"I love you." His voice is so small.
It's the first time those three words have left his lips.
He lays beneath me on our bed, his body fitting perfectly into mine. He looks at me with such sincerity, such undisguised devotion.
It takes my breath away.
I reach down and touch my forehead against his. "I love you too, James."
Our nights together were usually rough and passionate, a quick release from our tense line of work. But tonight was different.
James caresses every inch of my skin, as if saving each touch to his memory. He smooths his fingers through my hair, they run down my neck and over my spine. I close my eyes as he traces patterns on my back. I feel his fingertips brush the initials "J.M", marking me as his. His lips are everywhere as he whispers into my skin. He tells me that he loves me, and that he'll never leave me.
I don't think to ask why this is happening. I take him in my arms and return every kiss, every touch, every whisper.
Looking back, I can't remember much from the following morning.
I can hear him running over the details of the 'final problem'. To me it was just another job.
I see him standing by the door, about to leave. He reaches out for my hand and entwines our fingers.
I watch as he lifts my hand to his lips. They press against the gold band, identical to the one he wears on his left ring finger.
He never said goodbye.
Everything else is a blur.
I remember waiting outside St. Barts. I ring James, thinking something felt out of place.
He doesn't pick up.
Watson arrives, I lock my eyes and gun onto him, concentrating on the job, ignoring the fear that's making my skin crawl.
Holmes falls and I let out a long breath of relief. I ring James one last time, he still doesn't answer.
Something in me screams danger, and before I know it I'm on my feet, running into St. Barts. I ignore the shouts from security and make my way to the rooftop.
What I saw I will never forget, it has been burnt into my soul. Each droplet of blood is a hot iron shoved against my heart.
He looks so small lying there, so helpless.
I am numb as I drop to my knees beside him. My shaking hand reaches out and closes his lifeless eyes. I want to pretend his sleeping, but the pool of blood that frames his head like a cruel halo doesn't let me.
I lie down and rest my head in the crook of his neck, my arms encircling him for the last time. I let myself weep silently.
Time looses all meaning as we lay there. The sound of sirens makes me open my eyes.
I don't want to leave him.
I hold him in my arms, "I love you" I say, my voice broken. As I gently lay him down, a folded piece of paper slips out of his coat. I put it in my pocket, and then I'm gone.
I don't look back.
Six months later and I'm still here.
I'm not living, I'm surviving. I walk around as a hollow shell, a ghost amongst the living.
I keep James' note with me at all times. It sits in the front pocket of my shirt, I can feel it brush against my heart. I don't know why I keep it, I know every word.
Tiger,
I'm watching you sleep as I write this.
You look so peaceful.
I want to memorize every line of your face. I want to remember all of you, so that when the time comes, I can close my eyes and think of you. I want you to be the last thing that I see.
I know an apology would be meaningless to you. I know how much pain I'm going to force you to feel, how much anger.
I know you're mad at me for not saying goodbye.
I couldn't say goodbye, Sebastian. You would have stopped me if I had. This was the only way.
Sebastian, you are everything to me. You are my friend, my accomplice, my lover, my husband. You are the air in my lungs and the light of my life. I have always been able to divorce myself from sentimentality, but you were the exception. So please, believe me when I say that with every fibre of my being and soul,
I love you.
-Forever yours,
James Moriarty.
I will never forget James.
The pain is sometimes unbearable, but then I think of our last night together. I think of his lips against mine, and it pulls me out of the darkness.
He is as much a part of me as my very bones, as is the ring which I will wear until the end of my days.
If I could choose to have lived a different life, I'd say no. Because despite the hurt, a life without James Moriarty isn't a life worth living.