There was nothing. No yelling or screaming in anger, no trying to persuade me or threaten me. He wasn't trying to stop me. He just asked what was needed of him. I wanted to shake him for reasons that were unclear to me. He was worthless, so why did I want him to become depressed at the thought that I was planning to kill myself?
It had been two days and still nothing. He carried out the plan with a stoic efficiency. One I couldn't bear to watch him in. His calm and logical demeanor, obeying his master. There was a beautiful anticipation residing within me of the glorious downfall of Sherlock Holmes. I had been waiting for this.
"Everything is in place," he told me one evening as I sat in my office. Something sentimental had gotten to me and I looked about the place with a type of fondness. I laughed at the sight of the tiger skin rug on the floor and I felt an odd pang within me when I realised that nowhere did there exist a photograph of either of us. After today, existence would just stop. How strange it felt.
"Boss?"
Boss? Why had he called me that? I scrutinised his features from across the room. He had no emotion anywhere on his face.
"It's time to go," he reminded me carefully. I nodded once.
"I'm aware Moran," I drawled, my insides twisting when he merely blinked at me. Here I walked to my death and he didn't even want to walk alongside me. I had been fooled into believing in loyalty. Lifting my coat from the back of my chair I led the way to the car, knowing we would soon have to part ways for him to find his vantage point.
Driving through London on any ordinary day would take years and yet today, we were there in a moment. I glanced to my right, my sniper looking straight through me. I put my hand to the door handle and he stopped me, placing his hand over mine, his body pressed against me. His breathe was warm against me and I let my eyes close for a moment.
His eyes met mine and stayed there, saying everything without words. I left him before I wouldn't be able to, making my way easily to the rooftop and taking a seat to wait. Now all that was left was to bring the fly into my web.
I pondered on how all this time I had believed I knew Sebastian. I believed he had a level of passable intelligence but he would never rival my own, he would never reach the level of the Holmes brothers. He was company and useful to me but he was not on par with the workings of the mind. Perhaps I had been wrong.
It became obvious to me now that he had a hidden level of genius, something residing in emotion. He could break someone who was unbreakable in one word, one syllable. I had never given him credit for that. Now I was thankful though. I was thankful that he had been the one to kill me rather than having to do it myself.
He had always called me Jim. He had pulled away that part of me and revealed the real me underneath.
'James', I remembered him sighing softly in the porchway that night. 'Boss', he had called me this morning. Today was not my day to die, he had already seen to that. He had been clever enough to kill the rest of me leaving only Moriarty. The final problem.