After The Fall, Sebastian Moran is lost. He doesn't know what to do with himself. There's a huge gaping hole ripped in his lide since Jim's death. He knows why he did it.
For the game.
Sebastian just wishes he hadn't.
The next year he spends finishing off Jim's List, tying up loose ends. Once he's finished he walks away from Moriarty's empire and doesn't look back.
It helps, though. Being a freelance sniper is tough, but everyone knows Moran. Or at least knows of him. His right hand man, bodyguard, sniper.
Favorite.
He need only mention his name and the blood drains from their faces.
Colonel Sebastian Moran.
Not Moran-Moriarty. No one knows about their marriage. The part of Jim and Seb no one saw or knew of.
Jim was everything to Sebastian, and Sebastian would like to say he was everything to Jim (even if Jim would never admit). Sebastian was his flatmate, caretaker, errand-runner.
Husband.
Their relationship was twisted, dysfunctional, bloody at times. But it was also loving and could be domestic and affectionate if it wanted to be.
The year after that is spent taking jobs and traveling. He's rich, his accounts flush with Jim's money. He goes back to India for a while, hunts tigers. He learns more languages to add to his already impressive assortment. Cultivates knowledge from all over the world.
It's only halfway through the third year that he returns to London. He has plenty of Jim's money still left over, but he was never one for living in luxury. He just needs to survive.
He brings back with him only what he left with (and a couple of souvenirs).
He carries an anonymous black suitcase, stuffed with all his possesions.
His wardrobe is mostly army sweatpants, tank tops, and camouflage. He also has his military uniform, a coat, some plain button up shirts, and one suit. He has two ties and two pairs of shoes, one is designer dress shoes that match his suit and the other is a pair of faded and worn combat boots.
His other items are his marriage certificate, a small black book and a small red book, his dogtags, his ring, Jim's laptop, his phone, and a vial of ashes.
His souvenirs are a new tattoo and a tiger's tooth and claw.
His guns are a completely different matter. He has his trusty sniper rifle from his time in the service. It's all he needs to use nowadays ( he keeps a few more guns in his person at all times though. Just in case.) All his others are in the basement of his and Jim's old flat. He bought it from the owner with his newfound wealth. His rifle is in a long box along with bullets oil and cloth. The box has a long black strap that Sebastian lifts over his shoulder to carry it on his back.
He can't bear to stay at the flat, so he is in the room of a hotel after having just flown in from France, when he hears a knock at the door.
He is immediately suspicious, and produces a hand gun. He holds it loosely at his side as he pulls the door open. A familiar man stands there, and Sebastian's too resigned to even point the gun. He waits for the police to swarm in and arrest him, but none come. He looks up at the man's face. Mycroft Holmes smiles politely and says, "Hello Colonel. I wanted to have a chat with you."
"Yeah?" He asks gruffly. His voice is still thick with sadness and is streaked with exhaustion.
"I was wondering if you would work for me."
Sebastian narrows his eyes suspiciously.
"Yeah? But what about Moriarty?"
"What about Moriarty? He's dead."
Dead.
Of course.
Make sure to point that out.
I had nearly forgotten.
"Sure."
Mycroft smiled. "Happy to have you with us. Pack your things and I have a car waiting that will drive you to your new residence."
Sebastian grabbed his suitcase and rifle box and stepped out the door. He followed Mycroft out and into his new life.
His 'new residence' was a flat right next to Sherlock's old one. Well, Dr. Watson's flat at any rate. He was dropped off by a sleek black car with a sleek young girl with sleek black hair and a sleek black phone and left with a sleek white business card proclaiming in sleek black letters 'MH' and underneath was a number.. He slipped it into his pocket and went to his new home. The landlady was obscenely kind as she helped him settle in, and Sebastian could barely handle it. His trigger finger twitched and he resisted as best he could. He's justice side now. Justice doesn't shoot overly nice innocent old women. As he set down his stuff she was all aflutter, asking questions at an alarming rate. He tried to be as polite as possible. As he was opening Jim's laptop (Jim's. Not his. Never his.) on the long oakwood desk, she asked,
"Do you have a girlfriend, or a wife?"
"...A husband."
"Oh my! I can't wait to tell old Mrs. Hudson I've got married ones now! What's his name, dear?"
"Jim."
"Could I meet him some time?"
"He died." His voice was small and sad and he hated it. The landlady softened and squeezed his arm comfortingly. He looked at her, smiling flatly, eyes empty.
"You can tell Mrs. Hudson, anyhow. It should still count, yeah?" She smiled back, feeling sorry for the poor lad. So young too.
"Any pictures, dear?" His grin was lopsided as he produced a small black book and flipped through it. He pulled out a small card and handed it to her.
It was a photo of him and Jim on the beach. They had been laughing at something, and smiling at each other, and kissed a moment later, which was also in a photo in his book. Someone had taken it without them notcing and then attempted to blackmail them.
They didn't succeed.
Mrs. Turner smiled at the picture and handed it back to him.
"Well, he was a lucky man."
"...Yeah." Lucky wasn't quite the right word.
"Oh my, I forgot to ask your name, dear."
"You can call me Sebastian." His mouth twitched into a small smile and they shook hands.
"Well dear, I'll leave you to it. I have to call round to Mrs. Hudson and inform her."
He watched her leave with careful eyes. When the door was safely shut and her footsteps were fading, he turned.
He looked blankly at the wall, hand on Jim's laptop, and allowed silent tears to streak down his cheeks.
"Before you start working for me, there's something you need to know."
Sebastian glanced at Mycroft. He was was wrapping bandages around his hand to start boxing. He was at an expensive private gym, and they were in a seperate room. A heavy red sandbag was hanging from the ceiling in front of him by a thick metal chain. Mycroft cleared his throat once and said "Sherlock Holmes is alive."
The punch had landed on the last syllable. The entire chain rattled and shook, threatening to rip from the plaster. Almost before the other punch had finished his other fist was hitting it full force. Sebastian drove his fists into the punching bag repeatedly, throwing himself into it. As he tore at the sandbag words rippped from his throat, nearly unintelligible under the chains and punches.
"Jim- you- bastard-" He withdrew suddenly, leaving the bag swinging. He growled savagely and attacked again, even more vicious than before.
"It- was- our-" He breathed in and out sharply landed a final blow.
"Anniversary." His arm gave out and his knees buckled. He fell to his knees, face in his hands. His shaggy and unkempt hair overshadowing his face.
Mycroft could hear Sebastian breathing in and out loudly, trying to get a handle on his emotions. His breathes eventually slowed and quieted, and soon Sebastian was kneeling, head hung, in silence.
"Is there anything else you need to tell me, Holmes? Was James actually Richard Brook? Is my entire life actually a coma-induced dream and I'll wake up to be an asian woman married with three kids and a house in California?"
"No, Colonel."
"Sebastian." He said, voice sharp as a tack. "Only call me Sebastian." Nicknames brought back memories Sebastian didn't want to face.
"I apologize, Sebastian. Good day." He turned and clicked away, closing the door on a muttered "What's so fucking good about it?"
There was a timid knock on the door, and Sebastian called out automatically "What, Jim?"
As soon as he said he bit his lip so hard he drew blood. He gingerly set down the book he was reading and went to answer it. Mrs. Turner was standing outside, a newspaper in her grip. He tried to smile kindly, but gave up. He motioned for her to come in and she stepped over the threshold. He closed the door quietly and started towards the kitchen.
"Would you like some tea, Mrs. Turner?"
"Oh thank you, dear. That would be lovely."
He pulled the kettle off the stove, which had been steeping while he was reading, and poured two cups. Mrs. Turner had sat down at the small table and Sebastian set a cup in front of her. She smiled at him as he sat down. She spoke as he sipped at his mug.
"I just got the most wonderful news, dear. You know that detective chap, Sherlock Holmes?" Sebastian's knuckles turned white on the handle of his mug. He forced out a small smile and replied "I've heard of him, yes."
"Well, he's just come back from the dead! It turns out he hadn't really died in the first place! John, the poor dear, was so lonely without him. Thank goodness he's back now."
"Must be very nice," Sebastian murmured back, his grip so tight he was vaguely worried he might break the cup. Mrs. Turner noticed it and put a hand to her mouth.
"Oh my, Sebastian dear I forgot. I'm so sorry, it must be hard to see him getting back his loved one."
"You have no idea." He muttered darkly into his tea. She set the paper down on the table between them and put her drained cup down softly.
"Well dear, I should be getting back," She said with a half-smile and she stood up from the tablw to leave.
"No, I'm fine Mrs. Turner," Sebastian insisted, "Really." She looked him over skeptically and Sebastian's skin crawled as he realized how... normal he was with Jim gone.
The three years of travel had mellowed him. Substanstially. Sebastian wasn't sure if he liked it or hated it.
"Well, Mrs. Hudson did want to meet you. You can come along with me if you like." Sebastian gave a huge fake smile and stood. He put his mug away as Mrs. Turner glanced around the flat.
"Made yourself at home then?"
"When I was with Jim, we always moved around a lot. It feels strange to live in the same place for so long," /and to have not killed anyone for so long too/ Sebastian added mentally as they walked out of his living space and he closed the door.
They walked next door and Mrs. Turner walked up the flight upstairs to 221b. She knocked raptly at the door and waited . Another old lady answered and Sebastian recognized her as Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and Watson's landlady. One of the three. She smiled happily brimming with joy, at Sherlock's return most likely. Mrs. Turner introduced them officially for the first time.
"Mrs. Hudson, this is Sebastian Moran. He's the one I was telling you about," She added, and understanding flitted across Mrs. Hudson's face. it was all he could do to keep his trigger finger from twitching.
"Sebastian dear, this is Mrs. Hudson." He smiled painfully, and shook her hand.
"Come in, come in!" She called, pulling them inside the room and the door shut behind them. Other people were in the flat. The detective inspector, Watson, Sherlock, and many others. They ignored the door, and Mrs. Hudson herded Sebastian and Mrs. Turner to the kitchen table, away from most of the ruckus.
Sebastian sat down, back straight and the back of his neck prickling. Mrs. Hudson turned to him.
"Oh love, you poor boy. What was he like?" She asked, looking at him pityingly. He bristled but suppresed himself from growling like an angry dog.
"Why do you want to know now?" He asked, the edges of his lips twitching, "You should be celebrating. Not asking some poor kid about his long-dead husband."
"How long has it been?" She asked quietly, compltely ignoring the question. Sebastian rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Three years. Three years, two hours, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two and a half seconds." He was mildly surprised he had still been counting subconciously. It had finally managed to fade away from the forefront of his brain last year, when he had started hunting tigers again.
Mrs. Hudson looked at him sadly.
"What was he like then, love?"
It all came out in a rush. Even three years later he still had everything about Moriarty memorized. Bits and pieces, quirks and habits and turbs of phrase, all jumbled together to make up one intelligent, frightening, psychotic, incredible man.
"He had eyes like a deep pond in the country at midnight on a new moon. Big and black and shiny and if you fell in you drowned. He was short, shorter than average. He hated it, because I'm so tall he had to stand up on the balls of his feet to kiss me even if I leaned down. He had an irish accent, which made me think of rolling hills. He used to be my employer. When he was businesss he was completely different. But it was all right. It was worth it just to be near him.
"Whenever we went out to eat he would make a sarcastic remark about my eating habits and then call for a bottle of hot sauce and wink at me. He knew how to dance the waltz, and taught me to do it too when we were both drunk and walking home at night under the street lamps. He hummed the Bee Gees the whole time, and now I can't waltz to any other song. He was obssessed over his suits and insisted I get them dry cleaned every day.
"We got married on a work day, but he ordered everyone to not bother him or me. The only witness was someone we pulled off the stret on the way to get hitched. We had a fight over which name to choose, and he threatened to fire me, right in front if the priest.. He never got me an engagement ring, because he had proposed at two in the morning the day we got married. On our first anniversary he let me buy a phonograph and then complained about how I could have gotten some high priced brand new stereo system.
"He bought me a suit and a tie and shoes to match and it's still the only one I own. If I brushed past him or anything while we were working, his ring finger would twitch. I could tell his mood by what nickname he called me. He loved science and math and physics and astronomy. Sometimes when we were just sitting around he would tell me some random fact that he had tthought of.
"Sometimes he would change my ringtone and turn up the volume and then call me while he knew I was working. Sometimes he would disappear for days on end and then show back up like nothing had happened. After a while I stopped worrying and just waited.
"One day, he didn't come back."
Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner looked at each otother and Sebastian swallowed, looking down at the table and continued flatly.
"His body was found a week later. He had been shot.
"He had a shelf of science books he always said I would never understand even if I read them. He said he would kill me if I touched them.
"The day after he was found, I burned them." His hand clenched on his knee as he said this. He had read Jim's favorite cover to cover and didn't comprehend a single word. Then he had burned the damn thing. Mrs. Hudson shifted and he snapped back from three years ago. He looked up and the landladies had matching looks of sadness. Sebastian's stomach twisted uncomfortably. There was something in Mrs. Hudson's eyes that was so infinitely pitying that Sebastian reached up touch his cheek. His finger twitched when he felt the hot dampness of tears. He opened his mouth to say something - what, he didn't know - when someone walked into the kitchen, talking back over his shoulder. Sebastian lowered his gaze down to hand curling on the table.
"Who's that then, Mrs. Hudson?" The person asked. Watson. How pleasent.
"Mrs. Turner, the landlady next door. And this is her married one," Mrs. Hudson explained kindly and he could feel the Good Doctor's stare.
"Where's his wife?" Watson asked, moving towards the sink. Sebastian felt beaten. A dog who had laid down at the train station to wait for his master to come home and then, with his last breath, realized the master was never coming back. His shoulders slumped and he didn't even care if the flismy little boy scout saw the tears tracking down his face.
"Husband." He corrected, and felt the pause shift. "And he's dead, thanks." He didn't have to look up to know the doctor's face looked like a fish out of water. He nearly rolled his eyes at the small "Oh." as he got the kettle out to make tea.
"Tea, Sebastian dear?" One of the landladies asked him. He didn't want any, but didn't want to be rude. He smiled at the table. He really had changed.
"That'd be brilliant, thanks."
A few seconds of peace as the tea steeped until footsteps clack into the kitchen.
"John- Who's that?" Sherlock's voice. Sebastian felt a flicker of anger. But it was just a flicker. Mrs. Hudson introduced him again.
"Sebastian, Sherlock. He lives next door."
"Ah." Sebastian didn't say anything. He just waited for it.
"Tigers, ex-army. Been abroad a while. How's James?"
Ah. There it is. The magical, insensitive deduction that announces your private life to the whole room and is said with an utterly dismissive tone. The spark of anger flared to life, just like that. His head whipped up to glare Sherlock Holmes right in the eye.
"Dead, thanks to you, Sherlock. You two just had to play your bloody little game, didn't you." His voice was deadly quiet and silenced the entire room. Everyone turned to face the detective and sniper.
"Moran," Sherlock hissed. "I've been looking for you."
"I've been away. After you got Jim to shoot himself in the mouth I took some personal leave. The Moriarty empire's been turned over to Jacob Russell Wilkinson, so you can rest knowing it's in the hands of a complete incompetent. You should've already caught him by now." Scalding acid dripped from his every word, and he hadn't moved and inch from his spot on a kitchen chair. He stood up slowly,and Sherlock twitched towards the Yarders, who were reaching for their guns. Sebastian waved them down.
"I don't think Mycroft would enjoy you arresting his new employee and only link to Jim."
Sherlock's mouth twisted in shock.
"Mycroft?" someone gasped,and it turned out to be the Good Doctor.
"As of last week." Sebastian dipped his head slightly in a tiny bow. He stepped stiltedly forward, standing directly in front of Sherlock.
Blood roared in his ears and all he could think was,
He's the reason Jim's dead. Jim. Jimmy. James. My Jim. He killed Moriarty. Moran-Moriarty. He relaxed, just like he did right before he shot someone through the head for Jim, when a command whipped through the silence "Down."
Sebastian was on his knees, head bowed and hands spread on the floor by his sides, before he could comprehend it wasn't Jim barking commands at him (Down, tiger. Or else I'll cut off your pretty little fingers."). When his brain caught up with him his mind reeled and he gasped through clenched teeth, "Mycroft." There was a shocked silence from everybody save one. Mycroft snorted and Sebastian tensed up immediately. Mycroft couldn't be so sadistic as to use Jim's usual follow-up ("Good job, pet" and a possesive hand in his hair) But then, Mycroft would know what he was thinking. Those geniuses could read him.
"I'm not going to indulge in torturing you with your ex-employer's traditions. The situation was simply getting out of hand."
"Like a book," Sebastian muttered, getting up and turning towards the elder Holmes. His spine went ramrod straight and he looked Mycroft straight in the eye. He suppressed a shiver. The way in the way he treated his two bosses was getting much to close.
"What the bloody hell's going on?" Watson exclaimed, bewildered. Sebastian's hand clenched and unclenched and he explained it in a low voice, staring right at Mycroft.
"I'm Sebastian Moran, James Moriarty's sniper and right hand man. When Jim died I took over the Moriarty network. I finished Jim's lists and left. I work for Mycroft now." Amusement flickered through his new employer's eyes.
"You forgot the part where you're married to mister Moriarty."
"Moran-Moriarty."
"Hmm?"
"Moran-Moriarty. We had a fight over the name."