Set pre-series 3 so doesn't have the plot developments that occur in and after that but does include Mary and a half-arsed explanation for the existence of that Lord Moran guy from Empty Hearse we all cheerfully ignore out of hope for a less idiotic interpretation.

Warnings for language and blood and possible Johniarty later on.

Applause and pie for anyone who gets what the title is referencing.

"Get back soon, okay?" Jim said tiredly.

Sebastian smiled to himself, imagining Jim curled up on their sofa in jeans and one of Seb's old t-shirts like he did after every long day, phone probably on the coffee table in front of him, regretting that he wasn't there himself. "I'll be here a few more days at most. Just waiting for a verdict."

Being a lawyer was pretty interesting, Seb had to admit. He'd been more than sceptical when Jim had first given him their new identities but he was enjoying it more than he'd thought. It wasn't the thrill as he'd got as a sniper but there was a similar kind of kick about holding someone's future in your hands. Plus there was the added benefit that both he and Jim were less likely to die horribly in the new roles they played. He was thankful for that, the promise of extra time.

"Don't be too long. 'Colonel Moran'," (Sebastian could practically taste the venom as Jim spat out his brother's title) "is still nagging me to give him a bigger part in an organisation I have no control over."

"Don't worry about it, I'll deal with him when I get home."

"You better." Jim grumbled.

Seb smirked and looked up as he wandered around a corner, almost back at his hotel. It wouldn't be long until he'd finally get to see his husband again.

There was a figure stood on the path in front of him. The sniper's smile disappeared again instantly and the hand holding his phone fell to his side slowly when he saw the other man's face.

"I'd love to say I'm surprised but I'd be lying."

The other man didn't say a word. He looked pretty much the same as he always had, tall, imposing, intelligent, probably a little thinner than last time Seb had seen him. His hair was shorter and he wasn't wearing that trademark trench-coat, like that attempt at a disguise would fool anyone.

"What did you expect me to do? Give myself up instantly muttering 'you cunning, cunning fiend!'?"

The other man gave a grim smirk and shook his head and Seb heard the muted burst of a shot through a silencer.

"No. I expect you to die."

The sniper hadn't even seen the gun until he heard it, not expecting anything like that in such an open environment. When he looked down, he saw a dark rosette of blood spreading from a hole in his white shirt in his stomach. .50 bullet, if he was any judge and it had torn straight through his body and out the other side. He hadn't seen the gun but even if he was wrong he didn't stand a chance. It could take him anywhere from hours to just fifteen minutes to die from a wound like this depending on what organs it had damaged. Even if he got to a hospital they might not be able to do anything. He managed to hold off the onslaught of pain long enough to make that analysis then he fell to his knees, hitting the ground hard.

"Fuck, did you just quote James Bond at me?" He whispered, a grin forming in his lips as he fought for breath, mildly impressed despite everything. The bastard probably didn't even know he'd done it.

A strong leg kicked him back against the cobbles, the heel of the obviously expensive shoe purposefully digging into the bullet wound when he hit the floor. "Who are you working for, Moran?"

The sniper didn't speak, trying to catch his breath.

"You're dying but there's still time to hurt you." He stated, a phrase Seb could swear was familiar but couldn't place. He brought his foot down sharply again but if Seb felt it, he didn't let it show.

"Who are you working for?" Holmes hissed, crouching down with one foot still on Seb's stomach, obviously thinking the sniper would be more intimidated by him getting so close.

Seb just laughed through the agony in his gut, trying to play down his internal reaction. "What makes you think I'm not the boss now?"

"You're not clever enough to run anything alone."

"You really know how to flatter a guy, Holmes." People had always under-estimated him. None of them noticed his intelligence; he was a genius in his own right but he was always just the muscle in their minds, the one they feared but otherwise looked down on. Even the famous Sherlock Holmes thought he was a fucking enforcer. Only Jim had ever looked any further and Sebastian wasn't going to betray the only person alive who'd ever really known him with his dying breaths. Maybe he should go for the truth, however unbelievable it would sound.

"I'm not working for anyone. I'm not in that game any more."

"Then who were you talking to?" He sneered.

Sebastian winced slightly as he tried to move but the detective's shoe dug further into the bullet wound. "My husband, you bastard."

Holmes gave him a look of utter disbelief.

"I'm not a fucking sociopath, even if you are." He growled, spitting a thick globule of dark blood and bile in Holmes's face. The former detective jerked back, wiping his face with his sleeve then sliding the gun out from his jacket again. Sebastian felt any hope of survival he had left drain away but held on to his last few strands of defiance.

"Yeah, shoot me again, that's going to get you all the information you want." His smirk was strained and far less believable this time but that wouldn't stop him from doing it.

"If you insist." The detective gave him a cold smile and put another two bullets in his gut.

Sebastian whimpered, too weakened to suppress the pain this time. If he'd had a chance before it was gone now. Instead of saying anything else, he let himself fall back, allowing more thick blood to bubble into his mouth. He had to get rid of Holmes somehow and maybe some good could come of playing dead. The detective looked down at him, probably trying to deduce if he was faking it or not. Sebastian didn't so much as blink until he heard footsteps walking away from him, quickly but calmly. Of course he wouldn't check Seb's pulse, he wouldn't want to leave any fingerprints. That worked to his advantage for once.

When the footsteps faded he raised his phone back up to his ear, arm feeling so heavy he could barely move it.

"Seb? Are you still there?" Jim's voice was fast with badly suppressed panic.

Sebastian didn't reply for a long while, breathing heavily.

"He shot me, Jim." He said, shock leaking through his voice.

"I know, I'm looking at the street through the CCTV cameras. How bad is it?"

"Bad." The sniper whispered, trying to prop himself up against the wall. He'd never said that before. He'd always denied how severe his injuries were, joked about it even. Maybe this time it was because he knew that this was different and that now wasn't a good time to be dishonest.

"I called an ambulance. It's coming-"

"Don't you dare say I'll be fine." He interrupted through gritted teeth. "Don't lie to me."

"I'd never lie to you, you matter too much." The younger man said quietly. When he spoke again, his voice had turned from scared to that dangerous tone it always held when dealing with an enemy. "I'm going to shatter everything he's ever known, Sebastian, I promise. I'll tear his soul apart with my teeth."

He smiled slightly. Even now, when he was lying, shivering, on the cold, damp street, the fingers gripping his phone going numb far faster than he'd hoped, Jim could make him smile. The only man he knew who could have done that.

"I'm sorry, James."

"So am I."

"You… you better not forget me." He coughed hoarsely, blood spraying onto his shirt.

"Not even if I wanted to." Jim whispered. Seb would miss that, the sound of his soft Dublin drawl right next to his ear at night. "Sleep well, Tiger. You've fought long enough."

Sebastian nodded slowly. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He was sure it hadn't been this cold a minute ago.

"Fuck." He whispered. "Jim, I…"

…

The sentence wasn't finished, and never would be in this world.

It left James Moriarty with only traffic sound which he listened to for a full minute before sitting up very slowly. He stared at the phone again for a while, as if considering whether to throw it at something then carefully touched the 'end call' button instead, hand shaking.

The Consulting Criminal stood up slowly, a deathly still replacing the tremors from only seconds before. The humanity drained from his dark eyes. Someone would pay for this.