He promised me that he would come back.
And i should have known, no one ever keeps their promises.
About an hour ago, i recieved a letter from the army. I still haven't opened it, i just can't. I know what it will be.
1 month ago, Seb went of to fight in a war. I asked him not to, but he had to go to get his father to leave him alone. He told me, promised me, that he would be back by the end of summer. And i believed him. He was going to come back, and we would go out for a fancy dinner to celebrate him coming back, and for us finally beating Sherlock for good, then get drunk off our asses. But no, he had to go and spoil everything!
I knew what the letter must be about, alright. I mean, what other type of letters do the army send out?
Slowly, hands shaking, i reached out and opened the letter, once i thought i was in control. But as soon as i saw the letter, a whole new wave of emotions took over me. It said;
Dear Mr. Moriarty,
We are sorry to inform you that one Sebastian Moran is missing in action.
Sincerely,
The Bristish Army.
Yes, it didn't exactly say that Sebastian was dead, but Jim knew that there was little to no hope. Sebastian wasn't coming back.
Tommorow, was the great game, the final dance, the last stand between him and the great Sherlock Holmes. Sebastian was going to be there, laughing with him as they burnt the world down, together...
In a way, Jim was glad that Sebastian wasn't here to see him in a state like this. But even more, he wished that Sebastian was here to hold him and tell him everything would be all right.
But it wasn't.
So, today was the big day. Last night he didn't get any sleep, so he had massive dark circles underneath his eyes, and, oh! His eyes! They looked even more dead than usual.
Last night, he had made a decision. A decision that would change his life, and ultimatley end it. He knew he couldn't live on without Sebastian, and he wasn't scared of it either. He had always wondered what death would bring, and was quite looking forward to it, but he only stayed behind for Sebastian. Now he was sure that he was dead, he could finally go in a blaze of glory... and join Sebastian.
He was on the roof at this very moment, and had just sent a text to Sherlock sayig he was on the roof. Then, his phone rang, and 'Staying Alive' blared out across the quiet, lonely rooftop.
How dare they? How dare someone ring him during this crucial time, when he needed peace?
He ignored it, not even bothering to look at the caller id, and then Sherlock waltzed in. He clicked it off and went forward to meet his fate.
Before he shot himself, he thanked Holmes for giving him such a wonderful game, and giving him a proper and good moment to go off to meet Sebastian. His Sebastian.
What Jim didn't realise was, that Sebastain wasn't actually dead and had just been missing and slightly injured, that he was at the airport at that very moment, and that the very person who had dared call him was Sebastian himself.
Sebastian had been missing, and now he was being able to be sent home early. He couldn't wait to see Jim, to just hold him and tell him how much he missed him.
He called Jim a couple of times, but Jim wouldn't pick up. He knew Jim was a very busy man, and wouldn't be able to answer all of his calls, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him that something was wrong, but he put it off and went out into the collection point in the airport.
When he was out, a skinny young boy ran up to him. Sebastian vaguely recongized him as one of the many, many, MANY people who worked for Jim. Sebastian sneered at him, and, satisfyingly, the young boy cowered away from him.
"What do you want?"
"M-mr Mor-moran! It's mr... Mr Moriarty, Sir! He-he's... D-d-dead!"
Sebastians world came crashing down, all by those simple two words. Dead. Jim was... dead.
When he looked back on them, all he could remember was pain. Pain, running, and he was eventually flying up the stairs to the roof on St Bart's. He couldn't remember anything else. Just the burning hole where his heart should have been.
Nobody would have believed that Sebastian had a heart, and in a way, he didn't. Jim had owned it.
And now, it had died along with his boss, his lover, his everything.
He was lying there, in a pool of his own blood. It was dark now, the cool evening breeze seeming even colder up here on the roof.
Slowly, Sebastian reached down and took Jims hand, and with his other hand, he picked up Jim's hand gun. Lifting it up, so that the cool metal was pressing against his temple, he whispered quietly into the wind;
"I love you, Jim."
And he was gone.