Just a little oneshot, but maybe I'll continue it if it's enjoyed.
I don't own any of the magnificent characters from BBC's Sherlock. Or Sebastian.
"I'm bored." Jim twisted like an eel on the couch.
"That's nice, Boss."
Jim jumped up annoyed. "Sebastian," he growled, snatching away the sniper's newspaper. "I'm. Bored."
Sebastian grabbed the paper back from the smaller man and settled back into his armchair. "Yeah, I got that," he said, a little annoyed with Jim's childish behavior. "Have you tried shooting at the walls yet? That might be fun."
Jim threw his hands up in exasperation. "It's always shooting with you!" He gave a very exaggerated shudder that went completely unnoticed. "Guns are so callus."
"Mhmm," Sebastian agreed, not really listening to the obnoxious Irishman.
Jim sneered at the loss of attention and tore the newspaper out of Sebastian's hands again. This time, he tossed it onto the floor and planted his foot onto it. "Entertain me," Jim demanded.
Sebastain sighed and looked at the psychopathic toddler that was Jim Moriarty. "Do you want to switch on the police scanner? Scotland Yard can provide hours of amusement."
Jim's eyes narrowed and, for a second, Sebastian was sure he would refuse out of preference for being a total twat. After a moment of consideration, Jim tightened one side of his mouth. "Sure," he breathed. "I guess we could do that. I did have a heist going last night. It might be nice to check up on that."
Sebastian held back a sigh of relief. Jim fell backward onto the couch, a clear indication that it was Sebastian's job to fetch the scanner. It was with great reluctance that he left his comfy chair to find the radio. It was buried in a hall closet under a stack of clothing that Sebastian was almost positive did not belong to anyone still breathing. Sometimes, Jim liked trophies.
Sebastian walked back to the living area with the scanner feeling rather proud of his quick find. "Dammit, Jim!" he shouted, upon seeing whatever the fuck his boss was doing. "What the actual hell?"
In the middle of the room was a cube of cushions cannibalized from the room's couches. Sebastian's commandeered newspaper served as a makeshift flag on top of the cushy cave. At Sebastian's cry, one of the pillows on the top shifted just enough for dark eyes to peer out angrily. "I'm a king, Sebastian. This is my castle. Don't be stupid. And watch your language. It's fucking offensive."
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "So sorry, your majesty," Sebastian offered with a fair deal of sarcasm.
"That's much better," said the pillow fort, which had resumed impenetrability.
Sebastian stared dumbly at the dangerous psychopath in his imaginary castle. Why did he put up with this?
"Sebastian, I thought you were going to entertain me with incompetent investigations. Where are my detective stories?" The whine was muffled, but no less obnoxious. Sebastian had a sudden beautiful vision of choking Jim until the snarky criminal stopped bitching.
"Stop fantasizing about my death, Seb. I know how excited it gets you."
"How the fuck can you even see me right now?"
There was a pause. "Why don't I hear the inanity that is Scotland Yard? Don't make me come out there, Tiger. I am not a merciful king."
"I'm not even sure what I would say to that," Sebastian griped, tuning the scanner. It took only a moment to locate the investigation of the robbery. He could tell it was Jim's work by the sheer confusion in the voices of the on-scene personnel.
"That is my favorite sound in the whole world," Jim sighed happily from his protected space. "And I hardly even put any effort into this one. All I had to do was -"
The scanner's chatter was suddenly interrupted by a clear voice echoing through all channels. "Three men. One works in a garage, and lives nearby. The other two are professionals imported from Russia. Also, one of them was recently married in a Jewish ceremony, though I believe that was for his wife's benefit. Lestrade, you'll find a list of ten suspects and a complete inventory of stolen goods enclosed in an email. Now if you can stop being so completely oblivious for three seconds, I'm off to a family reunion. You know where to find me." After this monologue was completed, a silence took everyone.
Finally, a jealous-sounding woman's voice chimed through the radio. "Freak." This seemed to break whatever spell had just possessed the Yard and the conversation started up again.
As the crime scene came back to life, the pillow fort suddenly exploded apart. "Sebastian!" Jim cried, erupting from the upholstery. It was actually kind of endearing to see the impeccably-dressed man emerge from the pile of cushions, especially with the look plastered across Jim's face. It was a mixture of excitement and fury. "Who was that? How dare he? I like him. I want to meet him. How could he ruin my plans like this? Inconsiderate arse! We are going to best of enemies. I know it! Ooh, I love challenges! I hate it when things don't go my way. This is so exciting!" It was in this fickle, adrenal state that Jim flew out of the flat to God knows where while Sebastian sat, feeling extremely slow, still clutching the radio.
By the time Jim came home, there was only one thing on his mind. Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. Jim had infinite papers brought to the flat and spent long hours on his laptop, researching. Every once in a while, Jim would become animated and shout some nonsense like, "Oh my! He's a recovering drug addict! How spicy." or, "I'm not sure how I feel about this brother of his. He could be so interesting, but it's like he's trying to be boring." None of it meant anything to Sebastian, and he couldn't wait until Jim finally got bored of the enigmatic detective.
After a week of one-track thought, Jim found something that actually seemed to surprise him. "Omigod, Sebbie. I've dealt with him before. Or at least, he's dealt with me. Good God, he was the anonymous brat that almost figured out Carl Powers. I've been looking for him for years! I am his number one fan!"
In this instant, though nothing seemed to have change for Jim, Sebastian knew Sherlock Holmes was different. Jim didn't talk much about his past and, Jesus H. Christ, Jim really liked to talk about himself. Sebastian figured child abuse. Possibly sexual assault. Almost definitely the death of a close relative. And now here was some gawky detective bringing Jim back to whatever hell-hole he had created the evil psychopath he became to escape. Holmes wasn't a throw-away prize or a fun distraction. He was Jim's soul enemy. His true arch nemesis. It was obvious that only one, or possibly neither, of them could make it out of this game alive. And one of the participants didn't even know he was playing yet.
Love all the fabulous readers out there. Read, Review, and maybe I'll turn this oneshot into an actual story.