Posts tagged Sherlock Holmes
Posts tagged Sherlock Holmes
((Listen to this while you read, it makes it much easier to understand: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3QmD3BY7RU ))
Sebastian quirked an eyebrow as the garish music began to play. Jim had naturally insisted on using a record player, ironically the consulting criminal, master of disguise, liked his music to be authentic. He had only agreed to this because some small part of him wanted to see Jim dance, something that wasn’t part of a disguise. He wanted to see Jim dance, not Jim from IT or Jo the Clubber.
Jim stepped over, dressed immaculately as per usual. He’d forced Sebastian into a suit too and the sniper gave him a wary smile. Jim returned it, though to Sebastian it seemed like more of a ‘step on my shoes and I will murder you’ smile than an ‘I enjoy spending time with you’ smile.
Sebastian placed his arms in the position Jim had explained earlier, and began to dance shakily as the lyrics began. He almost laughed and Jim’s smile turned to a gleeful smirk.
“It seemed appropriate,” he remarked, stepping his feet and not bothering to go slowly for Sebastian as the lyrics urged them to ‘misbehave’. The sniper had a suspicion that if this foxtrot went well then they would indeed be ‘misbehaving’ later that evening.
After nearly twenty plays of the song, Sebastian finally managed to match Jim’s confident steps, though he didn’t go quite as exaggerated with his hips movements. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jim had taught himself to foxtrot in a mere ten minutes for some obscure job, but the shorter man seemed to enjoy it. He beamed up at Sebastian smugly and the sniper couldn’t help but feel a strong twinge of nostalgia, something that made him want to drink whiskey shots, take Jim in his arms and kiss him softly for once.
He shook his head at the idea, thinking himself ridiculous for feeling nostalgic of a time period he hadn’t even lived in.
They finished their final dance an hour later, and Jim dragged him off to the bedroom. For one rare occasion, Sebastian actually preferred the warmth of Jim resting against his chest afterwards. He gazed almost lovingly down at the smaller man, petting his hair lazily and lying back, his eyes open as the garish song played on loop in his mind.
((Hope you liked it, sorry again for the long hiatus!))
“Come on, Seb, hurry it up,” the shorter man groaned. He’d moved from his position of being draped over Sebastian’s shoulders and was now perching on the desk, tapping his foot against it impatiently and making the computer jolt.
“It says I need to take my time to answer the questions, Jim,” Sebastian insisted, “I can’t pick between the mysterious statue and the talking mushrooms.” Jim snorted at him, reaching out and picking his answer for him.
“There, you’ve picked that one, hurry it up, Seb. You’ll end up in Slytherin with me, obviously, and I need to get a move on and get more house points by duelling. I want to be top of the table,” he replied, fidgeting and ignoring Sebastian’s roll of his eyes as he jumped off of the desk again and paced impatiently behind the sniper.
A few minutes later, Sebastian clicked once more, “There, done.”
“Finally,” Jim exclaimed, peering over Sebastian’s shoulders and reaching out to take the mouse, “Now hurry up and get to the common room.”
He began walking Sebastian through the game, quickly reaching the common room. He paused.
“What? This looks like a bloody hobbit hole, why the fuck are we in the Hufflepuff common room?”
Sebastian quirked an eyebrow.
“Because I got sorted into Hufflepuff, I just assumed Slytherin was for the boffins and Hufflepuff is where all of us badass people go,” he replied.
He didn’t understand until two days later why Jim stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He quickly deleted his Pottermore account, and the consulting criminal hid the Harry Potter books from their bookshelves. When Sebastian asked why, Jim replied that he was ashamed for his sniper.
Sebastian was just glad that he wouldn’t have to play anymore of Jim’s strange online games.
((sorry for being inactive so long! Thanks for my followers who didn’t abandon me, I love you all))
Sebastian glanced around, feeling oddly subconscious as Jim practically dragged him through the shop. He couldn’t remember the name of it, but judging by the ridiculously abstract displays and the even more ridiculous price tags he was guessing that it was someplace fancy and designer. He shouldn’t really have expected anything less from Jim, although he’d never actually been clothes shopping with him before. He assumed that Jim went clothes shopping often enough to get new suits when he wanted, and every now and then a suit would turn up in Sebastian’s wardrobe and he’d just ignore it until Jim actually forced him to put it on.
That morning, however, Jim had decided that his new disguise was important enough that it needed a second opinion on it. Specifically, as Sebastian had only learned as they entered the store, on the underwear.
“How about these?” Jim asked, tugging on Sebastian’s wrist to get his attention. Sebastian turned to face him.
“I think those are meant for women,” he replied flatly.
“Yes, but I think they’d rather get the ‘gay’ point across to Mr Holmes,” Jim chuckled darkly. Sebastian tried not to imagine Jim walking around London with lacy underwear barely hidden by a pair of jeans, and forced himself not to ask Jim to buy them for later.
“Can’t argue with that, sir,” he replied, stuttering slightly and breathing a sigh of relief when Jim put the underwear down, because he really couldn’t handle the mental images this early on in their little shopping trip.
Leaving the store, he managed to talk Jim out of going into Ann Summers - even though he insisted it was ‘just to look’ - and they ended up in another expensive-looking shop. Sebastian decided that the underwear - at least - looked less feminine.
After another thirty minutes of browsing, Jim shooed him away as he went to pay. Sebastian tried not to sound excited when Jim told him he was going to have the sniper ‘test run’ the underwear he’d picked.
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))
Sebastian was only half-listening as Jim rambled on about stochastic differential equations, and was more interested in how Jim had managed to go from talking about the merits of The Jeremy Kyle Show to mathematics in the space of about two minutes.
As they turned the corner and Jim moved on to lecture about Schrodinger, Sebastian heard a vaguely familiar voice behind them.
“Sebastian? Is that you?”
Jim stopped before Sebastian did, and turned around to leer at the girl who was now rapidly approaching them. It was Lisa. Lisa his former girlfriend who thought he was still in the army. Sebastian briefly considered making a dash for their apartment.
He forced a smile, “Hello Lisa, long time no see.”
“Too long. You look well,” she replied jovially. She apparently hadn’t noticed the death glare she was receiving from Jim. Sebastian didn’t think the situation was helped at all by the fact that Lisa was pretty and - even in flat shoes - was noticeably taller than Jim.
“Yeah, been keeping myself out of trouble, I guess. Look, I’ve really got to-“ he began, trying to get away before Lisa butted in again. She never had been one for reading nonverbal cues.
“And who’s this? One of your mates? Last time I checked you didn’t really have many friend,” she laughed.
“He’s my boss,” Sebastian replied all too quickly, “In the army, J-“ this time Jim cut him off.
“James Stevenson, nice to meet you,” he said, his voice dripping with a threat that only Sebastian could hear. Jim took her hand, shaking it. Sebastian briefly wondered if Jim had anticipated this and figured out a method for killing somebody with a handshake.
“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you too. I’m Lisa, me and Seb used to date.”
Sebastian didn’t miss the sudden change in Jim’s demeanour at the nickname, although the shorter man quickly returned to his faked joviality.
“Well, Lisa, it was nice seeing you but we really have to dash,” he said hurriedly before practically dragging Jim away, not caring that he’d probably get nagged at later for it. He definitely didn’t need his current boss-who-he-was-sleeping-with ripping the limbs off of his former girlfriend.
He wondered if drastic plastic surgery would be less painful than the consequences he would undoubtedly suffer for being recognised by a girl in the street again.
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))
James lay in bed, kept warm by Sebastian’s arms wrapped around him loosely as he pressed his forehead into the taller man’s chest. He liked sharing a bed with Sebastian, it seemed familiar and safer than when he slept alone.
Just like every night, Sebastian would mutter ‘Jim’ softly whenever he shifted or shuffled over a bit. James wasn’t sure if he was just saying it in his sleep, or if it was the same ‘Jim’ that Sebastian would sometimes say instead of his actual name when he wasn’t really focused, or had that sad look in his eyes.
This time when he said it, Sebastian’s arms tightened around James slightly and he nuzzled into James’ hair, his eyes still closed.
The same little sequence as usual began playing out in his mind. He could feel Sebastian’s arms draped over his waist and his lips pressed to his cheek as he mumbled something that was barely coherent to his sleep-dazed mind. Warmth would swell in his chest and he’d have the inclination to just fall asleep in Sebastian’s lap, but always he fought it. Well, he didn’t fight it exactly; it was as if he was being forced to fight it. And then the harsh Irish voice would ring out.
“You’re getting too sentimental, Sebastian,” it said harshly, and James didn’t understand why it sounded so angry because it seemed like such a happy moment. And the voice was desperate to curl back up in Sebastian’s lap and pretend he hadn’t actually heard the whispered words because then everything would be easier.
James never mentioned that to Sebastian. He never asked him why he said ‘Jim’ at night. He never understood why, when he was lying by Sebastian, the taller man never mumbled those same words, washed out by the haziness of his memory and the cosiness of the moment.
He didn’t ask because part of him understood - knew exactly why Sebastian never sounded so warm and almost loving when he spoke to James. Because he was James. Because he wasn’t Jim, and never would be.
((I wonder if anybody can spot the allusion to one of my other fics, it’s actually quite obvious but maybe only to me, as I changed the ending of it a bit. Anyway, I hope you liked this and feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))
“Sebastian, there is absolutely no point in you wearing an expensive suit if you’re not going to wear it correctly.”
“So you’re saying I can take it off?”
Jim rolled his eyes, straightening out Sebastian’s tie, “No, what I’m saying is that if you don’t tuck your shirt in I’m going to make you wear a yellow suit instead,” he replied.
“I just don’t see why it’s necessary,” the sniper groaned, tucking his shirt in nevertheless.
“It’s necessary because you are standing behind me in an important meeting during which you need to look like a hit-man.”
“I am a hit-man.”
“But nobody will be scared of you if you don’t look like one,” Jim insisted, grabbing a tie pin and fastening it on.
“Jim, we’re meeting with a bunch of Italian men who are shorter than you,” he began, ignoring Jim’s scowl, “I could wear a leotard - no that is not a suggestion - and still look intimidating. But, like this suit, that would be extremely impractical for shooting them all in the face which is in fact what I am employed to do.”
“But you look nice in the suit,” he cooed in response, reaching up to brush off Sebastian’s shoulders.
This time it was Sebastian’s turn to roll his eyes, though he decided not to get into the ‘it’s not important to look nice when killing people’ argument that they must have had at least fifty times that year already.
He sighed, knowing that he’d lost any chance of wearing his usual clothes the moment Jim had walked in holding a suit, the price of which he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.
“I better get to shoot at least one of these bastards.”
“Of course, Sebby.”
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and random spam my way))
Sebastian cursed under his breath as they came to another cordoned off street. He glanced down it and considered making a run for it, but he was holding James’ hand and the policemen were already giving them strange looks. Gritting his teeth, he turned on his heel and pulled James back down the street.
He had never hated the bloody police so much. Four streets cordoned off, the four streets that just so happened to be four of the five streets that would take them back to their apartment - or at least get them to a place where he could afford to take a taxi from.
Cursing quietly again, he started walking briskly down the street he had sworn not to walk down again. Baker Street. The detective was dead, but he knew from surveillance tapes that the doctor still came here - often enough that Sebastian felt uneasy bringing James to Baker Street. He focused on the end of the street and their block of apartments in the distance, to the extent that he barely registered the tightened grip on his hand. Only when James actually stopped did Sebastian react, turning to see what the problem was.
James was watching as a man stormed across the street towards them both. John Watson.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, “James, let’s go.” He tugged at the shorter man’s hand again and this time James responded, walking over to Sebastian and clinging to his arm.
But by then it was too late, John Watson had already reached them.
“Moriarty,” he practically hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?” He took two quick strides over to James and grabbed him by the collar. James tensed immediately, his nails digging into Sebastian’s palm as he struggled to get away from the doctor who was now hurling partially incoherent insults at him, enraged.
Sebastian acted on instinct, shoving the doctor away and running, hauling James along with him as Watson yelled down the street about ‘not falling for his stupid acts’ and ‘finding him and getting justice for what he had done’.
Once they reached the end of the street, James was panting and still had a look of abject horror on his face. Turning back and sighing in relief at the distinct lack of any people following them, Sebastian pulled James to his chest, letting the shorter man cling to him and rubbing his hand over the back of his neck soothingly. He cursed at the doctor. As much as he wanted Jim back, there was a part of him - a small part, he told himself - that didn’t want him to ever remember Sherlock Holmes, that just wanted Jim. Sadistic, brilliant, unpredictable, dangerous Jim with no detective to distract him.
James barely spoke for the remainder of the week, and Sebastian was almost glad, because as long as James wasn’t talking he wasn’t asking any questions that the sniper had no idea how to answer. That he didn’t want to answer.
((Not too keen on this myself, but hope you like it nevertheless! Feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and random spam my way. I’ll be alternating between angst and fluff for the next few days, so I hope you’re all ready))
Sebastian rolled his eyes, forcing the spoon to Jim’s lips again.
“Jim, for the last time, just eat it, it’s only two goddamn table spoons,” he groaned.
“It tastes like shit, Seb! Just get me some morphine, or sugar coated tablets,” Jim muttered through gritted teeth so Sebastian couldn’t force-feed him.
“Morphine won’t help your throat,” he replied with an exasperated sigh, “Just one table spoon then. You can drink as much water as you like afterwards.”
Jim just glared at him, not parting his lips.
“You’re acting like a child,” he muttered, taking the spoon away from Jim’s lips and getting up, “I’ll come back in thirty minutes, don’t think you’ve gotten out of this.”
True to his word, half an hour later Sebastian returned to Jim’s bedroom with medicine and a plastic bag which he promptly dropped on the bedside table.
Jim shuffled from where he had been lying on his stomach - texting even though Sebastian had confiscated his phone - and raised a quizzical eyebrow at the sniper, glancing over at the plastic bag.
“Strawberry ice cream. You can have it if you take the medicine,” he began. Jim opened his mouth to talk but Sebastian beat him to it, “And don’t even suggest that it will make you fat, you barely eat anything and I know you like this stuff. Now, mouth open.”
Jim looked at him, frowning and mock pouting as he shuffled into sitting position.
“You know you’re getting punished when I’m better again,” he hissed with a hoarse voice, wincing at the exertion. He opened his mouth, and Sebastian grinned.
“I’d expect nothing less, Boss,” he replied, spoon feeding Jim the medicine before handing him the ice cream and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “See you again for your next dose in 5 hours.”
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon asks and random spam my way))
Sebastian woke up with Jim - James, he cursed inwardly - lying next to him. He was smiling and tracing patterns on Sebastian’s face with his fingers. Sebastian watched him for a moment; James didn’t seem to mind that he was awake again, and continued what he was doing until Sebastian spoke.
“Morning,” he muttered.
It had been two years. He’d grown accustomed to his life now, Jim’s name only ever crossed his mind in the mornings when he was too tired to remember or his brain wanted to rest for a moment longer in the blissful and comforting world of his dreams, where he could chase Jim around London, guns blazing.
“Morning, Seb,” James replied, his voice lilting and cheery as he beamed up at Sebastian. The sniper smiled back wistfully, stroking James’ cheek before getting up.
“Breakfast?” he asked, and James nodded, following Sebastian and taking his hand cheerily. He pressed a kiss to the shorter man’s forehead and walked him to the kitchen, grabbing cereal from the top of the fridge and passing it to James.
James paused for a moment, looking at the cereal box and his empty bowl. He had a look of concentration on his face, and Sebastian was used to it. James would figure it out in a few moments and go on as normal - well, not quite normal, but there wasn’t any other way to describe it.
Sure enough, about a minute later James was tucking into his cereal and smiling at Sebastian.
It wasn’t until half an hour later - when Sebastian went to clean his teeth - that he noticed the scratches. James must have pressed a bit too hard earlier when Sebastian was asleep and he’d just been tracing meaningless patterns over the sniper’s face.
It was faint, but if Sebastian squinted he could make it out. In small, faded red lines over his forehead. A word he thought he’d never see again. A word he thought James would never come to know.
Sebastian froze, his mind scrabbling for information. Had Jim been reading the newspapers? Maybe there was a small article, an old obituary. Or perhaps he was hallucinating, seeing what he wanted to see. His eyes darted around manically, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when James entered the room.
“Seb?” he asked, his voice soft and almost concerned.
Sebastian sighed, forcing himself to calm down. This wasn’t Jim. This wasn’t the cold, heartless and brilliant man he’d followed for so many years.
The sniper’s shoulders slumped and he walked over, placing a comforting hand on James’ shoulder.
He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice that James hadn’t said ‘I love you’ that day.
((Long-ish note here, but it’ll be useful to read. Firstly, somebody asked for a long!fic of James recovering, but I’m having a hard time writing it, as I don’t see him recovering fully. So, here’s the deal. Whenever brain damaged!Jim angst gets too much, drop me a note asking for another little bit of him recovering and you’ll get a little snap shot like this of James becoming Jim again. Secondly, the ending of this will make much more sense if you read my brain damaged!Jim headcannon. Hope you liked it and feel free to send prompts, headcannon asks and general spam my way))
Sebastian looked down at Jim. The shorter man was curled up on the sofa, his head on Sebastian’s lap as he lazily watched the news. The sniper was rubbing his back in long, languid strokes and every now and then he paused, only to be reminded of his ‘duty’ by Jim arching slightly and whining.
He’d never say it to his face, but on lazy days like these, when Jim wasn’t planning a murder or throwing a lamp at Sebastian’s head, the consulting criminal was almost cute. ‘Heck’, Sebastian thought to himself, running his fingers softly through Jim’s short hair, ‘he’s fucking adorable’.
Sebastian was in no way a coward, but even he knew that saying such things aloud to Jim Moriarty’s face, or even behind his back, was suicide. The kind of suicide in which you subject yourself to long and painful torture before actually doing the deed. Sebastian wasn’t sure if that type of suicide existed, but if it did, it was the equivalent to calling Jim cute.
So when he leaned forward and muttered into Jim’s ear, he just assumed that he imagined the: “You’re so cute like this”. Clearly, his imagination and thoughts must have mingled with reality, distorting his recollection of events.
He expected a lashing out from Jim, for the shorter man to jump out of his lap and slap him. Or get out a riding crop and prove to Sebastian just how un-cute he could be. In fact, Sebastian didn’t think he’d mind that too much.
As it was, Jim just mumbled something incoherent and nuzzled closer to Sebastian’s lap, his eyes half-lidded from drowsiness. Sebastian gave a short sigh of relief, continuing to pet the back of Jim’s neck soothingly.
He still had no idea whether or not Jim had actually processed what he’d said, but he decided it was best not to try his luck again.
((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and random spam my way))