[two years and one month prior to A Study In Pink]
"The end," muttered Sebastian wearily. He shut the book. Jim was fast asleep in his king sized bed ("I'm a king, Sebby, you can't expect kings to sleep in a queen sized bed, can you?"). Sebastian had grown used to the death threats, the random tea times, the fits of overwhelming data in Jim's head where Sebastian would have to corner him and slowly try to calm him down before something really bad happened, the fairytales, the weird phone calls in the afternoon when Jim was at work and bored, the no-cigarettes policy ("The smoke will ruin my clothes"), and the tiger-themed gifts Jim had a habit of picking up for him.
Honestly, he had worn this one men's tank top with a roaring tiger on it one time and suddenly that was his nickname (when it wasn't "Seb", "Sebby", or "Loser"). Jim would walk around London, see some tiger plush or postcard, and then immediately buy it for Sebastian because he felt like it. "And people bring gifts for their pets, don't they?" Jim had said.
That's all that Sebastian was. A pet. That's all. Sebastian didn't mind, actually. Even when he had to go get the peanut butter and Nutella at odd hours of the morning from the store because they were out, or when Jim showed him a random person all the way on the other side of the world who had offended him the other day so Sebastian could kill him, or even when Jim yelled at him for being useless and then told him he hadn't meant it afterwards. It was all fine. Sebastian didn't know why he put up with it. Stupid Jim. Stupid Sebastian for getting attached to stupid Jim. That consulting criminal was sure to be on the wrong end of a gun one day and then what would Sebastian do?