Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Title: from Rihanna's Diamonds


Chapter Four: …as we moonshine and molly…

Sebastian thoroughly enjoyed himself being back with Jim. Only two days after the reunion, Jim sent him on his first kill, and it had felt just brilliant, to have his hands back on a sniper rifle. They were small cases, clients with boring problems, but for the first time ever, Jim didn't seem bored. He fixed the problems with ease, but he didn't once look like he would strangle a client because they bored him. It was a relief for Sebastian to see that Jim really didn't seem to want to catch Sherlock's or Mycroft's attention. Finally, it looked like Jim had gotten over his obsession. And why not? He had beaten Sherlock in the end. Okay, a considerable part of Jim's net was destroyed, but Jim still had his most valuable man with him, snatched him away right under Mycroft's nose, and to Jim, that was a victory in itself. How could Mycroft even begin to think he could beat James Moriarty?

About a month later, Sebastian had just staged a robbery for Jim (the best method to hide a bullet wound was to simply bash the head of the victim in), his phone rang. Since Sorcha was not around anymore, Sebastian had taken over her job, organizing Jim's schedule and sorting out clients. It was a nightmare; he had no idea what could be interesting to Jim.

But this call here seemed like trouble from the beginning on.

"Yes, who is this?"

"Good evening, sir. I would like to speak to James Moriarty please."

Sebastian didn't know the voice, but he recognized the accent, even though it was very faint. But some things just burn themselves into your memory. And hearing an accent like this while having the shite tortured out of you, it was bound to burn itself into every inch of your memory.

Afghans.

"Mr Moriarty doesn't speak to clients. How did you get this number?"

"From a good friend of mine. Now, I don't like playing games. Let me speak to Mr Moriarty."

"Sorry mate, that's not going to happen." Sebastian hung up. He knew he wasn't supposed to be harsh to clients; Jim had lost most of his money with his attempts to keep Sebastian safe, and he needed the work. But Sebastian, for once, trusted his own judgement, and he felt that Afghans weren't worth the trouble.


When he got home, however, he noticed the trouble was far from being over. Three men, their faces covered with scarfs, were standing in Jim's office. They immediately turned around when Sebastian entered, but Jim said, "Touch him, and I won't even listen to the deal you're proposing…" They didn't make a move, but Sebastian felt the tension. They had probably expected to meet Jim here alone, as it was normally the case, when Sebastian was out on a job. That was why there were only three of them. Not that three of them were enough to fight James Moriarty if the man was cornered. Jim would have been able to fight even Mycroft's men, and they were six, if he hadn't been chained up. Three weren't really a match. But now that Sebastian, a trained soldier with a massive hatred for Afghans, was there, the three men probably knew that they wouldn't make it out of this room alive if they made a move. Sebastian remained standing at the door, waiting for orders from his boss.

Jim, who sat in his chair, his legs crossed, just nodded, which meant for Sebastian to stay right where he was, blocking the door for the Afghans. "So, you were saying?"

"Ten thousand dollars for each victim, Mr Moriarty. We know you need the money. We have sources."

"I see. Would you be so kind as to repeat your offer, now that my associate has arrived? I'm sure he wants to hear all the gory details."

The man who seemed to be the leader glanced at Sebastian. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Sebastian was sure he did. The name Moran was still known all over the country, and so was his story. The story of how he had been set free by the Taliban more than ten years ago, and no one knew how it happened. Sebastian knew. It had been Jim. But no one else knew. And certainly, those guys didn't.

So Sebastian smiled, revealing his cracked front tooth, and said, "Colonel Sebastian Moran. Salam. And yes, I would love to hear all the gory details. I didn't catch your name, though."

"I am Fariad." The man said. Then he turned back to Jim, "As I was saying, we are planning an attack on the city. And we want your help. We all know you own this city, and that you know where to strike so it really hurts."

"I'm sure you know, too." Jim answered.

"We are but a small community. We know where we want the bombs, but we want you on our side. And we know you need money, after Sherlock Holmes took down your web. We will all profit from this deal. You say you solve people's problems. Help us with ours."

"And you say ten thousand dollars for every victim? If you have that much money, why do you need me? I'm sure you can find yourself some decent bombmakers." Jim asked. It was obvious to Sebastian that he had no intention on closing a deal with them. This was Jim Moriarty getting information to strike against the Afghans, not the city. But only someone close to Jim would know that.

"Of course, but we want someone we can trust. And you have a reputation. That gas leak in Baker Street four years ago? North Leeds that same week? You are an absolute pro, Mr Moriarty. The elements bow to your will, and we want that. Bombmakers can create bombs, yes. You can create havoc. Wreak havoc on London for us, sir."

Jim's lips had formed into a smile at that speech. Many had tried to flatter him before, but no one had done in such a poetic way. Ruler of the elements. Very Gandalf. But Jim wasn't won over by flattery, or by money. "You need to give me more."

Fariad frowned, "What more?"

"I don't know. Surprise me. If I plant my little bombs all around the city, I sure need more." Jim leaned back in his chair. "For instance, why do you want to do this?"

"Isn't it obvious? You of all people should know why."

"Enlighten me." But something had changed in Jim. He was suddenly not bored anymore, but very much alert.

"The English go around and torture people for the fun of it. My people. Good Afghan people, who are being tortured just because of their nationality. You should understand. You're Irish. Have the English never made fun of you?"

Sebastian noticed Jim relaxed again. So they didn't know about his stay with the government.

Jim licked his lower lip. Then he got up from his chair, and Sebastian noticed that all three of the men made a step backwards. Jim put on his most evil grin and said, "Fariad, or whatever your name was, I am really flattered, but I'll have to refuse your offer."

The men stood there, and it took Fariad a while before he could say another word, "Why?"

"Well, for starters, I'm not an idiot. As you have pointed out, this is my city. So why would I destroy it? Then, I would be completely mad to work with you. You would fuck me over at the first opportunity and sell me to the government. Besides, correct me if I am wrong, but aren't you people known to blow yourselves up if you're committing a terrorist act in the name of your God? You are just a sorry group of little troublemakers, and I have no intention to help you. So, have a nice day."

Fariad had blushed a violent shade of red, "You don't seem to…"

Jim tilted his head and looked at Sebastian. Sebastian coughed and said, "You heard what Mr Moriarty says; you're to leave. Or do I have to make you?" He pulled his hands out of his pockets and cracked his knuckles. "On the count of three…" Fariad didn't wait, but motioned his men to leave with him. As the door closed, Sebastian grinned, "Seems they do know me after all." He turned to Jim, "Everything okay?"

"Sure." But Jim looked gloomy. "I fear we just made a mistake in letting them walk. We should have killed them."

"There's still time. I can run after them."

"No, not you alone. Who knows how many people are outside?"

Sebastian nodded, "You're right. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"A glass of whiskey, thanks."

Sebastian poured two and sat down on Jim's desk. "Why did you refuse?"

Jim frowned, "Why are you sitting on my desk? You're not Fran Fine."

"Sorry…"

"Your sister did that, too. If you want to do it, please have the decency to wear a short skirt." Before Sebastian could threaten him with murder, he said, "Why did I refuse? Because, as I said, I would be an idiot to destroy my playground. Besides, I don't socialize with terrorists. And of course…" He grinned, "They wanted me to blow up things. Blowing things up is my signature. Mycroft would recognize it immediately. And I promised you that I would not get into Mycroft's focus again."

"Well, I am touched. How are we gonna stop them from going to somebody else, then?"

Jim shrugged, "The usual. I will call my supplier and tell her to tell the others to not work with them. But of course, I cannot stop them from going on the internet and make some bombs themselves. Maybe somebody should tip off Mycroft…"

"Not you!" Sebastian immediately said. "If you can't trust anybody with that matter, trust me, I will do it. But not you."

"Not you either, Sebastian." Jim scratched his head. "How about Ashley?" Ashley was, in Sebastian's humble opinion, the hottest of Jim's girls. She could have made a career as a model, or actress, or dancer. Instead, she had decided to become a prostitute. Sebastian had never understood why. "She has this guy amongst her clients, hasn't she? Mycroft's friend? The guy who was there when Mycroft let me go? Harry Something?"

"I don't know. She used to, yeah. Things have gone downhill since Gloria…"

Jim nodded, "I can see that. I will get her out soon, though, don't worry." He picked up his phone and handed it to Sebastian, "Call Ashley. Tell her to tell Harry Mycroft should be careful, that there are some Afghans planning an attack. One of them goes by the name of Fariad."

"And if Harry asks why she knows about that?"

"Because she slept with the guy. Men do brag all the time. Remember that guy who bragged to Adler about that plane?"

"How could I forget that? That Jumbo Jet message to Mycroft wasn't one of your smartest moves… Yeah, Ashley? This is Sebastian Moran. Yeah, I'm fine. Listen…" He told her what she needed to know. "Can you do that for me?" He blushed. "That is really sweet of you, Ashley. I will give you an extra thousand quid this month. Bye…"

Jim grinned, "What did she say?"

"That she would lick my sweaty body if I asked her too, so this would be a piece of cake for her. What is it with those girls?"

"I've heard that before. Your sister…"

"Careful now, James…"

"Oh come on, you know we had sex."

"Yeah, but I really don't want to know all the details of what you had her do…"

Jim frowned, "You think I am a bastard? It was all consensual. Apart from me drugging her before I left to die, but that was entirely to protect her…" He paused, "Was she mad? At me?"

"Well, she called you "moron" and "son of a bitch", but that was before I told her you were dead. Then she was… devastated." He sighed. "She really loved you, you know."

"I do, yeah. And believe me… some moments, I wish I could have loved her back. We could have set the world on fire." Jim looked out of the window for a second. "Last week, she defended a rent-boy. Sixteen years old. Just as young as I was when I started. A client had overstepped some boundaries and beaten the living crap out of the kid, until the little one took a knife and injured that pervert. Stella told me Sorcha actually cried a lot while she was preparing her defence. She's better off without me, I think we can agree on that."

Sebastian nodded, "Yeah. I think so." He got up. "If you don't mind, I'll step outside for a fag and check if there's some dodgy people around. I'll be right back."

"Yeah, thanks, Seb. Take care."