Even after the fall, Sebastian had continued to pay the rent for Jim Moriarty's favourite flat. Kept it up to keep, made sure that everything was set and ready for when the boss decided to finally return.
But after awhile, it all began to wear down on Moran.
One day, four years to the date, and hand written letter arrived in the flat's post. The return address simply read 'Sebastian Moran', with no following address.
...
Boss,
That's right. I'm titling this fucking letter to boss.
I can't do it anymore.
Just stay right where you fucking are, I'm coming.
Why the hell am I even writing this? You'll never read it.
Colonel Sebastian A. Moran
PS. You're a downright little fucker, you know that?
...
It was an unfortunate Molly Hooper that found the sniper the following morning when she had gone up to the roof of Saint Bartholomew's to feed pesky pigeons that populated the area on her morning break.
The ex-colonel was laying directly where Jim's body had been found, Sig Sauer clutched in one hand, grey eyes staring blankly ahead.
"Boss," he has said as he sat down, thumb drawing back the hammer of his hand gun. "I'm coming to get you."
Author's Note: It's actually very plausible that I'll be turning this into an AU fanfiction. Please let me know if you'd be interested in me doing so.
Also, this is literally the shortest thing I've ever written.
Also also, I don't know what the fuck i was writing. I swear I usually write better crap than this.