James Moriarty didn't dream.
Dreams were for ordinary people. Dreams were for people that couldn't take control of their own destiny. Dreams were useless, annoying little things.
Dreams were for the pathetic. The ones who loved. The ones who felt.
Jim didn't remember the last time he felt anything. Life, for him, was the never ending search for distractions. Nothing had ever made him happy. At least, he couldn't remember if anything ever had. He remembered hating his family; his father, the hardworking professor, and his mother, the drunkard. He remembered being alone. Isolated from the rest. There had been so many times where Jim had contemplated giving up.
He would be gone. The ordinary people would win. He just couldn't have that, could he?
If there was one thing Jim knew about people, it was that they were predictable. His body would be found and people would act like they cared. Act like it was a tragedy that a young man was found like that.
People die. Every day.
It wasn't a tragedy. If anything, it was his salvation. Salvation from the benign society that he was forced into at birth. Salvation from the bullshit that littered the streets. He had lost count of how many times he had been sat in a chair, turning off a gun's safety.
Today was one of these days. Jim, relaxing in an arm chair in his flat on Conduit Street. His finger resting against the trigger, barrel to his had been quite a few years, long before meeting him, since he had been in this state. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"What the fuck are you doing, you idiot?"
Jim opened his eyes.
"Are you deaf? What the hell are you doing?"
He ignored the man standing in the entrance to the flat.
"Jim."
"I'm sorry, Seb."
Sebastian stood there, cigarette resting between his lips. He quickly moved to kneel in front of Jim, taking the gun and pulling him into an embrace.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't help."
Jim shot up from his bed, gasping for breath. He looked at the empty space next to him and realized what had happened.
Sebastian had always been the one holding him back. The one keeping him here. The distraction that he had always been looking for.
Sebastian made him feel.
Dreams were for ordinary people. Dreams were for people who couldn't take control of their own destiny.
Dreams were for the pathetic. The ones who loved. The ones who felt.
James Moriarty dreamed.
He dreamed because, when he was asleep, he could actually feel.
He dreamed because, when he was asleep, Sebastian was still alive.