Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
It was Sebastian Moran's fourth year working for Jim Moriarty, and their third anniversary. Sebastian hadn't even met the man behind the orders until nearly a year after he'd begun doing work for him. When they first met there was serious chemistry. They met in a chemistry lab to make a bomb that Jim later sold. Sebastian found out it had just been for fun, a kind of pet project, the bomb. His world shifted, after Jim. Up was down and down was sideways and, surprisingly, he didn't hate it. He liked the quirks that made Jim. Jim was the kind of guy who thought of love as a disease, something to be avoided, something that caused weakness but Sebastian knew, if Jim loved him back they would not be weak. They would be the most powerful couple in the world. That was, until he told Jim. Jim, at first took out a knife and cut a deep gash in Sebastian's arm. He felt the puckered scar absentmindedly before returning to his musings. He'd spent little time in the hospital, it was just a cut, 16 stitches and a bandage wrapped arm and he was out of the hospital. He was greeted, of course, by Jim who looked quite abashed. "I got you a gun to make you feel better." He said, his small frame looked so touchable but Sebastian was still unsure whether or not it was his to touch. Perhaps the gun was Jim's way of saying he loved Sebastian too. Later he would learn that was what love is like with Jim. He'd throw you out the window and then pamper you because he never really meant it. He loved Sebastian in a sick way, a way that was toxic to both of them. And Sebastian loved the poison.
He thought about their first anniversary, Jim had begged Sebastian to take him to an arcade. They had arrived and instantly, Jim demanded Sebastian win him the tiger stuffed animal. It was cheap, Jim would probably destroy it in seconds, and Sebastian knew he could buy Jim a better one anywhere else but Jim wanted it so Sebastian won it for him. And Jim cooed over how amazing his darling Sebby was and after that he always called Sebastian his tiger. It was a fond memory, no torture, no bodily harm, simply an innocent memory he could recall fondly.
Their second anniversary, Sebastian recalled, he had been out much of the day on a job Jim had asked him to do. He returned, sweaty and bloody, not all of the blood was his, with a poorly wrapped gift under one arm and a cigarette in the other. The air was cool on the roof Jim was standing on. Sebastian was only a little worried that Jim had asked to meet on a roof. Jim greeted him with absolute indifference until his eyes landed on the box. Instantly he was a little boy waiting to open his birthday presents, eager to tear the wrappings off and lay eyes on what was inside. This particular gift had cost quite the pretty penny and Sebastian knew Jim would adore it. Jim yanked the box away from his tiger and tore it open, the crude wrappings getting no attention as they left to reveal a lamp. It had been made by a Nazi out of the flesh of Jews during the Holocaust. Jim loved it so much, and Sebastian was proud he'd done something to please him.
This anniversary, Jim was on the same roof. Sebastian had his sight trained on a John H. Watson. Sebastian knew Jim had forgotten him on their other anniversaries (and this one too apparently), and he cringed at the idea of Jim on their roof with someone else but he focused on his target, following him in his scope. He was listening to the conversation Jim was having with Sherlock Holmes via earpiece. Sherlock was intruding, he was on their roof, during their anniversary, and Sebastian knew Jim had forgotten. Sebastian also knew he could hurt Sherlock for trying to take Jim away; he could kill John, punishing the consulting detective for monopolizing Jim's thoughts. But Jim had given him strict orders and he wanted to make Jim happy so he closed off his emotions as best he could, shutting them down, bottling them up, and burying them deep. He focused on his breathing, slowing it to an even pace instead of the erratic hyperventilating he had nearly achieved. He listened to the conversation unfold, everything Jim predicted was happening, much to Sebastian's distress. Jim had set plans for everything Sherlock could have done, every situation, every decision, every word. And, because it was Sebastian's favorite person, on his favorite day, on his favorite roof, with another man, Sebastian just knew which path Sherlock would take. He shut his eyes as the shot rang out, hurting his ear but it didn't compare to the pain in his chest. He felt like he'd been shot, his entire chest felt like it was caving in, and a coldness he'd never experienced was enveloping him. He held back the tears, choking to breathe over the lump that had swelled in his throat, blocking off his air way and making his breath come out in pained gasps. He wanted to take the shot, he wanted to take away Sherlock's love like Sherlock had taken away his but that was not what Jim had intended. Sebastian's clothes seemed to tighten and all the scars Jim had left on his flesh burned. He knew Sherlock would jump, Jim had said he would, and with the soft thud in his earpiece, Sebastian began packing up his gun. It had been a gift; he had the scars to prove it.