"He's so useless to you now, I wish I knew why you were hesitating."
Jim took a deep breath,
Inhale.
Exhale.
It was not a breath of anxiety. It was not a breath of fear. It was not a breath of hesitation.
This was over, it was all over. He knew it. It was just a matter of how.
How could he get out of this without meeting any kind of repercussion? Don't be stupid, you fucking imbicile, losing Sebastian is not a repercussion it's merely...a bump in the road. Yes, yes of course.
But he has been so loyal, such a good puppy, such a sweet, sweet little thing, oh, how he must ache to be held in such a careless suspension. It must be so awful. Jim didn't know if it was funny how tiny Sebastian was right now or if Jim was holding him there by this tiny thread on purpose. It didn't matter it was all too boring, thinking about it. Yet it hindered him. Yet he continued to hold onto what to do in his mind, as if...he didn't want it to be boring. Albeit dreadful, Sebastian was easily the one he could tolerate most. Next to Sherlock, of course, but that was a different kind of special something.
Jim hummed, leaning back in the chair, twiddling his thumbs.
"Anything? If you're not gonna say anything, I might as well just kill you both right now and get it over with." Edmund moved over to Sebastian, placing his legs on either side of him, tilting his head to the side, evaluating his heaving subject on the gritty floor. Sebastian, ruined, blind, covered in his own filthy blood, his own drool and mess, it was a pity. Edmund figured he must be useful for something, now. A footrest and fuck toy, maybe. But to Jim, he was nothing. And even if he were something there was nothing for Sebastian to hold a candle to to give any kind of relevance to Jim. Maybe that's why he caved so easily. Maybe he knew that today would be the reckoning for all that he has done? Edmund didn't know, he isn't the one making this decision (he damn might as well with Jim's lollygagging). Sebastian gave up hope as soon as his sight was gone. He felt like right fucking shit and all of his blood seemed to pool into his stomach, a heavy ache growing in his chest.
At that moment, he had lost anything that had any semblance to his life. His sight, his sniping, and Jim. He was no use to Jim without his capabilities, which his sight held all helm to. Fuck it, he thought, the skies and the days and the nights and this fucking cement room turning black. Fuck it all. He didn't even get to see Jim today, what a load of shit. It didn't matter anymore, he gave up. Not much point in sitting around trying to seem strong or powerful now, no one gives any kind of fuck about you, not even yourself. The only semblance of God you could withhold was behind black glass, watching you suffer and fail to provide any kind of service to him. Not necessarily true; he did suffer for him. Now, and he always will.
"Well this is ridiculous." Edmund yawned. "Jim, give it up, quit fucking around and say something."
It hit Edmund like a brick - of course, Jim would say nothing. That was his compliance.
That was his venture, that was his answer. A show of theatrics, leave us all in suspense, the final act. The curtain was closing, now.
"Oh," Edmund chuckled, moving to dip his foot under Sebastian's binds, tugging him upward. "You're good. You're very good."
It was a quiet morning, really. Jim had travelled off to this business venture, and Sebastian stayed at home, doing fuck all. The pile of meat on the floor grunted, shifting against the binds. Something felt awful in the coffee he drank, something about today he wasn't quite...sure of.
Something he couldn't put his finger on.
But he supposed it didn't matter anymore.
The guard moved at Edmund's notion to lift Sebastian to his feet, holding him there as Sebastian couldn't stand on his own. He was very gray, blood coating his jaw and face and chest, his eyes almost white as if he had cataracts. The chemicals fucked him over so badly, but he supposed that was the point of it all. He lifted his head, turning to listen for any familiar sounds- any lilts of laughter, shuffles of fabric, any familiar click of the tongue.
Nothing.
Somehow he knew this is how this sort of thing would go about.
Jim holding no protest.
"Boss, just get this fucking over with!" Sebastian shouted.
"Aha!" Edmund laughed. "He speaks! How cute, pleading for his daddy's praise, his needs. He needs you so badly, Jim, don't let him suffer anymore." another pause. "You've obviously done quite enough already."
Sebastian's hands almost shook. It was either from the shock (strange, nothing shocks him anymore) or a twist in his gut causing him to lurch over and vomit, suddenly. How pathetic I must look, he thought. To the almighty all knowing ones around him. Stricken into a chaos he cannot and will not escape. His feet shuffle before he's pulled, rather snapped back up to attention, a disapproving sound from Edmund.
"That's almost sad that it took this long for you to puke, Seb. As if you're emotionally stricken, Jesus." Edmund laughs, the sound echoing in his head like a throbbing pain. It's sharp and stupid and it's all too familiar.
"Jim." Edmund sounds, turning toward the glass.
"Yes?"
"So that's it then?" the inquisitor's arms out reaching with body language, a plea, perhaps.
Jim said nothing.
Only the hum of the flourescent lights as Jim did not tear his stare from Sebastian. The unknowing and frail Sebastian.
His toy was broken now, and he doesn't have the pieces to fix it.
"Okie-dokie, then." Edmund said after a few moments, shrugging before pulling the pistol out of his trousers again, twisting on his heel and turning turning to the beast of a guard and shooting him point-blank in the forehead. A normally much welcomed sound turning shrill and horrifying in Sebastian's ears as he fell away from the collapsing guard. The force escaping the back of his head didn't paint him in blood, which disappointed Edmund; the sniper was so pretty all red. A little more wouldn't hurt.
"Well, we're half way there."
A moment passed as Edmund reached for Sebastian, lifting him to his knees by his binds, facing him away from the glass.
"I have an idea you might appreciate, Sebastian." Edmund whispered, loosening his binds, the rope falling as Sebastian's arms fell like limp noodles, red and swollen. He could barely lift them, which Edmund helped him with, folding his hands at the back of his neck, elbows outstretched. "You're a military man, you might as well go out in style. Go out how you probably would have been if you kept up your funny business." He hummed, stroking his arms carefully. Edmund clicked the safety off of the pistol, turning to the glass.
"Jim, is there anything you wanna say to our dearly departed? Anything at all?"
This is what Sebastian was meant to do. This is what he was meant for. He knew he would die at Jim's helm- he knew this was bound to arise, it was what he signed up for. The day he met Jim, he met death. He saw death in his dark and hollow eyes that he had been so drawn to. And he greeted him with open arms, needing nothing else.
A slow, steady gait rose.
Revealing nothing. The monster had nothing to reveal, nothing to offer.
Just mere silence.
And waiting.
Edmund said nothing when he pulled the trigger; no witty banter or snark. He had just lost business with this shot. He just lost any chance of fulfilling any kind of business or triumph in the underworld of crime and success. Moriarty's pride won today, and no one else. It was all Jim would ever need.
"Well that was fucking pointless and exhausting."
Edmund waved his hand at the glass, the guard next to Jim replacing the safety on his rifle, Jim slowly standing, turning his head toward the door. His heart stopped for a moment as he wishes he had a camera to take one last photo of the pattern Sebastian's brains and blood made on the wall as he faced away from Jim to meet his end.
The guard would swear to his grave there were no whites in the man's eyes, his face as stone as the room infront of them.
"Jim." Edmund sounded as he unzipped himself, exhaling with a sigh as he pissed on the corpse at his feet, whistling in approval at the sight and the sensation.
Jim stopped, his hand gripping the door frame.
"You're a party pooper."
Moriarty paused a moment as he almost sneered as he was led out the door and up the stairs once again and was met with sunlight as he left the large house, beaming down on him as he left with nothing, just as he had arrived.