Rule Number Two: Don't ask questions.
There were a few things in which Jim had always had in mind when he went out looking for employees. Some key traits he'd prefer a sniper to have if he had to spend all day with the man or woman (You could call Jim Moriarty a lot of bad things, but sexist wasn't one of them.).
When he hired Sebastian, he did so knowing that he had more than a few of the key traits he wanted. The first one, of course, was an excellent shot.
The second one was a quiet mouth.
Sebastian Moran was a man of few words. Jim liked this, he cherished this. he was notoriously well known for taking a snipers ear off if he didn't shut up on the job.
In fact, that only real sentences to come out of Sebastian's mouth were questions. Jim would never cease to admit that Sebastian wasn't the smarted tool in the shed. Sure, the man was clever. He was a fucking literary mastermind, always quoting pieces Jim had never bothered with under his breath.
And it was unbelievably sexy but that was beside the point.
Sebastian didn't even lack the common sense you'd find from somebody who asks too many questions. And it wasn't curiosity either, he always managed to ask the questions with a certain air of disinterest.
The problem was, he was so careful it made him stupid. The kind of stupid kids get tested for. The kind of stupid they administer anxiety medication for. The kind of stupid only a multi-talented genius could ever get away with.
The only kind of stupid a morbidly deranged and brilliant psychopath could ever get off on.
But those goddamn questions.
"Boss, what's in the fridge?"
"Sir, can I toss this out?"
"Can I text this number, sir?"
"The dark blue tie or the black one, boss?"
"Jesus fucking Christ, Sebastian!" Jim threw up his hands in a wild gesture of annoyance. Sebastian stood in front of him, about three feet away, holding up two different ties. The color variations between the two were next to nothing.
"Are they both that bad, then?" Sebastian asked, wincing a little at his words. He always sounded like such a pansy talking to Jim, but he'd rather be pansy then dead.
"I swear to God, you ask me another fucking question and I will literally rip your tongue off and shove it down your throat." Jim stood, throwing the paper he was reading to the floor. "You're clever enough, Sebastian. Answer your own petty questions."
He stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him.