Author note: Obviously, I cannot claim to own any of the characters used in this. These are just some head canons that I have about home life for Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty. Hell, I imagine.

Head canon number one: Sebastian does not dance. He can't dance. He doesn't like dancing. He refuses to dance. Jim does dance. Jim can dance. Jim does like dancing. Jim will never refuse a dance. So one day, Jim asks Sebastian to dance with him. Sebastian says no. Jim leaves little pink post its around the house saying 'come dance with me'.

Come on, baby, there's some things you wanna know,
My look about this love is; I don't know where it's gonna go,
Don't tell me that I'm different although you can try to show me,
Other ways to go about it I already know

Sebastian Thomas Moran was extremely proud to say that he was an incredibly masculine man with large guns and loaded rifles and stubble and he could curse and other incredibly manly shit like that and he had never slow danced or set food on a dance floor once in his amazingly masculine life.

Sebastian hadn't danced at his Father's first wedding – or his Father's second wedding, or his Father's first wedding, actually – and he had not danced at any of the school discos that he'd been forced to attend. No, Sebastian sat in a corner and glared at the girls that dared to come too close to him. None of the boys had ever been brave enough to ask him to dance, not back then.

He had been ordered by his Father and his third step-mother to go to his prom and he had attended it under duress, wearing a tight, pin-stripe and finally one of the other boys had been brave enough to ask him for a dance. Sebastian had turned him down anyway though he commended the guy for his courage; he thought it was a real pity that he was probably going to be beaten up outside the prom room later on that night, when the boys were high on testosterone, alcohol and lust. Unfortunately, the girls had took his refusal as a green light and he had been crushed beneath rustling taffeta and litres of fake tan. He'd refused them all too and eventually people had gotten the message that Sebastian Moran did not dance.

It didn't surprise him at all though that Jim Moriarty did.

Sebastian had been coming home from a successful hit and had been in high spirits. His shout of 'boss, I'm home!' cut off in his throat as he opened their living room door to find his boss jumping up and down on their white leather sofa in his fancy £820 Westwood suit, looking absolutely ridiculous.

"I said, sucking too hard your lollipop, love's gonna get you down! I said, sucking too hard on your lollipop, love's gonna get you down! Sebby!" The consultingcriminal spun to face him, wiggling his slim hips with a grin. "Come dance with me!"

Sebastian stared at Jim for a second before he snorted. "No." He was already jumping back from the swift punch that was aimed at his nose only seconds later.

"Come dance with me."

It obviously wasn't a request, it was an order. Sebastian was smart or… At least, he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't stupid enough to fool himself thinking that Jim was asking anyway.

"Jim, I really don't dance." He protested. He frowned and Jim mimicked his expression mockingly.

"You mean that you don't want to dance."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Exactly. You really are a genius."

The smaller man growled at him, black eyes narrowing dangerously. Sebastian met his eyes and kept looking. His instincts screamed at him to 'get the fuck out of there' but he never seemed to listen to himself when Jim was there.

"Fine." Jim shrugged at him and Sebastian couldn't help but feel surprised and relieved. For a moment there, he'd been certain he'd have his nose broken that night. Jim gave up relatively easily for Jim. "Leave me alone then so I can dance. Unless you want to watch, of course…" Jim moved his hips again, a slower motion this time and Sebastian couldn't help his eye roll. He shook his head at Jim's antics and stalked off.

"Go to Hell, Jim."

Jim let out peals of pleased laughter that followed him through the flat into the bedroom and then seemed to go back again. "Oh, Sebby, love, I don't need to go to Hell – I'm already their King."

As Sebastian shut their bedroom door behind him, he smirked because he was sure that that was pretty damn accurate.

The next morning, Sebastian awoke to a world of bright pink. Somehow, during the night, Jim –being the sneaky little git that he was – had found a way to stick a bright pink post it note onto each of Sebastian's eyelids whilst he was asleep without waking him up or causing him to even stir.

Sebastian supposed he could have photocopied the notes but he knew Jim well enough to know that he'd want to show off and do it by himself. No, he'd done it by hand. In the centre of each post it note, four words were written in elegant, perfect calligraphy.

Come dance with me.

Sebastian sighed and looked over his bare shoulder at the small form that was a lump beneath the covers, only the top of his head showing. "Jim, you're wasting your time."

He stood up and pointedly ignored the way Jim's eyes peeked over the top of the covers and stared at him for a second before closing. Jim let out a loud snore and then burrowed further under the silk sheets. Sebastian knew what the look had meant.

No, I'm not.

He ignored it because he knew that, in the end, it would be true.

Over the course of the next week, Sebastian woke up to the post its every day. There was also one stuck to the alarm clock every morning, along with the bathroom mirror, one on the trigger of his rifle, about ten plastered all over the milk bottle and once, one on his dog tags.

It was when he pulled the post it off of his underwear that he'd Officially Had Enough.

"Jim! Jim, fine. You can get what you want again. We're dancing, get up."

Jim smirked and slowly looked up from an article about tie pins in his men's fashion magazine, his black eyes almost glinting. "Really?" He looked so hopeful that Sebastian was a little bit proud that he hadn't given up before then already.

"Yes, fine, let's get this over with."

Jim, rather unlike the criminal mastermind that he was supposed to be, squealed happily and threw himself and his magazine off of the soft, supple leather beneath him and into Sebastian's arms. Sebastian briefly remembered Dirty Dancing and contemplated lifting him up and then quickly decided there was no fucking way.

He darted off again and pushed play on the CD player. Soft violin music started playing and Sebastian, though he was still absolutely terrified and felt like his free will was being manipulated, began to smile.

"Johnann Sebastian Bach… One of his piano works set to violin though, right?"

Jim looked pleased. "My favourite composer. Of course, this particular piece is being played for us by our own Mr Holmes, the younger," Jim closed his eyes and sighed happily, tilting his head towards the music player. "It was played for Doctor Watson during the throes of one of his worst nightmares… The best that Sherlock could think to do, I suppose. Ah! Listen, you can hear Johnny boy screaming now."

Sebastian frowned at Jim in disapproval. Jim knew that he and John had trained together whilst they were in the army and he knew that Sebastian liked the good Doctor though he had to admit the terror filled cries struck a primitive chord inside of him.

"That's my favourite part…" Jim whispered conspiratorially.

Sebastian kept frowning. "Look, are we dancing or do you want to talk about your crush on John Watson?"

"You know that I could only ever feel anything like that for you, Sebby," And Sebastian didn't have the heart to tell him 'no, I don't'. Jim gestured him closer. "We're dancing now." Sebastian groaned and slowly walked over to him.

The whole thing fell apart.

Only minutes later, Jim started screaming at him. "Oh my God! Are you blind, Sebastian? Is your brain okay? Are you an idiot or a drunk?"

Sebastian held up his hands in defence. "Jim, stop yelling!"

"I lead, Moran!"

"I just assumed that I would be leading since I'm taller, stronger and more-"

"And more what?" Jim snapped. "Think very carefully before you finish that sentence because your life hangs in the balance here, Colonel."

Sebastian thought for a second before shrugging. "More inexperienced."

The smaller man's expression quickly cleared up into a bright, triumphant grin. "Well, then you should be following. Put your hands on my shoulders."

"Jim, this isn't going to w-"

Jim's black eyes somehow went impossibly darker. "Put your hands on my shoulders," He purred and his voice was silky smooth and deceptively seductive and Sebastian hastened to obey him. In return, Jim gave him a smile and placed his hands upon Sebastian's waist.

It was quite possibly the most awkward dance in the history of dances. Jim attempted to guide Sebastian around the table and the sofas and the TV and it seemed like the sniper was deliberately being awful. He kept pushing forward when he should be stepping back. Inside his fancy Italian shoes, Jim's feet felt like they were being slowly and torturously pressed to death. Sebastian moved forward again and accidentally put most of his body weight on Jim's right big toe.

Jim let out a loud howl of pain and shoved Sebastian away from him furiously. "Moran, you're a moron! I think you've broken my foot!"

"I did not break your foot!"

"I swear I am going to skin you and have you turned into a rug for the bedroom and then I'm going to have your insides scraped out and fed to tigers!"

Sebastian couldn't quite stop himself from laughing as he watched the criminal mastermind hop around on one leg.

Jim froze. "Are you laughing at me?"

Sebastian froze too, though he did shake with restrained laughter. "I'm sorry, boss, it's just-"

Jim's glare cut him off mid-sentence. "Stay away from me, Moran, or I'm seriously going to have you murdered."

"Yes, sir."

Sebastian smirked at Jim and watched as the evil genius' face began to heat up with his fury. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and limped off to the bedroom to sleep off his atrocious injury. Once the door closed, Sebastian fell face-first onto the sofa in hysterical laughter.

Jim never asked Sebastian to dance again. Unfortunately, he did ask Sebastian to sleep on the sofa for the next two weeks.

Five days into his sentence to the sofa, in the middle of the night, Sebastian once again woke up to the pink post it notes and the soft sound of a door closing gently. Jim must have started to wake him up and had fled. He sighed, pulling the post it notes away from his eyes, heart dropping at the thought of Jim wanting to dance again.

Come to bed with me.

Sebastian smiled down at the post it and stuck it to the table before getting up with a groan and scooped up his two pillows and his thin blanket into his arms before shuffling off and trying to look just a little ashamed of himself as he entered the bedroom.

"Jim?"

The lump under the covers shifted slightly and then an overly sleepy voice came out muffled. "Don't bother pretending that you regret laughing. You're too stupid to act properly."

Sebastian rolled his eyes at the lump and put his pillows onto the bed before climbing in. Hesitantly, he curled up behind Jim and put an arm around him. "Jim?"

"What do you want?"

"I love you." Again, he tried to sound ashamed and, for once, Jim didn't stop him.

"Hmm? That's nice, Sebby." Jim turned over and buried his face in Jim's shoulder, curling up tight and tangling his legs with Sebastian's.

Jim didn't need to say it back. Sebastian already knew.