note; A quick story about a sick Jim Moriarty and his loyal sniper Sebastian Moran. The closest thing I will ever write to pure fluff. Actually this pretty much is pure fluff. Enjoy.
Jim flipped over, tugging the blankets from the couch onto the floor. He stared at the pile in disgust, sniffling and rubbing at his red nose. Sebastian Moran leaned into the living room from the kitchen, a white apron tied around his neck. He cocked an eyebrow at the pile on the floor and disappeared into the kitchen. After a clatter, the tall hitman walked into the livingroom and plucked the blankets off of the floor.
"Stop that," he said, draping the heavy blankets over his boss.
Jim curled up into the fetal position and sniffled, grunting in response.
Seb sighed and trudged back into the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Jim kicked the blankets off and turned over to face the back of the couch. Several minutes passed before Seb walked back out of the kitchen holding a bowl of steaming hot soup. He gave the blankets a second glance, shook his head, and knelt by the side of the couch.
"Turn over," he said sternly.
"No."
"Jim."
"Go away."
"Turn over and sit up."
Jim shrugged and pulled his knees to his chest. "No."
"You have to eat."
"I don't want to eat," Jim grumbled. "I'll make them into shoes."
"You're not making anyone into shoes, Jim," Seb said, hiding a grin.
"I'll make you into shoes," Jim threatened under his breath, turning over to face his hitman.
Seb sighed. "I'd like to see you try."
"I could."
"That's nice, boss. Now, eat some soup so you can get better."