Posts tagged Sherlock Holmes

Sebastian stumbled slightly, lurching into the apartment. His head was reeling, and although he had made the shot - finishing the job - he was pretty sure that he’d also managed to get a concussion.

Taking shaky steps towards the bathroom, he spotted Jim, who seemed content to ignore the abnormally pale sniper in favour of typing on his laptop. It was hardly uncommon for Sebastian to come home with minor injuries; sometimes, if he was lucky, Jim would stitch him up and find him some pain medication.

His vision starting to go white and fuzzy around the edges, Sebastian took a gamble and flung himself towards the nearest room, promptly throwing up over the general floor area. He still felt awful, and he lowered himself to the floor to lean against the wall. He knew he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, he’d passed Jim in the bedroom, which meant he was probably in the ensuite bathroom.

Except there was no wall to lean against, not a solid wall at least. His back was resting against what felt like the end of several rows of soft fabric.

Blinking away some of the haziness, Sebastian turned in horror. He’d walked into the closet. He’d walked into the closet where Jim kept his suits. Scratch that. He’d vomited in the closet where Jim kept his suits.

Glancing around, Sebastian had a moment to take in the full sight of Jim’s Westwood suit lying over the chair - the chair that Sebastian had just thrown up on hoping that it was a toilet bowl - before he heard a familiar voice dripping with venom from behind him.

“Oh darling, do you not feel well?”

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon asks and general spam my way))

Jim sighed, flicking the knife over Sherlock’s chest again and making another shallow, but painful, cut.

“You know it was sweet at first, but your stubbornness is getting dull,” he muttered, making zigzag lacerations over the pale flesh. “I’m being nice, you know, giving you the personal treatment. I could always get Sebastian in here, he’s not as - how should I put it - gentle.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. It had been two days, and by this point he was too weak to fight back with scathing remarks. He stayed silent.

“Perhaps I should try the doctor, or at least bring him in here. I bet it’d break his quaint little heart to see you all bloodied up,” Jim continued, rubbing his thumb over one of the cuts and looking at the blood. “He doesn’t understand how much better you look with a few marks.”

“Don’t,” Sherlock said hurriedly, his voice ragged from dehydration and pain.

“Oh, so you’ll talk for him! That’s sickeningly loyal,” he smirked, “And here I was thinking John Watson was the dog.” Another cut, this time over his stomach. Jim grinned at him maliciously, pushing a thumb into the wound and laughing aloud at Sherlock’s muffled sob of pain.

“Don’t cry, Sherly,” he cooed in a sing-song voice, “I won’t let you get really hurt. Well, that is, I won’t if you answer Daddy’s questions.”

Sherlock bit his lip, fighting back a scream at the next series of furious little cuts to his abdomen. As he felt himself blacking out, he looked up at the maniacal mirth in Jim’s expression and hoped that John, at least, was ok.

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))

Sebastian stared at the apartment.

All of Jim’s clothes were there. The pristine suits hung up, looking practically untouched. But he wouldn’t believe that they were untouched. He had seen Jim wearing them. He knew he had. The memory was so clear. It had been boiling hot and Jim had insisted on wearing the suit, Sebastian had managed to talk him out of wearing the waistcoat too. Or rather, Sebastian had promised that they could have sex on the beach if Jim didn’t wear the waistcoat too.

He just needed proof. That was the bloody difficult part. Because living with Jim Moriarty, you couldn’t have proof. No photographs. No important documents with his name on. Not even a bloody piece of paper with his handwriting on, because Jim insisted on using a different style ever time.

The disguises and the hiding had been so ridiculously perfect.

And Jim was a genius. Somebody like Sebastian could never unravel it all and find proof. Proof that Jim was real. Proof that the man he’d spent the last two years following, shooting people for and shagging wasn’t just a figment of his own war-crazed mind.

He knows that he’ll never find any. He doesn’t even look that hard, because he’s scared of what he’ll find.

He’s scared that the notes really are from different people.

He’s scared that the scars down his back are just from another tiger.

He’s scared that the suits, which would never fit him, are really as untouched as they look.

——

((Very sorry for how incredibly late all of the fills I’m posting are!! Really, very very sorry! Feel free to send prompts, headcannon asks and general spam my way))

Since the incident, Sebastian had gone back to sleeping in the room that was officially his bedroom. He couldn’t recall ever using it when Jim had been living with him.

Now, James slept in Jim’s room with the big double bed and the wardrobe filled with clothes that James would never use. Neither of them spent much time in the room. Sebastian was usually out or sitting in the living room, and James was usually with him. Today, however, James hadn’t left his room. The door was closed and Sebastian stood outside, unsure what to do.

If it were Jim he would have just walked in. Heck, if it were Jim there would have been a high probability that he was in the bedroom with him anyway.

He knocked. It felt like a bizarre thing to do, but this was hardly a normal circumstance. There was no reply, so he opened the door half way, looking in.

James was sitting at Jim’s next, paying no attention to Sebastian. He didn’t even seem to notice as the sniper approached him, looking over his shoulder.

Sebastian froze, not even having the time to contemplate on how unusual it was for James to write or draw.

It wasn’t clear, but the picture looked like it was supposed to be a tiger. The stripes were clear, and the ears. The eyes most of all, the defined, dark eyes didn’t seem to match the slightly crude quality of the rest of the drawing. There was a stick man in the corner. Sebastian bit his lip as memories flooded back, some of actually encountering tigers in India, but most of swatting Jim’s hands away as the shorter man laughed and called him tiger in that teasing voice of his.

“I’m - uh - I’ll bring you breakfast,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to James’ cheek and exiting the room as fast as he could.

He reached the kitchen, leaning his weight against the counter. His chest felt heavy and he couldn’t begin to understand why. He just slumped down, cursing as a sob threatened to rise for his throat.

He missed Jim.

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way. On a side note, this vaguely relates to my headcannon for Mormor’s apartment))

It had been Sherlock who had pointed it out. It always was Sherlock.

Looking back it was obvious, really. The late nights working; smelling of somebody else’s cologne; the ridiculously large shirts he’d come back wearing after a night out; the romantic texts that didn’t quite make sense; the man she’d seen him with when they bumped into each other in town, who had been standing so close to him. They were such clear signs.

Molly felt her eyes tear up again.

Four months.

Sherlock was right, she really was an idiot. Taking another deep breath, she froze as she heard the front door open and close.

“Sorry I’m late, the studio was in an uproar. One of the hair and makeup ladies lost Deb’s extensions and everybody just-.”

He stopped speaking as he saw Molly, standing with tears in her eyes and her fists clenched.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, willing her voice not to waver.

Richard’s eyes widened, he obvious knew what she was talking about.

“Tell you what, Mols?”

She took a deep inhale, biting her lip. It was that cologne again. His cologne.

“About that man. The tall one, I saw you with him in town the other day, remember?”

“Sebastian? He’s just a friend. He’s a stunt man-“

Molly cut him off once more. “Stop lying! I know that you two… I know what’s been going on,” she said, her voice trailing off into a quivering whisper.

Two hours later a glum looking Richard Brook stepped out into the pouring rain, having been thrown out of Molly’s apartment.

He stood by the curb, awaiting the car he knew would arrive. It pulled around the corner and he climbed in, leaning his head against the shoulder of the driver.

“I don’t know how she figured it out, Seb,” he muttered, letting his eyes fall shut.

Sebastian pulled away from the road side, driving them back to his own apartment.

It would be another five months until ‘Richard’s’ path crossed with one Sherlock Holmes again.

—-

((Tired, didn’t have time to proof read. I’ll double check it in the morning. Hope you liked it and feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions or general spam my way))

Sebastian kept a straight face as the younger Holmes brother stared at him. He had encountered Mycroft once, when retrieving Jim from interrogation.

This time, Sebastian was the one tied to the chair.

If Jim were here, he’d be laughing at the irony.

“Formerly served in Afghanistan, discharged for overly violent behaviour I would imagine. Skilled sniper, equally able at hand-to-hand combat, currently employed by one James Moriarty, intelligent to an extent, higher class family and,” Sherlock glanced down at his shoes, “Sexually active.” Sebastian didn’t want to know how Holmes had gotten that from his shoes.

He remained silent.

“Tell me what he’s planning.”

Silence.

“You’re a gambler. Debauched. If you keep silent you’ll go down to Scotland Yard, if you give me information you’ll be free to live as much of a decadent lifestyle as you wish.”

Sebastian just grinned slightly, keeping silent.

Six hours later he walked out of Baker Street, checking his phone.

Did he notice the shoes? - JM

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

My apparently sexually active shoes? Yeah - SM

Good - JM

Come home - JM

You can prove Mr Holmes right - JM

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))

Jim twisted the knife again, tilting his head back slightly and relishing the screams it drew out from his victim. Sebastian sat in the corner, holding his gun just in case the man tried anything. He was pretty sure that Jim had put the actual interrogation aside and was now just enjoying the bloodshed. Sebastian wouldn’t put it past the consulting criminal to have already figured out all the information he needed to know.

He watched silently as Jim pulled the knife out - twisting it once more - and proceeded to drag it downward from the man’s collar bone to his stomach. Another scream echoed through the room.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this much, Mr Andrews,” Jim said mockingly, chuckling and making another parallel line with the blade.

Mr Andrew - who was apparently an idiot - spat blood at Jim.

Jim’s face transformed in an instance from psychopathic glee to psychotic rage.

Before Andrews could finish the eloquent string of insults and curse words he had been spouting, the knife was plunged into his eye. He cut his own little speech off with a scream of pain.

“Finish him, Seb,” Jim ordered. Sebastian didn’t need to be told twice, and moments later the screaming stopped as a bullet landed itself into Mr Andrews’ brain.

The sniper walked over, handing Jim a towel to wipe away the mixture of blood and spit.

“This is why I prefer my method,” he muttered, sighing as Jim made no move to take the towel, Sebastian wiped the stain away himself.

“Torture is more my style, Seb.”

“That and you’re a crap shot.”

Jim elbowed Sebastian before striding away, taking out his phone and starting to work on it. His calm exterior had returned.

“Get rid of the body and meet me back at the flat in an hour,” he called back.

Sebastian sighed, rolling up his sleeves and surveying the mess that Jim had made. As he manhandled the body away, his text alert sounded.

Next time we’ll use your method - JM

He smirked.

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way. Sorry for some delays with prompts, you can keep sending them but they’ll have to wait a couple of days while I sift through the backlog))

The doctor droned on about the test results. Sebastian didn’t really see the point. There was no change. She wouldn’t be able to tell him something he didn’t already know.

James grasped Sebastian’s hand tightly as they left the woman’s office. Some days he would be incredibly clingy - only with Sebastian, though - and other days he would barely seem to notice that the other man existed. Sebastian wasn’t entirely sure which he preferred, because if he was being ignored he could at least pretend that it was Jim ignoring him.

As it was, Sebastian just grasped Jim’s hand back as they walked down the corridor.

He barely even noticed the door open just slightly ahead of them until the surprised explanation sounded through the hallway.

“Jim?”

James didn’t react, save for a slight tightening of his grip on the sniper’s hand. Sebastian cursed inwardly. It was that annoying pathologist Jim had pretended to date for a while. That annoying pathologist who was friends with Sherlock and just happened to know that Jim was - formerly - the most dangerous man in London.

Usually, on the rare occasion that somebody recognised James, Sebastian just gave them some spiel about Richard Brook and they went away. He doubted that Ms Hooper would be quite so easy to fool.

He continued to walk, tugging James along with him and hoping that Hooper would take the hint. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked, approaching them and frowning. Sebastian clenched his jaw, stopping and subconsciously pulling James slightly closer.

“I think you’ve mistaken us for somebody else, Miss,” he gritted out. She still didn’t take the hint.

“He said that you were - that you’d died,” she continued. Something snapped in Sebastian, because she was right. Jim was dead.

James was silently looking up at her, not seeming to process what she said.

“Come on,” Sebastian muttered, pulling James away and back down the corridor.

Molly just stared after them, slightly dumbfounded.

It had been a mistake to come here.

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send more prompts, headcannon asks and general spam my way. First time writing Molly, I’m very fond of her but I imagine that Sebastian isn’t))

“I don’t think ‘ice cream eater’ counts as a personality trait, sir,” Sebastian remarked, watching Jim survey the contents of the freezer.

“Whatever do you mean, Seb?”

He sighed. “I mean that I don’t think your disguise will be ruined too much if you just skip the ice cream altogether, it seems more practical. You’re not dealing with Holmes.”

“Sebby, Sebby, Sebby,” Jim tutted, grabbing a cornetto and waving it admonishingly at the sniper, “Basics of disguise. It works the same way as the idea that people won’t recall your face as well if you’re chewing gum.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Jim responded with a quirk of his lips, as he peeled the thin paper off of the cornetto.

“You don’t believe me,” stated Jim plainly. Sebastian didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He would either have to lie or admit that he was vaguely sceptical of something that Jim had said, and both options would have less than desirable outcomes.

“You see, Sebby,” Jim continued, tossing the wrapper into the bin and staring contemplatively at the ice cream, “People will focus on your mouth instead of your face if you’re grinding your teeth, or chewing,” he ran his tongue over the cornetto and Sebastian tensed, “Or licking.”

“I see,” Sebastian gritted out, thankful that his hands were already behind his back so that Jim wouldn’t see his clenched fists. Though the criminal was obviously aware of the effect the licking and sucking were having on his sniper.

“It’s very useful,” Jim mumbled; Sebastian hadn’t even noticed him approaching and yet suddenly the shorter man was only centimetres away, “Gets you out of all kinds of bad - situations. Or,” he smirked, “Into all kinds of not so bad ones.”

Sebastian took that as his cue to grab Jim’s shoulders and pull him into a rough kiss, letting the cornetto fall to the ground. Three things crossed his mind at that moment: the vague taste of strawberry left in Jim’s mouth; the many other uses for Jim’s mouth; and the fact that he’d probably get bitched at for letting the ice cream ruin the perfectly clean floor.

—-

((Cliche? I don’t know what you’re talking about! Feel free to send prompts, headcannon asks and random spam my way. I’m going away tonight - just for a day - so there may be minor delays. But let’s face it, I’m hardly that prompt at prompt-filling anyway))