Disclaimer: I own nothing. A.N. I had to give a Valentine contribute, and here is a mormor for you all. Bast and Jim are warnings on their own, aren't they? I refuse to be ashamed. Anyway, WARNINGS: GORE, BOYXBOY SMUT, KINK, NOT-GRAPHIC TORTURE.
Getting the reference.
Sebastian Moran owes Sherlock Holmes – or maybe John Watson, too. Not anything ugly like a fall. He owes them a hearty thanks, so maybe a one-year supply of their favourite tea? Can he arrange that anonymously? Because if they hadn't put in Jim's head the idea of getting a live-in one, he wouldn't have got into the most absurd but fulfilling relationship of his life. Jim just had to pick a former Colonel, so he would outrank John. Not a doctor, though, but a sniper – Jim had his own priorities after all.
Bast is allowed to educate Jim on pop culture and make sure he doesn't get lost in his own head, while making sure that all of Jim's needs – certainly his sexual needs, too – are fulfilled.
Which is why, waking up on Valentine's day all alone and cold in his bed, Jim is pissed. Bast-kitten has a job this morning, but he thought they could get frisky before he left. There's a note on Bast's pillow, though. "Make yourself pretty and join me on the job, boss. SM" Bast has taken Sherlock's attitude to sign his own messages, even when no one else obviously could leave a post-it on their fucking bed, but he suspects Jim likes his initials.
Jim – just this once – follows instructions, putting on his best Westwood and grabbing a few extra things before getting to the warehouse Bast's supposed to leave the body of the only one silly enough to try to be their rival in London.
He raises an eyebrow, on the brink of disappointment, seeing not the man's cold body, but his still breathing –well, panting through a ball gag – self, tied to a chair next to the wall. Bast is just standing there, slouching, with all sorts of interesting implements on a tray placed on a trolley, and dressed up in the all-leather black ensemble that makes Jim salivate, complete of studded collar.
"Why is he alive?" Jim chides, clearly displeased.
"What day is it today?" Bast asks back, not worried at all.
"Valentine's day," the consulting criminal answers, still cross about this morning, then… "Oh. You remembered."
"With the boner you got while we were watching tv, I wasn't likely to forget," Bast drawls, grinning.
Sheldon Cooper's best quote: "Given that Saint Valentine was a third century Roman priest who was stoned and beheaded, wouldn't a more appropriate celebration of the evening be taking one's steady gal to witness a brutal murder?" It is morning, not evening, but for Jim it's close enough.
"Does that means that…you want us to go steady? No side fucks? No getting tired and breaking up with me? Though I have to object to being a gal," Moriarty asks, moved and then frowning.
"Oh, I know," the sniper assures him, rolling his hips. "Any preferences?" he adds, pointing to their terrified victim.
And Jim has, of course he has – he orders Bast how to deal with him, and if – while it is indeed brutal, and bloody – it requires a lot of his lover bending and stretching and teasing, it's exactly what the consulting criminal wants.
Afterwards, the criminal mastermind makes an exception from his usual fastidiousness. He steps into the puddle of blood, pushing Bast against the wall and attaching the coordinated leash he brought to both the collar and a pipe, to keep his lover mostly still. He adds to the collar the gold bell, too. His kitten's ready.
Really ready, because he's already prepared himself and worn a plug all this time – kudos to Bast for not letting it on – so Jim can just take it out and put it on the tools' tray before opening his and his lover's pants and just fuck him silly.
They scream and moan and then Bast paints the wall with his cum – he's leaving a dna trail, but there's no dna sample of his in the records. The only way they can take a sample from him is if they catch or suspect him, and if that happens, it means Jim has forsaken him and he has bigger problems than the evidence NSY might have.
Jim comes seconds later, and then keeps his own spending inside putting the plug back home. Exactly what his sniper expected, and he smiles a dopey smile.
"Now – we got a lunch date, at that French restaurant you love. Let it never be said we can't be romantic," Bast announces. It's going to be torment for him, but it's exactly why Jim will absolutely love it. He might get some reward later. True, people dressed like him aren't usually allowed inside the posh place they're going to, but they know better than deny Jim anything.
"I know there was a reason I loved you, kitten," Moriarty declares, grinning.
If the police hasn't smartened out considerably in recent times, Sherlock will have a case-date today, and Sebastian's debt will be at least partially paid.