Don't (Sherlock- Jim Moriarty/Seb Moran- M)- Part 4/4

February 23, 2015

Shamelessly inspired by Sophie<3’s Everything MorMor thread, I’m having a go at writing something Moriarty… a character I’ve always found fascinating, but insanely challenging to get a handle on (even more so than Seb, who doesn’t even appear in the BBC universe… yet?! )

Just in case that makes no sense whatsoever, Seb is featured in Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories as Moriarty’s accomplice, but this fic is set in BBC Sherlock times. And, given the BBC take on Moriarty… this is possibly as nice as he’s ever going to get!

"Don’t"

Sherlock

Jim Moriarty / Sebastian Moran

A beam of artificial light split the darkness and bore straight into Sebastian’s skull. 4:27am. He could have thrown the phone across the room. No point in trying for another round of sleep. Morning was snapping at his heels, as was the fever barely restrained by two shots of NyQuil.

4:28am. Not too long and he could try a third.

The left side of the bed was empty. He didn’t need any screenlight to know that. His partner’s presence was as tangible as a firestorm in a mortuary, and often as overwhelming. Yet he felt his absence just as keenly. As if, without that fire, the world would feel as dark and isolated as a tomb. No danger, no surprises.

His nightmares had made a tangled, sweat-soaked mess of the Italian weave linen. No point fixing that now. If Jim was up, he would be even less likely to return to sleep than Sebastian. Unknotting himself, he crossed the floorboards, blindly navigating around a drawer left open, belt and suit jacket ungracefully strewn beside his metal equipment case, a leather shoe that hadn’t made it back to the walk-in and lastly, the fountain pen he heard Jim drop several hours before when he had actually decided to attempt rest. They all hovered in his whirring mental map, albeit a little more flightily than usual.

Sliding back the bedroom door, he faced their open plan living space and listened for the familiar sounds which would indicate his partner’s whereabouts. A smattering of keystrokes, or some furious scribbling or shuffling of papers. Silence. There was nothing to indicate anyone was up at all, save the downlights still glowing from the kitchen. But that was probably his leaving them on the last time he woke. Which, his throbbing head reminded him, was barely an hour ago.

Cutting a path towards the black granite benchtop, he found the bottle of syrup and stagnant cup of water where he left them. This time, he poured the remains down the sink, flicking the switch on the kettle. A full packet of lozenges had done nothing to ease the raw, gravelling ache at the back of his throat, so he may as well try to clear his nose with some coffee.

Waiting for the boil, he wandered out to the sitting room and froze. In the centre of their shadowed collection of rare sketches and unrecorded sculptures, the familiar figure of Jim Moriarty sat composed, cross legged on the floor, facing away from him. He wore a pair of headphones. Sebastian followed the cord down the man’s back and across to the laptop left slightly ajar on the ottoman. Jim’s left hand was softly tapping a pattern on his knee. Tchaikovsky. 1812 overture. He heard the pattern often lately, being tapped out whilst Jim read a book, or waited for some news item to be televised, or flicked through various blogs and media sites, occasionally stopping to yell an exultant “YES!”

And, he heard it in all those little in-between moments, between words, between kisses, between questions. The pattern was there, so Jim’s plan was there. What ever that was. One of many, he supposed.

The kettle made a soft hum, and Sebastian retreated back to his cup and can of instant. Jim couldn’t stand freeze-dried coffee, but Sebastian found it strangely comforting. It was the taste and smell of a stakeout, of living free and making-do; which felt more to him like home than any concrete memories of his youth. Those he doggedly did without.

Stirring in a decent amount of sugar, he took the first sip while the dark liquid was still almost at boiling point, enjoying the unblunted heat on his tongue. The second sip was slightly less jagged, and he could feel his sinus begin to prickle as he breathed out into the steam. Urgently pulling a crumpled tissue from his pocket, he could barely swallow the mouthful before the need to sneeze overwhelmed him, and he frantically pinched the tissue over his nose.

“CHh! ...HkCsSH! …Ngh-KCH!”

Breathless, he was surprised he managed to hold them in, though it did nothing for his head or throat. But thankfully, there was no stir from the sitting room, he had managed to avoid rousing Jim from his silent reverie.

Drinking the rest in a long gulp, he thought it safer to return to the bedroom. The last few days had taught him these fits were hardly few and far between, and the sound of his discomfort was hardly a rapturous accompaniment to a classical overture. Placing the cup softly down in the sink, he popped the silver lid back onto the Nescafé and made his way back round the bench top.

Stepping carefully over a new pile of what looked to be files from the Office of Birth, Marriage and Deaths, he took once last glance at Jim’s inert posture and the intensity of his tapping fingers now flying through the crescendo, and turned gently into the hallway. And straight into a 12^th century Byzantine mosaic plate.

The split second it took for the plate to lazily wobble from its bracket, spin gracefully down and shatter into a hundred colorful, beautiful, priceless pieces, was more agonizing than every restless second of his illness combined.

If the resounding crash had somehow escaped detection, Sebastian’s explosion of creative expletives that followed certainly didn’t, and he turned to see Jim standing, staring at the ceramic shards still trembling on the hardwood floor. The man looked carefully between the ruined relic and Sebastian’s ruined expression, and softened.

“It was just a plate.”

“It depicted the tables of Ptolemy during the reign of Constantine!”

“Constantine the Fifth, actually. Bit of an eyesore if you ask me.”

Heartbeat slowing, Sebastian shook his head at the floorboards, wondering if he ought not to take that third dose after all. Bending down to retrieve one of the larger remnants, his hand trembled disconcertingly. Now that was just what he needed. Poor focus and a shaky trigger grip.

Before he could settle into dismay, another hand took the piece from him and returned it to the backfire of fragments. The man most only knew as Moriarty had somehow covered the length between them and knelt beside before he even noted the movement. It was both unsettling and queerly reassuring to know there was someone alive who not only matched him in speed and stealth, but quite possibly outranked him.

“Sebby, get up” the man whispered. Not leaving much to choice, Jim had already taken both Sebastian’s hands in his own and was drawing him to his feet. The grip was hard, and somehow made Sebastian feel less unsteady just by proximity. Jim took a step forward and Sebastian back, until he felt his spine pressed firmly against the wall. Breathing into Sebastian’s neck, Jim held him close until Sebastian finally relaxed his head against his partner’s shoulder, cautiously at first, then with the whole weight of his relief.

Jim tucked his head down in response, and Sebastian felt a cool brow rest on his own burning cheek.

“Jim. This may not be a good time to point this out, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I have a cold.”

“I had noticed.”

“Okay… and, I think I’m going to have to move for a second.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Fighting back a somewhat congested chuckle, Sebastian freed his right hand to massage a palm over the tip of his nose, slowing the needling tingle that threatened to brim into unquenchable hitching.

“I’m sure. I think I’m going to sneeze.”

“Hm?” Jim’s attention had wandered to his partner’s jaw line, and he leisurely traced its edge with his bottom lip.

“I’m… oh…” his words blurred into a mumble as Moriarty bit his earlobe, then drew his mouth to the delicate skin just behind, a warm exhale flickering into his hair. Groaning into the embrace, Sebastian let his head droop softly at an angle, completely absolved of the aching in his muscles and tension between his eyebrows. He felt almost lightheaded, falling into a deep breath and tripping over a shivery itch at the very end.

“EhtssSHuuu!” He cringed as the unrestrained wetness grazed Jim’s shoulder. “HEhschsshuuu! Huh…. ITCHhEeuuuu! EtTSCHU!”

Sniffling damply into what crispness remained of Jim’s business shirt, he felt severely less deserving of the arms that still encircled him.

“Ugh, forgive me, that was… disgusting.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t.”

Sebastian stared at him, dumbfounded. He could have sworn he heard Jim’s voice break over the last word, and as he pulled him into view, he saw the sentiment reflected in a twisted expression of emotion. Familiar with the extreme reactions and mood swings certain circumstances invariably triggered in his partner, Sebastian brought him back into a hug.

“I’m sorry. I mean, you distracted me. I’d stop all these damn symptoms if I could, believe me.”

Incensed, Moriarty threw himself free, glaring at Sebastian with unchecked viciousness.

“No, don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise to me.”

Unfazed, Sebastian clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, waiting for the wave of fury to break into some further explanation. When it didn’t, he hazarded a weak smile, holding back a cough so as not to contradict his approach.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry, I’m not going to die or anything.”

At this, Moriarty’s expression swelled into something frightening, and Sebastian half expected the man to hit him, burst into tears, or both.

When neither of these things happened, Sebastian sighed and reached for Jim’s hand, entwining their fingers and giving a squeeze.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so wildly upset. Aren’t I allowed to get sick?”

He felt Moriarty fiercely clench his hand in return, and this time it seemed the tears really would spill over.

“No. Not now.”

The reply had barely left his lips and Moriarty sharply released his grasp, sweeping himself back to the sitting room without a second look.

Sinking heavily against the wall, Sebastian raised his arm and leaned into the crook of his elbow to cough. He had held it off long enough that the exertion was painful, and the sound even worse. Rubbing his chest, he wondered if lying with a heat pack might make him more comfortable, or at least, trick him into believing Jim was there.

Gathering the motivation to drag himself back to the kitchen, he hadn’t taken more than a weary shuffle before Jim was there, plunging back into his path, his outburst faded and forgotten.

“Come here”

This time, Jim’s voice steered close to being kind, his eyes sparkling encouragingly. Following, Sebastian allowed himself to be led through the living room and to the far glass wall. Jim hovered at the edge of the hanging blinds, and, as Sebastian faced him, pulled them back to reveal a blood red sunrise over the London skyline.

Unfolding into a slow smile, Sebastian couldn’t help but be impressed. There was a haunting, unearthly feeling about the misty bronze light spreading over the city, illuminating the buildings in a patchwork of reflected mirrors. It would last a few minutes, while the sun was at the lowest point on the horizon, but it would thrill him for that whole moment in time if only to know he was the only one watching.

Mesmerised, he clicked back the lock on the balcony door and stepped onto the lofty terrace. The crisp air washed over his flushed skin, soothing. His exhale curled into a smoky vapor and dissipated into the stillness. Moriarty stepped gently behind him, wrapping his arms loosely around Sebastian’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

His chest was warm on Sebastian’s back, but Jim’s expression had taken on a familiar, intense quality, his eyes glazing over as they fixed stonily in the direction of St Bartholomew’s Hospital.

“You okay there?” Sebastian murmured, giving a gentle nudge when this failed to elicit any response.

“Hm? Ah. Yes.” Jim blinked and the severity was gone. He smiled, disinclined to elaborate. They stood, staring into the daybreak, until Jim twitched his head to the side with a violent “HTChhhhh!”

The movement was so sudden that Sebastian couldn’t help wonder if, for once, something had taken his partner by surprise. The next ones wouldn’t though. Keeping one arm snugly in place, Jim quickly freed his other and made a loose fist, keeping his head turned out of consideration for Sebastian’s sleeve.

“Hi… HichSHhheew! HITSHeeeehu! ITCHHsshh!”

“Bless”

“TTCHhh! What?” He paused, then as an afterthought, added “hm, excuse.”

Sebastian gave a low laugh. “Okay. Now I know something’s up.”

A smile nipped at the corner of the other man’s mouth, and Moriarty shook his head, almost affectionate.

“What’s up is that I need to get ready. You’re staying home, by the way.”

“You’ll miss the best bit.” Sebastian nodded toward the light slowly igniting the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral, leaking down the narrow laneways into the heart of the city.

“Ah, another time. You can do without me sneezing all over you, I’m sure.”

“It wouldn’t be entirely unearned” Sebastian remembered, guilty.

Moriarty dismissed it, touching his lips to Sebastian’s forehead.

“No fault of yours. Stay here.” He made to leave, then hesitated, looking almost concerned, yet still vaguely amused. “And, Seb?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow in reply.

“You’re the best bit.”

With a wink, Jim darted back inside the apartment, leaving a sleepy but content Sebastian to lean against the railing and watch the city he loved come to life.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before he heard the slow snap of their front door closing, and knew Moriarty had left. Drifting back inside the living area, he wondered if he didn’t feel up to some breakfast, when his senses spiked with alert. Something was severely wrong.

His gaze scoured the area for the anomaly, but found everything ordered, precise and…. clean. The remains of the smashed plate were nowhere to be seen, and the dustpan and brush sat neatly against the rubbish bin, the only thing out of it’s usual place.

Taken aback, Sebastian jogged across the living room and wrenched open the front door, peering down the spiraling staircase in time to see Moriarty sweeping across the lower floor.

Having heard the scuffle, his partner glanced up as he faced the open lobby. They locked eyes, and as a blast of snowy breeze cut across Jim’s cheek, he acknowledged Sebastian’s astonishment with the slightest incline of his head. And he was gone.

-

Edited March 6, 2015 by TaurielRiver

February 23, 2015

Ohhhhh my god!! Taurie!! I was already having a good day, but when I saw this post my endorphine levels spiked!!

You know, I normally only reply to everone's comments when I post a new drabble in my thread, but when you said that maybe you'd write some MorMor soon, I wanted to reply immediately, telling you to yes, please, please, please, go ahead, it would make me so happy! And now you have and I just... need to calm down and read this. That's what I need to do. :lol:

Shamelessly inspired by Sophie<3’s Everything MorMor thread

:blush: :wub2:

Seb, who doesn’t even appear in the BBC universe… yet?! Posted Image)

That's right. There's always hope!

as was the fever barely restrained by two shots of NyQuil.

Gahhh!! This is the first paragraph and I already freaking love it! God, I can barely contain myself! My heart is racing...!

His partner’s presence was as tangible as a firestorm in a mortuary, and often as overwhelming.

Nice phrasing! And so accurate! :laugh:

Italian weave linen

Aw, I love details like this! Because we all know that Jim looooves all things luxury!

Jim’s left hand was softly tapping a pattern on his knee. Tchaikovsky. 1812 overture. He heard the pattern often lately, being tapped out whilst Jim read a book, or waited for some news item to be televised, or flicked through various blogs and media sites, occasionally stopping to yell an exultant “YES!”

This is soooo him!

The pattern was there, so Jim’s plan was there. What ever that was. One of many, he supposed.

And this is sooo Seb. Like, he knows that Jim's up to something, always. But he's loyal and trusting enough to not ask any questions and just wait for his instructions. For some reason, I love this dynamic!

“CHh! ...HkCsSH! …Ngh-KCH!”

The fact that he chooses to stifle, only because he doesn't want to disturb Jim...! I just... :inlove:

The split second it took for the plate to lazily wobble from its bracket, spin gracefully down and shatter into a hundred colorful, beautiful, priceless pieces, was more agonizing than every restless second of his illness combined.

Ohhh god! No! Poor Sebbie!!

The man looked carefully between the ruined relic and Sebastian’s ruined expression, and softened.
“It was just a plate.”

That's... unexpected and really, really awesome! Jim having a good day for a change, how nice!

“It depicted the tables of Ptolemy during the reign of Constantine!”
“Constantine the Fifth, actually. Bit of an eyesore if you ask me.”

I love this so much! :laugh:

“Jim. This may not be a good time to point this out, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I have a cold.”
“I had noticed.”

Awww....!! If you could see my face right now! These two lines are... perfection! :heart:

February 23, 2015

Incensed, Moriarty threw himself free, glaring at Sebastian with unchecked viciousness.
“No, don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise to me.”

D'awww...! I was hoping that things would turn out like this! I don't really like it when in stories one character is digusted by another characters sneezes, so I'm glad that didn't happen and instead Jim said this! :wub2:

“What’s up is that I need to get ready. You’re staying home, by the way.”

Jim ordering Seb to stay home, cuz he's sick. That's adorable!

"No fault of yours."

And so is this! (:

“You’re the best bit.”

Aww...! Seriously? This is more cuteness than I can handle! <3

Taurie, thank you sooo much for writing and sharing this! It was amazing in so many ways, I wanted to quote every other sentence! I had a feeling that you might be a really good writer and I was right! Also, the fact that I inspired you to write this beautiful fic makes me really proud, because honestly... when I started the MorMor thread, I was really hoping that it would move someone else to write a MorMor fic!

Now, excuse me while I reread this! And please don't let this be your last MorMor fic, okay? :hug:

PS: I had to split my post into two posts because I quoted more than people are expected to quote, I guess! :laugh:

February 26, 2015

SOPHIE!! Oh my gosh you are too lovely for words, my cheeks actually hurt from smiling like a lunatic whilst reading your adorably wonderful review!! Thank you SO much, you made me so happy, I mean it!

And I am sooo glad you enjoyed my take on MorMor (’cause heaven knows I’ve enjoyed all of yours!), it was seriously just too much fun hearing your reaction to all of those moments, YOU MADE MY DAY GIRL!

And a second thank you, for totally bringing me over to the dark side! I’d been getting super intrigued about Jim and Sebby for awhile, but it wasn’t til you brought them to the boards that I flipped into fangirl overdrive, aaaand not looking back!

So, here we go, round 2, I couldn’t help myself. Apologies because I realise this one is quite a bit less fetishy, I was really curious about exploring Seb’s line of work and ended up letting them run amok. I’ll make up for it next time. Enjoy!

“Don’t” – Part 2

Sherlock

Jim Moriarty / Seb Moran

(warning: (mild) language & discussion of violence)

Of all the skills Sebastian’s job required of him- the ability to go unseen, to leave no trace, a 99.8% accuracy rate on distances of over 2,500 yards- the skill he required most was one he learnt first. The one that came easiest. Patience.

Stooped on the fourth floor of a high rise under construction, he surveyed the Broadgate Tower opposite through an insignificant aperture in the wall where a ventilation pipe would soon be installed. Installed in 72 hours, to be precise. And he could be precise. He had every copy of the Foreman’s work schedule that had been issued since the site development proposal had been approved. And was tapped into every update issued by the Project Supervisor via a tracker on his phone. If it could even be defined as a phone, after all the adjustments he had made.

He observed with meticulous calm, entering what he imagined was the closest thing to a meditative state someone who practiced that sort of thing might achieve. Or maybe he was someone who practiced that sort of thing. God knows he spent enough time sitting and staring at one spot. But then again, his mind was never clear nor calm, it was an unflinching recorder of miniscule events.

Across the street, a figure peeled out of a black cab. Tall, 6’1”. Overcoat, long, moleskin, German cut. Brisk, confident, he strolled to the tower entrance with unwavering purpose. The images were saved and backed up in Sebastian’s memory. He never took photographs, never kept notes. All data left a trail, and all trails could be followed.

At the turn of the fifth hour, he heard them. Three pairs of leather soles on untreated concrete was as subtle a grenade in a high compression chamber, and once inside the empty quarter, their voices became boisterously unrestrained. Polish, by the sound of it. Or was it Russian? That was something Jim Moriarty would have been able to identify in a word, then tell you their hometown and favourite food. The thought annoyed him. Or maybe it was just that, if not for Moriarty, he wouldn’t be working today.

An email retrieved from the tracker last night marked a week of internal fitting on the building as postponed without reason. And, as experience had taught him, no reasons were more dangerous than bad ones. He could map contingencies around any amount of hazards, but a total absence of information signified untold risk. And it was more than unusual to halt work on a commercial development with not 12 hours notice. A day's reconnaissance wasn’t worth the gamble. As Jim often liked to say, there’s no such thing as luck.

But, as it happened, Jim also didn’t think there was any such thing as not getting what he wanted. And what he wanted was Broadgate Tower, surveyed, every night. Someone was supposed to be paying a visit, but who, Moriarty declined to mention. He said he’d know when Sebastian described him. Perhaps the tall German in the moleskin would fit the bill, but, just as likely, it would end up being some unobtrusive delivery boy on a bicycle. Moriarty had many reasons for keeping tabs on people, and none were the type he liked to share.

The footsteps echoed on the first floor of the main stairway. Rising to his feet, Sebastian decided it was time to make a quiet exit. Unlikely as the group were to make their way through every corridor of every level, the presence of anyone else at all was incongruous, and contrary to popular belief, the more distance criminals could keep between each other, the better.

He flipped open his phone to bring up the building’s external security camera footage.

Error: network not found.

An irritating would-be connectivity issue for a normal phone, but with the multiple high-range receivers installed in Sebastian’s, there was no such thing as error. And no such thing as luck, a voice sang out in his head. The deliberate transmission blocking, whether he was the target or the collateral, markedly raised his sense of unease.

Discounting the main stairway, there were three potential exists from his current location- the scaffolding on the building’s exterior, the fire exit on the south-facing side, and the unfinished elevator shaft on the east. The first two were closer and easier to access, but both led to an exposed street area. Without confirming if anyone loitered in wait outside, they were an unquantifiable risk.

The elevator shaft then. He made his way swiftly across the bones of the floor plan, the deep, foreign intonations growing almost obscenely loud, magnified by the hard, empty surfaces. They hardly sounded jovial now, two of the men seemed to be berating the third. There was something about the inflection of obscenities that transcended the language barrier, but then again, Sebastian had heard enough of them in his time for familiarity.

Approaching the rectangular opening where an elevator door would eventually be installed, he felt a familiar clamminess start at his palms. Goddamnit. Why had he chosen to observe the tower from the fourth floor- wouldn’t it have been just as effective to note passers-by from the first? His mind already rallying a defensive list of reasons which deemed the fourth more appropriate and thus his original choice, the irrelevant thought-chatter was quickly shoved aside as he looked down the shaft. A long way down the shaft. Sitting down on the ledge, he gripped one of the thick steel cables and prepared to do what he always ended up doing. Whatever was needed.

Taking a last shaky breath, he shifted his weight to his arms and leaned into the void, only to feel a hand abruptly clamp over his mouth from behind, forcibly dragging him back. A volt of energy whipped through his body and Sebastian threw himself to the side, using the momentum to spring to his feet. His own hands, now curled into fists, dropped just as quickly however, as he registered the figure not as an assailant, but as his lover, boss, and, right now, a complete moron, Jim Moriarty.

“A tap on the shoulder would have been just fine!” Sebastian hissed.

“A tap on the shoulder might not have saved you from leaping into a fucking elevator shaft!” Jim spat back. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Swallowing the urge to shout back the bleeding obvious, Sebastian gave him a meaningful look and jabbed a finger in the direction of the stairwell, the commotion having clearly reached the third floor.

“Unfortunate, yes, the Serbians.” Jim whispered curtly, yet hardly more irked than if someone had taken his parking spot. “But this place does offer convenience for assassinations, can’t be helped. What can be helped is checking whether the damn power has been switched off before shimmying down onto a live circuit board.”

The realisation of his oversight sunk in Sebastian’s stomach. He was more shocked by his carelessness than the closeness of the rescue, and words failed him. Luckily, Moriarty didn’t care much for expressions of sentiment. His eyes already flicked around the space, assessing their options, the incident already dealt with and now far from his thoughts.

“We’re taking the main stairs.” Jim’s tone was blunt and final.

“The main stairs… exactly where our unwanted guests are. Remind me why I don’t take you on these missions again?”

“Because they’re boring, Sebby. And they’re not on the main stairs, they’ve moved into one of the corridors. So very predictable.”

Sebastian had to admit he was right- the sounds had become muffled, and for the unwitting victim, ominously so. It made Sebastian feel vaguely ill. Shooting from a distance removed everything personal from the act. Everything visceral. Frog-marching someone to the scene of their own death, he felt, bordered on sadistic.

“Don’t judge.” Moriarty smiled, peeking behind Sebastian's stony countenance and correctly guessing its cause.

“Let’s get on with it then” Sebastian muttered, almost pushing the man aside in his sudden determination to get to the stairs. Headlong in a stride, he heard his partner gasp behind him, he thought perhaps to feign some offended remark, but what followed was a far less anticipated reaction.

“Ttchh!”

Surprised, Sebastian turned in time to see Jim snap back up from the sneeze wide-eyed, his palm still held out in anticipation of the rest.

“ITC-ttchhh! Itshhh-hTCHeew! UhTCSh!…TcCH!”

The rims of his eyes already reddening from the irritants, Sebastian cursed under his breath. Right. That was the other reason Jim never came on these missions. Construction sites, abandoned warehouses, underground tunnels- all perfectly disused for his needs, yet heavily occupied with dust, mould, chemicals and an infinitude of whatever else seemed to set his partner off.

“HTCHhhh!” Jim snapped forward, pinching his nose mercilessly and managing to silence an eighth and ninth. “Well, don’t stand there waiting for me to apologise, idiot, get the hell out of here!”

Might be too late for that. Sebastian thought, as Jim held his hand up to solicit silence in lieu of a response. Fixed still, the accompanying quiet downstairs was all too distinct. Eyes streaming, Jim jerked forward in agony, managing to wipe his nose in between stifles, but seemingly without relief. Then, like the drip that starts a deluge, a tap on the stairs. A single, slow, footstep.

Revising the fast fading options, Sebastian looked to the external scaffolding, but realised this was no longer viable in the slightest. A woozy dawn was already breaking in the streets, any Tom, Dick or Harry would be able to see their ungracious descent.

The footsteps quickened.

“The elevator shaft” Moriarty hissed, and before Sebastian could question what seemed like a ludicrous return to square one, his partner was leaping across the room to the exposed panel of fuses and wires.

Sebastian started after him, furious and strangely anxious, the reality of being resoundingly unprepared for a physical confrontation now close at hand. The idea that all criminals walked around armed was another widely accepted fallacy. Sebastian never carried a weapon unless he had planned to use it. This was not one of those days. In fact, today seemed to be making a mockery of the fact that he ever made plans at all.

Jim barely registered Sebastian’s trepidation. Pulling two sockets neatly from the bracket and cutting a line of wires with a pen-knife, he looked almost exultant as he spun around and sprinted back toward the shaft.

Pivoting mid step, Sebastian changed direction beside him and pelted towards the gap, all caution to stealth abandoned. Knowing the drop was approaching, he felt none of his earlier fear, knowing Jim matched him step for step. As Sebastian readied to vault into the darkness below, he noticed Jim had paused, almost insignificantly, but it was there. He hesitated.

“Are we out of here?”

Jim smiled, almost indulgently.

“You are.”

With a crackling awareness of what was about to happen, a single syllable of protest caught in Sebastian’s throat, as Jim placed both hands on his chest.

“Ta-ta!” and he pushed.

Wildly grabbing for the steel cables, Sebastian’s hands burned from the friction as he slowed his speed in time to hit the ground, sprawl backwards, and recognise the bellows of the assailing party as they rounded on Moriarty before finally losing consciousness.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute, he thought, when the clamouring scene rushed back to him in a wave of echoing sound. The floor spinning, he wrenched himself upright and staggered into the semi-constructed foyer, the walls, ceilings and supporting pylons dipping and swooping around him. Honing-in on the stairwell, he made a few lurching steps in the right direction, then stopped as he heard a clattering descent ahead.

“Jim?” He managed, stupidly.

But it was the escaped Serbian who leapt from the stairs and cut across his path. His nose was bloodied and eyes blackened, but he was very much alive and bolting for the exit.

Lucky. Sebastian thought. Then stopped.

How had Moriarty known he was in danger? He couldn’t have. That was luck. But why had he even shown up in the first place?

Turning, Sebastian stared at the overcoat and dark blue scarf flying out behind the man as he made his getaway. That man…

“Hey!” Sebastian yelled. It was uncharacteristic, yet had the desired effect as the battered face turned to him before vanishing into the street. That man. Astonished, he entered the face in his visual memory, and found it notoriously similar to another he already knew. Everyone did. There was no such thing as luck.

“Eggs?”

Sebastian whirled back around in time to see Jim bounce over the last step and come to a halt with a dramatic flick of his arms, waiting for Sebastian’s answer.

“Or we could do pancakes, if you’d prefer?”

“Why did you save him?” Sebastian managed.

“Possibly a story for after breakfast” came the snap, then gentler. “But I will tell you. This time. If you want me to.”

An assault of anger, wonder and sheer relief escaping him in a shuddering exhale, Sebastian reached out, and in a single movement had his arms wrapped around the other man and his head buried in his neck.

“Omph, a bit tight Sebby…” Jim protested. But he didn’t let go.

-

February 27, 2015

Ohhhh man, a second part?! *jumps up and down excitedly* Yes, yes, a hundred times yes!!

You see, I woke up sick yesterday and the one thing that never fails to make me feel better is reading a sick fic I really enjoy. I guess I just don't like to suffer alone. :lol: So this is absolutely perfect right now!

Also, you are so welcome! :hug: I'm really happy my review made your day, because your story made mine!

And a second thank you, for totally bringing me over to the dark side! I’d been getting super intrigued about Jim and Sebby for awhile, but it wasn’t til you brought them to the boards that I flipped into fangirl overdrive, aaaand not looking back! Posted Image

Oh, I'm glad! I enjoy your fangirl overdrive so much! I mean, I already got one wonderful MorMor drabble out of it plus it means that I'm not the only insane MorMor fangirl on here. So yeah, really glad you didn't decline my invitation to come to the dark side!

I’ll make up for it next time. Posted Image

There'll be a next part?! Oh god, yes, please! There can never be enough MorMor on here! :wub2:

Now, I can't wait any longer. I really wanna read your second part! <3

a 99.8% accuracy rate on distances of over 2,500 yards

Oh yes, details! I love those! (Personally, I'm not good when it comes to details, so I'm always happy to see them in other people's stories.)

Installed in 72 hours, to be precise.

Again, details! :thumbsup:

Or maybe he was someone who practiced that sort of thing. God knows he spent enough time sitting and staring at one spot.

Just... this line of thought! :lmfao:

The images were saved and backed up in Sebastian’s memory. He never took photographs, never kept notes. All data left a trail, and all trails could be followed.

Alright, new head canon accepted! Thank you!

That was something Jim Moriarty would have been able to identify in a word, then tell you their hometown and favourite food.

Awww... this is amazing! Just, the phrasing and everything! :laugh: I love it, Taurie!! <3

And no such thing as luck, a voice sang out in his head.

I like the idea of Seb hearing Jim's voice in his head sometimes! (:

Discounting the main stairway, there were three potential exists from his current location- the scaffolding on the building’s exterior, the fire exit on the south-facing side, and the unfinished elevator shaft on the east. The first two were closer and easier to access, but both led to an exposed street area. Without confirming if anyone loitered in wait outside, they were an unquantifiable risk.

Um... okay, at this point I just need to ask... are you actually a criminal?! How are you sooo incredibly good at writing this? It's so realistic! I'm really impressed!

he felt a familiar clamminess start at his palms. Goddamnit. Why had he chosen to observe the tower from the fourth floor

Are you telling me that Seb is afraid of heights? Because that would be sooo adorable! :wub:

only to feel a hand abruptly clamp over his mouth from behind, forcibly dragging him back.

This was totally unexpected and my heart is pretty much racing now!

February 27, 2015

as he registered the figure not as an assailant, but as his lover, boss, and, right now, a complete moron, Jim Moriarty.

Oohhh... what a twist! Again, really unexpected! This story rocks! (And there hasn't even been anything fetish-related in it...)

Shooting from a distance removed everything personal from the act. Everything visceral. Frog-marching someone to the scene of their own death, he felt, bordered on sadistic.

This is exactly how I imagine Seb to be and think.

“Don’t judge.” Moriarty smiled, peeking behind Sebastian's stony countenance and correctly guessing its cause.

Aww... I don't know why I love this so much, but I do! It's probably because Jim is basically reading Seb's thoughts and that just shows their connection and is so amazing and... *drowns in fangirl feels*

“ITC-ttchhh! Itshhh-hTCHeew! UhTCSh!…TcCH!”

Them spellings...!! :inlove:

overcoat and dark blue scarf flying

Um... is this who I think it is? <3

“Omph, a bit tight Sebby…” Jim protested. But he didn’t let go.

That is so cute! Wow!

Okay, this whole thing was wonderful! I mean, I was kinda hoping for someone to be really sick, but even though that didn't happen, I still feel better after reading it! Really, I do!

You said you wanted to explore Seb's line of work, and that's exactly what you did! It's also what this subfandom needs, because, I feel, a lot of us MorMor fans (including myself) actually have little to no idea what Sebastian's tasks include and few people ever write about that. Like I said, you included so many details, which I loved! It made the whole thing seem so real! And you really know how to build up suspense, too!

As always, your language is really high register. It seems like you pay a lot of attention to style and phrasing, which really pays off in the end! The dialogue was wonderful and probably the part I enjoyed the most. I really like how you write Jim and Sebby's interactions! And I need to see MOR(E) of it! (Sorry about the bad pun. And about being so pushy... Haha!)

Okay, I hope you can tell that even though this one was so different from the first one, I really enjoyed it! I'm already excited for the next one

xx, Sophie

PS: Had to split the post again! :lol:

March 1, 2015

Aww, oh noes, you’re sick! Sooo… does writing a sick fic make you feel better too? Hehe, just kidding, poor thing, really hope you feel much better soon okay hun! xx

Plus it means I’m not the only insane MorMor fangirl on here

Haha, yeeeeeahh, possibly going to have to put these two back in the toybox whilst you’re away! Or just write an epic novel and recite it to myself every night, WOO!

Alright, new head canon accepted! Thank you!

Ohhh you are too sweet!

Um... okay, at this point I just need to ask... are you actually a criminal?! How are you sooo incredibly good at writing this?

Hahaha okay, you have no idea how ridiculously awesomely hilarious I found this compliment! Maybe more of a consulting criminal…

Are you telling me that Seb is afraid of heights? Because that would be sooo adorable!

Funnily enough this comes up in the next one too… very very happy to hear you like!

Um... is this who I think it is? <3

Hehe, yep! I think that at the end of the day, Moriarty in fact wants to preserve the one person he deems to be on the same level as him, (and doesn’t like sharing his playthings!)

SO, as an exercise in not being self-indulgent, I totally held myself back from responding to every single one of your absolutely wickedly-fun (and so flattering, you have no idea!) comments (I am feeling delightfully spoiled by these double-posts btw!), but I AM going to say, again, thank you sooooo much, you are too wonderful to me!

Now, on to Part 3 (again, not really a continuation from the other two but another “excerpt from the Book of MorMor”… I now realise my ability to write things consecutively leaves much to be desired! )

"Don’t" - Part 3

Sherlock

Jim Moriarty / Seb Moran

Midnight came and went, and the restlessness of waiting slowly crawled under Sebastian’s skin. He paced up and down the apartment, his fingers itching to check his text messages just once more, the meal he had prepared long cooled and retired to the freezer.

If their roles were reversed, Jim would probably have used the time to plough through one of his favourite philosophical treatises and have written an essay invalidating the author’s premises by now. But then again, Jim didn’t seem to need sleep, had no capacity for worry, and most certainly never felt unwell. Unlike Sebastian.

Frustrated, he pulled the thermometer from its tiny plastic case a little too severely, sending it scattering across the mahogany floorboards. Snatching it up, he jabbed it under his tongue, sat himself in the middle of the floor and crossed his arms, waiting. Again.

It was hard to resist the urge to roll the metallic instrument this way and that with his tongue, there was no part of his body that didn’t feel hot and fidgety. Squinting his eyes, he tried to focus on something other than the watery tingling at the edge of his septum, willing the device to hurry up and take the reading.

Gently pinching the bridge of his nose, he held on until the last second before whipping the thermometer from his mouth and twitching to the left, managing to catch half his lap as well as his arm with the sneeze.

“ITTCH’ishheeuuu!”

Sniffing, he saw the tissue box was well out of reach at about the same time he realised that would hardly be the end of it, and made a better attempt at aiming for the crook of his arm.

“Huhtsshh! ICH’itshheeuuu! Huh’Ehtcheuu!”

Sensing a good time to make a break for it, he unfolded his legs and made a quick crawl for the coffee table, grabbing a tissue and holding it open across both palms in halting expectation.

"ahD'TCHHSshhiuu!"

Breathless, he left his hands steepled below his eyebrows a few extra seconds, then gave a reluctant sniffle, for all the good it would do. Despite the central gas heating, he realised he was shivering violently. His partner’s jumper had been left neatly slung over the arm of the couch, and Sebastain gingerly wriggled into it, not minding the tightness one bit. The soft Appalachian wool still held the scent of the other man. Feeling noticeably more congested as he hugged himself in the folds, he swallowed the sting in his throat, annoyed at himself for acknowledging just how much he wanted Jim to be there.

From the mantelpiece, his phone chimed.

Startled, Sebastian sprang to his feet and slid across the living room all too quickly, still lightheaded from the fit. Catching himself on the Georgian marble shelf, he flicked to the new message, angry at himself for being so concerned with it all, for being the one to whom it all mattered.

Don’t wait up. Talking a walk on the Thames. JM

Leaning his forehead against the cool marble, the fever wasn’t helping his mood. Being alone wasn’t helping his mood. The modern opulence of their multi-leveled apartment at once seemed suffocating, small and insignificant. He needed to calm down, to drink some water, and most of all, get some rest.

He knew all of these things, and wholeheartedly agreed with them. And so, decisively, he pulled on his leather combat boots and snatched up his keys, slamming the front door behind him as he left for Westminster Bridge.

-

Cutting swiftly through the biting air, Sebastian’s pulse throbbed with the exertion of the ill-advised march through the streets of Central London. He had to admit, the chill at least provided a welcome distraction from the chaos inside, his thoughts quelled into submission by the pressing fog and darkness.

The Houses of Parliament met him with a deep orange glow, the perpendicular gothic spires piercing the sky with the same sense of order and judgment for which the structure was conceived. Starting north across Westminster Bridge, he didn’t stray too close to the low concrete railing, however solid and sturdy it appeared.

It wasn’t the black, still waters of the Thames River below that deterred him, but rather, the drop that preceded them. The thought of the vacant space beneath the arched structure brought on an uncomfortable flutter in his chest, which he quickly convinced himself was just another urge to cough.

Keeping his hands firmly thrust in his trouser pockets and his head tucked down against the cold, he almost missed the very thing that drew him to the urban milieu in the first place. Close to the centre of the bridge, a lone figure sat on the railing. His back was a familiar silhouette against the evening cityscape, his legs hung lightly over the water’s edge.

However anxious and vaguely annoyed Sebastian might have felt at his earlier absence, the feeling dissolved the moment Jim Moriarty turned to notice him. However bad a night he was having, it was clear his partner was having a worse one. Jim’s mouth was set firm, his eyes brooding, a glazed disguise for the swell of mania barely beneath the vacant surface. Jim didn’t ask how or even why Sebastian had chosen to find him, details of that nature interested him little. But he didn’t look ungrateful for the company.

Struggling to keep his heartbeat in check as he sidled close to the railing, Sebastian held-off a sniffle as he carefully slung an arm around his partner’s shoulders.

“Nice view, huh?” The freezing air had done nothing for his already hoarse voice, but Jim was far beyond noticing.

“It does the trick.”

“Feel like… maybe, gazing at it in our photography collection at home instead? And not, say, on the ledge of a 22 foot drop?”

“Hm. Tempting. But not quite. ” Jim chuckled.

Sebastian sighed, dropping his head to Jim’s shoulder.

“You make me worry, you know” he murmured.

Jim was slow to reply. When it came, his voice was low, softer that Sebastian expected.

“I know.”

Sebastian held him as long as he could, before the leaky prickle at the precipice of his attention could no longer be ignored, and he turned away, muttering a quick “excuse me” as he pressed his wrist against his nose, taking as small of an inhale as he could allow.

“Ngh-CHh! Huh-hxchh!”

Not nearly as subtle as he would have liked, but thankfully the urge seemed sated at just two. Moriarty was still blankly fixated on the distant structure, as consumed by his thoughts as Sebastian was in keeping himself in a half-decent state.

“Sebby?”

Giving his nose a last swipe while still turned away, Sebastian lowered his wrist as he about-faced, seeing Jim looking concernedly less lucid than he had a moment ago.

“Do you ever wonder what’s wrong with me?”

“What? No. And I don’t think that, by the way”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Since you’ve seen me do what I do.”

Not reaching a response in time, Jim had already whipped his body up and around, fluidly swinging himself to stand atop the balustrade before Sebastian’s mouth could fall open in surprise. Or his chest seize with panic.

“Jim, please get down.” He stopped to cough into a fist, the air suddenly chokingly cold. “I mean it, I’m not leaping into the Thames after you if you fall.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but the thought of it was already causing his hands to quiver, and, with the way his legs no longer seemed able to stand, he doubted he’d be much use at swimming.

“Since when do I ever fall?” Jim glared at him quizzically, taking a couple of light steps backwards without so much as a waver. “Do you ever wonder, what must have happened to me? Were my parents just awful? What tragic, horrendous event made me like this?”

“No, no, and no.” Sebastian croaked, torn between reaching his hand out to his partner to try and pull him back, or stepping as far away as possible, lest Jim slip and take him over too. It was the same choice he had grappled with at every corner of their relationship.

“What if I told you, nothing. The answer is, nothing happened to me. My parents were normal, lovely people, my childhood was boring, my teachers, supportive. Nothing happened. I wanted this.”

Sebastian looked up into his dark, swimming eyes, gripped by the same wild energy that seemed to hold Jim perfectly balanced, perched in expectation. Had he assumed his partner’s choice of career had stemmed from an equally convoluted past? God knows, his had.

But Moriarty was something else, and, as much as the revelation surprised him, he wondered if he hadn’t already known that the man couldn’t possibly have been a product of circumstance. Jim had never taken lead from anything that wasn’t his own desire, refused to be shaped by anything outside his own will.

Never breaking the gaze, Sebastian felt his arm rise without even considering it, his palm outstretched. Jim placed his own within, his grip firm and unwavering. All reason and regret left behind, Sebastian believed him. In a single swift movement, he stepped up onto the railing in front of Jim.

From the height, the wind seemed more fierce, his breath shorter, his head dizzier. But Jim held his hand ever more tightly, an affectionate pull starting at the corner of his mouth.

Sebastian managed a shivery smile in return, his shoulders trembling but balance steady. He clenched Moriarty’s palm with such ferocity that he half expected his partner to give an exasperated complaint and shake himself free. Instead, Jim held fast.

“I’ve got you.”

Sebastian exhaled deeply, realising he had been holding his breath. The giddiness subsided. The river below now didn’t look near so far away, the balustrade not quite as narrow, the wind settling into a mild breeze. And the Houses of Parliament looked ever more magnificent.

Watching Sebastian’s frown distil to a mild admiration, Jim gave a low laugh.

“Nice view, hmm?”

Sebastian threw him a wicked glare in return. Matching him with a grin, Jim skipped effortlessly from the railing onto the pavement, still holding Sebastian’s hand as he took a slightly more wobbly step down to accompany him.

They faced each other in silence, and Sebastian would have leaned in for a much needed hug, had it not been for the other, more urgent need swiftly advancing on him. His fear and alarm seemed to have briefly dispelled the symptoms of his cold, which were now rushing back with all too vigorous enthusiasm.

“Ah- excuse me- AAhhi’shhtshuuu!”

Snapping his head to the side, the first sneeze had glanced against his shoulder, and he wrapped the inside his arm over his nose as the rest gained on him.

"ahD'TChhsshhh! Ich’itSHheeuuu! Uh’htchh!”

Feeling the distance between himself and his partner had been far too close for such an outburst, he looked up miserably to find Jim staring at him in surprise, something clearly dawning on him.

“Sebby… are you ill?”

Shaking his head, which was fast feeling like it was ready to explode, he could hardly believe his bad luck when another tickle snuck up on him, and raised his sleeve only just in time, head snapping down towards his chest.

"Uh'TChhsshhu! Ugh. No. Maybe.”

“Is that my jumper?”

Freezing mid-sniffle, Sebastian’s eyes slowly fell to the snugly-fitting Appalachian wool. Horrified, he dropped his arm, a flush rising in his cheeks before he could even stumble close to an apology. Jim stopped him before he had the chance.

“Well, I’m thankful you had the sense to put something on, before coming running out here after me. Which you shouldn’t have.” Jim narrowed his eyes meaningfully, looking vaguely guilty. “And you’re putting this on too, by the way” he continued, shrugging off his expensively warm overcoat. “And this.” He loosed his Vicuna scarf, wrapping it snugly around Sebastian’s neck with such finality that he may as well have added, and I won’t hear another word about it.

Standing rather stiffly as Jim forced him into the coat, he noticed his throat felt a bit more sore and his eyes a bit more watery, but whether that was from the sneezing or the unexpected gesture, he didn’t care to guess. Jim now stood in nothing more than a crisp business shirt, nodding at Sebastian in approval of his own handywork.

“Thank you… but I don’t want you to fall ill too” Sebastian mumbled, stuffy.

“I don’t fall, remember?” Jim winked back.

Easing into a chuckle, Sebastian looked out to the Houses of Parliament.

“You were right. This really is beautiful.”

“Hm. Yes. But right now, I think I could stand to look at it in our photography collection instead. With you.”

Sebastian glanced at him in surprise, but Jim was already waving away any questions or protests.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

_

March 1, 2015

Uh yesyesandyes. I don't know Seb, but sick fics... yes

March 1, 2015

I'm not going to lie, I've just been skimming this one and going "ooh" at occasional lines of well-thought-out dialogue or description, as I'm not a member of the Sherlock fandom. (I've seen the recent series, but that's about as far as it extends). But maaaan, I'm gonna have to get over my fandom-aversion and go back and read this in depth because you have so many good things going on here.

Love Sebastian wearing Moriarty's (too small for Seb) sweater. I love "a glazed disguise for the swell of mania barely beneath the vacant surface". Like man, I want to frame that and hang it on my wall. The same goes for "leaky prickle at the precipice of his attention".

But most of all I love Jim addressing the nature of himself. Particularly with Sebastian thinking: It was the same choice he had grappled with at every corner of their relationship.

Like, I could quote the whole passage, that's how lovely and accurate it is. Not to get cross fandom on you, but it reminds me of a line from Thomas Harris and his own villain/anti-hero that seems fitting. Paraphrasing here:

"Nothing happened to me. I happened. You can't reduce me to a set of influences."

Also, n'awww those sicksneeze sounds from Sebastian, my heart And Jim wrapping him up in his coat and scarf and be quiet Seb I've got this covered.

UGH. BLGHRGH. U WRITE SO GEWD.

March 1, 2015

Aww, oh noes, you’re sick! Posted Image

Aww... thanks so much for the sympathy! You're so sweet! And I can't decide whether I'm getting better or worse. This cold is weird. Yesterday, I started feeling better, then at night I felt like I suddenly had a fever...? It's really confusing.

Sooo… does writing a sick fic make you feel better too? Posted Image

As a matter of fact, yes! Which is why I wrote one today! I'll post it... soon. Probably right after writing this comment. You'll find it in the MorMor thread!

Haha, yeeeeeahh, possibly going to have to put these two back in the toybox whilst you’re away!

Well, if you do, please take them back out in summer, when I return?!

I think that at the end of the day, Moriarty in fact wants to preserve the one person he deems to be on the same level as him

I agree! Honestly, their relationship fascinates me so much! I don't think I'd ever ship them, but just the two of them interacting and the way they feel about each other... so interesting! Especially the way Jim feels about Sherlock. I might have to include this in one of my MorMor drabbles!

Let me just say that I'm sooo glad that this has become a mutual thing and you're enjoying my comments so much! Especially since I enjoy yours so much and... this is just perfect! You make me happy and I'm happy I make you happy and... life is just better like this!

Also, I was sooo happy when I saw that you'd already posted another drabble! And yes, I'll try not to comment on every other sentence, but no promises!

I now realise my ability to write things consecutively leaves much to be desired!

That's no problem at all! (:

Midnight came and went, and the restlessness of waiting slowly crawled under Sebastian’s skin.

How are you so good at phrasing things?? Would you like to trade brains?

If their roles were reversed, Jim would probably have used the time to plough through one of his favourite philosophical treatises and have written an essay invalidating the author’s premises by now.

I love how you write Jim! If you see the smile on my face right now!

But then again, Jim didn’t seem to need sleep, had no capacity for worry, and most certainly never felt unwell. Unlike Sebastian.

Again... just... aww! Perfect! (Okay, I really need to calm down, get my heart rate down and... stop commenting on every single sentence! )

there was no part of his body that didn’t feel hot and fidgety.

I don't know if you know this, but fevers are pretty much my favorite thing! (Unless I'm the one running a fever, with nobody there to take care of me... ). I like them at least as much as I like sneezes, maybe more, so this is just sooo hot to me. Literally. Hah.

is partner’s jumper had been left neatly slung over the arm of the couch, and Sebastain gingerly wriggled into it,

Sharing clothes!! Yes!!

He needed to calm down, to drink some water, and most of all, get some rest.
He knew all of these things, and wholeheartedly agreed with them. And so, decisively, he pulled on his leather combat boots and snatched up his keys, slamming the front door behind him as he left for Westminster Bridge.

I don't know why I get so many feels from this, but I do! This paragraph is perfection, really! I can just totally see Seb being all grumpy and annoyed at the fact that he's so ill and then doing exactly what he knows he shouldn't do. It's perfect.

However bad a night he was having, it was clear his partner was having a worse one.

Ohhh no...! Jim's having a bad night? Now I feel really anxious!

March 1, 2015

“You make me worry, you know” he murmured.
Jim was slow to reply. When it came, his voice was low, softer that Sebastian expected.
“I know.”

All of this... is so beautiful. You know that weird feeling you get in your stomach when you're happy, but sad, and moved and fascinated and all of those things at the same time? Yeah. These lines gave me that feeling.

Sebastian held him as long as he could, before the leaky prickle at the precipice of his attention could no longer be ignored, and he turned away, muttering a quick “excuse me” as he pressed his wrist against his nose, taking as small of an inhale as he could allow.
“Ngh-CHh! Huh-hxchh!”

That's... incredibly hot. :blush:

“Do you ever wonder what’s wrong with me?”

Oh god...! Remember when we talked about Jim sometimes having those confused, terrible moments of uncertainty and self-consciousness? And we totally agreed on how it would all be and now you included that and it just breaks my heart? </3

torn between reaching his hand out to his partner to try and pull him back, or stepping as far away as possible, lest Jim slip and take him over too. It was the same choice he had grappled with at every corner of their relationship.

This is so poetic and fitting and amazing!

“Sebby… are you ill?”

MY HEART JUST EXPLODED!! THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER! :wub2: :wub2: :wub2: I WANT TO SCREAM AND CRY AND LOSE MY SH*T (but my parents are home). So I'll just write in all caps and scream in my head instead! :laugh:

"Uh'TChhsshhu! Ugh. No. Maybe.”

The cuteness! Ohh my god! This it too much! What are you doing to me, Taurie?!

And you’re putting this on too, by the way” he continued, shrugging off his expensively warm overcoat.

No, no, no...! More clothes sharing! It's more than I can take! G'awww!! <3

Okay, really sorry for freaking out here, but this was just too good! I feel physically exhausted from reading this! :laugh: (In the best possible way, though, so don't worry!) Let me try to write my thoughts down coherently, okay?

Your language was, again, extremely beautiful. There are certain phrases that I just want to learn by heart and recite to myself whenever I feel sad. Also, you're apparently really good with plot! Unlike some of my drabbles, yours always have a certain dynamic. There's always something going on, there's always suspense. I feel like you used this one mostly as a character study for Jim, and if that was, in fact, your intention, then let me tell you that you did wonderfully! The dialogue was brilliant, and the whole idea of him becoming what he is because he wanted to is really intriguing!

All the fetishy details were amazing, too! Somehow, you managed to include almost all of my favorite things? Fevers, temperature taking, having to sneeze while trying to take your temperature, shared clothes, turning away to sneeze, apologizing for sneezes, trying to hide illness and caretaking?! I feel like this story could have been my Secret Santa! :laugh:

You know how much I enjoyed your first two drabbles, but this one is in a completely different league! Now please excuse me while I go drown in happy feels! :inlove:

March 3, 2015

Sebastian croaked, torn between reaching his hand out to his partner to try and pull him back, or stepping as far away as possible, lest Jim slip and take him over too. It was the same choice he had grappled with at every corner of their relationship.

I love this. So deep.

He needed to calm down, to drink some water, and most of all, get some rest.
He knew all of these things, and wholeheartedly agreed with them. And so, decisively, he pulled on his leather combat boots and snatched up his keys, slamming the front door behind him as he left for Westminster Bridge.

Gods, do I never know this feeling/action!

Jim’s mouth was set firm, his eyes brooding, a glazed disguise for the swell of mania barely beneath the vacant surface.

This is an amazing line. Being bipolar I can so relate to this description. I just love your whole portrait of Moriarty's psyche. It's so visceral. Just wow.

March 6, 2015

Ickydog- Thank you, so glad you enjoyed! Hang out with me a bit longer and you’ll probably end up knowing him slightly too well instead.

Garnet- I’ll equally not pretend that I wasn’t, you know, RIDICULOUS LEVELS OF PLEASED to read your comment!

And man, am I ever generally averse to reading fanfics outside my fandoms! I just know I’m missing out on potential levels of canon cleverness, not to mention the whole ‘walked-in during the middle of the play- wait, who’s that??’ vibe! So it definitely has special meaning to know some of these moments transcended the context. Really, thank you.

That quote is absolutely the villain/anti-hero sentiment I was feeling with this… and hearing my take on it brought to mind the work of the rather brilliant Thomas Harris is, yeah, kind of awesome!

NHHHGGG U SO FUN GARNET!!!

Sophie- Aaawww! There is not one bit of this whole wonderful comment that doesn’t make me overflow with happiness, thank you so much and too much and even more!

Remember when we talked about Jim sometimes having those confused, terrible moments of uncertainty and self-consciousness?

YES. It’s actually another stand out inspiration moment for me in your fiction too! So glad it translated here, it’s one of the things that truly fascinates me about him!

So I'll just write in all caps and scream in my head instead!

Hahahaha okay at this point I am just rolling around with glee, because all your comments are so sweet, really touching and such a delight to read, but at the same time they’re also super hilarious because I can pretty much hear each thing as you say it!

Thank you for every single bit of this, I appreciate it to the moon and back, you have no idea!

AngelEyes – Thank you so much, your comment really meant a lot to me. In fact, those three moments you mentioned were really important to me in how I was trying to capture my own feelings about the whole Jim/Seb relationship, their individual motivations and states of being, so it’s quite special to hear that we were on the same page there.

I also wanted to say, I love your quote about Sherlock and Watson! “A god and a mortal, mutually besotted”. I always smile to read it!

So, wrapping up this series (for now!) with one last story, a bit of a follow on from Part 3. Who’d have known I’d become such a sucker for these two. (Sophie, I blame you!)

"Don’t" - Part 4

Sherlock

Jim Moriarty / Seb Moran

Sebastian came round to a tracing of fingers through his hair- slow and absent minded, soothing in its repetition. He pretended to be asleep a few minutes longer, so Jim wouldn’t stop.

Threading a single eye open, he contemplated their parallel image in the balcony door, the glass a translucent mirror in the frame of evening. Jim sat patiently at the edge of their chesterfield lounge, the cushion in his lap punctured by the weight of Sebastian’s head. In one hand, he balanced a thick volume, turning the pages quicker than one might expect, eyes flicking back and forth as they burned through the text. The other stroked Sebastian’s head with a gentleness that was almost ticklish, dancing through the mess of dark blonde that had fallen over his face. The delicate touch was so far removed from the fervent reading that it could have belonged to a different man altogether. It sometimes did.

His own limbs held none of these riddles- he may as well have been a spilled deck of cards for the way he was sprawled across the rest of the lounge. He had been ill for days, and the only time he seemed able to sleep were when part of him happened to be pinning Moriarty in some inconvenient position. Jim had yet to complain, though Sebastian noticed he lately left a few more books within arms reach of all those places it was possible to relax in their apartment.

The reflected lamplight spun into a formless puddle as Sebastian closed his eye. Almost on the way out, a mild squeeze at his shoulder drew him back to consciousness, and he eased onto his back. Jim’s upside down features were still blurry when he thought he heard his partner whisper a suggestion, rounding off with a heady “move…”

Sebastian gave a drowsy moan in protest. Jim was endeavoring to slide from under him without success, the arm of the lounge restraining him on one side, the tall, slack frame of the marksman on the other. His delayed sensibilities finally sharpening, Sebastian wondered how long he’d been asleep, and with a twinge of guilt, made a clumsy effort to push himself off Jim’s lap. An effort that was nearly rewarded by a near-collision, as his partner flinched down into a painfully withheld sneeze.

Empathetic to the familiar frustrated grimace, Sebastian knew better than to comment. Now sitting, he waited patiently as Jim gasped and pitched into a second wrenching stifle, his whole body seizing with the force of it.

Recoiling, Jim rubbed his chest, throwing Sebastian an apologetic wince. Then, with a defeated frown, folded the book across the now-vacant cushion in his lap and held the back of his hand reluctantly above it.

“ihTCHhhEW–ttCH!”

With barely a breath between them, Jim attempted to hold the objects in place with his free hand whilst lurching forward ever more severely.

“Tchh! ItSHhh!…iHTchhhEW!”

Carefully silent, Sebastian tactfully removed the disarranged items and replaced them with the tissue box left strategically within reach, mostly for his benefit. His own drippy nose had lately left no opportunity unturned to remind him how gravity worked.

Watching from the corner of his eye, Jim looked almost ready to make use of the offering, before letting both hands fall to his lap with a sigh.

“Okay, let’s get it over with.”

“What’s that?” Sebastian’s delicate tone collided with a deep roll of Jim’s eyes.

“I know you want to say it.”

“Say what?”

“Bless you” Jim drawled, as if stating the words with any sort of seriousness might whisk him to heaven’s gates that very second, a notion he doubtless found highly disturbing.

Looking at his partner’s blushed, twitchy nose and weepy eyes, Sebastian found it difficult believe this was the same man for which London’s hardened criminals would cross the street to avoid.

“Since it would appear you’ve finally caught my cold, I was actually going to say ‘I told you so’, but yes, god bless- hey!”

Interrupted by a wicked smile and poke to the ribs, Sebastian desperately tried to wriggle to a more defensive position, whilst Moriarty made barely a snap of movement and had his arm pinned in a deadlock.

“No points, I wasn’t ready” Sebastian objected, as his other arm was quickly snatched and integrated to the hold. “I’m ill, remember? No street rules.”

Moriarty shook his head in leisurely amusement, his smirk inferring that those, really, were the only rules. Too easy. Managing a quick wink, he abandoned the victory and returned to a raised wrist in dismay.

“ITC-ttchhh!…ih’TcCH!”

“Bless you… bless you.” Sebastian intoned purposefully, still rubbing his arms.

Eyes narrowing, Jim managed to put the fit on pause, if only out of sheer annoyance.

“Once is more than enough, or at least wait… hihttchhh!”

“Bless!”

“Tchh! Ih’TchhhEW! Ugh. Til I’m done.”

Meeting the deadpan glare with an impish grin, Sebastian dared to lean across and press his lips to his partner’s forehead.

“If it’s the same cold as mine, I’d be waiting awhile. And besides, I know you want to say it.”

Slowly tilting his head to one side, Jim arched an eyebrow as one might stand poised with a dagger, bringing his voice perilously low. “Say what?”

“You know- thank you.”

With a snort of exasperation, Jim snatched up the cushion to deliver a heavy thump to Sebastian’s arm. “And here I was thinking you’d be making me tea and other such drivel. Hold on, I need to fix myself up.”

As Jim dismissed himself for the respite of the washroom, Sebastian collected up his unfinished mug of honey-lemon and a good deal more scrunched-up tissues than he remembered using. Wondering if he ought to put on a pot of Earl Grey after all, he noticed Jim’s laptop blinking from the writing desk, and decided to do something his partner might actually find useful instead.

It had been more than 24 hours since he had last tapped into the security feed, Jim must have been monitoring the activity himself. Entering a pattern of code into the server, the screen blinked, stuttered, then finally broke into the usual series of small, granular rectangles, each depicting a point of concern within the British Museum. Except what he now saw was not at all usual. And more than a little concerning.

Cast gold by the beta-quality night vision, two figures moved quickly through the top-left panel, the exhibit Sebastian knew to contain one of Rembrandt’s early etchings. He knew, because Moriarty wanted it himself. Speaking of which. Making his way to the heavy wooden door, he knocked softly, a little louder, then finally turned the handle to find Jim hidden behind tightly steepled hands, eyes streaming.

Aghast, he reached out, having not even thought it possible for Jim to cry. Then, in cached relief, realised it was not emotion that overcame him. And, with a drop of regret, wished he’d decided to make that tea after all.

Acknowledging Sebastian’s intrusion with mingled fury and discomfort, Jim took a despairing step backwards before doubling over in what was clearly the worst of it.

“…ihdTCHhhEW! idtCHHH! ih-TSCH! Huh’TCHhhEW!”

“Christ. Bless you.” Sebastian mumbled, painted with comprehension of how very inadequate this was as Jim momentarily came up for air, then collapsed back into himself.

“ih’TChhhh! HEIT’TCHHhEW!”

Without stopping to consider what he was doing, Sebastian took a clean face towel from their linen cabinet, swinging the tap and warming the soft-spun cloth under the water. Stepping forward, he took Jim beneath one arm, pressing the material under his each of his partner’s eyes. Jim stood stock-still and surprised, then flashed his hands back from his face in an instant, ready to tear away Sebastian’s.

Instead of retreating, Sebastian found himself gently moving the cloth to cover Jim’s nose, carefully massaging the area his partner often pinched whilst trying to quell a sneeze. Meeting Sebastian at the very antithesis of his prevailing motivation, Jim halted, lowered his hands, and with a last wary glance, finally collapsed against him, dampened with exhaustion.

Balanced on the thread of silence, he felt Jim’s chest flutter against his own as he sucked in a last breath, crumpling against Sebastian’s hold.

“ihd’TTCHHHEW!”

“Bless you” Sebastian breathed, remembering himself too late. He rubbed Jim’s back as softly as he could manage, bracing for the inevitable backlash.

Instead, Jim snuffled and blinked his head in each direction, by default letting Sebastian give his nose a final wipe.

“You checked the security feed” he mumbled into the cloth, which Sebastian drew away and folded at the edge of the soapstone basin, exhaling.

“So, you hear me touch-typing, and I manage to miss you almost killing yourself with the most awful fit I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t have to use you as my pillow for the last three days, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I doubt you would have got any sleep elseways” Jim shrugged, tentatively pressing the bridge of his nose against Sebastian’s chest before continuing. “And besides, now I have an excuse. For being moody and unpredictable. For a little while, at least.”

Sebastian looked down fondly- the nod to humility was as unusual as any of Jim’s more impassioned musings. Composing himself, he decided this was as good a moment as any to break the news.

“About the footage though- someone beat us to the mark. They’d have to be at the top of the game to have got that far undetected, the Rembrandt is likely halfway to Paris by now.”

Moriarty looked up, his eyes glittering with nebulous amusement until his delight became almost palpable, a full smile igniting his tired features.

Sebastian loosened his hold, edgy. “You’re… fine with it? Them stealing your piece? Well, stealing it before we could?”

“Oh, no, certainly not. But what they’re stealing isn’t mine- I have that Rembrandt upstairs in our archive. Replaced it with a replica years ago. But I heard there would be an attempt, and well, thought you could use some cheering up.”

Winking, Jim seemed much recovered, sweeping out of the room and leaving Sebastian’s arms discarded in midair, t-shirt still slightly damp from where he had held the towel.

Trailing after, he found the living room resoundingly empty and a clattering echoing from the kitchen. Peeking around, he saw Jim staring incredulously at the array of cabinets, all doors thrown open.

“So tell me. Where do we keep the tea? All I can see is dishes.”

Sebastian slowly pointed to the jar next to the kettle.

“Mm. Okay then. Milk for you?”

Sebastian nodded, though he had never taken milk in his life.

“Good.” Jim slammed the fridge, threw two mugs down on the counter, then gently turned back round. “And, Seb?”

Sebastian couldn’t hope to guess what was coming next.

“Thank you.”

-

Edited March 7, 2015 by TaurielRiver

March 6, 2015

Oookay. I've been hectically repacking things and doing some last-minute preparations, my flight is leaving in a few short hours, and I'm basically freaking the f*** out at this point. I'm a nervous wreck, it's all a bit too much, so this story came as a most welcome distraction. I haven't even started reading yet and I already feel a bit more relaxed, so thanks already for writing and posting this! You're my morphine, if that counts as a compliment! And it really should, because it is meant as one of the highest!

(Sophie, I blame you!)

I'm happy to take the blame! :winkkiss:

Sebastian came round to a tracing of fingers through his hair- slow and absent minded, soothing in its repetition. He pretended to be asleep a few minutes longer, so Jim wouldn’t stop.

Gahhh!! YesYesYES!! Personally, I think this is one of the best feelings in the world, so I'm really happy for Seb right now! :inlove: (Oh, and btw, the way you seem to include all of my preferences in your fics, even non-fetish ones... It's a tiny bit creepy! )

balcony

Hehe. Balcony.

The delicate touch was so far removed from the fervent reading that it could have belonged to a different man altogether. It sometimes did.

Interesting. I quite like this discordance.

He had been ill for days, and the only time he seemed able to sleep were when part of him happened to be pinning Moriarty in some inconvenient position.

A ) Mah poor baby...!! :wub2: B ) Genius phrasing yet again!

Sebastian wondered how long he’d been asleep, and with a twinge of guilt, made a clumsy effort to push himself off Jim’s lap.

Twinge of guilt. Clumsy effort. Oh, my heart! I just really adore the fact that Sebby, usually all alert and vigilant and hyper-aware of his surroundings due to his training, suddenly becomes this slow, clumsy baby because he's ill! That just melts my heart! :wub:

Empathetic to the familiar frustrated grimace, Sebastian knew better than to comment.

Oohh... I like this so much! I mean, we probably agree that Jim hates sneezing. I mean, losing control isn't really his style, is it? And Seb knows that so well and just knows better than to say anything. Sweet, real sweet!

His own drippy nose had lately left no opportunity unturned to remind him how gravity worked.

:lmfao:

“Okay, let’s get it over with.”
“What’s that?” Sebastian’s delicate tone collided with a deep roll of Jim’s eyes.
“I know you want to say it.”
“Say what?”
“Bless you” Jim drawled, as if stating the words with any sort of seriousness might whisk him to heaven’s gates that very second, a notion he doubtless found highly disturbing.

THIS IS PERFECT! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THESE LINES!!

March 6, 2015

“I’m ill, remember? No street rules.”

I want to cry and laugh and aww and curl into a tiny ball of happiness all at once! Thank you.

“You checked the security feed”

Okay, the entire fit was lovely and now Jim coming back being his usual, deducy, incredibly smart self. Sorry, but somehow that's really sexy. :laugh:

“So, you hear me touch-typing, and I manage to miss you almost killing yourself with the most awful fit I’ve ever seen.”

Yup. Sorry, but that's just how it is, Sebby! :lol:

Moriarty looked up, his eyes glittering with nebulous amusement until his delight became almost palpable, a full smile igniting his tired features.

Oh? (Damn, girl, you're so good with this suspense thing, you know?)

“Oh, no, certainly not. But what they’re stealing isn’t mine- I have that Rembrandt upstairs in our archive. Replaced it with a replica years ago. But I heard there would be an attempt, and well, thought you could use some cheering up.”

Okay, this... just made my day! *squeeee* I love Jim sooo much!!

“So tell me. Where do we keep the tea? All I can see is dishes.”

Yes, oh God, yes! Jim not knowing anything about household things... I started this, didn't I? :laugh: And I'm so glad you're on board with it!

Sebastian slowly pointed to the jar next to the kettle.
“Mm. Okay then. Milk for you?”
Sebastian nodded, though he had never taken milk in his life.

Aww! It gets better! :lmfao:

Okay, you know those cheesy postcards that say something along the lines of "You are my sunshine on a rainy day"? Yeah, I would never insult you with that sort of sentimental nonsense. I respect you far too much. However, this is basically the sentiment here. I was approaching a nervous breakdown and now I feel much more calm and am filled with happy feels and beautiful images of my two favorite (fictional) people at the moment! Which is such a wonderful present, you probably don't even know. I hope that I will get a chance to properly show you my gratitude when I get back! Thank you so much! ~~

March 7, 2015

Interrupted by a wicked smile and poke to the ribs, Sebastian desperately tried to wriggle to a more defensive position, whilst Moriarty made barely a snap of movement and had his arm pinned in a deadlock.
“No points, I wasn’t ready” Sebastian objected, as his other arm was quickly snatched and integrated to the hold. “I’m ill, remember? No street rules.”
Moriarty shook his head in leisurely amusement, his smirk inferring that those, really, were the only rules. Too easy. Managing a quick wink, he abandoned the victory and returned to a raised wrist in dismay.

Play wrestling. Adorable. And of course it's with Moriarty's rules. Those are the only rules. Always.

Instead of retreating, Sebastian found himself gently moving the cloth to cover Jim’s nose, carefully massaging the area his partner often pinched whilst trying to quell a sneeze.

I love this little detail, the spot he always pinched. Lovely.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t have to use you as my pillow for the last three days, I wasn’t thinking.”
“I doubt you would have got any sleep elseways” Jim shrugged, tentatively pressing the bridge of his nose against Sebastian’s chest before continuing. “And besides, now I have an excuse. For being moody and unpredictable. For a little while, at least.”

Jim knowing Seb needed him and accepting it despite consequences. Awww. And then using it as an excuse for his surliness, perfect! He so would!

I really enjoyed this. Then, I enjoy all your writing!

March 8, 2015

This might be my favorite yet.

March 10, 2015

Whoops I am super late on commenting on this, but I wanted to let you know that I read this, and then read it again. And again, just for good measure. Your dynamic between these two is so delightful. I think Sebastian not being present in the BBC series makes this a little more "accessible" to me just reading your version, although your Moriarty is still beautifully on par. He seems like he'd be a really difficult character to pin down, and I've definitely seen him done very wrong, so brava!

Lots of beautiful little language and mini-plot moments here, as usual. Love Jim's grumpy aversion to being blessed more than once, or prematurely. Looove love that fit, and okay, that spelling? Fits so well. I don't know why it does. The hard sound with the pitched up end just seems so very BBC!Moriarty - sharp and wild and kind of ridiculous but kind of also very hot for the unexpected spikes of frivolity.

I'm waxing poetic about sneeze-spellings, I know. I accept my own madness.

Also, this entire freaking exchange:

Moriarty looked up, his eyes glittering with nebulous amusement until his delight became almost palpable, a full smile igniting his tired features.
Sebastian loosened his hold, edgy. “You’re… fine with it? Them stealing your piece? Well, stealing it before we could?”
“Oh, no, certainly not. But what they’re stealing isn’t mine- I have that Rembrandt upstairs in our archive. Replaced it with a replica years ago. But I heard there would be an attempt, and well, thought you could use some cheering up.”
Winking, Jim seemed much recovered, sweeping out of the room and leaving Sebastian’s arms discarded in midair, t-shirt still slightly damp from where he had held the towel.

YOU RIDICULOUS BABIES I love it.

And Jim making tea (all wrong, but Seb doesn't even care) aw. AW.

My heart.

March 14, 2015

At the risk of spamming the fanfic board with more of my mindbabble, I very much still wanted to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for these responses, I have as much fun reading them as I do writing the story, which is ALL THE FUN!

Sophie- Hehe, a little while ago I was reading a thread on this forum about odd compliments you have received, and realised there was a gapingly huge black hole in my life because, man, no one ever gives me weird compliments!

But now after being likened to both a criminal AND a highly addictive painkiller, I am seriously feeling the love man!!! At the risk of getting all sentimental, YOU ARE MY AXIS OF EVIL BALCONYS AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT!! <3

AngelEyes- Ohh, thank you so much, that really is incredibly flattering, your comments make me feel so uplifted!

And I’m always having a giggle, because you so get Jim and all these little quirks and motivations of his that I’m trying to show, (as well as some of his kinder moments amongst the unrestrained side that I totally adore!) It's always so lovely reading your reflections, thank you again!

Ickydog- Yeah! I’m definitely getting more comfortable with them too, so very glad you’re reading!

Garnet- GAH, you commenting on my ridiculous villain babies just gives me waaay too many feels!!

Hopefully without spilling into a massive overshare to my non-sherlockian friend, I think Seb not being in the BBC series played a big part in me wanting to write them too. Because what we see of Moriarty in BBC is pretty wild and somewhat unhinged, I was interested in exploring a character who could believably bring out Jim’s more ‘disturbingly intelligent with a tiny soft spot’ element, whilst hopefully still complimenting all the ‘I’m the mad hatter of bad guys!’ antics.

So your feedback (as well as just always making me feel a whole bucket-load of soppy and thrilled at the same time!!) is also super-appreciated in terms of, wow, some of this is working yo!

Aha, and you can hear that high-uppy bit at the end huh?? My wavelength is so very happy to see you on it! Such a noticeable/ever-so-slightly-ludicrous sound, exactly the sort I could imagine this guy would hate, but it would be totally out of his control (all the more reason for him to hate it...) mwahaha... I regret nothing…

Don't (Sherlock- Jim Moriarty/Seb Moran- M)- Part 4/4

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