Chapter Three-Possessive

Sebastian was lying on the comfortable mattress of the master bed, the consulting criminal on his chest, purring softly as he slept- a satisfied smile on his lips. Sebastian stroked a hand through Jim's hair, gazing out a tall window on the wall. The sun was just coming up, barely shining over the rooftops of the office buildings in the distance. Sebastian thought. He thought about his time in hiding, after he had gotten the news that his commanding officer had put the word out, and now people were coming to take him in for psychological therapy. Because he enjoyed killing a little too much. Because he did things to his slain enemies or targets that didn't go over well with the people further up, who called the shots. Sebastian had run. He ran and hid, sleeping somewhere different every night, if he slept at all, working his way home, back to Jim.

Jim. That had been the thought that had kept him going, day after day of hiding and running, the thought of the beautiful madman curled up against him, as he was now, was more motivation than any military paycheck or successful kill ever could be. And now, here they were.

Sebastian sighed, and felt Jim shift, and wrap his arms tighter around the hit man's chest, his face scrunching up as he made effort to curl himself closer to Sebastian. Sebastian draped an arm around Jim's thin shoulders, and the two most dangerous men in the world sighed with content.

"Sebaaaaastiaaaaaaan!" the voice of James Moriarty drifted through Sebastian's consciousness, as he became vaguely aware of a slight stinging pain in his left bicep. Sebastian opened his eyes, to reveal his erotic fiancé, wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue Westwood trousers, and holding a long knife, with which he was lightly cutting into Sebastian's arm. Sebastian immediately tried to jerk his arm away, but was held fast by the fact that Jim seemed to have handcuffed his hands behind the bed frame, so movement seemed not to be an option.

"Surprise!" Jim sang, taking the knife momentarily away from his carving to raise both arms in the air with an open-mouthed grin. He then went back to his work, concentrating on whatever it was he happened to be slicing into Sebastian. Angry, Sebastian tried to yell, but groggily realized that Jim had, indeed, gagged him as well. He contemplated kicking Jim off-he seemed to still have control over his legs-but decided not to, seeing as the other man was still holding a knife that was embedded in his flesh.

Jim glanced up, upon noticing Sebastian's struggles, and simpered, "whoa there, tiger. Don't struggle too much; you'll ruin daddy's artwork!" Sebastian groaned, but stayed still, until finally, "Done!," the consulting criminal tossed the knife aside, and, pressing himself down onto Sebastian, who was still lying obediently on the bed, he licked away the blood that had seeped from the cuts.

Jim leapt up, off of the bed, and grabbed a mirror off of the bedside drawers, humming.

"Well, Sebby? What do you thiiiiiink?" Jim held the mirror, so Sebastian could see (backwards, of course, in the reflection) that Jim had carved a bloody heart around two letters into his arm; 'JM'. "Now everyone will know that you're miiiiiine!" Jim sniggered, and crawled on top of Sebastian, and undid his gag, tossing the bit of fabric aside. Then, he crawled further up, to undo the handcuffs, and had his lower stomach very close to Sebastian's face. Sebastian waited until he felt the handcuffs slide off, and snapped his head forward to bite the consulting criminal, quite painfully, just below his bellybutton.

Instead of crying out in pain, as Sebastian knew he wouldn't, Jim let out a long, delicious groan of pleasure, and slid himself down, so he was face-to face with the assassin. He leaned forward just slightly, and closed the gap between their faces, kissing him roughly on the mouth. Before Sebastian could get his arms around the consulting criminal, to bring his body closer, Jim broke the kiss, and rolled out of the bed, and padded across the room, to a chest of drawers.

"I've got a job for you, Moran." Jim's voice held no hint of playfulness, or teasing; only business. He pulled some clothing out of a drawer, and tossed it to the sniper, "your phone and a description of the job are in your shoes, which are by the front door. All the details are there, and if you have a question, you may text me." And with that, the criminal mastermind disappeared through the doorway, and out into the hall. Sebastian hauled himself off of the bed, and began to get dressed.

A few hours later, Sebastian walked into a pub. It was probably not the best idea, but he needed a drink, and he still had an hour to call a cab, and get back to the house. He sat on the squeaky barstool, and ordered a whiskey. Then another. And another. He kept drinking, drowning his vexing thoughts.

As Sebastian drank, his mind felt lighter, and things didn't seem to matter much anymore. Until he caught a look at the clock, and noticed that he should have been back to the house twenty minutes prior. Tossing a bill down on the counter, Sebastian hurtled out the door of the pub, and hastily flagged down a cab.

When he reached the house, he got to the front door, found it curiously unlocked, and hurried inside.

"Jim?" Sebastian's worried voice echoed through the halls of the expansive house.

Nothing.

Sebastian flew up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom.

Nothing.

He ran from room to room, shouting his lover's name, in a voice that soon crumbled into unintelligible sobs. He found his way back to the bedroom, and gave it a more careful look.

The room appeared to be quite untouched. Except the bed. The silky black sheets were slightly ruffled, one pillow slightly askew.

And the window.

The large window, on the other side of the room, was open, gossamer white curtains floating in the soft, evening air. Sebastian hurried over to it, and looked quickly down at the grass beside the house outside, two stories down.

Nothing.

A sigh of relief and a nervous laugh burst from the pocket of anxiety in Moran's stomach. Jim wasn't dead. Jim isn't dead.

Then where was Jim?

A slight rustling noise came from behind the sniper, and he spun round, startled. A scrap of paper caught the breeze again, and rustled lightly to the floor. Sebastian strode over, and picked the scrap up.

Such a small piece of paper, thought Sebastian. Something that would most assuredly go unnoticed if someone had broken in. that's why the door was unlocked. Something that wouldn't be noticed when men came into the room, looking for Jim. The window. He'd probably had enough time to lower himself down the wall, gripping ledges on the way down.

Sebastian was no genius, that was certain, but he knew who had come for Jim. The same man had tried to get to the sniper himself, at one point. Sebastian glanced at the fragment of paper, where Jim's elegant penmanship had been forced into a hurried scrawl:

You're late.

Sebastian's lip curled into a snarl as he clenched his fists around the note, and hissed,

"Mycroft."