t just keep rotting away."
Sebastian sat there talking for a while, alternating between begging and ranting and just chatting until he finally felt ready to go back home to his wrecked flat that Jim had once kept meticulously clean, down to every floorboard and door handle. He was scrupulous, even obsessive about it. Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to harbour that same compulsion.
On the way home he wondered what it would be like to marry a dead man. To slide a wedding ring on a cold, heavy finger, bloated with death and a lifetime of energy and experiences trying to escape its flesh. Or perhaps to promise himself to a ghost, a mere echo of the dangerous man he loved. Would the ring fit or would it slide off? Or maybe even fall straight through to land with a dull tinkling on the floor. Anything was possible, where dead men were concerned. Not that he wasn’t just as dead, of course. It was just that his body was still carrying out some little bit of life while the rest of him rotted along with Jim in the ground. The important things were gone, and after that he was just a husk.
He dragged himself through London under the power of his own two feet until he arrived at the building again and went up, somehow failing - in his despaired ruminations - to notice the lingering scent of aftershave and hair gel. He opened the door only to become aware of Jim’s deodorant and cologne, the lack of the smell of rancid coffee and spoiling food in the sink, and the absence of the mess that had made its home in his flat over the last year.
"Oh honestly darling," Jim purred from his lounging position in Sebastian’s favourite chair. "Didn’t I tell you I’d be here? But did you listen?" he sing-songed and for the first time in a year and a half, a wide grin split Sebastian’s face. "Did you miss me?"
"Only a little."
>I thought you would know better than to taunt a man with a broken heart.
Rather shoddy Mormor angst. Based on x, written in twenty minutes. Enjoy mine friends.
“He thinks you’re dead.”
“The whole world thinks I am.”
“Well, everyone goes through this phase at some point or another. Oh, I’ve faked my death to save myself. Oh, I’ve faked my death for the greater good. Oh, I’ve faked my death for the game, won't you ever forgive me?.”
“Somehow, I doubt that most people have this problem. So ordinary, the lives they lead.”
“You’ve never objected to a bit of normal in the past. In fact, I know a certain sniper who’d just die to see you again.”
“He was never ordinary.” Jim’s eyes flicked up to meet the woman’s, the dangerous gleam they had once held, flickering dimly.
“And you never expected him to be. Now, shall we send Moran a message?”
Leather covered fingertips tapped across the phone keyboard as blood red lipstick curved up in a smile. Jim snarled as the woman turned the screen to face him.
“Here we are. How about, ‘I’m not dead, let’s have dinner?”
“Definitely not.”
“No? Maybe, ‘I’m not dead, let’s have se—“
“Christ, Irene!” Jim said spinning around, and tossing his hands up.
“Well if you had just told him how you felt we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“How would that have stopped me faking my death? Besides, you think he wanted this life? You think he’d come back to this?” Jim stopped, turning so the light filtering in from the window fell across his scarred face.
“Oh honestly,” Irene said, tossing the phone at the criminal, “You boys are so alike. Sherlock had the exact same problem. Never coming clean about your feelings. Ridiculous. We’re done here.” She began to walk away, heels snapping on the concrete floor.
“We aren’t done here!” Jim called after her, cradling the captured phone in his hands.
“Yes, we are.” She responded faintly, “Figure out your personal life before you try to rebuild a criminal empire. And don’t drag me into it. I’m finished with you boys and your ridiculous notions of love. Always having to be the martyr. ”
Jim let her go, scowling at her receding form. Swearing, he looked down at his phone, to see the last outgoing message.
<10:50 pm {Your lover boy sends his regards and requests an immediate meeting at the safe house on Conduit Street. Bring Wine. -IA}.
The phone flew into a dark corner, the plastic clattering. James Moriarty stalked out of the abandoned warehouse, as the shattered screen lit up with incoming messages.
>10:53 pm [You’ve made me very angry, Miss Adler]
>10:55 pm [You know who you’re dealing with.]
>10:56 pm [I suggest you come prepared to deal with the consequences.]
>10:57 pm [Jim would be so disappointed in you. Choosing such an ordinary way to die?]
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>10:58 pm [I thought you would know better than to taunt a man with a broken heart.]
Apparently professorjimstiger read the latest update of The Magpie's Key and now she needs cookies...
It's a ship of angst, my friends.
So I posted Chapter 38 to The Magpie's Key. I usually like to post several chapters at once but this chapter is so angst-ridden, I'm kinda just standing to the side going - holy shit. So be warned.
(Gorgeous url graphic by the lovely msjmoriarty - thank you, hon!!)
Femlock mormor
A bit of a little lovely mormor that turned heavy. TW: mentions of rape.