Dark Secrets (It's a bit rushed and crazy and probably a Grammar-Nazi's bet-wetting nightmare)
In a nice office, ceiling to floor windows presenting a view of the city to spark phobias, Jim Moriarty spun on his chair. He didn't speak, didn't complain with his voice. His eyes were dead, his scowl deep and unmoving. Everything about him spoke "bored," it said, "I hate this" and "make it stop". Sebastian wouldn't flinch. He didn't look at Jim, not even when he wanted to. Instead, Seb leaned against the windows and polished the tip of a sniper-rifle with his shirt. He was just like any high-class thug or goon. Allowed to wear singlets, combing hair wasn't important. Battle-scars encouraged.
Seb stole a glance at Jim and landed on Jim's eyes. Jim had stopped, he stared into Seb's eyes waiting for something interesting to happen. Seb stared back. It wasn't his job to make Jim happy and unbored. It wasn't what he was for or good at and Jim knew that. That's why when Sebastian wished for nothing in the world but to sweep Jim away into a world of mischief and never-boredom, he did nothing. Even if he could make Jim not-bored, he wouldn't. It wasn't his job.
Jim underestimated Seb. Jim was clever, intelligent, outrageously so. In his own mind, Jim was outshining Seb like the sun does a candle.
Although, Sebastian Moran knew he was powerful. He didn't need mind games or great thinking, that would only bring him down. What he had was strength. Skill. Precision. He was perfect for his job. That's all Jim asked for, and he got it exactly. Jim had secrets - mysteries - but so did Seb. Sebastian had oh so many dark secrets to keep hidden, to keep Jim entertained for two lifetimes, to never show Jim.
Sebastian looked back at his rifle and Jim stood up. He left the office in a casual stride, a sudden air of excitment. It was time. The waiting was kinda over. Seb knew the schedual. Go to St. Bart's, aim rifle and pick off the friends of one pesky consulting detective.
It was hard not to aim the rifle at Jim, just to watch him. Try and figure out what he was saying, imagine his voice. His breath of Sherlock's face when they got close. The aim shifted toward that curly head of hair. Seb frowned a little harder.
And the Jim shot himself. Seb nearly shot Sherlock the instant Jim pulled the trigger. He had better plans than that of course, priorities. Sherlock was going to kill himself, Jim had ensured that. No need to kill the detective or his friends, the job was done. More importantly Jim was dead.
This opened a world of possibilities to Seb.
Fast, he was pushing Jim against a wall in a dark back-alley kissing him. He stepped back and Jim gasped. Then came the looks. Jim's confusion, wonder, bewilderment. Seb's smile, that smirk, those glistening eyes Jim had never seen or imagined. Then the words, when Jim finally found them, with that Irish melody of a voice: "I'm sure I shot myself."
"That's true, I saw you do it," Sebastian twinged a little at the memory, but that was all fine now.
"Then why I am I here?"
"Death isn't the end, Jim! There's whole other worlds that you never knew about and I can't wait to show you all of them!"
"Are you dead too?"
"Almost... C'mon, let's go!"
Jim shuddered when the dark alley changed in shape and the wall behind him transformed. "Where are we?" he asked.
"Nocturn Alley. You'll like this."
They stepped into an old style building, a pub. People wore all black and glared or grinned manically with ugly faces. Seb was a grinner, but he stood out like sore thumb - as did Jim. Seb sat and was immediately comfortable in a shabby looking chair. Jim did the same and watched carefully.
"Oi, you," said a haggard looking woman next to Seb, "what are you smilin' at?"
"Oh nothing," Seb grabbed a floating cup of something amber and Jim pretended not to be astounded. "I just heard a good joke is all," Seb continued. "I walked past a guy, the guy near the window? telling this fantastic joke about, oh whats'ername? Bella Broome. That's it. It was classic."
The woman shifted and glared at the man by the window. She crinked her neck. Jim guessed she was the Bella Broome being joked about. He also knew very well that neither him or Seb had heard such a joke.
"Yeah?" she gurgled, "And what's he sayin'? About this Bella Broome?"
"That she's a mudblood with a face to kill the Dark Lord."
Fire erupted from a stick in the scraggly woman's hand. The man at the window howled in pain and a friend of his yelled something strange in return. More fire and brimstone and yelling ensued.
Seb stood up and stepped to closer to the door, pulling Jim into his arms. They stayed back and watched the fireworks. Jim beamed, letting out appropriate "ooh"s and "ah"s as other witches and wizzards joined the onslaught.
"I'm definately dead," Jim whispered.
Seb's gleefull expression became haunted. He knew that feeling and it was hard to escape. Jim was different, though. Seb thought he wouldn't drift, become lost and depressed. Then out of the blue Jim leaped into the crowd and snatched a wand, showing surprising speed and force.
He waved a wand excidedly mimicking a wizzard to his left. He tried again, repeating a phrase he'd caught "Rigorous emporor!" The battle froze. A snakey fellow at the back began to cackle and fell to the floor. A wave of laughter spread like light throughout the room.
Jim turned his head slowly to glare at Seb. Seb's strutted over and put his hand over Jim's on the wand. The laughter grew. Seb pointed at the man on the floor. "I think he was the first to laugh."
"He was," the furious Irishman agreed.
Seb moved the wand in a swish, "Avada Kadavra!" and a fantastic green light ended the man. This earned a smile like that of the cheshire cat from Jim. He waved Seb's hand off his and swished at a witch. By this point the laughter had become angry screams and the fireballs and spells continued. The difference was that Jim and Seb had become the targets. Jim predicted every move, every lash out in his direction, every attack sent his way he avoided and retaliated. Green flashes decorated the room as Jim danced about. Seb efficiently dodged everything sent his way. He didn't need to think or predict or plan, he just needed to move.
A wand tapped Jim's ear, the words were spoken and the green light enveloped Jim. His lifeless body thudded on the wooden floor boards. Seb automatically clenched his fists and glowered very dragon-like before spitting "Crucio!" at the guilty wizzard. Seb knelt by Jim and grabbed the collar of his grey Westwood suit. They vanished in a black smoke that left the crowd of the pub in a mortified chill.
Jim gasped again, like air was his favourite thing and it wanted it all. "Don't know if I'll get used to that," he admitted.
"I was born used to it," Seb said.
Jim looked nervously at Seb. Nervously. Seb shuddered, "what is it?"
"That actually hurt. It hurt, Sebastian."
"I've never died by the killing curse before, looks painful."
"But I can feel pain, Sebastian! I can get hurt! What is world?"
"The same world, Jim. We haven't gone anywhere."
"There are wizzards here."
"Like I said, there's a lot of strange worlds hidden in our world and not even you notice them."
Jim sulked a bit. He had questions. Mysteries to unfold about Sebastian. Dark secrets to unravel, but he couldn't just ask. That'd be too simple.
Besides, between Jim and Seb, Seb wasn't the one who explained things. That wasn't his job.