Jim put on his tie and straightened it. His fingers were nearly shaking as the silk slipped in and out of itself.
"I'll be gone for the night." He called out to Sebastian in the bedroom.
He checked himself almost obsessively in the bathroom mirror. Trying desperately to wipe the bags away from his eyes, Jim was greeted by a large paw wrapping itself around his waist.
"And where are you off to?" Sebastian breathed in his bosses cologne, his lips lingering on Moriartys pale neck.
"Stop." He raised a hand to Morans face, pushing him back. "Lock the door on your way out." Jim fixed his cufflinks and stalked out of the bathroom and towards the door.
His driver was out front by the time he was down the drive. "The Grand Plaza." He barked, straightening his shirt cuffs. The drive seemed to take ages to the eager magpie. Jim longed to see his old comrade, wanting to hear his cold tone. Holmes intelligence compared to Sebastians would be a breath of fresh air to him. Nobody challenged him the way Sherlock had. Even in the back of his mind he knew the detective would be more clever than to kill himself, and this relieved Jim in a way that put his mind at an excited ease. He had been pining for this day.
Jim coughed and stepped graciously out of the car as they arrived. He said not a word to his driver nor the man behind the front desk and strutted to his reserved room.
He flicked his tongue about his lips as he settled into an arm chair only to pick himself back up and hurry to his mini bar. He swallowed down a personal nip of rum before settling back down to the chairs overstuffed cushions. He must have appeared calm to the naked eye but behind the brim of his skull his mind was whirring and whizzing with possibilities of the situation. The Irish man was at a full panic until the knock at the door.
In a flash he was opening it, sweeping his arm toward the room.
"Welcome dear Holmes."
The taller man raised an eyebrow to the room, he seemed to expect something grander than the compact living space which consisted of two arm chairs, a small mini fridge and a desk below an enormous flat screen television. After removing his coat and scarf, revealing an untucked navy blue blouse, he sat himself in the chair that previously held Jim.
Moriarty catered to him, carefully taking his garments and hanging them in the small closet near the door. He promptly sat himself across from Holmes and crossed his leg across his knee showing off how well this suit really fit him.
"How's hell?" Jim asked, he ran his fingers subconsciously over his cufflinks as he peered at the older Holmes. "I hear you've been living in it for three years."
Sherlock smirked, "May I?" His eyes darted toward the mini fridge.
Jim nodded and Holmes continued. "Those three years have been nothing like the past two months." He scanned over the detectives face when he had sat down, he looked weathered, like he had been overfed and slept much too often. He nearly looked healthy.
"What has John done to you?" He watched as Sherlock easily gulped two nips of vodka down.
Sherlock gave a laugh and smirked at Moriarty. "He thinks I'm some sort of pet. No being outside, get your rest, eat your food. Sherlock Holmes the house cat." He went to get up.
"Don't bother with that piss." Jim stopped him and stood up. "Let me order us a nice bottle of
champagne." He smiled wickedly.
He did so and within minutes the room service had come. They each took their glass and raised a toast to each other. "To life." Jim grinned. "After death."
Sherlock downed his first glass quickly. "My god, I haven't had any to drink in months. Cigarettes too, John won't let me have those..." His tone went sour.
"Trouble in paradise?" Moriarty teased, raising an eyebrow to his familiar. "Don't tell me the newlyweds are thinking twice on their actions." He sipped vivaciously on his champagne.
Trying not to let on too much, Sherlock changed the subject. "How's the colonel?" He poured himself a second glass.
The smaller man checked his phone at the mention, ten missed calls. He chuckled and tossed the phone under the bed. "Still as pathetic, loyal, and dangerous as the dogs ever been." His voice dropped, not particularly pleased with the subject, he turned to look Sherlock in the eyes.
Holmes did his best to keep his tone even while the liquor did its trick. "Don't like your pooch?" He rubbed his thumb across the length of his lips. "How about a cat?"
Jims eyes narrowed at the detective. "Is that a serious offer," He stood and crossed to stand before Sherlock. "Or are you just drunk Mr. Holmes?"
Long fingers reached up and encompassed Jims tie while they pulled him down. "We'll find out in the morning." He whispered, pale lips finding Moriartys gently.