A/N: I just got a ton of Mormor feels from writing this. But I'm actually feeling pretty good about it. However, I did finish it up in a hurry, so there might be typos. Sorry if you find any. Also, Seb swears a lot more than I was expecting, but I'm quite pleased with him. Inspired by this picture:

art/Somewhere-Safe-to-Sea-282279350

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine :(. well the writing is but nothing else

Another side to the fall

Seb focuses in on Watson. He's standing by the hospital, looking shell-shocked. Good. He moves his sights to the rooftop. Nobody there.

Holmes did it. He actually did it. He really fucking jumped off that roof for his army doctor.

How sickeningly sweet. He and Jim would have a laugh over that later.

Seb hadn't believed Jim's plan would work the first time they had discussed it. He hadn't really reckoned on how much Holmes cared for Watson. At the time, Seb had vaguely wondered what sort of feelings Holmes had for Watson, whether it was platonic or a little more than that.

He backs away from the window, starting to pack up his rifle and the stand. To be honest, he is glad this whole fiasco was over. Jim was obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, and Seb doesn't like it. Not at all.

Jim has been acting funny ever since he had found Holmes' website: The Science of Questions, or some such crap. But more recently, he had gotten … distant. Would go out in the middle of the night, when Seb was warm and sleeping in their bed, and wander around London, or something. He didn't know. Jim wasn't talking about his plans to him anymore. Like he wasn't good enough, or clever enough. Not like that Sherlock-fucking-Holmes. He's a bloody-fucking genius. Not like you, Seb, you're just ordinary.

He looks down to see his hands clenched around his rifle, knuckles white.

But Jim had been even worse last night. He had been quiet and sweet and gentle. Almost melancholy.

"Will you miss me, Tiger, when I'm gone?" he had whispered into Seb's shoulder.

It was tough when Jim got all philosophical. He could never tell exactly what Jim wanted him to say. Should he go for honesty or was it one of Jim's jokes?

Oh fuck it. He'll do both. "Sure I will, boss. Who else is gonna pay me?"

Jim had giggled in his ear. "But really, Seb. Will you?"

He wants honest? Fine, he'll get honest. "Yeah." God help him, he was going to hell for this. And probably the past twenty years too.

"Good," Jim had whispered. "Good."

He had left Seb a note, that "should not, under any circumstances be opened before Sherlock jumps." And then he had looked at Seb with his dark eyes, and said, "Seriously, Tiger. I mean it this time. Don't."

And he had shivered, just a little. Because Jim giggled and he screamed and he whispered and proclaimed, but he never, ever just told him something like the whole world and all their lives and Jim's distractions - which, let's face it, were worth more to Jim than the other two combined - depended on it.

But he had banished any doubts he had and replied, "Sure, boss."

Now, he finishes packing up his kit. He'll head over to the roof to meet up with Jim. They can gloat over lunch or dinner at the café a couple blocks down, and Jim will want a hot chocolate, because underneath, he's a psycho kid - the kind that will burn down your house and then blame the little old lady next door for it. Come to think of it, Jim probably did do that at one point. But Jim will drink his hot chocolate until he has a whip cream mustache. And nobody will ever know that they are anything more than two guys on a date at a stupid café, making each other laugh. They will never know.

But Seb can't help the trickle of unease when he thinks of what he thought earlier.

…The whole world and all their lives and Jim's distractions, which, let's face it, were worth more to Jim than the other two combined…

And Seb is flat out running out of that little building, because he has to get to St. Bart's before Jim does stupid. And it's a lost cause already, because Jim is always doing something stupid, that's why he has him, for God's sake, so he doesn't get hurt!

And all Seb can think is fuck, fuck, bloody fuck, he should have seen this coming, it was so obvious, he practically asked what you thought about it, fucking God, of fucking course he would do that, fuck, fuck, fuck.

As he runs through the doors, some girl in a lab coat, who's holding up a guy with dark hair tries to stop him, but he brushes past her, making straight for the roof. And it's too late, far too late. And maybe it's always been too late, and he's never had a chance in hell, but he has to try, and god-fucking-dammit, what the fuck is he supposed to do now?

What he does is run up the empty staircase, until he gets to the roof. He pauses at the door. Seb doesn't know why, exactly. Maybe so he can spend one more second not knowing, or at least not having proof? No. That's not him. He faces things head-on. He knows what he's going to find outside. No point in trying to fool yourself. He already knows what that note is going to say. Maybe he pauses so that he can have a chance to walk away from this. Just leave and pretend it didn't matter and that Jim was his employer and that was that. So he can have a chance to turn around and get out of this crazy world that Jim has made him part of, and get another employer, and shoot political leaders or something quiet and easy like that.

He opens the door.

It's grey and cloudy outside, but his eyes still take a minute to adjust. There's the edge of the roof, where Holmes jumped, and a couple of feet from the edge, where Seb is sure Jim and Holmes talked. And right there, on the ground is Jim. There's a gun in his left hand and pool of blood spreading from the gunshot wound in his head.

Seb sits down, next to him, and takes out Jim's note and opens it. He remembers how, a long time ago - god, it's been a long time - how Jim had giggled when a certain serial killer had contacted him to say that this victim had left a note. And they were calling in Sherlock Holmes. And how Seb already didn't like the name, but Jim was happy, or as happy as he ever was. The cabbie's voice echo's through his head.

This 'un's a bit different, Mr. Moriarty. This 'un's left us a little note.

Left me a little note, Jim? Seb thinks. It's in an envelope, with Jim's magpie seal. (He had teased him about it, just a little - "What are you, the king of England?" and Jim had looked at him, eyes dark, and licked his lips. "Not yet, Tiger. But soon." And Seb had liked that look and he had snogged Jim senseless just to show how much he did.)

Seb rips stupid seal off. Stupid, stupid. Just Jim being vain and stupid.

It's nice paper, very nice. The pen is nice too. Fountain, with black ink. Very smooth. Jim always did have nice penmanship.

The message is short, three words. Jim could be very efficient when he needed to be. Very dramatic too. That probably explains the note. Oh, Jim always wanted to go out with style. Fucking douche bag.

I'm sorry, Tiger.

"Well," Seb sighs. "That's that." But he doesn't want to go back to their apartment, that's all Jim, Jim, Jim. Jim picked everything out, wallpaper, the sofa, the table, all of it. Seb's never given a fuck about it, but Jim's always thought appearances were important and that's why he's always hidden in the shadows. The mysterious guy controlling everything. If I seem untouchable, he had commented to Seb, smirking, almost everyone will think I am untouchable and they won't even try to get to me.

Yeah, a fuck of a lot of good that did you, Seb thinks bitterly, looking at Jim.

And Seb's just sitting there, next to Jim, and what the fuck is he supposed to do now? He'll have to get Jim off the roof and clean up the bloodstain before the Yard comes by. And he knows he should start now, but he just needs a moment. Just one fucking moment.

Then his face is in his hands and he's not crying, no he fucking is not, but Jim's blood is soaking into his jeans and if he doesn't move now he'll never get out, and he doesn't move an inch, he wants to hold onto something, and if this is how Watson feels, then Seb feels a little pity for the good doctor, and he doesn't want to go anywhere, not without Jim, and it's always been them against the world, and now it's not, and he DIDN'T FUCKING ASK FOR THIS!

Seb looks at Jim, and Jim looks at Seb with wide, staring eyes (so dark, like a black hole).

And Seb knows. He'll suck it up, because that's what he does and he won't break or fall apart, because he's a tiger and they don't just give up.

He lifts his head up. He'll have to hurry if wants to get the blood cleaned off…

Then Seb has a better idea. He's not a genius, but he has his moments of brilliance.

Jim wanted Holmes' death to be the death of a fraud, for Jim Moriarty to be something that Sherlock Holmes made up. Well, fuck them all. His name is Sebastian Moran and he does what he likes.

Using Jim's blood, Seb writes his own little message. That'll show them.

He laughs and climbs down the fire escape with Jim slung over his shoulder. And it doesn't bother him that his laugh sounds a little like Jim's.

Well, he's allowed to laugh. Seb can just picture the detectives of Scotland Yard face's when they see MORIARTY WAS REAL scrawled in blood on the rooftop.

Yeah, Sebastian Moran has reason to laugh.