As Sebastian Moran walks into the room again, he is reminded that he hasn't seen Jim all day. Not since last night. Although, of course, Sebastian has seen Jim millions of times before, his image of Jim can become such a strange, twisted god-like imagine in his head that Sebastian sometimes wonders at the reality of him. When Jim blushes, sneezes, does anything human, even breathe- it's a nice surprise, a nice reminder that James Moriarty is in fact human, and not an immaculate portrait of a man, frail as paper and as transient as thoughts.
All this crossed Sebastian Moran's mind as he entered the room to see Jim's back.
Jim is curled up in his swivel chair, legs crossed, and his hands under his chin. His face (if Sebastian could see it) would be as white as ice on a lake, and his head and his dark hair is lit with a pale blue artificial glow of the computer screens in front of him. Sebastian walks towards him, so Jim's face comes into view, his neck, his ear, his cheek. Jim's eyes look dead, blank. It's amazing how quickly they change.
Jim knows Sebastian is there but doesn't so much as twitch. He's concentrating.
Sebastian notes that Jim has no shoes on.
Jim's socks are odd, one pink striped, one blue. Sebastian still finds it strange for such a fastidious man to wear odd socks. Jim's suit jacket is slung over the back of his chair ("THE chair, Seb, if anything happens to this chair I swear to god I will fucking kill who-ever touched it.") He's wearing a pale cream shirt and his black suit trousers, a skinny black tie, (his tie pin is a tiny diamante skull) his little round collar is done up. His hair is slicked back. In fact he's perfectly dressed, immaculate, except his shoes (set neatly next to each other under the desk) and his jacket.
Sebastian sits down on the floor a few feet behind Jim, but so he can see him.
The room is long and narrow, the heavy oak desk at the far end against the wall supporting 6 computer screens, and a laptop. Two of the screens are off; the other four are on, glowing, waiting. The laptop is plugged into this system, and Jim looks like he was typing someone an email. From his concentration Sebastian guesses he isn't, but won't ask. There are no windows in here. It's pleasantly warm.
The carpet is soft and thick. Sebastian leans back against the wall, knees drawn up in front of him and opens his book. It's not a novel, but a scientific paper on forensics. He tries to keep up. He's never been able to fathom whether if he was somehow caught, Jim would kill him, forget him, or save him. It used to bother him. He doesn't let it anymore. As he should know, life is too short.
Sebastian opens it to the page he was on. It's very detailed, and he's starting to forget some of his basic chemistry. That's not good. He might have to revisit some old books. Sebastian, contrary to what many would believe, is not stupid. Next to Moriarty of course, he may as well be. Then again, that is hardly a fair comparison as the only people who can rival Jim's fantastic genius are possibly the Holmes brothers, The Government and The Police. 'How ironic' mused Sebastian, when he found out. He supposed that Jim rather liked that- competition, and being outnumbered. He does hate being bored.
Before he was dismissed from the army (Sebastian doesn't talk about why, except to Jim whose eyes get all gleeful) Sebastian went to a university of decent repute, and though he dropped out from his chemistry course half way through his second year and after drifting around joined the army, he is not only a hit man. Mostly a hit man, true, but not only. Someone like Jim wouldn't tolerate his second to be all brawn and no brains. If Jim would ever consider him, really, as his true second. Sebastian knows if Jim ever fell, no-one would last without him. So then, what is the point in a second?
"What is it? You're distracting me by breathing."
Sebastian snaps his head up, "Sorry."
Jim taps a key twice with one finger outstretched, and then pushes his laptop screen half closed. He then pushes his swivel chair on wheels away from the desk and his laptop with both hands, using the table to propel himself to turn it (swivel) to face Sebastian, his legs still crossed.
His face is deadpan and blank, "I need a fluffy white cat to pet. It would make that SO much more dramatic." His voice is low and he lets his words drag.
"But you'd get cat hair on your suit." Sebastian rests his paper on his knees.
"That's why I have to rely on my own charisma sans cat." Jim smiles without his eyes, which rove round the room then rest on Sebastian. Jim looks tired. "What is it then? You're lurking suspiciously. If you were going to tell me that you didn't kill the girl, I know. You have gotten soft recently. I should probably be nastier to you."
Sebastian can't help himself; he feels a slight blush rise on his cheeks. No-body else would notice, but this is Jim-
Jim giggles thrilled as his eyes light up, "Oh but that's the PROBLEM! You'd like that wouldn't you? I thought you would rather do the beating up, didn't know that's what floated your boat. Jealousy, Sebastian, jealousy. I didn't think you cared that much." Jim's voice had tilted mockingly, his Irish brogue stronger and his eyes suddenly bright. His fingers are curled around the arms of the chair. He knows very well Sebastian cares 'that much.' He knows Sebastian cares a lot.
Such a soft, gentle, feeling assassin. Jim giggles mentally.
Sebastian is redder now, enough that anyone would notice. He looks down at his knees and can't meet Jim's gleeful eyes. He knew he should never have come in here, not after last night, not so soon without a good premise, without work to discuss, but as always he was drawn to Jim like a moth to a light. A pale blue, electric light. With a mocking Irish brogue.
Last night, Sebastian had received a text from Jim at midnight.
"Need you to take the rubbish out my dear. Now. –JM."
Jim had been to a concert that evening. Music was not really Sebastian's strong point. He read, and he listened to a little what would probably be classed as 'popular music,' but not with any enthusiasm. Jim had an eclectic taste, from The Scissor Sisters, to The Bee Gees, Beethoven, Bach, Rossini, Shostakovich and ABBA to name but a few. Last night had been a classical recital, Shostakovich's piano concerto or something. Sebastian had noted where and when, the performers, any audience of note, and had the building marked and guards watching, but he could recall what was being played.
The most notable event of the evening was that Jim had picked someone up at the concert.
A girl. Now Sebastian knew already (and how could you miss it?) that Jim's disregard for people as people, functioning thinking humans meant that coincidentally he didn't differentiate between men and women. It was all just a good time, or another toy to break, another mind to warp. He had, however, only 'picked up someone' twice since Seb had known him.
The first time had been a young chap, thin and tall and bony (now Sebastian came to think of it, maybe a little like Sherlock, though he hadn't known that at the time.) Jim had ("accidentally Seb, honest,") strangled him. Sebastian had to clear up and remove his body (still bound to the bed) and coverer up Jim's tracks. Sweep away the evidence, not that Jim had left much besides some suspicious bruises and other injuries. Handcuff marks are rather recognisable. It hadn't really disgusted Sebastian at the time. He suspected Jim was high anyway, and he made allusions about Jim's sense of humanity, besides, Jim probably would have asked Sebastian to kill him afterwards. It was a rather easy job, if at an unfriendly time of night.
So, the girl this time. Sebastian had been almost surprised when he turned up at the flat at quarter to one in the morning to pick up the pieces. Certainly she was certainly fully conscious, young and tired and sarcastic. Jim was nowhere to be seen, but as Sebastian parked outside his phone buzzed, "Dispose of her please darling. –JM" and there she was waiting outside his door on the landing.
Sebastian averted his eyes from the visible marks round her neck, and gestured down the stairs with his head. She picked up her bag and followed him as he walked, quickly. Sebastian had parked his new car outside the flat. God knows Jim pays him enough, and as Sebastian has nothing to spend it on (what is free time?) he often spends it on cars. Nice, expensive, shiny cars.
At this precise moment in time, he hadn't quite decided how he was going to kill her.
This was a case of maximum caution, to make it look accidental. Helpful, Sebastian sarcastically thought as she slid into the front seat as he held the door open for her, that Jim had covered her in bruises. Also, he had no idea who she was and where she was from, and therefore who would come looking for her.
Sebastian briefly looked to her as he sat down in the driver's seat and turned the engine on. She was young, maybe twenty. Mouse haired, pale, pretty with cold eyes and freckles.
"I saw he was rich but not that rich." The girl had closed the door, and was looking out of the window. Sebastian noted that she'd let her shoulder length hair down. Not that it hid much.
"You're not his chauffeur though. He lied didn't he? You're a bodyguard?"
"Why do you think that?" Sebastian turned his head to back the car out of the space. The engine rumbled gently, quietly.
"Is this your car? It's nice. Very new. You must be a bodyguard, or he wouldn't pay you that much. Plus it's a crazy time of night." She watched him as he turned out onto the main road.
She was irritating. She seemed quite bright, quite alert. Sebastian briefly wondered why.
"Where do you live?"
She didn't answer for a second as she curled up in her seat, sliding down so she could bring up her knees and hug them to her body like a child. She wrapped her arms around them protectively. Her navy dress was pulled back off her knees and the thin material of her tights made her legs shine in an inhuman way in the streetlights.
"Er, NW1, Camden Road- my university lodgings. I'm a student." She looked at Sebastian obviously waiting for some kind of conversation. None was forthcoming.
"Studying History."
He continued to drive.
"Did you go to university?" She drew back her head slightly and looked out of the window. Sebastian could tell she was regretting asking. She imagined that a 'body-guard' wouldn't have gone anywhere near a university.
"I studied chemistry."
"Oh cool. That's interesting. One of my friends is doing bio-chem."
He wondered that she wasn't more awkward considering what she had just been doing with his employer. He glanced across to her again and he could see her face reflected in the car window. Her eyes were dilated, but that could have been the dark. He looked back to the road.
How to kill her.
Sebastian took one hand off the wheel and reached into the right hand pocket of his suit jacket. He had a selection of syringes, one to knock someone out, one poison, two- no- three, and a hallucinogenic to befuddle the mind. He knew the ins and outs of each of them. The first poison, cardiac arrest. The second, seizure followed by brain haemorrhage-
"So are you his body-guard? What does he do?"
Sebastian sighed and brought his hand back to the wheel. "It's none of your business what he does. Or what I do."
"So, aren't his bodyguard. Or you'd just say you were. That's a normal, legal job."
Sebastian didn't twitch but his eyes narrowed. A normal, legal job. He hated intelligent people. Except Jim of course.
"Don't worry, I don't care. Jim already said-" she paused, "Well, I'm not going to say anything. I'm an impoverished history student, I've got nothing to do with your work except a liking of classical music which your employer shares." She smiled to herself a little. Sebastian could see the curve of her cheek in the corner of his eye.
"Yeah you only shared a taste in classical music." He hadn't meant for that to sound as bitter or as bitchy as it did. He clenched his hands on the wheel.
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong with you? Are you jealous?"
Sebastian didn't answer.
"So YOU my dear, dear killer are jealous of a little girl. That I found at a concert." Jim tilted his head to one side and smiled with his teeth. "So sweet Sebastian! You're just like a big kitten really aren't you? Just with a big gun and a pocket full of explosives."
Sebastian felt small and overpowered under Jim's gaze. It didn't help that Jim was literally looking down on him from his position on his swivel chair, compared to Sebastian on the floor. Seb felt cornered. He turned his face away and awkwardly scrambled to his feet, the action of standing bringing him close past Moriarty in his chair, Seb's arm even brushing his shoulder.
Jim caught his sleeve and hissed up at him his eyes wide and dead, "I think it's really cute."
Sebastian jerked his arm away and walked towards the door. He didn't want to look behind him. He didn't know if Jim was watching him or had turned away. He didn't know which he wanted.
Sebastian was a man of great self control however, at least on this occasion. So he didn't turn. He let the door click shut behind him.
He thought he heard Jim giggle.
But he might have been imagining it.
Author's note: Sorry about the OC. Don't worry, she's not coming back she's only a literary device. I think OCs are a bit self congratulatory in fan-fiction. (Unless anyone wants to see more of her?) Also the brief comment on Jim being bi- I know the internet likes to take offensive but I simply mean that's just one of those things about Jim. Not that bi people are psychopaths. I'm not a psychopath!
I know I've left their relationship pretty ambiguous in this chapter, but I'll clear it up in the next one. I'm doing a bit of a trolling Gatiss/Moffat there aren't I? Ha ha ha! Oh fanfiction is so fun.
Hope you liked it.