A/N - Had some angst build up and this came out.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters. They belong to Mr. Mark Gatiss and Mr. Steven Moffat.
"What was he like?" Said the soft voice coming from the bed.
Sebastian was standing next to the window only covered in jeans with his bare shoulder pressed into the wall as he took another drag off the third cigarette in the past hour. He had been staring at the people below the hotel wandering the streets in the late hour. The only light came in through that window and caused everything to be partially silhouetted.
He was only awake during the nights anymore. There were thick curtains he pulled closed during the day so he could sleep until he awoke at sunset. They would stay closed until nightfall came, but he did venture onto the balcony to watch the last few rays diminish behind the other buildings of London. It was the way he preferred things to be now.
The question registered immediately, but he purposely delayed his answer to let the memories come back to him one at a time. It surprised him sometimes that he could recall even the tiniest details when before he couldn't say what clothes he had been wearing the previous day. Each twitch of aggravation, every jaw clench, he could even pinpoint the exact location of a long ago faded bruise that was caused by a toaster oven being thrown at him.
The person in his bed shifted underneath the sheets and reminded him that a question had been asked. Another drag pulled into his lungs as he considered what answer to give. "Someone you couldn't handle." The smoke leaked from his mouth and nose as he spoke.
"I can handle you. I think I've proven that several time." The voice was smug and sure of itself.
Sebastian only chuckled, shaking his head as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. "I'm a walk in the park." He refused to look behind him and have this conversation face to face with someone. They were all naïve and hardly believed him, but he let their ego roll off his back. He knew and that's all he needed.
"He sounds like fun then." The smirk was evident.
"Hm, not his type." He cracked the window just enough to flick the cigarette out and then closed it against the cool air that pricked at his bare skin causing goose bumps to form.
"Can't you tell me anything about him?"
Sebastian let the corner of his mouth twitch upward as the lighter twirled between his fingers. "You taste like him, but not as sweet." His voice was flat with just a hint of an insult behind it. No need to give them too much of a good thing. The lighter struck and he watched the flame stand nearly perfectly still. He refused to carry matches anymore. Sulfur brought back too many memories for him to handle at one time.
"I'll take that as a compliment." Disappointment. It was what he had hoped for.
He let the flame cut out and slipped his hands in his pocket. "A poison that was not only bad for you, but gave you everything you would ever want." His throat tightened as the day at Bart's suddenly placed itself directly in his vision.
"What happened?" More curiosity.
One deep breath and he thought about ending it there, but it had been awhile since he acknowledged the actual incident. If he didn't then he would find himself forgetting as he picked up his phone to dial the number he had memorized years ago. Then it would come back to him. It would hit him too hard and he find himself drunk and in the nearest bed of whoever would take him. He didn't know why he craved physical contact every time, but it must have given him some solace even if it did pain him to think about being in another's bed.
Sebastian turned to look at the darkened figure lying on the bed. There was no face and there never were on his latest purchases. This one just so happened to be a regular because he wasn't needy or clingy.
"He was taken by his obsession." He couldn't see the person clearly, but he still felt his eyes automatically drop to the floor. "One and only obsession that I watched make him more of what he is and then destroy him."
"Was, you mean." The voice corrected.
The confusion set in first before the realization of what tense he had used. It had been half a year and he was still using present tense. "Was…" Whispered delicately. His chest still felt like caving in when he said it. The inability to properly breathe made him return to his previous position.
Another cigarette lit and the lighter fell onto the window sill. "Times up."
A/N - I hope you enjoyed it!