Jim was only a speck surprised to see Sebastian so early. A tiny, dust-mote sized speck, but a speck nonetheless. The speck was immediately wiped out as he did his usual visual sweep. The slight favoring of the right shoulder over the left, which should have been the worse of the two - there shouldn't even be a 'worse.' He grit his teeth. "Moran. Here. Now."

He froze. He hadn't expected to run into Jim, hadn't been prepared at all. And the tone his employer was using suggested that he was already thoroughly, deeply, and completely fucked. He took a slow breath, turning to the left slightly, where he could see Jim standing just outside the elevator. He walked over at a measured pace, keeping his expression neutral. "Good morning, sir-"

"The only reason I'm not demanding you remove your shirt this instant so that I can see it is that I don't want the peons to whisper," Jim snarled, teeth bared in a grimace, his body rigid. "Explain."

Witnesses were his friend right now, so he didn't suggest they move somewhere more private. "Lorna and I have a consensual sexual relationship, sir," he said, calmly and far too quiet for the 'peons' to overhear. "Sometimes knives get involved." He wasn't being sarcastic or defiant, keeping his voice as respectful as possible until Jim gave him something to work with (intentionally or not).

Jim's grimace became just a little bit more like a crazed smile, altogether too much teeth and not enough happiness. "Just knives, is that right? A few random cuts? Now now, Moran, omission is still a sin."

His nostrils flared slightly, but that was his only reaction. "I felt it was a fitting balance, sir," he said calmly. "Would you like me to be poetic? You're still the one over my heart." Pushing the line was an understatement, but he needed to shock Jim into thinking about why he cared for a second.

"My initials aren't on you for SENTIMENT, Moran," he snapped, taking a step forward, fingers finding the collar of the sniper's shirt. "They're a branding mark. I own you, don't you remember? I. Own. You. Not that idiotic slut."

That got looks as his employer increased volume, and it was time for him to do his job. "Sir," he said quietly. "Might I suggest that, in order to prevent the peons from whispering, we move this conversation somewhere more private?" He didn't struggle against Jim's grip, but he didn't bend to it either, standing solid as a rock, but remaining submissive to the man in front of him. Protecting Jim's image.

He let go and turned to step back into the elevator, which had been hesitating to close on his foot for the past few minutes. Fury still was clear on his face. I should kill her for this insubordination. But I suppose I owe enough to him to let him fucking explain.

He stepped in behind Jim, carefully analyzing the man's expression as the elevator door closed.

"It was my idea, sir. You noticed the jealousy issue. She would have gotten over it eventually, but this seemed a simple way to kick-start the process. It doesn't mean anything, and I honestly didn't believe it would bother you this much. My apologies. I take full responsibility."

He said nothing for a moment, somehow not entirely surprised to hear it was Sebastian's idea. Then he scoffed. "You let her take a knife to your chest? Don't tell me you trust her."

"I don't trust you, either, sir, yet I've let you do that more times than I can count," he returned with a casual smirk. Too close to home.

"We're both well aware that's entirely different," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don't be stupid, I'm already bombarded by people who are every day. And don't think for an instant that you've let her off the hook by saying you asked her to. She still drew on my property."

He set his jaw slightly at that. It didn't bother him that Jim owned him. He knew that, had since he'd started working for the man. But being reduced to inanimate 'property' was a bit across the line.

"I'm fully aware that you own me, sir," he said calmly, eyes carefully controlled. "So is Harrison, believe me. This isn't her expressing defiance of that. This is her staking a claim in a completely different aspect of me- my personal life, which, though you've occasionally wandered in, you've stayed clear of for the most part."

Jim watched him carefully as he spoke. He knew Sebastian was defensive, a little angry, but it was beneath the surface of the tightly controlled exterior. He didn't care what people were feeling as long as they kept it in hand. He didn't speak for a moment, just stared at him. Then, "You actually care what she thinks of you, don't you?"

The 'no' was far less immediate than it should have been. Mercifully, the elevator dinged as it reached Jim's floor, and he gained a few seconds as they stepped out, carefully forming his answer.

"Not more than I care what you think, sir. Far less."

"But you do care," he said derisively, hands in his pockets. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. You are in bloody love with her after all."

That got his hackles up immediately. "Don't insult me," he warned, an edge to his voice.

"I'm in no mood for lip, Moran," he shot back darkly, glaring at the taller man. "Her being in love with you? Fine. Grifters always have a soft edge to them. But you returning it? I'm baffled, Moran. I don't understand throwing away such an advantage," he growled, animated now, a hand going up into the air at his last word.

"I'm not in love with her, sir," he growled, posture stiff. "I enjoy her company and yes, I might value her opinion. But that's a far cry from being fucking in love. I'm not some miserable sap like that sod Malcolm. When have you ever seen me passively tolerate weakness in myself for any period of time?"

"Never. Until now, apparently," he spat, and was suddenly surprised to find he was jealous. Jealous that someone else had a part of his bodyguard that he didn't have, couldn't have, and he was powerless to change it.

"Be very careful, James," he said quietly, eyes suddenly very calm, and cold. "Think about what battles you want to fight. Do you remember the last time you insulted me needlessly? The last time you stepped too far outside of your position as my employer? Because I do, and if I remember correctly, it really didn't end well for you. I'm not being insubordinate right now. I'm not doing anything which in any way impedes my ability to do my job. I'm not even questioning your ownership of me. All of which is combining to make your reaction right now seem a bit pesky."

"Get out," he snapped, hand shooting out to point at the elevator, steam practically venting from his ears. He never wanted to have an envious thought again. "Now."

He didn't argue, just took a few steps back to press the call button, never turning his back on the other man. He stepped into the elevator as it dinged, and nodded slightly as the door closed, before taking a slow breath and reaching up to check that his gun was in easy reach in his chest holster. That could have gone better.

Jim took a step back and leaned heavily against his desk the moment Sebastian was gone, raking a hand through his slicked-back hair. That was a dangerous loss of control.

He kept on his toes as he made his way out of the building. He wouldn't have been surprised if Jim sent people after him. He made it clear, however, and headed for his car, starting it up quickly and peeling out onto the street.

Lorna was having coffee over her laptop in the living room when he came back, and she looked up when he came in. "Got new directions. We have to go to an event in parliament."

"Brilliant," he said, walking past her into the kitchen and pulling open the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of bourbon and a corkscrew, opening it as he headed back into the living room and taking a generous pull as he flopped down on the other side of the couch.

"Breaking out the bourbon already? Keira that annoying?" She raised her eyebrows, taking a sip of coffee. "There's still coffee in the pot."

"Saw Jim," he said quietly, taking another swig before setting the bottle to the side for a moment.

"Oh, shit." She sat up a little straighter, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"We discussed the situation. He was less than thrilled. So was I. I may or may not have called him 'pesky.'" He didn't look at her, watching the street out the window.

"Jesus," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Geez. Do you think he'll send anyone?"

"Not sure yet," he said, his voice calm, though he was on edge. "He just told me to leave. So I'm not sure where we stand."

"At least he didn't kill you right then," she shook her head, sounding a tad shocked.

"Yeah, still trying to sort out how that happened," he agreed quietly, standing and walking over to draw the curtains across the window before walking to pick up his laptop, booting it up.

"Pass the bourbon," she muttered, holding out her hand. It was way too early for this kind of news.

He handed it over to her while he brought up his security feeds. There was silence for a while before he finally said, "I think he might have actually been jealous."

She coughed on a mouthful of bourbon, which was not a fun experience. "Sorry?"

"You heard me," he said quietly, watching the feeds. "The way he talked... He just kept getting more and more frustrated about the whole situation. Saying I was his property, that you didn't have a right. Then when I pointed out that you were in my personal life, not affecting the job, he sorta spluttered and looked like I pissed on his birthday cake."

"Oh, god. This isn't good for my health," she breathed out, a little pale.

"Probably not," he agreed, nodding a little and reaching out a hand towards her for the bourbon.

"Jesus," she replied, again. "I hope if he decides to kill me he does it quick."

"He won't kill you," he said calmly. "Not unless he decides to knock us both off. Which... He might... so..." He shrugged.

"How did you arrive to that conclusion?" she snorted, eyeing him dubiously. "There's no reason he'd have to kill both of us."

"Because I made it rather clear that if he interfered with my personal life past his boundaries again, I wouldn't be so generous as to just carve my initials into him this time," he said calmly.

"For once, fucking you regularly might actually be safer than the alternative," she breathed.

"Odd, isn't it?" he asked with a snort. "You've passed the threshold."

"God, that's fucked up," she snorted, massaging her temples. "It shouldn't be safe, being near you. But I guess that there's a certain bubble of protection. Like remoras on sharks."

"Interesting comparison, but not an inaccurate one, I don't suppose," he smirked. He was starting to relax, just a little. He glanced over. "So what's this about a party?"

"Less of a party, more of a... you know, prissy wine-tasting," she waved a hand. "It's going to be extremely political. Parliament, remember? The only benefit is that we'll be able to spill our drinks on very expensive carpeting."

"Prissy wine tasting. Brilliant," he deadpanned. But then he grinned just a little. "But after this, my sister sends the first tape."

"Mmm, that'll be a fun watch. Brilliant extortion, really, I'm very impressed. What inspired that?"

"My overwhelming and deep-seated disgust with every molecule in her body was a contributing factor," he said casually. "Also, I'm a sick bastard."

"Watching a sex tape of the person that disgusts you isn't really the typical reaction. But I guess the second one explains it," she chuckled, shrugging a little.

"It isn't that I want to watch her fucking someone," he said calmly. "It's that I want her to know that I am watching her fucking someone."

She laughed, reaching for the bourbon again. "That's fucking hilarious. You're diabolical."

In the end, Jim didn't send anyone to kill them. Not immediately at least.

The wine tasting, as it happened, was a bit of an annual event to bring in the new year. It was attended by all of politics' finest, and their entourages of corporate pocket-pickers.

Mycroft Holmes watched the debacle from the seclusion of a balcony. He had a glass of red in hand but wasn't really sipping it, more like practicing balancing the thing with digits that still refused to quite cooperate, despite long hours of surgery and therapy.

Sara Moran went through the motions of greeting various dignitaries and supporters, and sucking up to people who could help her later. Her heart really wasn't in it though, even though she really did enjoy politics. Tomorrow, she'd have to send her revolting half-brother a fucking sex tape. She wasn't sick enough to enjoy that.

He watched Sara Moran as she made her way through the room. She was most of his reason for being here this evening. He'd heard some interesting rumors.

He watched as one of his men approached her, relaying his message that he wanted to see her. She looked up a moment later, and he raised his wine glass in her direction before stepping back out of sight.

She ventured into the dim hallway a moment later, a stark contrast to the light and festivities (however calm they may be) down below. And there was the man who she'd seen earlier. She'd seen him before, around - he always seemed to be at the fringes of the machinations going on around her. "Oh, I know your name. Hodge... Howard... Holmes?"

"Third time and all that," he said with a small smile. "I know you as well, Ms. Moran. Perhaps better than you'd think. Tell me, how's your brother doing. Sebastian, is it?"

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out his game. "He's fine," she said after a moment, in which she decided that he was obviously not sent by Moriarty, and anyone who knew about her brother without that source was not someone to be trifled with. "What do you want, Mr. Holmes?"

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, Sara," he said with a quiet smile. "But I believe you're interested in watching Sebastian Moran, Lorna Harrison, and James Moriarty crash and burn, very slowly, so long as it doesn't hurt your career. Would that be a reasonable assumption?"

He took a sip of wine.

She tapped a finger against her glass in consideration, looking at him thoughtfully. "You may be right. Do you have a proposition for me?"

"An alliance, of sorts," he said calmly. "I own most of the British government, in one way or another. I want your help bringing down Moriarty, your brother, and Harrison. In return, I'll grease the right palms for you to slip into position to be PM in... say five years?"

She took a deep breath, then took a deep swig of her wine. "Well. I do think that I can be amenable to that."

"I figured you might be," he said with a smirk. "Youngest Prime Minister in a century. Quite a feather in your cap."

"Yes, it will be," she smiled. "Now, I assume you'll need me to do something to help you. What will that be?"

"I want information. On Moriarty, on your brother and his girl... That's the first step. What happens after that will depend on what you give me."

"Well," she grinned. "Then you're in luck."

"This one's disgusting, that last one was probably a pound bottle from Sainsbury's... Honestly, don't they have anything decent at these things?" Moran muttered into his glass as he tipped the remainder of his wine into a potted plant which was already quite damp.

"If we're lucky they have grape juice and vodka secreted away somewhere," Lorna sighed, swirling the wine in her glass and looking down at it in disappointment. "If we're luckier, there'll be a scotch bar."

"Yeah, I wish," he snorted, setting his glass down and looking around. "Let's make ourselves known and then leave."

"Sounds like a decent plan to me," she agreed, setting her glass down on a passing server's tray. "Pick the most recognizable face from the crowd and let's go."

He nodded, looking around the crowd, before raising an eyebrow. "Ah... That's a little too recognizable..." he said softly, nodding to a short, pristine Irishman staring at them from across the room.

"Oh, shit," she murmured, wishing suddenly that she hadn't gotten rid of her wine. "Do you think he'll mind terribly if we just run away?"

"Something tells me he'd find that very entertaining..." he murmured as Jim started walking slowly across the room.

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck," she muttered under her breath, raking a hand through her hair, the only truly visible sign of her distress. "He's going to kneecap me or something."

"Not here, in front of everyone," he said quietly, though he stood, shifting a bit between her and Jim, sticking out his hand to greet the man to hold up pretenses in the crowd, and speaking quietly. "Sir... have another meeting?"

Jim took his hand, but only for the briefest moment. "Yes, Moran. And you're in my way." He glanced past to Lorna.

She paled, growing a shade closer to her white dress. "Hello, sir."

"Harrison. How good to see you again. Shall we take a walk?" No hint of a question. He extended his arm to her. "Don't worry, Tiger. I'll have her home before midnight with the dress unstained."

She fought the urge to comment It's not the dress he's worried about being stained, and took his arm instead, gluing a passable smile onto her face. "A tip not to taste any of the wine, boss. It's.. not so great."

"I've noticed. Terrible shame." Moran started to walk behind them despite the hint that he wasn't invited, but Jim's glance was enough to still that notion, and he peeled off, stomach tight.

Jim headed casually through the mill of people towards one of the quieter halls. "Sebastian tells me you two have been having a good few months together," he said conversationally.

"Has he," she cleared her throat, smiling a little. "I suppose that's true. Nobody's tried to kill anyone else. That's an improvement."

"Mmm... You had a bit of an unusual opportunity, though, didn't you?" he asked with a smirk. "It isn't many people that cut into Sebastian Moran and survive."

"I uh... that I did," she agreed, a twisting, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. "I'm not entirely certain I was in my right mind, accepting his offer. But I... I don't regret it. I apologize, boss."

"Mmm... That whole situation has revealed some interesting things to me, Harrison," he said calmly as they entered an empty hall. He released her arm, stepping back to look at her. "I've never seen my sniper give a shit about anyone outside the job before. But then you came along..."

She clasped her hands together in front of her, just so they didn't hang uselessly at their sides, and she nodded a little, eyes very carefully avoiding his. "I suppose so, sir."

"And now he's gone and fallen in love with you. Can you see how that makes my life inconvenient?" he said casually.

She swallowed. "Yes, sir. I thought that we were cleared up on this front, after you uh... told me to fix him."

The snarl was sudden and feral. "I told you to fix him. Not sign him," he spat, rounding on her.

She clenched her teeth to keep herself from taking a step back, an alarm sounding in her head. A very, very loud alarm. Still, she stood her ground. "Sir, I'm not sure what exactly you want from me?"

"Why did you put your little John Hancock onto him, Lorna?" he asked, voice sweet again.

Somehow, that sucked a little of the fear out of her. Her shoulders tightened. "Because he gave me a knife and offered. I wanted to. So I did."

"Why did you want to?" he pressed, studying her face intently, his hands in his pockets.

She unclasped her hands, just in case he had a weapon on him, to fight back if she needed to. He was wiry, but she fought people more often than him. "Because I care about him, and this is the only claim I can ever have on him. The rest is yours."

He snorted slightly, but nodded, studying her. What did Moran see in her?

Was it her appearance? Sure, she had once been beautiful, but although her looks had diminished with injury, Sebastian's fascination did not seem to have been affected.

Her personality? She was a chameleon of emotion, but her core personality wasn't anything particularly spectacular.

If he hadn't been so engrossed in his study, he would have had the half second moment of advanced notice he needed to avoid their attackers. As it was, he noticed them a second before the dart hit his neck, and then his beautiful mind ground to an unartistic halt, and he crumpled.

She'd been tensed for attack, but she wasn't prepared for attack from the side. She jumped as the dart appeared in his neck, a startled movement backwards, then a concerned movement forward, then there was a stick of pain in her shoulder and she collapsed, mind deciding that it was just going to take a little cat nap.

There was the rhythmic tap of an umbrella tip as a pair of black, shined shoes approached his line of sight from the ground, and then he was unconscious.