Jim Moriarty was a genius, a sociopath, a consulting criminal, and completely incapable of loving Sebastian Moran. In the end it just made the sniper all the more taken by the man. Sebastian was no fool though, he knew that Moriarty would kill him if his employee came out and asked him out on a date. So, Sebastian showed his affections in a way Moriarty would understand: power. He trained himself harder than he thought possible, his wiry body giving way to larger, more capable muscle. His aim became practically perfect, he was the best and he knew it. He worked his way into Jim's smaller crime circle, his passion driving him there. The genius saw this in him, saw the potential that was Sebastian Moran, and he payed him the way he needed to, in stolen kisses and rough sex and the hardest jobs he could find for his 'Sebby'. The consulting detective barely realised when Sebastian became a neccesary asset to his life. It was nothing even close to the idea of love, the emotion Moriarty felt towards Moran, just a sort of wild desperation to own everything that was Moran, to make him his own. So, when Moriarty solves the final problem, when he acknowledges that he must die to defeat Sherlock, he sends Sebastian on a trip far away, an easy job in Russia. Nothing in the cold, reptilian man's demeanor lets on why he's sending his best man on a mediocre job, except in his touches, which are chaste and rough and owning, and his eyes, which are smoldering and overbearing and a bit pitiful when they look into Sebastian's. There's a coiling in the sniper's stomach, a flurry that only gets more agitated as it gets closer for him to leave. Sebastian is not Jim, though, and he sure as hell doesn't have his genius, so he never catches what's off. That is, until he gets back a week later. Then the man finds Moriarty's cold body laying in his own dark, crusting blood, the gun still in his clutch.
