To anyone else in the world, James Moriarty was formidable, unbreakable. And most probably the scariest, most dangerous man you would ever meet. With his expensive designer suits, perfect hair and cold gaze, he struck fear into the hardest of hearts. He could make your life a living hell so fast it wasn't even funny. He could kill you even faster. So unless you had a death wish, you stayed away from James Moriarty.
Unless, of course, you were Sebastian Moran.
He was just as afraid of Moriarty as everyone else in the world. He was his most important employee, he'd be stupid not to be afraid of him. But Sebastian got to see a Moriarty that nobody else did.
Sebastian got to see Jim. His Jim. The Jim that would come and curl up in Sebastian's lap in his pyjamas (still designer, of course) and rest his head on his chest, entwining their fingers. The Jim that would sit on the kitchen work top, swinging his legs and singing along to whatever was on the radio as Sebastian made breakfast. The Jim that sheepishly nudged Sebastian awake, clinging to his cuddly tiger, eyes wide and bright with unshed tears when the nightmares got to much.
That Jim was a scared little boy, fragile and very breakable indeed. More than a few times, Sebastian had been known to pry a gun or knife from Jim's shaking hands, or shove the end or a toothbrush down Jim's throat to make him throw up the drugs. He had been know to sit with the small man on the bathroom floor, cradling him as he cried hysterically for an unknown reason, murmuring soothing words to him and stroking his hair.
Sebastian would happily die before he let anyone hurt his Jim. And so help those who tried to.