A/N: This is a character study. Tell me what you think in a review.
Sebastian liked to think that Jim's mood swings, namely his rages, were characterized by torturing clients, blowing up buildings, or even baking as a strange fetish. Jim did all these things - well, he'd only seen him bake once, and the resulting pastries were meant to be used as a warning in a job, but Jim was indeed the one who baked them (and they were bloody delicious, if Sebastian remembered correctly.) Jim only did them, however, on a supply-and-demand basis, not on whims and urges. He didn't get off on torture and death, as many people who knew of him so liked to think.
It was dangerous to imagine Jim Moriarty in any way that he wasn't, Sebastian knew. It's just that the idea of seeing his boss run around in fury, causing destruction to everything within a meter of him, like bratty kindergartner, was far more visually satisfying than the reality of the thing. Sometimes, however, Sebastian imagined the situation in his head with his boss sitting right next to him, and then things took a turn for the worse, in his case. Because Jim Moriarty didn't think laughter was contagious - for the most part, he thought it was annoying when other people did it, especially Sebastian Moran, whose full laugh was reminiscent of a very loud and very slow hyena. So when he started chuckling out of the blue, Jim would glare at him until he stopped, and then later leave something rather unpleasant in his flat for him to find later, like a dog with rabies or a rat infestation.
The collective idea of Moriarty and the reality of him were two completely separate things. In truth, he was mostly rather quiet and calculating, and sometimes spent hours just staring off into space, where the only hint that he was still alive was that his fingers never stopped moving and tapping on his leg. When Jim Moriarty was in his normal mood, he was business-like but unconventional, soft-spoken with a twist, and calm but eccentric. And when he was angry, he was the only thing in the world that scared Colonel Moran. In his rages, there were times when his body would go rigid and his breathing was heavy and anything said to him was returned with biting fire, and then there were times when he would pace up and down a room with his head oscillating and twisting about and start rambling off strings of curses and numbers and plans for crippling revenge. It seemed like he could set fire to the room without the use of a flame.
Sometimes Sebastian thought that he probably only liked the idea of Jim baking or torturing someone when he was angry because his actual fury was frightening and strangely unsatisfactory. He'd much rather watch his boss stomp around and do physical damage than watch him sit still and tense as he conjured up unimaginable ways to seek retribution. Not that the retribution part bothered him. It was just the idea of it - the thought of the type of power that Moriarty possessed that was beyond his own capabilities and nothing that he ever would have thought up. The idea of the volume of unleashed fury inside of Jim was much more terrifying than watching it unfurl - the potential of the action, not the action itself; the strength of anticipation, not the event.
Because, in the end, it was Moriarty's mind that was the most powerful and horrifying weapon Sebastian had ever known. It was an impossible thing; it was far too intelligent to exist, and yet there it was. It could topple the world and still survive, as it could set fire to the universe while still able to (or, perhaps, in order to) stay alive. He would watch it work for hours and never fathom how much of a mind Moriarty had.
And Moriarty hated it sometimes. Most of the time, he was incorrigibly in love with himself, and just to put the word out, would show off how clever and powerful he was to his clients and his employees. He would dance about Scotland Yard, make their heads spin, or he would see how much he could pull off without ever letting them on. It was fun. But Sebastian figured out early on that it had nothing to do with the money, or the luxury, or even the infamy. Jim Moriarty had absolutely no desire to survive. If anything, Sebastian had observed a sort of perpetual weariness for existence in him - he could see it in the man's eyes the way one could tell how much another has slept, it was that obvious to him. The mediocrity of life, the meaninglessness of existence, the bore of survival had all taken their respective tolls on Jim, and he was sick of it - disgusted by it.
The way Moriarty entertained himself changed over time, so much so that a mere increment of eleven months (Has it really been that long? Sebastian wondered from time to time) was enough to observe the exponential pattern. He needed more and more extravagance to keep himself distracted, while at the same time, he knew that eventually the world would have nothing left to offer him. Eventually the game would end for lack of pieces, rather than for winning or losing. And Sebastian had no idea what would happen then.
So instead, he liked to think that Jim was a little closer to the normal villain than he actually was: dangerous, a little bit eccentric and excited, perhaps congenial by nature but devious in pursuit. It was easier that way. More fun, even, because that way he felt he had nothing to lose except a few drops of blood for the contract. And that way, Moriarty was immortal - impossible to topple, in control of himself and everyone else, too powerful to fail, and always just above self-destruction. Jim liked to be viewed that way, anyways. Weariness of existence had borne a love of self-made success in him, as well as a craving for any amount of acknowledgement, and Sebastian was lucky enough to be his audience. Lucky to know Jim, and to be known only for knowing Jim.
And Sebastian loved the danger of the whole thing so much that he continued to laugh in Moriarty's presence until it was gone.