Break it Down
Happy late Thanksgiving! If I owned Sherlock BBC there would be johnlock everywhere.
"What the bloody hell?" Sebastian mutters, mostly to himself, when he stumbles into the kitchen at three in the morning. For some reason, Beethoven is blaring in the background and all of the lights in their flat are on. Jim, the crazy little shit, has a bunch of raw turkeys lined up on the newly-remodeled counter and is arranging them in some kind of pattern. Too complex for ordinary people figure out, much less ordinary people with only two hours of sleep and a hangover.
"Seb, dear," he trills, waltzing towards the scientific instruments pushed carelessly into a corner. "Just in time for the show." There's a huge sizzling sound and a tiny explosion, and then he turns around with chemicals in a test tube. He stalks slowly toward the birds and contemplates them. Sebastian leans against the doorway tiredly. His head is pounding and he feels a bit like throwing up, but he stays there obediently and tries not to fall back asleep.
"Do you know what's at the heart of thanksgiving, Moran?" Jim asks, suddenly serious.
Sebastian makes an effort to think but the pounding in his head has gotten worse, so he settles for mumbling, "Turkeys?"
"Tsk. So shallow." Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Thanksgiving is based on tradition, you dull boy. Tradition defines most of the people in this world, and do you know what I do? What my mission in life is?" Jim doesn't wait for an answer, leans across the counter with chemicals still splashed across his face. "I break it to pieces and burn it up."
"And dance in the ashes," the sniper says sarcastically, but he's leaning forward too, almost hypnotized by the mad glint in Moriarty's eyes.
"I adore dancing." The slim, pale wrist bends suddenly and the purple-orange-blue-grey mixture is splashed over the first turkey.
"So many things we can do, Sebby," he sighs, and while that turkey starts bubbling up in a particularly nasty way Jim is back to sweet mode, giving the sniper a peck on the cheek before grabbing the flamethrower they keep under the sink. "So many ways to break things," and a white-hot flame reduces the second one to ashes in seconds. "You see, sometimes it drives me crazy," as if he weren't crazy already, "and I see so many choices and I just don't know which one to choose."
Probably not about the turkeys, that. More than likely talking about that Sherlock bloke again. Jesus. Even in Sebastian's head that sounded jealous.
Jim plants another celebratory kiss, on the mouth, and his hands wander to Sebastian's chest, before pulling away teasingly. And, okay, even Sebastian can see where this is going. There are a lot of turkeys left, after all. He's content to stay there and watch as each bird meets a more gruesome end than the last.