A/N:

Gah, sorry about the delay in my updates. Things have been crazy (and I'm lazy...) so this hasn't been getting the attention it deserves. That being said, I did finally get myself in gear!

The prompt for this was more Mor/Mor. (As a firm supporter of Mor/Mor, I can seriously get behind this. It's crazy how Sherlock is essentially all set up for slash- if you have the right ships. For me: Mor/Mor, John/Sherlock, Lestrade/Mycroft = BOOM! Everyone's all set up for smex.)

Also, for anyone who's reading "You Remind Me of a Man" as well as this, have no fears that I'm putting it on permanent hiatus or abandoning it. I'm working on it now, but I'd like to get this as well as the two H50 fics I have going on AO3, through the last chapter.

Thank you all again, my beautiful, lovely, sweet readers- and I do mean that in a genuine way, not just as something to say.

Sebastian sat beside the hospital bed, his face firmly set in an expression of deep consternation. He just couldn't wrap his head around what had happened at the race. Jim was competent, dammit; he should've been fine, even with Sherlock out of it. Instead, he'd been thrown, nearly trampled to death and now, three months later, slowly being eased from his medically-induced coma.

Hospital rules stated that only immediate family members were to be allowed to be in the room with Jim, but Seb had never much cared for rules- military life be damned- so he'd sneaked into the room, taken hold of a number of tubes and wires that were keeping Jim alive and steadfastly refused to to be taken from him. One of the nurses had been about to call 112, but that potential fiasco had been stopped by another nurse, one who'd known Sebastian- and about his... relationship with Jim- long enough to understand that trying to force him away from Jim would only result in unnecessary hassle.

It had been years since Sebastian had seen her- a woman who'd been a greater mother to him while growing up than his actual mother- but he recognized her immediately. Admittedly, Alicia MacBrádaigh did have a tendency to stand out in a crowd, with her prematurely white hair and body that was more suited to high fashion than mothering: tall and slender, almost two hundred centimeters, with a graceful gait and fine features. Seeing her brought back memories, both pleasant and not, as well as the feeling of coming home.

One by one, the hospital's staff left- or was pushed- from the area around Jim's room, leaving only the still-comatose jockey, Sebastian and the nurse.

"Well, then. I hadn't thought I'd be seeing you again, Seb, and certainly not with Jimmy," said Alicia, her tone teasing through her thick Dublin accent.

Sebastian simply shook his head. The sight of Jim, so pale ordinarily yet so much more so then, had left him without much humor. Even feeling the welcome of the woman he loved as a mother could not shake the sickly feeling of dread that was clenching in his gut.

"Humph, as talkative as ever, I see." When the young man still remained mute, the nurse's face its humorous set and moved to stand behind Sebastian. Though she had her own son, and one she loved dearly, she had always considered Sebastian to be hers, too, particularly since he was so different from her own boy- quietly dark and restrained, the opposite of her lad's whirling swings.

When she put her hands on his shoulders, however, he flinched. Seemingly unaffected, she leaned close, her lips next to his ear.

"He'll be fine," she said quietly, her voice smoothing over the sounds, changing them from the sophistication Sebastian's accent would have given them and replacing it with a slightly off-kilter cadence. It was an accent Seb had always loved, but at that moment, it merely brought him sadness. Jim spoke the same way, and right then, it didn't seem that he was ever going to talk again.

"Sebastian Moran, you listen to me, and you listen well. I love Jim, too, and he's going to recover. He's had worse spills before, not to mention some of the injuries from all the times the two of you got into scraps."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, turning his head to look at the mother of his closest friend.

"I know because Jim's a stubborn git who won't be going away, not until he's made a name for himself-"

"Which he has."

"-and won the little game he's got going."

"Game? What game?"

Alicia snorted, more sad than and moved her arms so she was no longer resting her hands on the sitting man's shoulders but had her arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

"The game where he finds a way to convince you that he loves you and gets you to stay with him, you foolish Englishman."