An hour later he showered off before heading upstairs, leaving cleanup to deal with the body. It hadn't quite been long enough, but he didn't want to keep Harrison waiting too long, so he'd compromised.

She'd showered and changed into some decent clothes, and was on the couch holding an open bottle of bourbon in one hand and a cold compress held to her face in the other. "You satisfied now?"

"Enough," he said, shutting the door behind him and walking over to the cabinet to get the scotch. "How are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "I'll be alright. Not the best day ever, but not the worst. I'll be better when I have some scotch."

He nodded, walking over to sit next to her and pouring a glass for them both, leaving the bottle on the table. He sat back. "I'm sorry about all of that. I didn't think."

She leaned forward to set the bourbon down and exchange it for the glass of scotch. "It's alright. It worked, didn't it? I saw the matches. He really hated fire. If that wasn't doing it, there wasn't much that would."

He nodded. "I was having fun with that. It's rare I get so much for so little." He took a sip of scotch, enjoying it.

"Ford was never real big on the pain," she snorted, shaking her head and downing a good portion of the beverage. She'd had a stressful day, and it likely wasn't over yet. It was a little disarming to have him so friendly again.

He smirked just a little. His buzz had worn off hours ago and he was eager to get back to cruising altitude. "So... you're back."

"You've got a real good grasp of the obvious. Anyone ever told you that?" she raised her eyebrows slightly. She just couldn't relax with him yet. Christ, after what he'd pushed her into saying, she was surprised she was even in his flat at all.

He snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't comment otherwise. He wasn't sure what to say. Finally he decided to suck it up and go for the obvious. "What you said. That could get us both into a lot of trouble."

She sipped at her scotch. "Why do you think I was keeping it to myself?"

"Fair enough. I forced you into it." He had no problem admitting that, it was the truth. He tossed back the rest of his scotch, deciding he was definitely not drunk enough for where this conversation was heading. "It took me by surprise."

"Why? Because you expected me to say I was in love with a fucking mark?" she sighed, glad the compress was on the side of her face closest to him, because it gave her an excuse not to try and look at him. "Look, we don't have to talk about this. I don't see any reason to."

"I..." He paused, considered his drink. What was he doing? Expressing his feelings? Yeah, right. Good one, Moran. "That's fine then." He took another long sip.

She was silent for a little while, though she knocked back two glasses in a row. She always gave him an out when it came to this shit. The alternative just felt worse.

He was pleasantly warm a few glasses later, and the silence was becoming incredibly uncomfortable. He stared at his glass, watching it swirl around. "I don't mind trouble."

She glanced over at him, set the cold compress down in her lap with a slow sigh. It felt like her chest was attempting to crack open. She nodded, silent only because she didn't feel like she could get any words out. Why was she so mute all of the sudden? Wasn't this good news? Maybe she just didn't know how to cope with good things coming from him.

He looked her way when she didn't respond, and the look on her face wasn't encouraging. "Sorry, shouldn't have said that," he muttered, knocking back the rest of his glass and standing up. "I'm just drunk. I think I'm going to..." He motioned towards the bedroom and headed that way.

"Sebastian, wait," she got out, finally, though it was a little weaker than she would have liked it. "Look, I... I'm just... not sure how to deal with this. I just expect the worst from you, you know? I know it's not really fair, but the majority of our relationship, working or otherwise, it's.. it's been the safest bet. I'm not equipped to handle good news from you. I'm sorry. It's... just been a bit of a rough day."

He paused when she asked, leaning against the wall, listening. "I know," he said when she finished. "It's been a long day for you. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"We were going to have to talk about it eventually," she shook her head, downing the rest of her scotch and standing, feeling a little small. She rubbed her eyes. "I just want to go to bed, honestly."

He nodded just a little. "Do you want to stay here?" he asked, his voice completely neutral. Please stay.

"Yes," she whispered, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "If that's okay."

"Yeah, it's fine," he said a bit too quickly, heading for his room then, starting to get changed.

She followed him in silence, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as she changed into sleeping clothes and slipped into her usual side of bed. It was strange to be back, strange knowing she wouldn't have to leave in the morning. A good kind of strange.

He used the bathroom and then came back, turning out the lights and climbing in on his side. He hesitated a moment, but damn if he hadn't missed her, and finally he rolled over and wrapped himself around her.

She curled into him, enormously glad to have this again. "I missed you," she said quietly, into his chest.

He held her a little tighter, and sighed. "I missed you, too," he admitted quietly.

She curled into him a little more, wrapping an arm around him and letting out a slightly shuddering breath. "I didn't know if you were going to call this off."

"I didn't know either," he grumbled. "You can't just spring things like that on me, Harrison. I'm getting old. My heart's just going to give out on me someday and it's going to be all your fault."

She smiled in the dark. "To be fair, I did tell you right after you nearly got yourself killed, because I was upset and emotional, but you forgot it. And you don't look old, so shut up."

"Was that when I was high as a kite?" he asked, smirking a little. "If so, then you really need to work on your timing."

"It was part of a death threat, I wasn't exactly thinking any of it through," she chuckled, burrowing into him a little more, just because she was happy to be able to again. "So... how much of what you did to Ford after I left was because he left marks on me? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"That must have been an interesting death threat," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her question. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said with a smirk, a hand shifting to cover her hip.

"Sure you don't," she snickered, shifting to place a chaste kiss on his throat. "You can be possessive all you like, long as you don't force me into confessing feelings again."

"To be fair, my exact phrasing was 'feelings about him'. You were under no obligation to say anything about me," he snorted.

She rolled her eyes, despite the fact that there was no way he could tell. "How else were you going to let it go, let alone believe me? You are a stubborn man, Moran."

He nodded proudly. "That I am, Lorna. And damn proud of it." He kissed the top of her head. "Now shut up and get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, alright," she mumbled, letting out a long, content sigh. Within the minute she was fast asleep.

He fell asleep shortly afterwards.

His alarm went off way too early, and he groaned, fumbling around to shut it up, but dragged himself out of bed, head pounding. He grumbled, heading off towards the bathroom.

She shifted, confused for a moment as to why Ford had an alarm clock. That thought jolted her awake. God, don't fucking say that in front of Sebastian. She sighed, and started to wriggle out of bed. Coffee.

He brushed his teeth, showered, and shaved before heading out into the living room. He glanced at the bottle of scotch on his way to the kitchen, before walking over to take a few sips from the bottle to take the edge off his hangover. Then set it down and walked into the kitchen to find something for breakfast.

She was standing over the toaster with a cup of coffee, looking like she'd been smacked in the face with a bowling ball the day before. The most she could ask for out of her day would be that Kelly didn't aggravate her headache. It was a lot to ask, she knew.

He glanced her way, wincing a little at the bruising. "Sorry. That was probably a bit excessive," he grunted, pulling out a box of cereal.

She shrugged. "S'fine. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. I'll just take a few aspirin or something," she yawned, jumping a little as the toast popped up. She always did. "I might just take the day off. Kelly doesn't need to know I'm back."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging and walking over to pour a bowl of cereal. He grabbed the milk out of the fridge.

She gingerly put her hot toast on a plate and set it down at the table before capping the scotch on the counter, glancing at him skeptically. "Did you just drink out of this?"

He glanced up, taking a bite of cereal. "Nope. Must've left it there last night," he shrugged.

"It's a good thing you don't have cats, leaving it here uncapped," she snorted, disappearing briefly to put it away in the liquor cabinet before returned and sitting to eat her breakfast.

He gave a non-committal grunt, mouth full of cereal. A few moments later he stood, dumping his bowl in the sink and walking off to get dressed. He glanced at the cabinet as he passed, but didn't touch it.

Lorna watched him from the corner of her eye. He seemed just a little off. Why had he smelled like liquor the other day? "I'll see you later?"

"Yup," he called from where he was getting dressed. He straightened his tie, heading for the door. "I'll see you then."

She sighed as the door shut behind him, eating her toast in silence. She needed to get back into the swing of things by the end of the day or it was going to smack her in the face a bit like Moran had yesterday.

The flask in his pocket was far lighter than usual, but he hadn't been able to fill it when Harrison was there, guarding the cabinet (whether she knew it or not). This was going to require some creativity. As a result, however, he was in an even fouler mood than usual, rooting out any stumblings, waiting for a call from his mostly-silent employer. It had been a while since Jim had asked to speak to him personally, but he figured it was just a matter of time.

Jim had been inactive, as of late, concern over botching something too spectacularly weighing on him, holding him back. But there was only so much silent watching he could do before he needed to discuss his plans for the future, so, the morning after they'd strewn the bits of Sherrinford Holmes' body across London, he sent a message to Moran, summoning him.

He glanced at the text and smiled slightly, taking a breath and heading for the elevator. Within five minutes he was knocking on his boss's door.

"Come in," Jim said neutrally, shutting the book he was reading and setting it aside. He waited until Sebastian had entered and closed the door behind him to speak. "Did little Sherrinford spill anything particularly interesting, last night?"

"A few things, sir," he said, nodding. "We have two separate organizations planning strikes on us. One is an Afghan terror cell, the other is Mycroft Holmes's web. Holmes is attempting to overlap with the cell's attack, catch us with our trousers down as it were. That, and apparently we've got another mole."

"Another one. Brilliant," he said sarcastically, shaking his head in disgust. "I'll start making preparations to guard us against any attacks. Start stockpiling supplies, just in case, and keep some in a safehouse. We've dealt with cocky networks before, we can do it again. As for the mole... I trust you'll handle it."

He nodded slightly. "Of course, sir." He sighed slightly. "I'm a bit concerned about how this keeps happening, to be honest, sir. Our vetting process is extreme. I'm going to go over it, try and figure out where the holes are."

"Hm. Maybe it's time we stop hiring from the existing criminal pool," Jim muttered, mostly to himself, then glanced back up at Sebastian. "Do look over it. You're right, this is unacceptable."

He nodded in agreement. "If I may ask how you're feeling, sir?"

"Better. Good. No headaches. But I'm still... foggy. It drives me mad, how I have to struggle for things," he sighed, gritting his teeth a little. "I feel average. But I was told I would improve, so..."

"I'm sure you will, Boss," he said, nodding. "In the grand scheme of things, it's a hell of a lot better than it could have been."

"You are extremely right on that account," he muttered, scrunching up his nose. "To have died from something so stupid... Right. I ought to get back to what little work I can fucking manage."

"Shooting yourself in the head is rather a legitimate reason to die, boss," he pointed out dryly. Then he nodded, saluting. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I never hesitate to," he snorted, then looked up. "Before you go: How was Harrison's performance? This was her biggest job since you pulled that little stunt of yours."

He straightened a little. "Exceptional, sir," he said, without bothering to ask which stunt. It could be any of a number. "She gave us the information we needed and didn't hesitate or stumble at any point that I am aware of."

He nodded, smirking a little. It was lucky for Moran that his weakness was so good at her job. He didn't feel like starting up that conversation. Another testament to his slow recuperation. "Alright. Dismissed."

He nodded a little, and headed out quickly, glancing at his watch. He sighed, stepping into the elevator and pulling out his flask, taking a long sip. Time to go have a little fun with some of their live-in torture victims. He had a few greens to educate on proper methods.

It was a few days before she noticed his habit. She might not have, if she hadn't started looking for it. As they were starting to get ready for bed, she sighed. "How often are you completely sober these days, Sebastian?"

He raised an eyebrow, pulling the shirt he was holding over his head. "What do you mean?" he asked, giving her a puzzled look as he headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Don't play dumb, you know what I'm talking about," she said just loud enough for him to hear, careful not to be confrontational. "I was - am, still, kind of - an alcoholic. I know what the beginnings of it look like."

He made a face when his back was turned, but shrugged as he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth. "I 'ink you're exa'erating."

"I'm not saying you have a problem. I'm saying you might be on the way to one," she shook her head, getting into bed. "I'm not telling you to stop. Telling you to do things doesn't work, I'm quite aware of that. I'm just saying... you know. Don't get as bad as I did. I really rather not see you get taken out by the D.T.s if we ever get caught again."

He was silent until he finished brushing his teeth, considering her words a bit grudgingly. He knew she was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. The warmth of the liquor was the best thing he had to get him through the day recently. It would be better now that she was back (as loathe as he was to admit it,) but he felt like he could work better. It kept the paranoia at bay.

She pulled up the covers a little, sitting with her back against the headboard. She knew better than to try and fill the silence with inane chatter. He needed time to mull things over by himself sometimes.

He walked over, turning off the light and climbing into bed. After a moment he said "I'll avoid letting it get past practical limits."

"Alright. Thank you," she nodded, just a tad relieved. Christ, if she had tried this months ago... She shifted down onto her side, stifling a yawn. "So, you been ramping up security or something? The guards on duty have seemed particularly on edge the past few days."

"We have a mole, the second one in less than a year," he muttered, rolling over to curl up next to her and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. "So I'm fixing the problem."

She shifted over a little closer, though giving him the option to move away if he wanted a little space. "As long as the fucker gets caught..."

He nodded in agreement, wrapping an arm around her waist. "We'll get them. I've been having all communication in and out of the building monitored."

"Good. I've had enough of being tattled on. I like knowing that the criminals I'm working with are all on our side," she snorted, shaking her head a little and settling in a little more. "Let me know if you need me to grift someone in the office. I know that can't be done through normal channels."

He nodded in agreement. "I may do just that," he said quietly. He knew better than to give her any more information until after he'd gone over her background and communications again. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, it was that... well, no. He didn't. Not completely. Just more than most.

She made a sound that indicated she'd heard him and then curled up a little more. Within a few minutes, she was out cold.

A bit more than a week later he was sitting on the couch with a fifth of whiskey and a list of the possibilities for their mole problem. He took a long sip, considering, eyes buzzing down the still-too-fucking-long list. At least Harrison had cleared.

She wandered in from the kitchen, munching on a bowl of pretzels. "Is that top secret or can I ask what you're frowning so intently at?"

"No, I know you're most likely not the mole now so you might as well help," he sighed, holding the list out in her direction. "These are suspects. There's far more than I'd like."

She stepped forward to take it, scanning down as she swallowed a mouthful of her snack. "Mmph. Not Trevor Williams. He's in my department, and he wasn't hired in the usual channels. Someone went out and found him, he didn't come to us. And he can't lie to women, it's a little embarrassing. I've put him on the gay marks."

He smirked, but crossed the name off all the same, still scanning. "Now that you mention it, Carol Bruneski is a similar case. Sought out, didn't apply. Probably can ignore her too."

She nodded, sitting down on the sofa next to him. "I think we can probably rule off anybody in cleaning. They don't get info on jobs unless they go off-site. Anybody on here with a fuzzy history or something?"

He sighed, putting an 'x' through the list from the cleaning department. "Everyone here has a fuzzy history, Harrison," he muttered under his breath, sighing and taking another sip of whiskey as he thought. He caught sight of O'Hare's name, and something in his gut twitched, but he refused to follow the thought.

"Yeah, alright, I see your point. Do you want to try cornering a few people on the list? There aren't that many left," she murmured, frowning over his shoulder. O'Hare was on the list. Just another reason not to like him. "Listen, I know you feel bad about what happened to O'Hare, but..."

He snorted. "You think I'm not considering him the same as everyone else on here? I'll look into him the same way I do everyone else." His tone was a touch sharp.

She shrugged, a whatever you say motion. "Okay. I believe you. Just thought I'd check. I really don't like that guy."

"What's he ever done to you?" he asked, glaring at her slightly before returning his attention to the page.

"He's confrontational, and insubordinate," she replied shortly, popping a pretzel in her mouth. "N' he's lucky I didn't take off his fucking remaining fingers. What does he even do here?"

"He works for Jim," he says shortly. "I've asked, Jim hasn't answered, and that's the end of it."

"It's not, though. We have to know what he's got access to, if we're ever going to rule him out," she sighed, shaking her head, and picked up the bottle of whiskey to take a swig. "I'm not, like, out to get him. I just trust him the least out of the people I know on that list."

He took a moment to curb the anger that was bubbling. She had good points and he knew it. "I owe him the benefit of the doubt, but unfortunately my position doesn't lend me that leniency."

"Yeah, I know," she murmured, shrugging a little. "But fuck, Moran... we've done nothing but tear down the people we owe. It's how we got to the top. All the people we've done that to have been fucked up or killed. The only difference with O'Hare is that he came back to haunt you."

"That isn't- That's not comparable," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I don't want to discuss O'Hare right now, alright? You know we aren't going to agree on anything. I said I'd look into him."

She sighed, but nodded. "Alright. Well, I need to go downstairs and manage a mission, so text me if you need me to do something."

He nodded, reaching out to grab the bottle of whiskey, eyes on the list, planning. "Right. Have fun, good luck, all that."

"Mm. I'll pass it on to the field agent," she hummed, standing and heading for the door, and slipped out with a last wave.

He vaguely waved back, setting the list aside and leaning back on the couch with the bottle, staring at it as he thought.

O'Hare...