I don't own Moriarty, Moran, or anything Sherlock.
Just sort of came up with this while I was brushing my teeth this morning.
Meh.
It had been a few years since James Moriarty had put that gun in his mouth and it had been a few years since Sebastian Moran witnessed this. It had been a few years since the burial and a few years to recover but there was no true recovery. Not really at all. At first he drank a lot, having hangovers on the job. Then he turned to drugs, a syringe inserted into his arm as tiny needle holes littered his pale skin. Then came the stage of mindless sex between strangers and then he found her. He found a woman and he held onto her and she held onto him. All was good, for a while. After their first time together, he stayed up all night and thought about Moriarty. This happened every single time they had sex until finally it stopped happening. Moriarty was slowly slipping out of his life…well, until one night. One night, he somehow slipped back in.
Sebastian had been out on a job, a clean kill that would involve no blood on him. This time. He had grabbed Chinese food on his way back, knowing she liked that the most. He inserted the key into the lock of their flat, turning it before removing and opening the door.
"Babe, I'm home."
No reply. The car was on the street, parked between a motor bike and a cab that sat idle right now.
"Babe?" He asked, placing the food down on the counter and going to look for her.
He had his gun at the ready, cocked and loaded. The shower was running, maybe she just didn't hear him. He opened the bathroom door as he lowered his gun. Every thought, every fear, every steady breath, it all stopped. Frozen there by the sight of her laying there and bleeding into the water as she laid there. He dropped the gun and ran over to her, picking her up as he checked for a pulse. There was none, not at all.
"Babe, I'm home." A voice said.
No, that voice was gone. Dead and never coming home to him, the very voice that haunted his dreams and there he stood in his stupid Westwood, a smirk on his face.
"A diamond ring, Moran? You were going to marry this woman, I can't believe you."
"Me? You think you can just pop in here and kill my fiancé and have it to where we're fine. I used and abused and I couldn't ever stop thinking about you. My dreams, after sex, the late nights alone, on the job, for a while there all I saw when I closed my eyes was you shooing yourself and you laying cold there in the morgue. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, I harmed, I wanted to die because to die would be with you and the damned thing is you probably would've just watched all of it happen if you were here! You would've left me to die." Moran said before sliding down the wall.
He put his head in his hands, breaths quick. His anxiety was back, hands shaking and palms sweating. He was hyperventilating before it even registered that he couldn't really breathe. The smirk was gone, his brain going into overdrive as he simply studied Moran. Tired. Alone. Scared. Depressed. Pills. Cocaine. Alcohol. Not clean shaven in years. Insomnia. Anxiety. Loathing. Death, death, death. Moriarty shook his head as he knelt next to him, practically hissing into his ear as he spoke.
"I wouldn't have left you for dead…it wasn't easy…getting out, getting free, running away. I was placed in an asylum in Moscow and escaping was the hardest thing. I thought about you every single day. My sniper, dear sniper, how is my sniper? I thought you were stronger than that, Moran…I gave you too much credit."
"Damn me for loving you then…" He managed to say, "Damn me…"
"When you're ready to talk, I'll be in the living room." Moriarty said before leaving him to hyperventilate on the bathroom floor as the water intermixed with blood ran. He had blood on his damp clothes, her blood. He didn't want to look over. He grabbed his gun with shaking hands before making his way to the living room.
"Is this what you want?" He placed the gun to his head, "Is this what you really want? Because I would do anything for you…damn me…"
Moriarty frowned, visibly frowned.
"Sebastian." He began to walk towards the sniper with shaking hands.
"One step closer and I pull the trigger."
"You can't pull bluffs with me, Moran…" He walked up to him and placed his hand on the hand that was holding the gun.
"Put the gun down…" He looked up at him, something highly unreadable in those brown eyes.
"Feelings mean nothing to you." Moran said as he lowered the gun, "They never will."
"tsk tsk, Sebastian." Moriarty replied.
He turned his back to him, anxiety slowly slipping into a dull ache. Soon he was turned around and shoved against the wall, Moriarty looking up at him.
"I blamed you. For so long, I've blamed you but it is just as much my fault."
"What are you talking about, Jim?" He spoke softly, carefully.
"I love you, you bastard. Why do you think I shot your fiancé? You were so much smarter before you started having sex with her. What did she do? Fuck your brains out, literally? You're mine, Moran…" He pulled him into a bruising kiss that both confused and enamored Moran.
"You're mine…" Moriarty all but growled after he pulled away.
And damn him, Sebastian agreed as he pulled Moriarty into another bruising kiss. He could take care of the dead body tomorrow because tonight, for the first time in a really long time, he felt. He could feel every ache, every pain, every emotion coursing through their veins and it had them climbing higher. So high into an unrushed end, leaving them both breathless and sated but mostly whole, completely. They had each other again and despite the madness, despite the harm and the pain, they would always have each other.
Because Sebastian Moran was his…all his.