MadasaHatter5479

“Sebby, I’m booooorred. There is nothing to do!” Sebastian glanced up from the book he was reading, surveying Jim as he took another sip from his tumbler of whiskey. The man before him no longer resembled the cold hearted psychopath that was his boss. He had become soft, not broken per say, just not the same. Ever since they returned from the hospital, Jim had been on lock down, meant to be in the house “resting” for two or three months, if he could manage it, to allow his brain full time to heal. While the wound might look healed, I assure you Mr. Moran the brain tissue is not. It will merely take time to rec

 If his hands didn’t stop fumbling and shaking before he managed to unlock the door to the flat, John swore he was going to break something. He was a grown man for god’s sake, going to confront another grown man. Why the hell could he not even calm himself enough to fit his key into the lock on the flat door? With one final jab at the side of the knob, John huffed a deep breath and shoved his key back in his pocket, leaving the one hand in his pocket to fiddle with the key ring while the other hand extended to knock on the door. His first knock was far too quiet for anyone to hear, even Sherlock with his extremely attuned senses.

Come home. –SM What do you need? - JM Please. –SM Tell me why and then I'll consider it. – JM Jim, please. Just come home. -SM Jesus Christ Sebastian, your whining is so terribly grating on my nerves. Yes, I will come home. Give me twenty minutes and I'll be there. – JM Jim removed the papers stacked upon his desk and dismissed the pathetic client before him; he wasn't going to be worth his time anyway. He hailed a cab and gave an address just about a block from their flat, one can never be too careful. Jim walked the distance to the flat in little time, letting his head roll about the different reasons that Sebastian could want him hom

It was three in the morning, or at least something close to that when Sebastian heard Jim creep into his room. They had been home for a little over a month now and Jim's wounds were practically healed. However since their return Jim rarely slept and Sebastian slept all too much, both making up for whatever sleep they had lost or however too much they gained. Jim tried to slip into the room as quietly as possible but what with creaking doors and squeaking floor boards that was all quite less than likely. "Jim, what the fuck?  Honestly, I'm trying to sleep. Unless you are bleeding or in pain, leave." Sebastian groaned as he rolled over and cov

The florescent bulb hummed irritatingly in the small white hospital room, the temporary home of London's one and only consulting criminal. Sebastian had been very seriously considering shooting those damn lights just to get that constant buzz to cease but really that would cause far more fuss than it was really worth. So he remained with its constant company. In reality, that nagging sound was probably the only thing that had kept him sane for this long. Without that subtle distraction from his thoughts, there is no telling what Sebastian would have done. If he had been truly alone in that room, with nothing but the silent form of his boss in

A bar in the outskirts of London, temporary home to several bums, a few women looking for work, and one very drunk and distraught John Watson. It was nearly midnight; John had been gone for hours, drinking himself into a pathetic, disoriented stupor. He couldn't have found his flat even if he wanted to. With the state he was in he would have to hope the bar wouldn't kick him out if he tried to stay the night. Noting the current patronage, he didn't think it was very likely. 'What the hell am I going to do? I have to go back there and face him. I can't just move out. He'd want and explanation and I wouldn't be able to lie. He'd know.' John s

Sebastian ran up the stairs of Saint Bart's Hospital in a foggy daze. 'How could he have let this happen?' Upon reaching the rooftop his eyes raked the scene, landing on a bloody pool and a limp figure hidden under a black coat. Sebastian's knees crashed to the ground. Jim sat in an armchair, in the empty apartment. He carefully sipped a half empty whisky bottle before placing it between his knees. He opened the Swiss army knife in his left hand and began drawing thin, deep, lines on his perfectly pale skin. His focus was so far ahead, further than the battered and blood stained wall before him, into a state of blank expressionless focus tha

Moriarty had this obsession with blood. His own blood. Other's blood. Blood on Sebastian's cheek after he had successfully taken out a target. Blood on his chest and stomach after being bored and alone. Blood on the walls next to someone with a bullet in their head.