A/N: I planned everything to this point one day at work, but my shift ended and my mind drifted before I got here, so…
Basically, I'm not sure if it's any good. I've got the rest of the chapters planned (the ending, though, I've had in mind since the beginning) but like I said…I don't know if I'm happy with them or not. I may come through later and change them up, but for now this is what we've got. I don't think it's nearly clever enough. I don't know, we'll see. Anyway, here it is:
"And here I thought you'd changed your mind," Seb smiled over his tankard. He took a long drink as John slid into the opposite booth.
John's stomach was rolling, but his face was cheerful and his tone amiable as he said, "Why's that?" Sherlock had instructed him to play dumb for as long as possible, hoping it would buy them time, but the awful stretch of Seb's lips made John think that scenario seemed unlikely.
"Bad tactic," Seb said as the bartender set down a pint for John and scurried away. "So, how long has Sherlock Holmes been playing with my newest toy?"
"Don't call me that," John snapped, his arms automatically crossing over his chest.
Seb laughed, his eyes flashing, and leaned forward over the table. "We had something special, Johnny-boy. I don't want you to think I say that to all my toys, 'cause I don't." His smirk turned into a sneer as he whispered, "Only my favourites." For a moment his eyes were distant, and then he turned his gaze back to John's and smiled so openly, so honestly, that John was struck breathless by it. It wasn't the smile of a madman; this was Seb, his Seb, beaming at him like he'd done something magnificent. "You know," Seb said, sounding just like his old self, "I knew right away we'd get along great. I could see it in your eyes. I could see you remembered."
John waited for Seb to go on but the other man was silent, scrutinizing John with a little half-grin, and so John asked softly, "Remembered what?"
"The war. The lawless land." Now there was something more manic in Seb's tone, an edge of insanity that made it easier for John to distance himself. When Seb spoke again his voice was hushed, awe-struck. "Remember your first kill, John? Maybe not. Sometimes those things can be…confusing. Everyone's firing, and even when there's a hit you're not sure it came from your rifle. Doesn't matter; those are just words." He leaned forward again, his eyes shining. "Remember your first definite kill?"
John did. He was an army medic, but he'd carried a sidearm and he'd had to use it, more than once. He remembered the first time he squeezed the trigger and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his bullet had found its home in someone else's body. The kill shot. He remembered.
Clapping gleefully, Seb leaned back and cried, "What a rush!" More calmly he sighed, "I loved it, the killing. God, there's nothing better, is there? Of course," he added, a bit more soberly, "I loved it so much that they had to send me home. Figured it was doing funny things to my head, thought a little English soil might fix me right up." Seb gave John a look that reminded him so strongly of Moriarty that his stomach turned. "But they were wrong. Why did they think I'd stop killing just because I was home, John? Why? Civvie or no, I don't give a shit. I just like to watch the light go out."
"You're mad," John whispered, unable to stop himself. He'd never been so horrified in his life. John had seen awful things, unspeakable things, both in the desert and in A&E during his internship…but nothing compared to the awful gleam in Seb Moran's darkened eyes.
Seb laughed, an awful sound that made John's blood run cold. "I used to think the whole world was mad and I was the only sane one left," Seb murmured, as though he were revealing some grand secret. "But then I realized: no, I truly am insane. I've lost touch with reality." The grin that Seb shot John was equal parts cocky and frightening. "So fucking what? Reality was never good enough for me, anyway." He took a long sip from his pint and burped. "Good riddance."
"Seb…" John didn't know what he wanted to say, only that he wanted to say something, anything, that might fix this. He still believed, somewhere deep inside, that they could all come out of this alive.
Sebastian seemed to be following his thoughts, because his eyes widened and his gaze wandered to the table as he said, sadly, "I tried to cheat at my own game for you, Johnny, did you know that?" He looked up at John with something like fondness. "I didn't tell Daddy- my Jim. He would have been furious. But I just…I wanted to keep you. I like you, Johnny-boy. I like the taste of your blood and the fire in your eyes. For awhile, at least, you felt like mine. If Sherlock would have just died, those few months ago, we could have kept on forever, you and me. But…" He shrugged. "It's for the best, really. The clock ticks on. The game winds down. I'm sorry that I have to break you, Johnny, because I like you quite a bit. But…well, I'm sure you understand."
John took a deep breath. He needed to get Seb outside, get him somewhere alone. His gun was a cold, solid weight against his back. "I understand," he said, and nearly meant. Seb was right. The game had to end and John felt that the sooner, the better.
"Good." Seb reached across the table and touched his hand; it took all of John's strength not to flinch away. "So you're ready to play?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," John said, clenching his jaw and straightening his shoulders.
Seb smiled, something wistful in the glimmer of his eyes. "Okay, then. Let's go, soldier."