My first attempt at Sherlock fanfiction, so it would be great if you all would tell me what I can improve on. :) Just a little Jim/Sebastian...who, by the way, if he doesn't get introduced in the episode tomorrow I will be sorely upset. Oh and also, I'm American with a terrible British-author-voice. Sorry for the many mistakes I'm sure you'll find.
Control
Jim/Sebastian (MorMor)
"You shouldn't go by yourself, Jim," Sebastian said, his eyes tightening in worry. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette, frowning. "You know they have people searching for you – good people. At least wait until I send someone to watch your back."
"I'm just going to the corner store, Sebastian. I can handle myself," came his confident voice; Sebastian switched the phone to his other ear, sighing. Jim must have heard the sigh because he gave an enigmatic laugh. "I'll be fast."
"Fine, but I'm not happy about it."
"I never asked you to be," Jim sang, hanging up with a quick, "Gotta run!"
It was a full week before Sebastian heard from him again. Fast my happy ass.
"Have we made any progress on getting him back?" Sebastian yelled, taking long, angry strides into the room of people he'd set to work on getting Jim back from his captivity. It had been a week, a week, since his boss had disappeared and four days since they found out where he'd gone to. Damn you, Mycroft Holmes, Sebastian seethed, flicking his gaze over each face he came in contact with. Several people ducked their heads to avoid his gaze; the ones that met his eyes only shook their heads in a short no. Sebastian made an aggravated noise, pacing to the window and throwing it open. It felt like his entire body was wound up – his shoulders were tense, his hands shook and he desperately needed a smoke but Jim hated the smell in the house and kept a strict 'smoke outside only' rule. Well, fuck the rule. "He ignored the rules. How many times have I stressed the buddy system?" Sebastian muttered, pulling out his cigarettes. He was well aware that several people were silence behind him – but because of his breaking the rules or his talking to himself Sebastian wasn't quite sure. Nor did he care – until an achingly familiar voice called out his name.
"Sebastian, do please put that out, dear."
Sebastian turned as slowly as his body would allow, drinking in the sight that met his eyes with profound relief. "Jim," he breathed, robotically flicking his cigarette out the window. He didn't take his eyes off Jim for a moment, afraid that if he did it would all just be some crazy, stress-induced dream.
Jim snapped his fingers and despite the heavy bruising under his eyes, despite his tattered clothes and the dried blood on the side of his head, despite cradling his other hand – the room cleared and they were almost instantly alone. Sebastian cast his gaze over his boss, seeing what wasn't said – there were no questions of are you okay or did they hurt you or are you angry? - and sighed softly. "You're safe," was all he said.
"I'm wearing slacks," Jim disagreed, throwing himself onto the couch with a wince. "And they're itchy."
"Heaven forbid you wear anything than Westwood."
Jim's grin was unfettered and bright. "Exactly. Did you pick up my laundry?"
"You bastard," Sebastian laughed warmly, sitting in an armchair, "that's the least of your problems." He felt like he'd just drank an entire bottle of wine. He felt high, elated, and only at Jim's insistence did he begin to fill his boss in on what he'd missed. Several minutes into the conversation, Sebastian realized Jim's eyes were closed. "James," he scolded gently, "are you even listening?"
Jim sighed through his nose, throwing Sebastian and aggravated – and extremely worn – look. It seemed strange on his face; it wasn't very often Jim showed how tired he was. "I need clothes and a drink – something strong – and then we can talk business."
"Not to mention a shower and some sleep," Sebastian cut in, pulling out his phone to order takeaway.
Jim gave him a humored smile, pulling himself off the couch. "Oh, Sebastian, your concern for my welfare is so refreshing. The sleep can wait until later."
Sebastian debated for several hours on when to ask, and finally spoke up as they were having dinner. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" he asked, pushing the fried rice around on his plate. They had gotten Chinese, Jim's favorite, and were seated on the couch with trays on their knees and a blanket around Jim's shoulders (at Sebastian's insistence). He'd also gotten Jim into a shower and clean clothes – not a suit because really – and now that he was eating, Sebastian felt a little better about asking.
"There's nothing to tell, Jim said lightly in return, setting down his fork to pick up the remote. "Fill me in on what I missed."
Sebastian sighed. Same old Jim. "Three cases of murder. We set up a drug trafficker in Uganda, and he's being checked on in three days. We disposed of two bodies and Sherlock Holmes is still clueless as ever, because I know you're going to ask. He had nothing to do with your imprisonment."
"I could have told you that," Jim frowned, looking slightly affronted at being beaten to the punch. "...is that all?"
"Yes. Most of our concentration has been on getting you out of jail," Sebastian told him, eyebrows drawing. Leave it to Jim to care more about his criminal business than his own recovery.
"Foolish," Jim said cheerfully, stabbing at an almond boneless chicken. "I knew they weren't going to keep me. For very long, anyway."
"Wait...they let you go?" Sebastian asked, startled. He'd been led to believe Jim escaped, not that they simply...let him go.
"Oh yes of course. You see, the Ice Man only wanted to deliver a warning. And, well, warnings are so much better, face to face."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed slowly as the pieces clicked. "You let yourself get caught. You knew this would happen!"
"Of course I did. I don't get caught. I never have, and I never will. Do you really have such little faith in me?" Jim tutted, setting aside his tray. He waved away Sebastian's disapproving look. "Oh my dear Sebastian," he purred, "you worry far too much."
"I have to when you clearly have none of your own self-preservation," Sebastian growled angrily, standing and going to the open window. The air from outside was chilly and it brushed over his skin, drawing goosebumps. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the tumult in his mind. The clean air made him desperate for a smoke, as his last once had been in the morning, but he didn't want to leave Jim for a moment, no matter how frustrating he was being. Jim was silent behind him as Sebastian fidgeted by the window, debating on whether or not he needed to go out for a smoke. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he felt thin arms encircle him from behind and he stiffened.
"I'll overlook it this time," Jim allowed, nestling his head between Sebastian's shoulder blades.
Sebastian grunted a reply, lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag in record time. His shoulders relaxed slowly and his fingers steadied by the second drag. (As he breathed in the calming smoke, a memory resurfaced. "Those things will kill you" said the faceless memory before sinking into the back of his mind. But did it matter? In his line of work he could die any day – a lung or two of smoke was nothing in comparison.) Sebastian stared out the window, catching the glowing red of ash in his reflection. He was unsurprised when Jim suddenly plucked the cigarette from his fingers. "You don't smoke," he reminded the shorter man, coming out of his thoughts.
"I do tonight," Jim said, his smoky breath ruffling the hair at the base of Sebastian's neck and curling around his ears. Sebastian chuckled lightly, then sighed.
"I was worried," he admitted after a moment, avoiding their reflection in the glass. He focused instead on the explosion of color on the horizon as the sun disappeared. The lights in the yard began to flicker on in his peripherals and glancing down, he couldn't help but notice the spark of light over his shoulder. The cigarette glowed dimly with Jim's inhalation as Sebastian peered at their reflections. Intertwined loosely, standing close. Like lovers, maybe, except this was Jim. Jim who had people killed for favors and got himself caught by the British government and watched the crap telly that played late at night, eating left over Chinese and drinking ancient wine. Sebastian took the cigarette, inhaling deeply at his boss' dissatisfied noise.
"I had it completely under control," Jim said coolly, stepping away from Sebastian and drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Sebastian turned to look at him, pulling a last toxic breathe before flicking the cigarette out the window. He tried to remain calm, but his anger tore him up.
"You had it under control," he repeated, bristling. "You had it under control when they drugged you – when they broke your finger? I'm not an idiot Jim, I can see you cradling it. Were you under control when they gave you these?" Sebastian yanked up Jim's sleeve, gesturing to the litter of purple bruises against his pale skin. He knew he was in dangerous territory now, judge by the look on Jim's face: a look of complete and utter stillness. The look he reserved for his victims, right before he ordered Sebastian to fire. Sebastian knew he should stop; shut up and apologize and go on with his business, but he couldn't seem to stop. "Were you in control, alone in a cell, being starved? You look like shit, Jim, when's the last time you slept?"
Jim fixed his sleeve slowly, eyes lowered in thought. Sebastian's shoulder's tensed in alarm, waiting for the punishment he knew was coming. Jim pulled off the blanket from his shoulders, tossing it onto the couch and stepped into the taller man's shadow. He radiated power, seeming taller than he actually was. Sebastian felt immediately dwarfed.
"Come here," Jim growled after a second's pause, eyes aflame, and pulled Sebastian down, crashing their mouths together in a searing kiss that stole Sebastian's breath away. Teeth clinking and tongues wrestling, Sebastian gasped quietly when Jim's blunt nails dug painfully into his hip. When did his hands get there? Sebastian wondered faintly, but the thought was soon lost. He grasped the smaller man's hair, pulling him ever closer, and pressed their hips together insistently. Jim tasted like fire and ash, burning in his mouth; his hands slipped under Sebastian's shirt, hot against his cool skin. Heat erupted behind Sebastian's naval at the touch, a low simmer that slowly spread out like poison in his veins. The heat of the kiss, of Jim, was stifling – in a good way. But when Jim pulled away his smile was like ice. Sebastian felt a shiver roll over his skin involuntarily. It was a moment of heavy breathing before either spoke.
"Don't speak to me like that again," Jim murmured, almost as if an afterthought of the kiss, "do you understand, Sebastian?"
Sebastian swallowed thickly and nodded, still reeling. He felt like he just wandered out of a desert. His tongue seemed like it was made of sandpaper and his throat was parched. His skin felt like it was on fire.
Jim turned, picking up the blanket with the sudden air of an excited child. "Now go get us some drinks, Sebastian!" he called, plopping himself in the middle of the couch, "And quickly, before you miss the beginning of the show!"
As he did as he was told, Sebastian wondered what the kiss meant. Seeing how it was Jim, it could have been a number of things: spontaneity, a warning to back off, or even a prize for being worried. Jim liked to do these things – mind games. Mind fuck, he'd called it once with that deliciously devilish smile that equally scared and impressed Sebastian. But whatever it was, that kiss, be it a prize or warning, Sebastian didn't know.
As the gunman poured wine into glasses, he realized it was maybe a little bit of both – and at the same time he realized that maybe it felt a little bit too good.