Of course Sebastian Moran knows who James Moriarty is. It's his job to know. His life literally depends on it. As for Irene Adler... She and he had something of a history. He hardly flinches when she pulls out the chair opposite him and sits facing him in his favorite cafe.

"Hello, Sebastian."

He glances up over his mug of tea, then back down at the newspaper before him.

"Morning, Irene."

He feels her eyes boring holes in his, but does not look up.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Jim Moriarty."

That gets his attention. He raises his eyes to her.

"Jim Moriarty." His tone is incredulous.

"Yes. He'd like a word with you."

Sebastian scoffs.

"Wonder why." He mutters under his breath as he lifts his mug to his lips once again.

"It would be unwise of you to ignore him, Seb."

"I'm not going to ignore him. I value my life."

Some humor lights up in Irene's eyes.

"Smart boy."

Sebastian ignores the condescending term and takes a delicate bite out of a biscuit. He sees Irene look down into her lap, pull something out of her purse and look at it.

"What've you got there?" He asks without looking up, because it's obvious it's for him. She sets it on the table between them. It's an envelope-sized, maroon box, about an inch thick. Jewelry? "What's this?"

"Haven't a clue. It's for you."

Irene has the strangest look in her eyes as they bore into his. It's intense and Sebastian almost wants to call it... Jealousy.

He takes the box and opens it. Inside is a perfectly fitted envelope, with "Sebastian Moran" written on it in elegant cursive. His eyebrows crumple. He lifts it, finding it's heavier than a letter should be, and beneath the envelope...

His cheeks burn hot, and he slams the lid back down on the box.

"What? What is it?"

"Uhm... Nothing. So... Details are... In the envolu- Envel- Envelope, I assume?" He stammers. He seeks refuge from humiliation in his cooling tea. Irene narrows her eyes.

"I assume."

They sit in awkward silence for a while longer.

"Well, I have business to attend to. Don't want to keep my clients waiting." She makes to leave.

"Right. Have fun."

"You too, Sebastian, dear." She kisses him on the top of his head and leaves, her heels clacking distinctly amidst the quiet hubbub of the cafe.

As soon as she's gone, Sebastian opens the envelope. Inside is a key with the number 312 on it.

Hope you like the gift. (Sebastian blushes once more) I've a proposition for you. The Langham at midnight if you're interested.

'Jim Moriarty' is written in elegant scrawl across the bottom, and then beneath that:

I expect you'll wear my gift.

Sebastian swallows, and looks down at the contents of the box.

It is, in fact, jewelry. Diamonds set in silver, it appears. It is a short, 1-inch bar with the diamonds on either end, intended for a piercing that... Very few people in the world know Sebastian has. He cannot deny that he is impressed.

He affixes the envelope and letter back in the box, and shuts it. He then downs the rest of his tea, leaves his money on the table, pockets the key, and leaves.


Midnight finds Sebastian gazing up at the daunting Langham hotel, key in hand and piercing in place. He shifts his hips uncomfortably – he hasn't worn anything in it for years except simple studs to keep it open.

He resolutely steps up to the doorman, shows his key, and is let in. He somehow manages to find room 312 (a grande suite, naturally) through the marble columns and luxuriously upholstered chairs, the silk drapes and chandeliers and other exorbitant details. He is dressed in a finely tailored slate suit, not an article of clothing on his body worth less than 150 pounds. His job does have him well-off.

Finally, he finds the door with 312 carved into it and gilded. He unlocks it and steps in. The suite is as luxurious as he had expected. He closes the door behind him and takes a few more steps onto the ridiculous rug.

The glass doors leading out onto the balcony are open, the drapes swaying in the light breeze, and beyond them, he thinks he can make out the dark shape of a man against the city lights.

"Sebastian Moran." The voice is filled with respect and interest. Sebastian pulls the drapes apart and steps onto the balcony. The man in all black turns to face him.

Blimey, he's fit for a psychopath is the first thought to run through Sebastian's mind.

"James Moriarty."

The psychopath in question slides one hand into his pocket easily, his other hand grasping a glass of whiskey. A strange smile breaks on his face.

"Such a lovely night, isn't it?" He gestures around.

Sebastian remains silent.

"Come, let's go inside." Moriarty slips past him, and he realizes just how short the other man is. "Would you like a drink?" But he's already pouring one for him.

"I got your gift."

James smiles again and sets down the pitcher, facing Sebastian.

"Did you like it?"

The gunman takes the drink being offered him, but doesn't drink yet.

"I must say, it sends mixed signals for your intentions tonight." He swirls his whiskey, still waiting to see the other man take a swig of his first.

"Just a token of my appreciation. I follow all your work. You're an artist, you are." James lifts his glass to his lips, and Sebastian follows suit.

"Always nice to meet a fan. I must say, your work is... Sublime. Elegant, in fact."

Why are we stalling? Is flattery and flirting his method of gaining allies?

That same, strange smile spreads across the psychopath's lips.

"I've always had a passion for the art, since I was a boy."

Enough of this, I haven't got all night.

"So I understand you have a proposition for me?"

"Ah yes. Down to business. Please, sit." He gestures to the chairs, loveseat, the couch. He takes a corner of the couch himself. Sebastian eases into a chair, crossing his legs. He takes another swig of his whiskey.

"We both know what my proposition is. All I need is a yes or a no."

Sebastian looks at him, looks into the flat eyes of his.

"All I need is some incentive." It's a bold move, he admits, especially since it's the James Moriarty he is sat across from. He is rewarded with yet another smile. He can't quite be won over by the strangeness of it or the charm in it. He is caught right between the two.

"How about a million pounds per kill?"

He feels his mouth go dry. He takes another sip of his whiskey.

"Yes, that should do quite nicely."

He is observed silently for a moment.

"Also, one other thing. A friend of mine, very much like me, has acquired a sort of... Companion. And I'm jealous."

Sebastian feels a crease form between his brows.

"I don't understand. Is this 'companion' my first job?"

"No no. I'm jealous that he gets a sidekick and I don't."

Realization sinks in.

"You want me to be your... Your... Whatever?"

"Yes, I would very much like you to be my whatever."

He is stunned silent for a moment.

"Why me?"

"Because I like you." The other man shrugs and leans back on the couch. "You're talented and gorgeous and I want you." Sebastian swallows, feels his ears warm slightly. "And I generally tend to get what I want."

This was weird. Almost too weird for him, but for a million pounds per kill... He cleared his throat.

"What exactly would this... Companionship... Entail?"

"I don't know. I've never tried it. I suppose... Come when I call, let me have my way with you. That sort of thing."

"So like a slave?"

A weird, kinky, sex slave assassin.

"If you like. Except you're getting paid."

"To be an assassin, not a pet."

"So do your job well." Sebastian narrows his eyes. "I'll make it worth your while."

He honestly wishes he could refuse, walk away with his dignity in tact, but one million pounds per kill is three times the amount of the highest bidder he had worked for until then. He'd have to be mad to refuse this offer.

"When do I start?"


AN: Hello! Welcome to my first attempt at mormor! I have a passion for all things Sherlock, and have already written a few Johnlock fics, so it seemed only natural that I should try some mormor. Updates will come as quickly as I can procrastinate on studying for finals, so you shouldn't have to wait that long. :P

Little fun fact: Today is my 17th birthday! (May 13th, 2012 if you're reading this in the future. Hello! I'm from the past! What's it like in the future? Oh bother... I need friends.)