A/N: Written from a requestion given by 'Davros Fan'. This goes against my (and most peoples) head-canon of Michael Fassbender as Sebastian and is written imagining Tom Welling as Sebastian. Enjoy. Please R&R
Chapter one
Sebastian knew he should've know better. He shouldn't have expected Jim to have cared about him. He shouldn't have expected Jim to come down from that roof. He felt like a failure. He was a sniper but more importantly he was Jim's bodyguard, he cared about Jim in a way he was certain no one else did. Yet still Jim hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth about his plan, he hadn't told him exactly what was going on. Still Sebastian hadn't known enough, hadn't been good enough to save him. Time was still passing now, Sebastian could barely understand that, minutes and hours and days and weeks, were still passing, time moved on. Sebastian felt frozen though. He was here, he was back there, he was on that roof, seeing Jim's dead body for the first time. He was seeing the blood fade, he was looking over the edge, watching Sherlock driven away in an ambulance, watching John Watson's heart break. He was still there, he would always be there. His heart had stopped along with Jim's, and somehow, like a robot, like a machine, his body was still breathing. He wasn't really controlling it, he barely wanted to be there, he was a wreck without his boss.
At 30, Sebastian knew he needed to grow up more. He needed to stop relying on others in the way he relied on Jim. He needed to stop making his life about someone else in the way he had with Jim. His whole life had been serving and protecting Jim, it had been everything to him and he had been glad about it. He loved his job, working for Jim. And how could he not want to help Jim after everything Jim had done for him? A dishonourable discharge, the risks of a drug addiction, homeless, jobless, lifeless. Jim had found him and saved him. Sebastian knew it was ironic, seeing the best and only consulting criminal as his saviour but it was the only way he could look at him, Jim had saved him. Jim had given him a job, given him somewhere to live, given him a reason to live. If it wasn't for Jim he would still be on the streets, maybe even dead by now. He had relied on Jim because he knew he could. Jim was the only type of person who would need him after everything he had done.
Except that was wrong wasn't it, Jim didn't need him. Jim cared only about the game. Sebastian hated that Jim had taken the game that far. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Jim had an empire, he had a business, he had a life, he had Sebastian, wasn't that enough to live for? Sebastian knew it wasn't and he hated everything about it. He didn't feel like a 30 year old, he didn't feel like an ex-soldier, he felt a wreck. He was fed up of putting on a brave face and going out there talking to the criminal. He wasn't Jim. Acting as a consulting criminal didn't feel right. He was a fraud, he couldn't do Jim's job. It had been little under a month and the empire was already beginning to crumble. Sebastian was watching it and it seemed right that it did. Jim was gone and Sebastian was crumbling, the business should too.
He had changed somewhat in the month since Jim's death. He was unshaven, his hair had grown out even longer than it already was. Jim was always teasing him telling him he needed to get it cut, but in all honesty Jim hadn't wanted him to. Sebastian smiled then almost cried at the memory.
"All right, boss, shut the fuck up," Sebastian had complained, rolling his eyes and mock glaring at the other. "I will go to the bloody hair dressers and get it sorted out."
Jim's eyes widened. Horror was the only word to explain the expression on Jim's face. "If you let a pair of scissors touch so much as one hair on your head I will fire you and then I will kill you and it will be slow and painful, is that clear?" he smirked at the other before laughing slightly. "You're too easily wound up. I like your head, Sebby."
There was so much he missed about Jim, he hadn't expected in. In all honesty he had never imagined Jim dying. He had had this crazy thought that Jim would always go on. He had always thought he would die because Jim because he was the one in the firing line, he was the one everyone saw, he was the one doing the shooting, the protecting. Jim was rather disconnected from it all. And yet it had been Jim, it was Jim who died first. Jim had killed himself. Jim had died for the game. Sebastian kept thinking about that. Was it the game that killed him or was the game a cover for the fact that he wanted to kill himself? He didn't know, he would never know, but the feeling of failure only intensified as he felt like he should know. He was the only person Jim ever let anywhere near him, he should know these things.
He looked down at the needle. Yeah, he was a failure. He couldn't even keep himself together without someone watching over him and keeping him on the straight and narrow. Within a few days of Jim's death Sebastian had found himself back on drugs. He wasn't proud of it, but it helped. Just for a little while it let him stop thinking. He picked it up, self-loathing filling him with every move he made.
Don't you dare
Sebastian froze. That voice. But it couldn't be. The Irish accent. The authority in the tone. It wasn't possible. He turned around and it was. He couldn't understand it. Jim Moriarty was stood behind him.