This is a bit off a split-off story, it is relevant don't worry, AND CONTAINS MOR/MOR.
I'm just giving Moriarty (and Sebastian) some back story since he just appears in Chapter 4. ENJOY!
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Leaning against the rail, Benedict watched the steady roll of the sea and inhaled its cool scent. He listened to the constant rumble of conversation that surrounded him, the deep laugh of colleagues, the high-pitched teasing between girls, the shouts of children as they ran past him. He smiled; they were so blissful and unaware.
Despite the events that were soon to transpire, he'd found the case had been similar wherever he'd gone. People kept living, he would briefly enter and leave their lives, and they'd go on. Not knowing what his presence meant. His skin had developed into a dark tan as he had made his way through Africa, Spain and France and now he was on his way to the British Isles, to meet his new boss.
Perhaps it was because of the time he'd spent with these idle, simple creatures but he felt happy, sensations as simple as smell and touch and sight now fulfilled him in ways he had never imagined possible before. A breeze lifted his long hair and he revelled in its fresh caress against his warm neck.
"Hey!" A cry alerted him back to himself and he twisted in time to see a hat flying in the air, about to fly off the ship and into the emerald sea. In a smooth motion he stepped forward and caught in one hand, bringing it under his control.
A young woman was staring at him in surprised awe, she blushed as he gazed at her. He pressed out the brim, about to speak.
"Thank you, that's my hat. That was amazing, your reflexes are amazing, you're..." The woman stopped herself, her cheeks reddening as she spluttered words, eyes wide.
"It's no problem. Here." Benedict placed the hat on her head, tipping it so he could still see her eyes.
They were brown and bright, and so very big.
"Thank you, again. Um, look, would you like to have a drink with me?" She was barely breathing, her words jumping over each other so they didn't have time to back out. Benedict grinned, chuckling, he was used to this, the way people seemed to forget how to function around him.
"Sure. I'd love to." He nodded, stepping away from the rail and into her personal space. She shivered and he felt the warmth of her flesh against his, the blood in her cheeks looked vibrant. Her hair was shiny and fashioned, her figure a curvy picture of health. She was going to be a wonderful snack.
….
"In America, they've already made large progress with foodstuffs, and though they are still refining the final product, they already have contracts with large corporations around the world ready to use it in their products. And what do we have?" A skinny man, with blonde curly hair, shouted at the board of employees. His eyes flicked menacingly to a short, moustached man who was carefully reading his notes.
"Dave, I said 'what do we have?'" Dave looked up abruptly at his name, gulping down his obvious fear, the same thought at the forefront of his mind as everyone else.
"Well, sir, we've been testing a new drug. It's been going pretty well, I think with a bit more time it could have no side effects unlike the version they made in America."
"What side effects are there now?" Tom leaned forward, into Dave's space. Dave tried not to retreat but Benedict could almost see the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. It made him glad he was only security, killing was instinct, but science was something they'd never had in Purgatory.
"Er, lack of movement, sir. They seem paralysed which would cause suspicion, I suppose and make loading and breeding a bit harder but with a few more trials this should be taken care of." Dave babbled, Tom's eyes glinted and Benedict could feel the hunger. Everybody was always hungry, they all wanted results.
"Just a bit longer!" Dave squealed and that was the last straw. Tom's mouth widened until it covered his whole face and a couple of seconds later, Dave was gone.
"Chris, take over. I want to see improvements by tomorrow." Tom said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. A tall, muscular guy nodded and was already leaving, taking a patrol of other scientists with him.
"Emma, I want to see more contracts by tomorrow. , TESCO, McVities, Hellmanns, Walkers." Tom listed them off, glaring at a red-headed woman who was writing them all down hurriedly.
"Benedict, a word. Everyone else get back to work." Tom clapped his hands at them all but the tension in the room had lowered slightly; hopefully Tom wouldn't be in the mood to eat anyone else for the rest of the day. Benedict walked forward stiffly from the back of the room, he had mostly been ignored since his arrival so this was unexpected.
"I hear you've done some research, mingled with the cattle and gained some insight. Anything come of it?" Tom was sitting down, leaning back into his chair, his face relaxed and temporarily satisfied.
Benedict nodded, he had gained so much from his experience. He had been waiting to be asked this ever since he arrived so he was ready.
"Yes, sir. I learnt a surprising amount. In Africa, a huge percentage of the population is malnourished and depends on 'subsistence farming' where they make their own food, and veganism is becoming a growing trend in the Mediterranean cultures. This means we cannot just rely on poisoning their processed food, but we need to get the drug into their systems another way. Also I experienced a different kind of hunting to how we were used to in Purgatory which I thought would also be a more exciting way of dealing with these humans. We can fence them in in a reserve, and hunt them down, they can't escape and we get a thrilling hunt out of it. This would probably be more appropriate for Africa and South America. I also became an expert in much weaponry as was requested." Benedict felt a rush of adrenaline as he remembered hunting; it had been like being back in Purgatory. Of chasing after his prey, knowing of the chance it could outmanoeuvre him or get in a shot of its own, but knowing deep down he was the master tracker and predator. And he had found it was even better using weapons, stalking through the grass, aiming using a sniper rifle, watching the shock and confusion play out before the person died. That ranger was still the best human he'd had so far.
"Ah, that is useful. We need to consider the groups of people who we can't target using Sucrocorp and Lovely Jubbly. Perhaps we can contaminate the water supply." Tom nodded, liking this idea.
"But what about the reserve idea?" Benedict pushed as far as he dare.
"That is not up to me but since you've done an adequate job I will ask Dick what he thinks of it. You may leave now, Benedict." Benedict nodded, walking towards the door, but before he could leave Tom spoke up.
"One last thing, you can put your weaponry skills to test. A 'Mr. Moriarty' has been researching our facility a little bit too much for my comfort, I wish for you to dispose of him in a way that looks realistic. Do your research first."
"Of course." Benedict bowed his head, leaving the room and already cherishing the look on Mr. Moriarty's face as he keeled to the floor. Living and healthy one second, dead the next. The power held in one gun but then again, maybe he wouldn't use a gun; there were so many ways to kill humans.
…..
James Moriarty got home at 11.14pm, removing his gloves and long overcoat onto the wooden coat-stand by the door. He was alone. Benedict thought it was a large house for someone who lived alone but soon it wouldn't matter.
He flung two cutlery knives, pleased when they stuck fast into Moriarty's shoes. They should have gone right through his toes. But there was no cry of pain, no collapsing to the floor in anguish.
James merely looked up to the top of the staircase, where Benedict was lurking in the dark.
"Who's there?" Benedict didn't answer. Moriarty's voice wasn't even trembling, not even slightly shocked.
"Neat trick, that." Moriarty smirked, pulling the knives from his shoes slowly. Benedict saw no trace of red. James grimaced at them, then back at the stairs.
"They're Timberland, you know, and you ruined them with cutlery." Moriarty rubbed the back of his head, as if he couldn't bear the thought of having to get new shoes.
"Get on your knees." Benedict growled, he had not been planning on this. He hadn't expected this at all.
"Or you'll shoot me? These are Westwood, you know." Moriarty stuck his hands in his pockets, calmly walking forward, no doubt trying to see him better.
"I will shoot." Benedict was already pointing his rifle at James's head.
"And when I get on my knees? Shoot me then too?" Benedict frowned; nobody normally thought to ask him what he was going to do to them. They were usually too busy crying.
"No. You were stabbed several times when you caught two burglars in your home." Benedict watched Moriarty carefully.
"They got past my security cameras and decrypted my burglar alarm?" Moriarty looked up, seemingly right up at him though he knew it was too dark to see.
"Cut off the electricity." Benedict smiled; enjoying this prey despite the lack of hunt.
"I'd put up a fight against burglars, why would I be on my knees?" Moriarty narrowed his eyes, Benedict started to doubt whether it really was dark enough. Not that he was wearing anything that could give him away.
"They caught you off-guard, whacked you round the head." To emphasize his point, Benedict lowered the rifle and picked up a china bowl.
"How are you going to do that?" Moriarty leered, backing away. Benedict fired the bowl at his head, it cracked satisfyingly against his skull and Moriarty fell to his knees, holding his bleeding forehead.
"Oh, nice. Using all of my fancy china, are we?" Moriarty mumbled, but remained where he was, bleeding on his cream carpet.
Benedict stood up, taking a dagger from his belt, and headed downstairs.
"You don't shut up, do you?" Benedict sneered, checking the other doors, making sure there weren't people lurking in corners but no, he'd disabled all the cameras. This was to be the end of James Moriarty.
"I always aim to be a good host." Moriarty chuckled weakly and then Benedict was lifting his head by his hair. Moriarty winced, eyes scrunched tight.
"Well, you can know you served me well in death." Benedict smiled, twirling the dagger. Where first? He wondered, burglars would want to be quick, would be panicking.
"They'd probably go for the shoulder or stomach first. They're inexperienced, worried." Moriarty suggested, blinking eyes at Benedict.
Benedict raised an eyebrow but agreed, he'd go for a quick stab in the shoulder first. He felt Moriarty tense beneath him then there was a fist in his face, hitting him squarely in the nose. He shook it off, grinning. Moriarty sniffed, and when Benedict looked down there was a handgun pressed into his chest.
"Feel like telling me why my death is so important?" Moriarty snarled, jabbing the gun in harder.
Benedict felt rage welling in him, the prey should never be allowed to surprise its predator. Not one such as him.
"No." Benedict whipped the gun away as if swatting a fly and then stabbed him in the shoulder, hard, feeling a release when Moriarty cried out, his whole body lifting and spasming in pain. As Benedict pulled the knife free, he slumped, more blood spilling on his carpet.
Moriarty wasn't able to speak this time, his breathing was shallow and obviously painful.
"I think I prefer it when you can't speak." Benedict said, about to go for the stomach this time when sirens were suddenly going off and the door was being kicked in. Benedict ran for the stairs but the police were already there, pointing guns.
"Stay where you are!" The policeman shouted, edging closer.
Benedict smiled, bringing his arm from behind, and spearing each man in the throat with a fork.
The forefront policeman dropped his gun, and collapsed on the ones behind. Benedict was gone by the time they looked up.
….
For the first time Benedict was unsure. He was lying on the roof of the building opposite the main hospital block, waiting. His finger on the trigger, ready for the slightest movement.
But nothing was happening, his thoughts drifted as an hour slipped by. He had failed his task, and Tom would not look kindly on his failures. He had to kill Moriarty before his failure turned into a disaster.
He could not return to Tom until Moriarty was dead, otherwise he might as well bib himself, but Moriarty was now in a hospital, protected by his own security and he had proven he wasn't going to be an easy target.
He eyed the brick building containing his prey. His original plan had been ruined. Moriarty would have told the police that someone had tried to kill him, to make it look like a break-in. But then Moriarty himself was a suspicious character, they would never suspect Benedict's boss – there was no obvious link – and Moriarty couldn't tell them his own thoughts for chance of them discovering his own illegal dealings.
And Moriarty didn't know who was trying to have him killed. There was something in this, Benedict mused, aiming his Norinco QBU-88 rifle through the window into James's room.
Moriarty was not stupid; the bed could not be seen. This was frustrating and he felt the urge to shoot the doctor who walked in at that moment. But that would do him no good. He was so hungry.
He popped the rifle down. He just had to find a way to kill this infuriating man.
Benedict shook his head, taking out a spoon he had stolen from Moriarty's home. He studied it, it seemed to be nothing special, like any other spoon but when he tried, he struggled to bend it. A flash of that calm, bemused face ran through his head and he cracked the spoon in half. He saw the knives impale his feet and the man moan about his shoes, how he seemed to see him in the dark. Was he a demon? Another monster? But he smelt like a human. He had been as weak as a human when he'd fought back. Yet when he'd stabbed him there hadn't been the usual stink of fear, the man had even suggested where he stab him. Benedict threw the broken spoon to the floor, and aimed the rifle again.
Various plans roamed his mind, most involving adopting a new form but the boss was against this unless it was an emergency. Rule #1 "We are not to draw attention to ourselves." He had already gone over his time limit, breaking anymore rules would only get him bibbed. He would wait it out then, Moriarty would need the toilet, to move. And by his research, Benedict figured Moriarty didn't like to be around other people long which could work to his advantage. A criminal consultant.
What was he doing looking into a food industry – specifically Lovely Jubbly: world's healthiest oils? Benedict shrugged, was not part of his job to find out, just to kill.
…..
Moriarty didn't show himself all day. Benedict wondered if he had the right room but that was where he'd seen him go, if only his bodyguards hadn't got in the way he could have had this done hours ago.
Benedict found it harder to concentrate as the hours passed by, he needed to eat, he hadn't eaten since that young lady on the ferry. The thought made his mouth water.
Tracey Hollow had been her name; she had been going home to see family. She wanted to have drinks, but she was clumsy, she had dropped her glass and tried to tidy it up. Then she had cut her skin. Red had dropped onto the floor, she had looked up, her cheeks flaming. He had drawn her close, sucking in her smell, and then proceeded to delicately lead her to her room as if she would collapse without him. They always liked it when he did that, showed affection and handled them as if they were his. What they didn't know was that they were, just not in the way they hoped.
He'd kissed her, deep and long, and she'd kissed him back. Soon enough, clothes were a thing of the past and he'd had her draped over his chest instead. But the proximity of her nude skin, the smell of her sweet flesh drove him over the edge. And a second later he had a fist through her chest.
She'd blinked at him and then her eyes had faded into a distant blankness, a shuddering breath echoing around his arm. He had taken his time to enjoy her, leaving no trace of Tracey Hollow's existence once he'd finished licking his fingers.
Briefly, he wondered what Moriarty would taste like but despite his hunger, Moriarty was not his choice meal, too skinny, would probably taste bitter too.
Benedict put the rifle down, stretching his limbs, catching sight of a large, busty woman hobbling to her car. He looked back to Moriarty's room; it had been still except for the occasional movement of a bodyguard and the visit of nurses.
But no, this wasn't just his job, this was who he was. He didn't leave, besides it would violate Rule #1 too. He was about to pick the rifle back up when a black van that had been parked here all day started to move, he frowned.
His gut instinct told him that the only black van in a hospital car-park would be the one waiting for someone like Moriarty. But surely, he hadn't snuck out when Benedict was watching, unless there was another door in the room or when he'd stopped looking for one second. Benedict scowled; of course, it could be a lure away too.
He did not like it when his food was clever.
He aimed his gun, and fired. A quick jerk and the bullet was lodged in the wheel, the van sank and skidded to the left, still trying to drive. Benedict smirked, putting another bullet in the back wheel. The van came to a stop, drooping, a blue mini beeped at it from behind. After a few seconds, a woman got out, her face puzzled but impatient.
She knocked on the blacked out windows, Benedict immediately considered her a fool. But whatever she was, she sped things along. A brawny guy jumped out, definitely not James or one of his bodyguards. Benedict scowled, looking back to the window, just as a bullet shot past his ear. In an instant he was down and jumping onto the adjacent tree. He pulled his rifle with him and pushed as many branches over him for cover as possible, while still trying to see.
Another man had gotten out of the van, aiming a long range handgun at his wall, and the woman had ran back to her car, reversing rapidly backwards and away, other people were following her cue. Well, if Moriarty had needed a distraction he had it.
Benedict taped his rifle to the tree, it would not do to be seen with it anywhere near here, and swung his way down the tree, dropping lithely to his feet. Moriarty would be in one of those vehicles and it was most likely those van men were his people.
He was prepared to go and beat his anger into someone when he saw a swarm of police cars driving past. He paused; they weren't heading for him, but that many police cars weren't just for an accident. He frowned, and just after Moriarty presumably made his getaway?
He had nothing to go on, Moriarty could be anywhere now. So, he jogged down to his cheap Ford and began to follow the police.
…
"Stay away! It's dangerous around here!" A policeman shouted at him as he walked closer but he didn't need to go any further. The block of flats in front of him was smoking, blackened at one floor by an explosion. There were already several black body bags littering the street.
He immediately started back to his car, Moriarty was a crime consultant. He didn't like to be exposed, blowing an inhabited building up didn't seem like him unless this was part of something else.
He slid into the old fiesta, grabbing his laptop from the passenger seat. He flipped it open, taking a solid minute to find the 'on' button. The screen lit up and did a sing-song tune, really loudly. He winced, putting it back while it started up, all happy colours and swirling motions.
He took out a sausage roll instead, designed by his boss; it contained the remains of the people from the nearby hospital. Co-incidentally, the hospital their surgeons worked in.
It didn't taste great but it took the edge off his hunger. It was gone before he even tasted it. He sighed, he was so hungry. Perhaps after he had done this, he would be rewarded with a feast. If he was gone long enough, they may have even finished the serum.
He grins at that, then no more hunger ever again.
"Let's see what Mori's up to then." Benedict plopped the slim-line laptop on his lap again, going straight to the inter-net. It went to a site called Google, what he deemed as a miracle when nobody was around. Humans may generally just be clueless idiots with really tasty flesh but some of the things they had made were beyond him.
He clicked on UK News and scrolled down, instantly finding an article that had 'Consulting Criminal' all over it. Before yesterday he would have been lost about what to look for but after his research, a quick chat with a contact saying he wished to divert a special package, and he'd been given on to a load of other contacts before eventually a cargo ship captain was on the line, talking in a computer-enhanced voice about his new destination. He'd hung up. Moriarty's network was vast, there seemed to be little he couldn't do. So an article about a TV presenter's death due to tetanus in her Botox injections seemed pretty much in his street, in fact he was starting to wonder if any death could really be considered natural with a guy like Moriarty in the world. He read it:
It was previously thought that Connie Prince died due to tetanus after cutting herself on the hand with a rusty nail however through further research; Scotland Yard has confirmed that Raoul de Santos, her brother's manservant, committed the murder by increasing the dosage of her Botox injections.
He narrowed his eyes, Scotland Yard. Why would they bother putting that much attention into an unsuspicious death? What was Moriarty doing?
He clicked 'return' and kept scrolling. The next one he came across had been buried, he almost missed it.
Janus Cars - an agency that arranges people to disappear. He double-clicked.
Ian Monkford, previously suspected dead, is now thought to be in Columbia after Scotland Yard discovered Janus Cars had arranged his "death". Due to financial issues, Ian –
Benedict smirked, that was definitely something Moriarty would be behind. It just didn't make sense why it was being uncovered; James didn't strike him as someone to leave prints behind.
He returned, and looking back at the smoking building tried a different tactic.
Recent explosions in London
Despite the vague wording, sites instantly turned up including:
BBC NEWS | Special Reports | london explosions
He explored the site, finding a 'gas leak rupture' on Baker Street, damaging many properties including 221B, the owner Sherlock Holmes was inside at the time but unharmed.
Sherlock Holmes
The Science of Deduction came up and the first words on the page were:
I'm Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective.
And Benedict didn't need to know anymore. It was a game. Moriarty was playing a game with a Sherlock Holmes.
He grinned, finally. He had him again.
….
221B Baker Street was next to a Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Café, it was a white house with a black door and that was all that Benedict could see.
There were no cars outside, and living in the city of London most likely meant Sherlock Holmes didn't use one. This had meant improvisation on Benedict's part, so now he was sitting in a black cab. He'd taken it from a Pakistani; he'd looked old and lonely, probably keeping it as a job even after retirement as his pension couldn't last him. In fact, that was exactly the case.
Benedict squirmed, trying to get used to his new skin. He already missed his old body but a job was a job and if that meant a new skin then he'd do what he had to, and time was running out, one body wouldn't hurt.
He'd just watched a short, blonde man walk out the apartment, while he'd been innocently reading today's news, and past him, but his objective was tall, brunette and skinny. Not too different from Moriarty really.
At that thought, the black door opened and a man sprang outwards. He looked tall, perhaps it was the trenchcoat though, and he had brunette curls that bounced as he fell to a stop and waved at the cab as if it were there only to serve him. Benedict dropped the newspaper to the side, quickly working the gears so he was in front of Sherlock.
"Where to?" He asked in a London accent. Sharp cheekbones, pale face, quick eyes. Yep, this was the one.
"Cally Swimming Pool, Islington." Sherlock stated, sitting in the backseat.
"Sure thing." Benedict's new brain immediately had the location nailed, the quickest route calculated and how much money he would make. He started up, barely having to look at the steering wheel anymore. It was strange considering he could barely drive his Ford safely an hour ago.
He watched Sherlock, he seemed anxious but excited, like he was full of energy that he was keeping scarcely contained. He kept staring out the window, a big smirk on his face. Benedict presumed he thought he'd won the game.
For some reason, this annoyed him. He kept it to himself though, he wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to be killing Moriarty, not thinking about his stupid game.
His new brain discouraged him, shunning staring at customers, especially Sherlock, and instead to concentrate on the road. This sparked Benedict's intrigue, he rummaged through the messy desk that was the cabbie's mind and scavenged through the scrawled, handwritten notes.
Sherlock was a master at his trade, anti-social, and had never travelled with others before the arrival of his room-mate. He didn't like talking unless it was for a point; something the cabbie had hastily learned when Sherlock had practically attacked him with curt, short answers when he'd tried to be friendly. Now, the cabbie shared a somewhat relationship with the man, staying around the area, able to pick him up if he needed and giving him the quiet, quick journeys he wanted in exchange for notes that Sherlock didn't look at before giving them over which usually meant they were a lot more than he asked for. This made him slightly resent his room-mate who guarded their money more than Sherlock.
He speeded up a one way street, doing an absurd speed, Sherlock didn't look bothered. Benedict pushed himself, loving the way he could expertly squeeze between the cars littering the road, this man should have been a drag racer.
They were getting closer to their destination now, the roads were smaller, the cars more numerous. He just kept thinking how close he was to finishing the job, and that he wouldn't be able to finish it the way it deserved to end. It was almost disappointing.
Benedict had to slow up a tad as he drove between a lorry and land rover. He pulled to a soft stop outside a flat, grey building. It didn't strike him as popular.
"Thanks. Wait here for me." Sherlock handed him a fifty though the meter only said £8.65 and dropped out, heading round the building to the door. Benedict watched him open it and disappear.
Time to finish the game.
….
It was the quietest fight ever witnessed*. It was fought ninja-style, chopping hands and feet, rapid punches to the stomach and throat and practically flying over each other as they dodged and weaved. There wasn't even any need for it, Benedict had no need to expend any energy but that didn't mean he didn't want to. He was a killer, a professional, and he liked to earn his status.
Despite his weak exterior, he had the strength and tolerance of a Leviathan, the first monster, something so powerful God, himself, locked it up. He revelled in this knowledge.
(*witnesses include Jerry the spider who took permanent residence in a small crack in the ceiling and the snipers doing the fighting. Anything else had had the senses to leave quickly, covering their eyes.)
He landed lightly on the floor, confident the fight was coming to a close. He turned and then he was stumbling backwards as if something had collided with him, his head rang, he felt uneasy. He looked down, taking steadying breaths. Black blood oozed from his heart, he frowned, catching the bullet as it was spat back out.
Looking back up, his prey wasn't finished; he shot again just as Benedict was throwing the bullet, it lodged straight in the throat of the sniper. He even choked soundlessly, Benedict had to applaud that. He took the brief moment of calm to hold his head, confused by the sudden onslaught of pain, but he couldn't wait any longer.
He stood up, hearing the clink as the other bullet fell from his forehead. He pondered this latest body, it was tall and flexible, he removed his mask, revealing blonde hair and a hard, lean face. It was muscled and if he had been human he would have said dangerous.
This body was flawlessly designed, it was meant for him, and Benedict saw it as the perfect reward for getting so far. Benedict grabbed his wrist, his body shifted, taking on its new form. He grimaced; it hadn't felt as easy as it usually did. He shook off the feeling, shoving Sebastian's body away. Sebastian, he tasted it. It was even better than Benedict.
He lay on the floor and eyed his target.
It was the short, blonde man he'd seen leave Sherlock's apartment. John Watson. His mind unravelled with information that he pushed back, he had to concentrate.
"People have died." Sherlock said, deadpan.
"That's what people DO." Moriarty shouted back, surprising Sebastian with his show of fury. It wasn't expected of someone who mocked his killer, it sounded like real raw emotion. This sparked something in his new memories, a flurry of motion that turned into a hurricane. He had to close his eyes to stop it overwhelming him, Moriarty biting his lip, shouting at him to obey orders desperately, refusing to give him his Polaroid camera back, sneaking a kiss when he was sleeping. Simple actions that had this body humming and sighing like a contented dog.
Sebastian shook his head, sneaking a glance at the body, something wasn't right. The memory trace never usually affected him physically, he was a Leviathan, much stronger than any pathetic thoughts of a human.
The memories subsided, playing in the background of his head, seemingly warming his chest. He focused back on the scene, he seemed to have missed something, Moriarty was talking.
"Huh? Oh. That. Missile plan." Moriarty kissed something in his hand as he took it from Sherlock then smiled, lifting his eyes to Sherlock's. Sherlock's gun was just centimetres from his face. Again, Sebastian couldn't smell even the barest hint of fear.
"Boring. I could've got them anywhere." Moriarty pulled a shocked face, throwing the missile plans into the water. In that moment John leapt on him, grabbing him so he couldn't escape. Sebastian frowned, the images got louder.
"Good! Very good." Moriarty crowed, Sebastian found his heart rate picking up, that Moriarty's nonchalant attitude relied on him so his next move determined Moriarty's fate. He should just shoot. Kill them all.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, we both go up." John hissed. He was right, it would be so easy. They'd all die, not even dental records could help the police. Yet he remained still, his finger not taking the final push. He was thinking about it, knowing all the logic but his body wouldn't move.
His heart felt like it was in his throat, images burning brightly in his eyes. He saw Moriarty taking him in, a soldier that had been left to rot in the street, and giving him new purpose. He watched as Sebastian had taken his job to new levels, become better and quicker than any other employee, his loyalty outshining any other. He had lived for Moriarty. He'd taken to falling asleep in Moriarty's presence, exhausted from working so long, and through that, coming to live with him.
They'd trusted each other completely without words to ever confirm it. Unlike others, they weren't scared of each other and it was something they both found fascinating, testing each other's limits daily. It felt so real, Sebastian couldn't turn it off.
Sebastian had a whole photo album just of random pictures of Jim, him sleeping, making tea, a picture of his bare back, Jim had tried more than once to dispose of his Polaroid camera and the photos but he never succeeded. In turn Moriarty annoyed him in the mornings with loud; awful modern music from his stereo usually accompanied by the retch-inducing smell of some meal or other, always keen to see how far Sebastian would follow an order. And Sebastian always surprised him, played along with his games and surpassed them. Earning him an almost equal status, of being able to backchat his boss, challenging Mori in ways others would never dare.
Sebastian sucked in a breath, trying to escape it, to concentrate enough to pull the trigger but he couldn't. His eyes were centred on Moriarty's head, the hair only he was allowed to fiddle with and even then to the infuriation of Jim, and the suit that Mori had asked his opinion on before they left. Sebastian found himself listening to his words as carefully as if it were his own boss.
"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around, but then people do get so sentimental about their pets. So touchingly loyal." This was his cue, shoot or don't. Without thinking he was moving the dot to rest against Sherlock's pale skin; he found his own skin was lined with sweat as if he had been fighting off a disease. He was breathing hard.
The conversation carried on but he couldn't process the words, he felt tired and bewildered, this wasn't supposed to happen. He had control, this was his vessel. But these memories that flooded him whenever he saw this human weren't normal, they were so powerful, so fixed and deep in an unnatural way that he doubted the human they had belonged to had had a sane mind. He had had one purpose. And so he couldn't kill it. This was a human who was a professional in being detached, of stopping himself relating the meat-suit to an actual person before he shot them in the head, and so when he had fallen, he hadn't just fallen he had dived from a high-speed plane, smashing into a million shards and then put back together again with only one thing to hold them together.
A ' '
…
Sebastian was driving a blue Honda, it wasn't his, just taken from the street by the swimming pool. But he had to get away, he hadn't been able to complete the job, he had to get a new vessel, something was wrong with this one. Even as he drove through the lane, he could see how Sebastian had arrived but he didn't want to, he wasn't supposed to.
He'd grab a homeless person, no-one would miss them, and he'd go back. Try again.
He breathed hard, imagining Tom's hands placing the bib on him, watching quietly and expectantly as he put his hand in his mouth and started to eat himself.
No. That wasn't how it was going to go. He'd run if he had to, fly, drive, or swim, anything but that.
He took a sharp turn, trying to fight down all his emotions. He'd never experienced them this intensely before, what was happening? What was going on?
There was no-one to go to though, he'd just be eaten for complaining too much. He drove through a tunnel, catching site of a bearded man in weathered clothes. He stopped abruptly, jumping out the car, and rushing over. The quicker it was done, the better.
Before the guy could protest, Sebastian pushed him against the wall with bone crushing strength and waited for his transformation to occur. Slowly he felt the presence of it crawl over his skin, but it got to his forearms and stopped, withdrew and retreated back.
"…what?" Sebastian hissed, smashing his fist beside the terrified man, he could smell the disgusting stench of his piss. Why wasn't it working?
He threw the man to the side, storming back to his car. It couldn't be the vessel, he'd taken a good number through his short time on this planet and it had always been the same. They were just meat-suits, used so they didn't scare the natives. They had no control; there was just a trace of what once had been, nothing else. Nothing like what was raging through him now. It felt like what he imagined as an infection.
He started driving again, tried to envisage killing Moriarty but the image caused his stomach to churn and his mind told him it wasn't logical. When it was, it was the only logical thing to do. But that was where his money came from; it offered an exciting, good living. He enjoyed it.
Sebastian gulped, he'd have to run. If the boss saw how limited and frayed he was, he'd only serve as a use on a dinner plate.
He speeded the Honda up. Africa was cool; he'd go back to Africa.
….
Airport food was crappy. Sebastian could say that much so far, this was his first time flying but not. Sebastian also had memories of flying far and wide to places like Russia and Sweden and little countries to the Far East. No matter where he went though, airport food was always crappy.
He still couldn't believe he'd been forced to this, he'd been through it in his head and he'd come to two conclusions. 1. Turns out if a Leviathan is shot in the heart he totally weakens considerably.
2. Something much larger than that had happened. As in to 'The Head'.
He was a lot more confident about this second idea, which meant that he should get to America as quickly as possible, a new Head would be needed or they'd be weakened indefinitely. With 'The Head' gone or in Purgatory or whatever had happened to him, they were less substantial. They weren't made to stay on Earth, this was not their plane of existence, Purgatory was. They were weaker here unless something pulled them together, the best of them all. And he was determined to be that Leviathan, he was sick of being a minor. He could pull them through this and up to better, greater heights. He took another bite of his burger, swallowing down the warm, chewy flesh. It really wasn't appealing.
"What are you thinking about, sweetpea?" Sebastian grew cold, he felt even his memories coil and bear their fangs slightly. This guy may have been his boss, but he was also annoying. There was nowhere he could go.
He turned to see Moriarty lounging in the chair behind him, sipping at a tea. Moriarty raised an eyebrow.
"Hm? You left rather abruptly earlier, and took someone else's property, poor pet, bet they're worried. And then you go and buy a ticket to America, without me?" Jim whined, looking falsely hurt.
"Are we breaking up, buttercup?" Moriarty leaned closer, blinking anxiously.
"Stop with the names. I have other work, you know." Sebastian leaned away, hating the fact he couldn't carry any good weapons through security.
"Like what, honey-pie?" Moriarty frowned, taking another sip of tea.
"Like none of your business. Clients pay good money for privacy." Sebastian growled, what the hell was Mori doing here? He was getting in the way, again. He'd let him live, that was enough. Why was he being tested?
"I provide you with your clients; you weren't interested in anything in America." Mori smiled sweetly, taking a chip.
"I am now. Aren't I allowed to do anything by myself? I promise not to get hurt." Sebastian smiled back, he looked at his watch. His gate would be opening soon. He swallowed the last bit of burger.
"Oh, but what if you did? Good help is so hard to come by these days, sweetie." It wasn't obvious, but his tone was harder, his shoulders more tense. Sebastian felt he was wading in dangerous waters.
"Just give me a week. I'll be back. Just one week." Sebastian softened his tone, lifting himself to stand up. And falling back down. He frowned, Mori hadn't done anything, was just watching.
"What? James?" He growled, feeling his body going numb. His vision was whiting out.
"Don't call me James. I'll see you in the morning, teddy bear." Sebastian tried to bark a retort but his words faded out and he was lost.
…
"Carl Powers called me James." A voice murmured over the distinct hum of a plane's engine. Sebastian kept his breathing even, tried to keep up the illusion of sleep even as he dreamt of the different ways he could make Moriarty pay for messing with him.
He could tell he was facing away from Moriarty, his head and body turned awkwardly. There was a crick in his neck and his shoulder was stiff, which was a feeling he'd never experienced before. It was uncomfortable, he fluttered his eyelids just enough to see down into his lap, two gleaming rings of metal encircled his wrists snugly, preventing much movement.
Moriarty had handcuffed him.
"And then he drank some poison and a pool, and nobody called it me again. Funny that." Jim hummed, Sebastian imagined strangling him with his handcuffs but at a second glance he saw they were secured to the seat. Mori really didn't want him leaving.
"Breathings changed, though you're trying to hide it," Moriarty announced in a conversational tone, his former exasperation and fury gone completely. "I was told the drug would last the entire flight. Another starling for your scope, darling."
"Why..?" Sebastian sighed, rolling the word off his heavy tongue, straightening up and staring right ahead. He wouldn't give James the satisfaction of his full attention. Instead he analysed his whereabouts. The plane was large, and empty except for them, there were two rows of seats and a small table to his left with a stack of cigars resting in a pyramid heap. Or as Sebastian saw it: They were thousands of feet in the air; there were no sharp items nearby, and no witnesses. "Why couldn't you just leave me?"
"You work for me." Moriarty flicked out his phone, "did you know-"
"No, damn it!" Sebastian turned to face him with a snarl, his brows low over his eyes and his shoulders tense, straining against the handcuffs. "This isn't a game, Moriarty! I have to go to America, I have to do other things!"
Finally, that smile of smugness and spark of frivolous light was wiped clean from Jim's face. Something horrible and dark took its place, worthy of a Purgatory native, and Jim leaned slightly forward, his eyes saucers and his lips a straight line.
"It is what I say it is, Sebastian Moran," he said, every syllable cutting. "The pieces are in motion; the game is in play and you…"
Here he brought his face very close to the marksman's.
"You, sparrow, are mine," he murmured.
Sebastian stiffened, his icy eyes narrowing, and Moriarty smiled at him a smile that was unlike anything he'd seen on a human. Sebastian felt himself understanding the emotions that were rushing through him at that look.
"We are going to America, just like you wanted, together." Moriarty shut his phone, shifting in his seat as if to ponder him. Sebastian didn't look away.
"I have two days, pebbles. Two days till the end." Moriarty almost sounded sombre at that. Sebastian shook his head, not understanding.
"Till the end of what?" He searched Sebastian's memory but Moriarty had never told him anything like this.
"Of me. Of everything I've made and become, maybe of you too." Moriarty smiled, as if this thought endeared him.
"What did you do, Moriarty?" Sebastian snarled, knowing Mori, he could be talking about the end of the world and how he accidentally sent plans to press a big, red button.
"9 years and 354 days ago, I made a deal with a time limit. A time limit of ten years, cherry." Mori smiled, showing teeth.
"What did you get?" A demon deal, well, now everything made a bit more sense. Though Mori had struck him more of a demon than of a client of one.
"Lots and lots of contacts, an empire of them. With one phone call, I could do anything. My own army of demons at my disposal, in a way." Mori eyed him at that, probably waiting for the sarcastic laugh at the mention of demons.
"Shut up." Which surprised even Moriarty. Enough to send his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. He drew back and cocked his head to the side, and Sebastian leaned against the chair with a snort.
"So for two more days, you have an army of demons at your disposal. This is brilliant. Perfect." Ideas swirled around Sebastian's head; if someone had killed the big, bad boss then he'd just been presented his chance to make the post his own. He looked down the handcuffs, they really were annoying.
"Yes, except they have their limits. While my soul is regarded highly, they weren't just giving me free control. You don't seem shocked, Sebby. Are you not telling me something?" Moriarty said pleasantly, and like a live wire Sebastian felt the hair along his arms stand straight up. He turned his head to look at the criminal, blue eyes cold. Jim tilted his head to one side with an unnatural tip, his dark eyes reflecting the ghostly light from above.
"It was either this or you were one, boss." Sebastian let the response leave him naturally, it came to his mind like a reaction and though he knew he hadn't thought of it, if it worked it was worth it.
"You don't dance with the devil without being dragged to hell, Sebby." It was a warning, a dare and a challenge. And none of them had ever stopped Sebastian before.
"Unless you can trip him up." Sebastian sneered, and raised his hands, spreading his wrists from one another and displaying the dismantled handcuffs.
"Hm," Moriarty eyes were half hooded and his elbows were propped up on the armrest. "You're even sexier than before."
"Just a quick learner," Sebastian grunted, standing up and turning to face Jim, there was only one way to kill 'The Head' and that involved a certain few bloods including one Moriarty would be very interested in, and could work very much in his favour too if he worked it well.
"Do you know of The Winchesters?" Sebastian leaned against the seat behind him, closing his eyes for a second as a wave of dizziness washed over him, the drug's effect wasn't completely gone then. What had Moriarty given him? Elephant tranquilizer?
"Yes, you don't have a horde of demons without certain names cropping up. I have one of my own with them, in fact." Moriarty stood up, his hand tracing his cheek, his lips, cupping his chin.
"You are full of surprises, you know that, sweetie. How do you know of them?" Sebastian would usually have to deal with the full throttle of his hunger at this touch but he didn't feel that, he felt a similar feeling but with a very different hunger.
"I can't tell you that. But I can tell you that if you phone your contact and ask about some blood, they may be very helpful." Sebastian eyed Mori, waiting for his response. Mori leaned closer into the already intimate space, his lips brushing his.
"Are you a demon?" He whispered.
"No." Sebastian pressed his lips against Jim's. His long arms winding round Jim's smaller body, drawing him closer.
"What are you, then?" Jim bit down on his lip, and Sebastian smirked at the tingle of pain.
"I'm Sebastian. Now stop asking questions." And then Sebastian was forcing his way into Jim's mouth and claiming him for his own. Their tongues twisted and became entangled, battling for supremacy, and never finding it. The kiss was more like cruelty than affection as they bit and clung to each other. Moriarty moaned, knotting his hands in his hair and bringing Sebastian closer, kissing him deeper.
Sebastian's heartbeat throbbed in his ears and his body pounded with adrenaline and suddenly he was cupping Jim's face roughly, tilting it up to him and opening his mouth further, sliding their tongues together. Jim's facial hair was unexpectedly coarse beneath his hands, his body warm and firm next to his. Jim's hands dropped down to Sebastian's hips, fingers dipping just into the waistband of his trousers. Sebastian quickly grabbed the left one and twisted his wrist roughly. Jim made a low noise in his throat and surged up against him, and the slight whimper was enough to send Sebastian reeling back, dragging his shirt off, and pinning Moriarty with his hips. Moriarty's fingers tracked over his collarbone and down his muscled chest, circling his nipples before enclosing his mouth around them and sucking. Sebastian gasped, rocking his hips into Jim and feeling their hard groins rub together.
Sebastian couldn't take it anymore; he needed to feel Moriarty's skin, the vulnerability of it so close to him. He'd never had this, always given into his hunger before he could truly enjoy these human sensations but this time was different, he craved Moriarty more than any food, he wanted him, wanted to keep him.
He tugged at his tight, blue shirt but Jim stopped him with a kiss, and Sebastian let him drag his fingers back over his head.
"No, tiger." He mouthed against his ear, kissing him again and then releasing Sebastian's hands as his mouth trailed its way down Sebastian's body. Jim bit him savagely on the neck, leaving a red, sore mark which made Sebastian growl and his hips lurch upwards. Moriarty's teeth grazed his skin as he grinned, and then he was kissing down his chest, and Sebastian's mouth grew dry as the anticipation made him wonder if he was going to lose it too quickly but this new body didn't let him down.
Jim pulled down his trousers, dragging them far away. Sebastian should have felt exposed and vulnerable but all he could see was Moriarty's lustful stare and all he could feel was the throbbing ache of his own longing. Jim licked his lips.
"Come here." Sebastian commanded huskily, drawing satisfaction from the way Jim obeyed, slinking to his knees like a snake. He wrapped his lips around the tip of Sebastian's dick and slowly, painfully slowly, took it all into his mouth. No longer able to control himself, Sebastian curled his fingers into Jim's hair and held him still while he thrust into the wet heat of Jim's mouth. Jim gave a groan, the rumbling hum of it causing Sebastian to emit his own moan while he increased his pace. As he felt himself teetering towards the edge of oblivion so much more intense than anything he'd thought possible, Mori took him in so far that he should have choked, Sebastian couldn't hold it any longer.
"Please, yes, Jim!" He groaned and threw his head back, he felt Moriarty swallow against his dick and then he was gone and moving back up to his face. Moriarty pulled his head upwards and they kissed, the taste of him still in Jim's mouth. Sebastian loved it, needed it more than any food, he stared into Moriarty's dark eyes and wondered if he'd met his match.
"Sebby..?" Jim stroked Sebastian's scars making him shiver. Moriarty had even put a few of them there.
"I don't think it's fair you are able to stay dressed, sir." Sebastian's hands snuck beneath his shirt, at the same time watching for Jim to say no. Images flickered behind Sebastian's eyes, this relationship was unpredictable, sometimes Moriarty was almost cuddly and other times he was smashing Sebastian against the counter.
"Well, we're both hiding something, aren't we?" Moriarty hissed icily against his ear and something cold and metallic slid between them. Sebastian reacted quickly though, grabbing his hand and pushing him back against the plane wall fluidly. He grabbed his other arm and held them above Moriarty's head, leaning forward to kiss him hard against the metal.
"Please, just trust me, sir." Sebastian drew his finger along Jim's still-clothed length. Deftly unbuttoning and unzipping the criminal's trousers, he slid a hand into his pants and palmed Jim's cock. It was hard, and long and his. Sebastian stroked in a swift, strong rhythm, feeling his spent dick twitching when Jim moaned and bit into his shoulder.
Jim rocked his hips against Sebastian's, vying for more friction, Sebastian hands worked quicker, watching as Jim's breath left him in gasps.
"I hate you, you know –" Jim growled, unable to finish his sentence as he came and spilled over Sebastian's hand. Sebastian kept him from buckling by wrapping his arms round him.
"I hate you too, boss."
"Take me to the seat." Jim purred, sighing as he came down from the sexual high. Sebastian obeyed, picking Mori up in his arms, and dropping him in the seat.
Jim leaned down, and pulled an unseen lever that made his chair pull up and extend into a bed.
Jim's eyelashes fluttered against his skin as he squeezed beside him. Moriarty was quiet for a moment, just tracing the scar that cut through his collarbone, his breath making the hairs on Sebastian's neck raise.
"Sherlock is heading to America too," Jim said flatly as if there was an obvious point. Sebastian said nothing, he was just enjoying the feeling of fulfilment, it wasn't exactly a common occurrence. Food never filled him up and jobs were thrilling but when they ended, they ended but this just kept going. The feeling of Jim next to him, the memory of lips, tongue and mouth all over him, even his fingers drawing along the scars of this body mesmerised him.
He wrapped an arm around his torso, pressing until there was no space between them. Moriarty was his.
"And that's where you need to go, and that's where the Winchesters are." Moriarty continued, unfazed by the contact.
"America's a big place. Anyway it's where we need to go now, Mori." Sebastian said gruffly.
"Mori?" Jim tilted Sebastian's head down using his finger, and Sebastian just laughed, the rumbles of it spreading through the whole bed.
"Am I not allowed to give you pet names?" Sebastian removed Jim's finger to take into his mouth but Jim pulled away.
"Not since you know things you are not supposed to." Jim's voice was hard but Sebastian would be bibbed before Jim could ruin this for him.
"You have two days, be grateful I do. Now, are you going to call your contact or not? Tick tock." Sebastian knew his pushing past the boundaries, Moriarty enjoyed showing him who was boss, he had been used to punishments almost daily when he'd first been employed under him. Knives held over fire, pouring acid into his wounds, eating gunpowder, he'd been his toy.
Sebastian ruffled Jim's hair, smiling when he flicked his hand away and pushed harder than necessary on his chest.
"I'm having a smoke first. Care to join me?" Moriarty stood up, leaving the bed feeling bare. Sebastian felt the crawling dislike the idea of a cigar triggered in his memories; he'd always preferred a good scotch.
"You know you'll end up having a boring death if you keep that up." Sebastian leered but Jim just shrugged, taking a cigar from the table and lighting it up. Sebastian could tell the demon thing was getting to him; the absence of a witty retort actually felt wrong.
Moriarty studied the brown length of the cigar, as if wondering just how insignificant it was now, and then sucked its tip. Sebastian's cock trembled. Moriarty could obviously see it as a smirk was now curling his lips.
"So what's so special about this blood, darling?" He walked back, straddling Sebastian's chest.
"Simple. The blood belongs to the King of Hell if the Winchesters are as good as their reputation precedes." Sebastian struggled not to cough as Moriarty blew smoke at him.
"The Winchesters, according to their psych records, believe they are two brothers who go around and kill monsters and started the apocalypse. If you refer to their documentations, they are also regenerating, mass murderers. Dean alone has died 3 times in the past few years. Yet even when caught by high-ranking FBI agents, they escape, leaving no trace of ever having been there. My contact also suggests they have an old friend with wings who used to own a halo. And now you say they have the blood of the King of Hell. I'd say that's a lot to live up to."
Jim flicked open his phone at that, his excitement bright and hungry. He pressed a few buttons and then it was ringing, he kept it pressed against his ear, frowning when it wasn't received within the first ring. Meg was usually good at this, one of his best. It went to voicemail.
"Honeybun. 873 MI. Kisses."
Moriarty snapped the phone shut.
"She always was my best." Moriarty thought out-loud, looking more distant than Sebastian could remember. He leant up, kissing his neck, ear and finally, his mouth.
"Where is it?" He whispered against his lips.
"At a post office box, sweetie. All packaged nice and safe." Moriarty's eyes flashed dark, eager with renewed passion. "So what do we do this blood?"
"One particular binding spell, so what'll it be, Boss?"
…