A few months later, things were not going so great. Lorna was still struggling to keep herself together, but it only felt like it was getting harder. Wasn't time supposed to heal wounds? This seemed like a very bad cosmic joke, and she consistently attempted numbing herself with alcohol.

Irene Adler wasn't helping matters. Now that she was running the Grifting department, she kept appearing around the building. Lorna didn't appreciate that very much. Irene would give her very...condescending looks. Of course, if she brought this up to Jim she would only be ignored, or maybe even chastised, so she suffered alone, as she was trying to become used to doing.

Running Sebastian's old department wasn't too difficult. She already had the leadership experience, and most of the people she now controlled were careful not to get in her way. She kept it going, but anything beyond that had slipped out of her grasp with his death. She didn't know who was in charge of security these days, which was likely a bad sign, but she was far too exhausted to care. If Jim was handling it, fine. If Jim was ignoring it, that was also fine. What control did she have over it? It just wasn't worth worrying about.

Jim was floundering, despite his best efforts. He had gone through six replacement bodyguards since Moran's death. The longest one had lasted was forty-two days before he'd pulled out his gun and shot her in the head. She hadn't done anything particularly wrong, he'd decided, when cleaning carried her body out of his office. She was actually rather competent. But she wasn't Moran, and competent wasn't enough.

The network was floundering, too, and for once he was having trouble caring. The head of security was complaining that Jim had killed off six of his best people, and that replacements were hard to come by right now. That applications had stopped coming in, that the vetting process was slow and difficult.

He didn't care. It was Moran's problem.

It was on the night after Jim killed his latest security guard that she showed up at his office door, a bottle of tequila in her hand, and knocked in a pattern she associated with Moran. She didn't know why. Maybe it was a knock he had used in front of her once. She didn't know exactly what she was doing there, but she didn't want to be alone, and he was the only one who could come close to understanding without looking like Sebastian.

Moran's customary knock rang through the office, and Jim felt vaguely ill as his brain presented for him the number of times he had heard that knock used- 237- and the flavor of Moran that came with it. That was the knock of a tired, frustrated Moran, coming in to toe around a fight and find a solution to a rough problem. That was a knock he had heard so, so many times...

"Come in, Lorna," he called quietly.

He was sitting at his desk, which had gone from orderly chaos to just plain chaos, and the rest of his office was just about as disheveled. He was clean, and shaven, but there were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he had lost weight.

She came in, lifting the tequila bottle for him to see. "I brought liquor. The 'pretty fun' stuff. I figured absinthe was probably too much fun," she said, shutting the door behind her and walking in, moving to sink into the chair across his desk. She was surprised there weren't papers strewn across it. "I'm sorry, I don't have a real reason for being here. I just didn't want to be alone. No one else could fill this role."

He nodded a little, digging in a drawer and producing a glass. His own was already on the desk. He set the clean one next to it and motioned for her to pour. "I won't say no to tequila," he sighed. In truth, he was glad for the company.

She leaned forward and poured them both a full glass, then grabbed her's and sat back, sighing. "How did it end up like this? How did we end up like this?" She sighed, taking a sip of tequila.

"Moran died," he said quietly, picking up his glass and taking a large swallow of tequila, closing his eyes and sighing. "The fucker."

"We should have been able to survive it. Better than this. You're one of the most powerful men in the world and I'm a seductress who made her living off of toying with the hearts of others. This happening to us, it doesn't make sense," she muttered, giving another sigh.

"No. But none of it makes sense. Him giving a damn about you doesn't make any sense. Your putting up with his shit doesn't make any sense. Him being... He and I... Nothing makes sense." He downed his tequila and reached out to pour another.

She took it a little more slowly. She'd already been drinking today. Her alcoholism was back in full swing, and she planned to keep it that way. "I miss him. I miss his cooking. I miss the way he smelled like gunpowder and spices. I miss how tall he was. And god do I miss the sex."

He was silent for a while, considering all of that. "I miss him, too," he said finally, his voice quiet, but sure. "He was important."

"I just... I miss everything about him. Even his damn fucking resistance to help. The way he shut down sometimes. Even though that didn't happen much anymore. I think the last time was when I was jealous of you. Didn't help that you fucked him in an alley to get back at me. Uncool," she shook her head, though it was obvious she couldn't bring herself to care anymore. She didn't have room to be angry with Jim.

He shrugged. "He was mine before he was yours. You're lucky I let you have any of him at all. But you... had your uses. So you stayed." He sighed.

"Hey, I fucked him first, I had the claim on that frontier," she snorted, then chuckled and downed some more tequila. "Seriously, what's even the point of being pretty again now that he's gone? I don't care what anyone thinks of me now. I don't care if I'm desirable. There's no point without him."

He shrugged. "It's only been a few months. I've been told this... sensation... goes away eventually. Or at least lessens. You'll find a reason. I personally recommend revenge, it works well."

"It's not lessening. I'm dealing with it, on the outside. I grit my teeth and do what I have to. But every day is worse. It hurts more. It's agony and I can't escape it. Fuck," she shook her head, and finished her glass, leaning forward and pouring herself another. "I don't care about revenge. Once I find who did it, what then? Killing them won't fill the empty space in my bed. It won't bring him back. It will only remove another connection he has to this world. He'll be further away."

He snorted. "I don't plan to kill them. I plan to keep them alive until the day I die. I'm going to weld them into shackles and spend every day inventing new ways to torture them. And I am going to enjoy it." His eyes were alight, for just a moment. Then he sighed through his nose. "It's only been four months. You'll find someone else eventually."

She laughed. "Christ. Moran was the only person I ever found. How old am I? I've lost so much time in captivity, I can't remember. Thirty, maybe, a little less? I've only ever loved Sebastian. At one point I thought maybe Armetti... but I left him the first time I disagreed with him. That wasn't love. That was me being in a non-abusive relationship for the first time and thinking it was love. Who else will there ever be?"

"Why, for the love of Christ, are you asking me that question, Harrison? I don't give a shit about people. That's who I am. So this whole thing is very much out of my comfort zone." He sounded very irritated.

"You told me there would be someone else. I'm disagreeing," she sighed, giving a depressed look to her glass. "I don't know. I'm lost."

"I've noticed." He took a slow breath. "Well. You can come here. When you're lost. No sense in you going somewhere idiotic or dangerous." He topped off his drink.

Her eyes flicked up to him, a dull curiosity to them. "You said yourself you don't know what to do with me. I'm not rejecting the offer, but it sounds like an inconvenience to you."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Inconvenient, maybe, but more interesting. I need a break from the revenge business every once in a while."

"Alright," she shrugged, as if there was nothing to do about it. "I apologize in advance for when I get too drunk and try to fuck you. That's a depressing inevitability."

"Don't apologize," he said, sipping his tequila. "Who knows. Maybe I'll agree. Like I said. I need a break."

She cast her eyes around the room, lingering on the messier piles of papers. "Yeah, I think I'll have to agree with that."

He considered her for a while, before he said, "Do you want to fuck, Harrison? Because I think if I had another drink or two, I could decide that was an acceptable idea."

She considered him right back. Would it be the same as the couple of threesomes they had had, back when the third piece of them wasn't missing? Even if it wasn't... "I'm not going to say no."

He nodded, downing his drink and reaching for the bottle to refill. "Well, then, let's see where this evening goes." The idea of companionship was, for once, a touch appealing. Moran had been one thing. That was anger and frustration and dominance. But this...

James Moriarty seeking comfort. Jesus, I'm becoming laughable.

This was the most contractual-feeling rebound fuck she'd ever agreed to, but that didn't make the idea any less appealing. He was the closest thing she would ever get to having Sebastian again, and she knew it. She followed his suit and downed the rest of her glass before refilling it again. "Is this week's bodyguard still alive?"

"No, and I'm going to have to replace this rug. It's taken a beating. Cleaning can only do so much." He tilted his head back, tired. "They're all useless."

She didn't think he'd like her bringing up the fact that him telling her to move on was hypocritical, so she didn't, just nodded and took another drink. There had been a couple of competent people in Jim's office since he had started looking for a replacement, but Jim had killed them anyway. "I hate to do this to myself, but maybe bringing Armetti here is what needs to happen. He's not Moran, but no one is. Maybe you can live with him."

He shook his head, took a breath. "That man is trying to be me, and failing miserably. I need someone different enough from me to present opposing ideas, excellent with tactics and security, imposing if I need them to be, unassuming and invisible if I require..." He stopped talking and drank instead. "I want to find his body."

She raised her eyebrows, looking a little pale. "Moran's? Why? I don't want to acknowledge its even out there, let alone see it."

"Proof," he said, eyes hard. "Bloody confirmation." There were too many ways to fake a death. His mind came up with more daily. It was eating him alive.

She downed the rest of her glass, which was a good amount, and grimaced. "Alright, well, I can't stop you. But if you find it... I don't think I want to be involved."

He nodded absently, and considered the rest of his glass. He downed it in one go, then stood, setting the glass down almost delicately. He walked around the table, considering Harrison for a moment... before he reached down and got two fistfuls of her shirt, hauling her up out of the chair and kissing her roughly as he shoved her back against the wall.

She had a moment of startled surprise where getting her feet under her was difficult, then she grabbed ahold of Jim's forearm for leverage and dragged him closer, giving as good as she got, teeth clashing against his.

He kissed her ravenously, doing his best to lose himself in the feeling of teeth and tongue and stolen breath. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it against the wall next to her head, his body pressing against hers roughly, with not a hint of restraint or decorum. He wanted this to be harsh, he wanted this to hurt.

She let out something resembling a moan at his rough handling, every sudden longing to be touched from the past months welling up at once in a violent fashion. She didn't fight to free her wrist, her other hand twisted in his shirt, pulling him against her further while she kissed him back fiercely, not shy to bite him when she needed a breath. She could come close to feeling crushed, craved it, even, but she wanted the full effect to be in the midst of fucking, not the foreplay.

He snarled as she bit into him, and reached down to unbuckle his trousers and get them out of the way. His hands shifted to her legs, and he shoved the skirt she was wearing up her legs, hands finding her thighs and gripping them with bruising strength as he continued his snogging war.

Her nails dug into his abdomen through his shirt for a moment before she let go and slid her hand downward to squeeze him through his pants, her heart pounding in her head, Jim's breath hot on her lips. She wanted to fuck him now, immediately, damn the lack of preparation. She wanted it to hurt, to make her draw red lines on him with her nails. She needed to feel an ache that wasn't in her fucking chest.

He didn't bother pretending that he couldn't read her signals. He shoved his pants out of the way and reached up to push her knickers aside, and then he pushed into her without pause, snarling and tilting his head to sink his teeth into her neck, breaking skin and tasting blood as he started moving.

"Fuck," she hissed, nails ripping at his shirt as she worked to adjust, though the pain satisfied some need at her core that she couldn't truly explain, her back arching off the wall and fighting with him for a moment before giving in again.

He was relentless in the face of her clawing and thrashing. He could still feel the need pouring out of her every pore, matching his own. He was wrath and desperation and starvation, and all of that drove every movement he made as her blood coated his tongue and his hips crashed and bucked mercilessly against hers.

She pushed his shirt up, fingers finding bare skin and not hesitating to leave scores across his hips, teeth finding his shoulder and biting down through cloth until she needed to breathe again and she had to break away, panting, a desperate moan leaving her throat. To anyone else this would have looked like a hate fuck. She didn't care. She just wanted to feel.

He wasn't in the mood for drawing things out. Everything was immediate and full throttle. Her nails and teeth bit into him, leaving stars of pain to burn in his mind, cold light in hot darkness. His body leapt towards climax. He could feel it burning in him, and just let it drive him on. The wall was thudding and creaking in protest, and they were both going to have bruises.

She could feel his end approaching, and she knew better than to try and slow him down, and knew if she didn't catch up she would be left unfulfilled. She moved against him with more purpose, grinding against him, desperate and hungry, trying to take all she could from him before he was done with her.

He could feel the redoubled effort, and didn't question, just reached between them with knowledge born more of clinical expertise than a lover's experience to find her clitoris with deft fingers, pressing and rubbing with his rough movements, determined to bring her over with him. He wanted to feel her come, wanted that bare rush of energy, of power and weakness all hurled together in a blast of heat.

She gasped as he catapulted her over the edge, drawing blood on his sides, the shock of energy that flowed up her spine rendering her speechless, before it reached the base of her skull and dissipated back downwards.

He pulled out of her a split second before he came, the orgasm tearing through him with the same brutal energy he had fed it. He bit into her shoulder this time, not quite breaking skin as he let out a roar of frustration and pent up aggression that had nothing to do with the sex.

He felt himself relax slowly, and eventually let his muscles unclench, teeth leaving her skin. But he didn't pull away. He didn't want to, for the moment. He remained pressed against her, gripped her tightly.

It was just the span of a few seconds, before he finally stepped back, letting her gain her feet. He took a slow breath, then turned around and headed back to his desk, fixing his trousers.

She slid down to the floor as he returned to his desk, a puddle of spent energy, just taking a moment to gather herself. Her thighs were trembling a little from the sudden exertion, and her neck stung where he'd opened it with his teeth. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we have unresolved anger issues with one another," she snorted, when she had the breath.

"Hilarious," he muttered, sinking into his seat and inspecting his sides under his jacket. Blood was staining his white shirt. He sighed, but didn't bring it up. "You have a point, however. We should attempt to resolve that more regularly."

"I assume you don't mean by talking about it," she said, standing, bringing a hand up to touch the bite on her neck. "Either way, I don't care, I'll do it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go shower. I don't enjoy being... sticky."

He nodded, waving her off. He was going to do the same as soon as she left. He was similarly... sticky. He watched her go, then stood, walking through to his flat, going to take a shower. He undressed, looking over the marks left on his body. The scratches on his sides burned, and he let them.

Fuck you, Moran. Fuck you.

She started crying as soon as she stepped into the shower, months old grief welling up and combining with guilt. It didn't make sense, but she felt like she'd done something wrong, fucking Jim. Like she'd moved on in some aspect. But in another... if she was going to fuck anyone, Sebastian would have approved most (if not only) of Jim. But the grief came from the idea that she'd accepted some part of his death, if she could even think about moving on.

She sat under the stream and just let the water clean her out.

Playlist: Sia - Cellophane