Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and re-envisioned by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat

Hello everyone! Welcome to the Price of Piety. To be perfectly honest, this is a title in progress. I always have such difficulty with the title .

But I am excited to share this story with you. This lovely tale is a birthday gift for a very good friend of mine (and fellow Sherlockian nerd) who also has a thing for the dynamic criminal duo. Story is rated M because there will be smut and violence. Waiting to see just how dirty and bloody Sebastian will let me make him.

Please feel free to read and review. It has been a while since I have done commissions and I'm always open to suggestion on how to improve, and indications of what I am doing well. So without further ado, I present

Chapter One- The Arrest

The barricade of police cars filled the night with a haze of pulsating blue and amber light. Commotion and clamoring had roused the neighborhood. Men and women milled about in their jimjams and slippers, going on tiptoes to catch of glimpse of what all the fuss was about. In high windows overlooking the scene, little children fluttered the curtains in hopes of getting a peek before their mothers snapped them up, forcing them away from the window; and they were right to. London had fallen into the Dark Ages when the boogeyman kept the sting of fear in the brittle hearts of man. And just as the masses had cowered centuries ago, so did the crowd as their boogeyman- this silent weapon- was brought into the light.

Sebastian Moran was led into the streets in chains with his head held low. Leading the way was a haughty Inspector Lestrade with an arrogant bounce in his step that made the sniper seethe. He broke away from the pack that ushered Sebastian along to meet that man- the consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Sebastian had heard enough of that name to make him sick. Lestrade was going on, enraptured by the wonder of his consulting pet and the beguiling genius that led to this momentous arrest. One day he would love to shatter those cheekbones with his bare hands. He lived for the dream that one day Moriarty would finally get bored enough to let his weapon run off his leash, and on that day Sebastian would feed on that man's fear as his perfect composure was ripped apart by talons and teeth.

But that day will never come. A little voice, dim and abysmal, whispered in his ear. The game is over. You've ruined everything.

Sebastian stumbled as ice erupted in his belly. As he was shoved into the back of a police car Sebastian felt his fury abate as he toppled over the precipice of sanity and tumbled into the slow, cold plunge of self-hatred.

-o-

Several weeks ago

London was bustling as usual. The parade of drones went along, carrying out their comings and goings of the monotonous drivel that was their daily life. Sebastian watched the hive from a window high above the street as he reverently cleaned his gun. Jim was in the sitting room with a phone in his hand and his thumb between his teeth as he listened intently to the news; he always watched the news, especially when it involved his greatest fancy.

Sherlock-fucking-Holmes.

All of England thought the man so clever, so great for putting together circumstantial puzzles, and so dashing in his little hat. Personally Sebastian thought he would look much better with a bullet between his eyes. But a dead consulting detective would mean a very, very disgruntled consulting criminal and Sebastian had long ago resolved that he would rather not be on Ground Zero during such a cataclysm. Better let Mr. Holmes keep his lover occupied. Eventually Moriarty would get bored anyway and when he finally gave that order, his weapon would be armed and ready.

"Sheep." Jim muttered to himself. "They're all such sheep." Sebastian's focus remained with his task, but his ears piqued at the sound of that voice.

Jim giggled. "Ah, those poor buggers. I can't even imagine having to live in those shriveled, empty heads. Innocent little lambs so ripe and ready for slaughter." With his gun cleaned and laid out over the table Sebastian began to reassemble her, making a point not to look up as he heard his lover draw near. Jim stepped so lightly floating like a specter through the world when he chose to. Thankfully war had not dulled Sebastian's ears more than his caution could make up for. He could hear every tap of Jim's heel, every creak in the floor, even the soft shift as he stepped over the carpet. It was a distinct advantage knowing that James Moriarty couldn't get the drop on him.

"But you… I like you." Despite all his effort to keep his eyes down, when that soft hand lifted his chin, Sebastian gave it no resistance. Not that he had a choice. Not that he would ever want to resist that wicked, beautiful creature.

"You're not like the others, are you?" Jim asked rhetorically. "Those simpletons may think you are. Walk past them on the street and all they see is another one of them. Just another ordinary bastard, just another head in the flock…" The scratch of claws at the base of his skull sent a jolt through him that turned his skin to goose-flesh.

"But you're a predator; you're a killer born."

I am all that you need me to be, and more. Sebastian thought in the silence of his heart, drinking up those accolades like a desert soaks in the rain. Turning his head he felt the cool brush of Jim's wrist against his lips. He tasted the elixir that was his lover as his tongue brushed across his skin, and he felt the faint bump of a pulse as his fangs grazed over him.

"Yes, my wolf in sheep's skin," Jim purred as those fangs flashed in the sunlight, "I like you very much."

"Something has you in a good mood today." Sebastian observed, not so subtly peeking below his companion's waistline as the other slipped onto his lap.

"Aren't I always?" Jim gave a theatrical pout that the sniper dismissed with a look only a long-standing lover can give. "Oh, alright. Can't hide from you, can I?"

"I wouldn't say that." Sebastian said with the hints of a frown tugging on his lips. Tell-tale signs were there to find, and the solider had learned to read a few in the time they had built this kingdom of underworld domination together. But he would be a fool to forget for one instant that if Jim wanted to keep a secret from him that the consulting criminal could do so without a single reservation. Jim giggled, that devious, twittering sound.

"You. You know me." He said, sing-song, giving Sebastian's nose a tweak.

"So, penny for your thoughts?"

Jim bit his lip to stifle his grin. "Christmas has come early for us, my dear. We've got work to do."

He didn't need to say anything else. And he knew it. All he needed to do was tell his weapon what direction to aim, and when to pull the trigger.

-o-

Not a day went by that Sebastian didn't feel sick to his stomach the instant he woke from sleep. He'd open his eyes to the dingy peach walls of his jailhouse cell and the world would begin to roll and spin. More than once Sebastian found himself hunching over the lavatory, his empty stomach heaving involuntarily. It felt like being punched in the gut, over and over until nothing remained, but, to be honest, those first moments of waking were the easiest part of his day. Once his head was clear enough the tirade rose; a tidal wave of degradation and self-loathing.

Look at where you are, whispered the imp that gnawed upon his ear, just look at what you've done.

If only you hadn't failed. If only you'd paid more attention.

You're useless, and you let him down.

The longer that demon hissed into his ear, the less and less he had the heart to tell it to shut up. It said such dreadful things, and, no matter how much he willed it otherwise, Sebastian knew they were all true.

At breakfast he could barely bring himself to bring a spoonful of runny oats or a bite of bread to his lips. With some effort he could force a couple morsels down and then would sit and poke at whatever wasn't taken by the other inmates at his table. He had no intention of eating more. Staring intently at his plate just seemed like a better option; anything to keep him distracted from what was going on a few tables over.

Jim's voice was unmistakable as it carried over the din of the mess hall. It was no surprise the criminal had flirted himself into the middle of a small crowd. There wasn't even any exerted effort on his part; people tended to flock to him naturally. There was something about that man that people longed to taste and take for their own. Not that Jim seemed to mind. The diva thrived on adulation. Sebastian hated it; he hated them, these commoners who thought themselves worthy enough to lay their hands on a god.

Moriarty wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you. This is the least you owe him.

Once again, the damned imp was right. This was the soldier's punishment. After all, it was his carelessness that had led to their downfall. It must have been. Moriarty has always been crafty and clever. He was a brilliant tactician, and that was partly what Sebastian admired about him. Any fault couldn't have been James'. But where did Sebastian go wrong? What did he miss? No matter how many times he ran things over in his head he couldn't place a finger on his misstep.

-o-

The board was set, and the game was afoot. James Moriarty had been sleepless for days, tirelessly setting the wheels of his scheme into motion, and yet still his focus was iron. A client of Jim's was on the run. Their mission objective was simple: find the target before Scotland Yard could get to him first. Sebastian's commands were clear. He was to secure a perimeter, close down a whole residential block. Then Sebastian needed to take up position at the top floor, and wait for his signal for Moriarty. They were simple enough instructions, and not unlike every other mission Jim sent him on. Every job was pretty much the same; the only real difference was in the details, and details were Jim's area. Sebastian was just there as a pair of hands to make and clean up all the messes.

He started at dusk when the sky had just begun to shift from fiery orange and pinkish grey to the cobalt shade of evening. Better to go in when darkness was on his side. Sebastian had marched several city blocks, a bag slung over his shoulders and his head kept down as he weaved through the maze of side streets. He moved silently, a skill he had learned as a solider. It didn't take him long to find the abandoned residence where Jim wanted him to set up post.

How odd, he thought as he slipped in through a back door already left ajar, there's no one here. Even for a condemned building there should have been squatters, an elderly man out for an evening stroll, or maybe someone walking the family dog. But there was nothing. No sounds on the city streets. It was highly unusual, and a niggly sensation settled at the bottom of Sebastian's stomach, but he ignored it. Moriarty told him to take out anyone in the vicinity. He couldn't be seen. It was for the best that no one was there.

On his knees beside a dirty, broken window Sebastian pulled out his disassembled rifle. She was put together with ease and precision; by now the action was all muscle memory. An earpiece in his left ear stood by, and his communication's radio was tuned to the correct frequency.

"Position secured." He whispered to the man he knew was listening, waiting patiently. "Awaiting orders."

All he had to do now was keep silent, and keep watching. Slowly hues of fire and violet gave way to the dark of night. Only the lights in the surrounding homes slowly blinking out held proof of life outside the stillness. Everything was in place. Everything was perfect. There was no possible way the plan could go sour.

Sebastian didn't know how wrong he was until an ice grenade erupted in his gut as the sounds of heavy boots ascended the far stairs.

"Sebastian Moran, drop the weapon!"

What the fuck? Where the hell did these people come from? Sebastian wheeled about, weapon raised and ready to fight his way out of anything. The barrels of at least ten guns stared at him from behind the blinding light of several torches. If he fired, he was dead. Oh well. What did it matter? If he was about to go down, he would take as many with him as he could.

"Target secured, commander." One of the lawmen said into a radio. "Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty are in custody."

In the films when something drastic and dramatic happens the world seems to progress in slow motion. Sebastian never expected some cinematic drama could actually have any merit in the real world. But when he heard James' name that is exactly what happened. The voices of the police officers were slow, distorted. The sirens of the police cars that were filling the street below became a long sonorous warble.

In war and in violence, the solider had never found a need to show penitence or fealty to any god other than the man he served. As he looked out the window and scanned the commotion, in that moment of fear, Sebastian prayed.

Please, god, no. Not Moriarty. God, it's not possible. They can't have him.

Even in desperation his plea was unanswered and James Moriarty was led from an adjacent building in irons. Hands of officers grabbed at Sebastian, forcing his arms behind his back and slapping his wrist in cuffs. And he didn't fight them. He didn't have the heart. Not when Jim looked up to the window where his reaper should have been watching. There was nothing in those steely eyes. His expression was stone cold, dead, and disappointed as he was ducked into the back of a police car.

That look burned into his mind so fiercely that Sebastian saw it whenever he closed his eyes.

Cold.

Dead.

Disappointed.

-o-

Where had it all gone wrong? Something hadn't sat right with him that night as he waited in the dark. But what did he overlook? Who could have seen him? How did the police know where to find him without making a sound? No matter how often he asked, Sebastian remained unanswered. And no amount of postulating could take away the burn of those disappointed eyes from his mind. Only one hope lingered in the distance; his only hope for redemption- the trial. It was their only chance left. God willing, and with whatever luck they possessed, it could mean an end to Sebastian's torment. And the relief couldn't come soon enough.