After having so much fun with our MorMor story, ladycorvidae and I decided to write up the "lost chapters," bits and pieces that would fit in nicely with the original story but that hadn't occurred to us when initially writing OR that were requested by the readers. So, let's start at the beginning, shall we?
Chapter 1: New Job
"Another round," the blonde man grumbled, tapping the bar next to his empty glass and glaring at the bartender as he tried to talk him out of his fourth Scotch in twenty minutes. One steely look from him and the barkeep sighed, pouring him the alcohol.
"Drinking to forget, I see. Well, at the rate you're going, it'll be less of 'forgetting' and more of 'cirrhosis of the liver'. And death, while it makes one forget everything, is rather too permanent for my taste. Afghanistan or Iraq?" said a short, dark-haired man in an impeccable suit, his Irish lilt soft and somehow vaguely threatening; he had been watching the man drink at the bar for the past twenty minutes.
The blonde didn't even bother looking at him, throwing back the drink as soon as the glass was full. "What's it t'you?" he growled, slamming the glass back down on the bar. "Can I get another one?"
The shorter man shot a look at the barkeep who quickly found the glass he was drying the most interesting thing in the world. "Because, Colonel Sebastian Moran, best sniper in Her Majesty's Army, I have use of you. A job, as it were. Or several jobs if we're going to be honest here."
Slowly, the taller, muscled blonde looked over at the unassuming dark-haired pipsqueak. "Something you wanna say to me, twerp?"
"Several things, in fact. You were born to a good family, walked out when you were sixteen after the death of your mother, spent your life in the gutters, homeless, until you joined the army. Did a few tours, either Afghanistan or Iraq. Done tiger hunting...poaching, actually, in India. Steady hand, straight aim, completely impersonal when you're shooting. Always get your man in one shot. Currently, you seem intent upon ruining your talent by finding solace in the bottom of a bottle. And we can't have that, now can we?" the man said, lips quirking up into a smile that was neither friendly nor amused. The color slowly drained from the sniper's face to hear his life story coming easily from the mouth of the man in front of him. "How the fuck do you know that? You look me up or somethin?"
He snorted. "Hardly. I merely...observed. Jim Moriarty...hi."
Seb's eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
"I take it you've heard of me, then?"
"Anyone who's anyone with dealings in illegal stuff has heard of you." Seb was trying to sit up a little straighter, suddenly very aware of his stench and his filth; the gutter wasn't exactly the most sanitary of places to live. Jim grinned like a shark. "Good. Now, Colonel, you have two choices. One: you come to work for me as my sniper and general hit-man. The job pays well, and there are several...benefits to be had. Two: I walk out of this bar and leave you to drink yourself to death, dying in the gutter, choked on your own vomit. Choose swiftly."
"Why in blazes would you want me for your stupid, posh job?" Even though the man unnerved him, Sebastian Moran was fairly buzzed if not already drunk and really couldn't care less what the man thought, even if he did claim to be the Jim-fucking-Moriarty.
"Because, as I said, you were the best in Her Majesty's Army. And I take nothing but the best. A bit of a perfectionist, me. And really, if I want to watch the world burn, then I need all the fire starters I can get my greedy little hands on."
Seb snorted. "Watch the world burn? I may have heard of you, Mr. Moriarty, but in person, you really aren't all that frightening." The blonde was slightly flattered to hear himself called the best, nothing wrong with a little ego-stroking, but everyone had different stories and descriptions of the famous man. The ex-soldier doubted a criminal mastermind would really waste his time on a dishonorable discharge from HMA who was gradually putting himself into liver failure.
Slowly, Jim took an elegant switchblade out of his pocket, flicking it open and cleaning his nails with it. Then, fast as a striking snake, he sank the blade up to the hilt in Sebastian Moran's left leg; he grabbed the taller man by the collar. "Not so scary, am I? Oh, Colonel, you have underestimated me. A dangerous, dangerous thing to do. If you keep running your mouth like that, I can have your hide as a rug to decorate my living room floor. And I would, if I didn't need your expertise," he hissed into his ear.
Reflexes dulled by the alcohol, Seb wasn't able to grab Jim's wrist in time before his leg was on fire with pain. He hissed, groaning softly as a cold sheen of sweat painted his forehead and neck. "All right then," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Made your-point. Can I take-your knife-out of-my flesh-now?"
"Oh, have you learned your lesson, then?" Jim asked, twisting the blade. Seb clenched his fist, swallowing a scream of pain. "You...fucker-"
"Ah, ah, ah, Sebby, shouldn't talk to your Boss like that," Jim crooned, twisting the knife a little more.
"S-stop...p-please..."
"Ohhh, fine," he said, pouting, removing the blade from the sniper's leg and wiping it on Seb's shirt. "So...now that you are under my employment, there are a few ground rules that I have. One: You shall follow orders. ANY order I give. Even if it's to take your own life. Two: If you are captured, you are, under no circumstances, to say that you work for me. Three: You shall address me as 'Sir' or 'Boss'. Is. That. Clear?"
Seb bit his tongue until it bled, tearing a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt and tying it around the wound in his leg. He almost made a quip about not being in Moriarty's pocket but thought better of it, swallowing his remarks for the first time in his life. "Yes...sir."
"Good. Glad that we have that understanding," Jim said, smiling like a shark, dark eyes ablaze. "Now, Sebby...time to come home."
The sniper's eyes darkened. "Don't call me-"
"Oh? What was that? Contradicting me?"
He shook his head, swallowing and wincing as he stood, his leg burning but he'd had much worse. "No."
"Good." And with that, James Moriarty led his newest pet away.
oOoOo
Seb sat uncomfortably in Jim's very posh black car, eyeing the man across from him nervously as his soldier sense struggled to break through his Scotch-induced haze.
"I'll give you the tour of the apartment when you've slept this off," Jim said. "And when you've bathed yourself. You stink," he continued, wrinkling his nose at the scent of body odor, dirt, vomit, and Scotch that emanated from his newest hire.
"Sorry. Gutter rats don't usually have first pick of which sewer to sleep in."
Jim scowled and punched the wound on Seb's leg. "You've forgotten rule number three," he said, his voice soft and dangerous.
Seb shuddered with pain. "Sorry, s-sir," he gasped.
"Much better," Jim said, settling back into the plush interior of the car, pleased with himself. They made their way to his flat, leading the sniper up to the penthouse suite. "Your room is down the hall, second to the left. Bathroom is right next to it."
Seb nodded. "Thank you...sir," he muttered, limping to the bathroom. He stripped and climbed into the shower, the water cleansing him of a month's worth of grime and gunk. His hair damp and clean and his wound rinsed out, he toweled dry and headed to his room to find pajama bottoms and a first aid kit laid out on his bed.
"Good night, Sebby," Jim sang from down the hall as he heard the door to the sniper's bedroom close. He grinned. Oh, this was going to be just too much fun.
Seb jumped; he hadn't even heard Jim's feet. "Night, sir," he called back, bandaging his leg properly before climbing into bed; he was asleep in seconds.
oOoOo
The next morning, Jim was up with the sun and in his trademark suit. He wandered down the hallway and pounded loudly on the sniper's doorway. "Up, up, up!" he shouted, not caring that Seb probably had a hangover. He giggled as he heard the curses through the door.
"Motherfuckingsonofabitch," Seb groaned, hands pressed to his temples. "Are you always this pleasant in the morning...Sir?"
"Oh, of course! Up with the birds, me," he said, purposely making his voice too loud.
"SHUTUP!" Seb roared back, wincing as his voice echoed in his head.
"Oooh, temper, temper," he said, voice now edging back into that dangerous territory. "I expect you dressed and ready in the sitting room in three minutes, Sebby. DON'T make me wait."
Seb rolled out of bed, dressing in the black clothes he found in the dresser...they all fit. Perfectly. As if they'd been tailored for him. More than a little disconcerted, he went out to the sitting room, still limping slightly on his injured leg that refused to bear his full weight just yet.
Jim was sitting down, idly looking at a pocket watch as Seb walked into the room. "Three minutes exactly...good thing that you've retained your military promptness," he said, standing and tucking the watch back into his pocket. "Now, a brief tour of the flat; bathroom you've already seen. This is the sitting room (obviously), leads into the kitchen. Feel free to use it at your leisure. Clean up after yourself; I abhor dirty dishes being left around. This is not a bachelor's bed-sit...this is where I hold meetings and plan, this is where you live. The entertainment room and den are down the second hallway; interrogation room is at the end of that. Weight room is across the hall from the entertainment room. Library next to the weight room. My study is next to the library. Any questions?" He finished as they ended back in the kitchen, Jim leaning against one of the counters.
Seb bit back a dozen, most of which would get him stabbed or worse. "What exactly is it that you expect of me, Boss?"
"As I said to you last night in your drunken stupor: to follow orders. If I need someone taken down, I will give you the time and location. You are expected to do the job and remain unseen. And know this: if you fail me, for any reason at all, I will make the torture chambers of Kabul look like a nursery to you," he hissed.
Seb was getting fed up with this scrawny little criminal telling him what to do. Throwing caution to the winds and not really thinking clearly through his hangover, "Well then sir," he hissed, leaning in close to Moriarty. "Bring. It. On."
"Oh, a poor, poor choice in words," Jim said, faking sadness. He jabbed his elbow into Seb's solar plexus and hit the pressure point on his shoulder, driving him to his knees. He fisted a hand into Seb's hair and pulled back, making him look up at him. "Now, my lovely new toy, you'd best keep a civil tongue in your head, or else you'll suffer consequences more dire than this," he purred, tracing his fingers around the blonde man's mouth. Seb couldn't breathe, he heard his knees connect with the linoleum floor and his scalp ached where Jim yanked his hair. "L-like-what, sir?" he gasped, eyes crossing as he tried to watch Jim's fingers. The hell were they doing on his mouth?
"Oh, you really don't want to know. But I hear sulfuric acid and fire are very painful," he said, leaning in close to his ear, dropping his voice down to a husky whisper. Seb twisted in Jim's grip. "All-all right. Boss."
"Good. Glad we understand each other," he said, nipping Seb's earlobe before releasing him and moving back, casually straightening his suit and brushing imaginary lint off the cuffs. Seb sat down hard, fingers coming up to brush his ear. He stared up at the man, wondering just what it was he saw him as.
"And to answer your question; I see you as my sniper, bodyguard, and plaything. Meaning I can, and will, do whatever I want with you," Jim drawled. "And the position you're in right now is a good one; looking up to me."
Seb lip twitched; he hadn't spoken aloud...must've been written all over his face. "So, I'm just your trained piece of ass, sir?"
"Oh, Sebby, you're so much more than that. But you'll have to earn it. So, for now, yes, you are."
The twitch twisted his mouth into a feral snarl. "I'm not something you can just have-"
"Oh, I think you'll find that you are," Jim said, walking a bit closer, his voice still soft and dangerous, staring straight into the sniper's eyes.
"No, I'm not...sir."
"Sebby, Sebby, Sebby...you still need to learn your place," Jim said, his mouth a hairsbreadth away. He saw the taller man unconsciously lean toward him, and he turned and walked away, lips curled into a smirk. Without thinking, Seb stuck his leg out, tripping Jim as the sniper stood. "Don't you walk away from me, sir."
Jim got up, his eyes blazing. "That was most unwise, Colonel Moran," he said. He kicked the injured leg, forcing the man to his knees again before grabbing him by the hair and banging his face into the stone countertop. He slipped his switchblade from an inside pocket on his jacket and flicked it open, holding it against the sniper's throat. "What. Have. I. Said?" he growled, teeth bared.
Now they were talking. "That I should obey orders, sir," Seb growled, twisting out of Jim's grip and wrenching the smaller man's arm behind his back, forcing him into the counter and the knife from his hand. Jim hooked his leg around Seb's and pulled, forcing the taller man both off-balance and to let go, adding another elbow to the solar plexus to drive the wind out of him. He threw his fist into Seb's jaw and wound his fingers into his hair once more, marching him over to the gas burners of the stove. He flicked one on and held Seb's face dangerously near it. "Exactly." Jim hissed.
Seb fought, struggling to get away from the flame. "N-no...Boss...don't-"
Jim forced the man's face closer, allowing him to feel the heat, hear the flames hiss as his sweat dripped into them. "And why shouldn't I? You clearly aren't one to listen, so I should reinforce my lessons with some pain. After all, you're more likely to remember it that way," he said, grinning, a mad gleam coming into his eyes that looked hellish, reflecting the flames on the burner.
"I'm sorry!" Seb never apologized and meant it, but his face was about to become something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark. "I-I'm sorry, Boss. I understand now."
"Good," Jim purred, turning off the burner and bending down to put his face near the sniper's. "And since Sebby's learned his lesson, he deserves to be rewarded." He kissed the sniper, tongues and teeth colliding, giving his lower lip a rough bite before breaking away, looking mightily pleased with himself. Seb was shocked, gaping at the criminal as he pulled back. "You-you just-"
"Yesss?" he purred, smirking.
Motherfuckingsonofabitch. "Kissed me."
"Your grasp of the obvious is most entertaining," Jim said.
"Shut up. Sir."
Jim moved his head to one side in an almost reptilian fashion. "Hmmm? What was that?"
"I can't win. That's it," Seb muttered under his breath, making to stand up.
"Exactly right. Well done," Jim said, catching what he had muttered with his sharp ears. Seb looked at him, almost afraid, wishing for everything in the world that he weren't the best. Jim cupped Seb's face in one hand, running his thumb over the sniper's lower lip. "Awww, what's that face for? Don't worry, Sebby dear. Such fun we'll have together," he said, grinning.
Not for the first time, the sniper wondered if he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life.