Chapter Text
St. Bart's rooftop; the death of Holmes and Moriarty
The gunshot, the bang, had Sebastian's heart dropping out of his chest. That wasn't part of the plan. No one was supposed to die but Sherlock and a gun wasn't part of the plan. Jim wasn't even supposed to have a gun but… Oh god. But Sebastian had insisted, just in case. Just in case Sherlock did something Jim hadn't predicted. Sebastian searched the rooftop but Jim was nowhere to be found. He dropped his rifle and took off. He couldn't care less about abandoning his weapon and gear, there was nothing with it that could incriminate him or Jim anyway. He sprinted down the stairs, slamming his shoulder into doors without registering the pain. He shoved past bystanders on the street, working his way across the street and to the entrance of St. Bart's. Sebastian threw himself through the entrance and hurled himself up more flights of stairs and tossing himself to the roof deck.
Blood spatters are the first thing Sebastian sees as he slams into the exit door. Blood streaked across the roof. No, no, no, this can't be happening. Panic throws him off step, but he re-balances just in time to not… to not… to not trip over…Jim's corpse. There's blood pooled around his skull, a gun off to the side where it must have fallen from his hand.
"Jim, god, Jim, no. No, no, no, no. Please. Please don't be dead. Let this be a trick, a ruse. Just don't be dead." Sebastian drops to his knees next to Jim's unmoving body. "Come back. Come back."
There's the sounds of shouting, sirens. Sebastian hates it, but he has to go. He's damn fucked if he gets caught, and with Jim… with Jim out of the picture, there's no one who could help him. Sebastian spares Jim one last look, memorizing the bloodied stillness before leaving the way he came. He stumbles a little bit on his way out but he can't stop. He has to keep moving. He avoids the main hallways, the busier parts of St. Bart's. Sebastian trips out the back and into an alley. He has to…He has no idea what to do. Without Jim, what is he meant to do?
Two weeks after the deaths of Moriarty and Holmes
Sebastian didn't have a body to bury. He was pretty sure Jim would want to be cremated, more out of fear of something happening to his corpse than anything else. Sebastian couldn't have gotten near Jim's corpse anyway. The second Holmes died, the scene was flooded with police. Lestrade's doing, no doubt. Jim had anticipated that and given Sebastian instructions to ensure Holmes was truly dead before calling off the sniper team. But Sebastian had called them off once someone had heard a gunshot the police were called to the scene, drastically altering Jim's plan.
But Sebastian was going to give Jim some peace in death. He had a rock he'd carved with a knife, a task that had taken several days, and a bottle of Jim's favorite whiskey. He drove to the woods, parking along the roadside and trekking into the foliage with the rock and the whiskey. When he found a nice spot he sank to the forest floor and nestled the rock in-between the roots of an old alder. Sebastian stared at the rock for a long long time. He thought he'd have something to say. But words eluded him as the realization that Jim was really gone hit him. He kept waiting for the reveal, for the end of the act, for a "surprise". But two weeks was long enough without contact for Sebastian to believe that Jim was gone. Sebastian pulled the stopper out of the whiskey bottle and took a long drink. He leaned against the tree and took another sip.
Two hours and most of the whiskey bottle later, a figure appeared above him. He looked up at her, his vision blurred. He'd had quite a lot of liquor and hadn't eaten much in the past two weeks.
"Thought you might do this," she said, with a deep sigh.
"Do what? Havn't done nothin'," Sebastian slurred.
"Hand the bottle over Moran."
Sebastian extended his arm, holding the bottle out to her. He thought he knew her, but his mind was way too fuzzy to place from where. He was minutes away from puking. She dumped the whiskey out over the rock and pulled Sebastian to his feet. Sebastian swayed, loosing his balance immediately. His vision swam and his stomach rolled. He collapsed against a tree and vomited. He puked three times before he could straighten again.
"Are you done Moran? This is pathetic, especially for you."
"Jim is gone." Sebastian tried to explain.
"I know. But drinking yourself to death isn't the way to join him." She pulled him against her side and guided him out of the woods. "Let's get you cleaned up."
She led him to a car that wasn't his, shifted him into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver's seat. Sebastian couldn't bring himself to care where she was taking him, as long as it wasn't his cold empty flat. Jim's empty flat. Theirs. Home.
Sebastian had no memory of exiting the car. He had no memory of being tucked into bed. His mind was blurry as he woke up, cool and comfortable. Sunlight burned his eyes. He groaned as he moved, his stomach aching.
"You spent most of the night puking." The voice was quiet and familiar.
It took him a moment, but he finally replied. "Irene?"
"Well done."
"Shit."
"Mhm." Irene leaned over him, inspecting his face. "That was stupid Sebastian."
"I know."
Irene pressed a hand to his forehead. It was nice and cool against his feverish skin. "Have some water and tylenol."
Sebastian forced himself to sit up and accept the glass of water. He found his hands trembling, something bad. He took a long sip and it soothed his raw, dry throat. He accepted the tylenol after and took the pills. He was hoping they'd act fast because his head was pounding.
"I know you miss him—"
"Don't Irene. It's my fucking fault. I insisted he bring my handgun. I insisted. He shot himself and if I hadn't turned my gun over he might still be here."
"Seb… None of Jim's choices are your fault."
"I did this."
"No, no you didn't. Since when have you ever been able to make Jim Moriarty do anything?"
Sebastian let out a weak laugh. "Never I suppose, but—"
"Then don't blame yourself."
Sebastian sighed and flopped back onto the bed. It sent his head spinning and made him certain that if he’d had anything more than water in his stomach it would be making a reappearance.
Irene gave him a concerned once over before leaving Sebastian alone. He recognized the bedroom as Irene's spare. Better here than his own flat. The flat that won't stop echoing with the silence of Jim's absence. The coffee rings Jim's latte left on the table were still there. Sebastian couldn't bring himself to clean them up. He tossed the expired caramel coffee flavoring, but he couldn't make himself wipe away the latte rings. They drove him insane. They always had. He never asked Jim to use a coaster, just asked that he clean up the rings. And Jim never did. He never cleaned them up and Sebastian griped about it constantly. Jim usually just smiled and patted his cheek, saying "don't make me such good lattes if you don't want to clean up my enjoyment." Sebastian always rolled his eyes and wiped the stains away. The thought of wiping up Jim's mess now made his throat close. He couldn't erase parts of Jim. He had to hold onto every little fraction, every little piece.
Irene returned a few hours later, bringing Sebastian pad Thai. She knew he favored the rice noodle and shrimp combination, and that it would be the best option for getting him to eat, seeing as Jim's cooking wasn't available.
"Sebastian, dinner."
Sebastian was curled up under the sheets, his breathing the only sign of life. His eyes were closed and Irene almost believed that he was asleep.
"Come on Sebastian. Eat. I doubt you've had anything but whiskey since… since the suicide."
"Mmmn." Sebastian refused to commit. Even if she was right.
"Have some supper," Irene pressed.
Sebastian sighed, but took the offered take-out box. "You're insufferable."
Irene snorted. "Not hardly Moran. You've dealt with much worse than me."
Sebastian made a non-committal sound and picked up the fork Irene tossed onto the bed next to him. He picked at the pad thai, eventually eating a bite and wincing.
Irene, ever observant caught the motion. "What?"
"Just over cooked noodles, that's all. They're… soggy and…burnt?"
"Burnt. How does one burn noodles?"
"Well it's a stir fry dish, so you cook everything separately and then toss it all together in a bigger pan. They were probably over cooked and then cooked too long in the pan."
"I can get you something else."
"No, this is fine. It's just… It's not Jim's cooking. Nothing is going to taste right without him."
Sebastian's voice is low, and cracked. He sounds seconds away from tears, but he's unwilling to let that happen. He's not going to let this loss shake him. He hasn't cried over Jim before and he isn't going to start now.
"Give yourself some time, love." Irene sits next to Sebastian, leaning against him. The physical contact grounded him enough that he could continue eating. It was going to be a long and rough adjustment period, but at least he had Irene. He had someone else who understood what it was like to loose Jim Moriarty. He could trust her. They could support each other through the loss. He kicked himself for not turning to her sooner.
Two years after the deaths of Moriarty and Holmes
Sebastian Moran was a good soldier. He knew how to keep secrets, even under duress. It's one of the reasons he was so important to Moriarty. He could be trusted; he could be informed of all facets of a plan and remain loyal and unshaken. He'd been locked in the empty room for eleven days. Mycroft's men had finally caught him, after two years of slipping through the cracks. Sebastian knew this was coming, he knew Mycroft Holmes would seek him out because of Moriarty's trust in him. He knew Mycroft's tactics. How Mycroft wouldn't cause him physical harm, but would twist and fracture his mind as much as possible. When Mycroft's men entered the room, Sebastian said nothing. In fact for the majority of the past two years Sebastian hadn't spoken at all. He only spoke when he saw Irene, maybe once a week.
The person in the room with Sebastian at the moment was an older woman, the sort who'd take no nonsense. She had the same list of questions as the dozen interrogators before her. He was still strapped to the metal chair via rope around his chest, wrists, and ankles. He was stiff and sore, desperate to move. He was pretty certain at this point he'd collapse as soon as he tried to move. He hadn't eaten, even when food was offered, out fear of drugs. Who knows what he might say under the influence of drugs.
The woman had a bottle of water, which was testing Sebastian's resolve. He could handle being hungry, but being thirsty? That was much worse. He pressed his lips together, finding them cracked and bleeding. Not ideal.
"Your name?" She asked.
Sebastian shook his head. He wasn't certain he could speak if he wanted to.
"Tell me and you can have some water."
Sebastian just shook his head again.
"You are aware we already know who you are? The reason you're here. The only reason you're of use to Mr. Holmes?"
Sebastian nodded.
"Then say it aloud. It'll cause you no harm."
Sebastian shook his head, his eyes closing against the dizziness that hit him.
"Aren't you tired? Thirsty? Starving? You haven't eaten anything since we took you in. You've had very little water. Your bodily functions are starting to crash."
Sebastian shrugged as much as he could. He wasn't going to give her what she wanted though. He'd hardly slept, unable to get comfortable in his restraints and the harsh lighting. The exhaustion was getting to him, almost as much as his thirst. He was far closer than he would have liked to cracking, giving in to Mycroft's questioning. If Holmes himself had stepped into the room Sebastian didn't doubt that he would have spilled everything. Mycroft lost his brother the same day Sebastian lost Jim. He couldn't to anything to lessen that grief, but he could free himself from the ties of Jim's network. If he gave Mycroft Holmes what he wanted… then maybe Moran could disappear. Move to Ireland or something and just… be normal. But since Mycroft wasn't in the room, Sebastian stayed silent.
"Tell me your name." She cracked the water bottle open and slid it across the table. A pointless gesture as Sebastian couldn't reach for it anyway.
Sebastian bit down on his lower lip, focusing on the pain. He shook his head again.
"Who are you?"
"No," Sebastian choked out, his throat far more raw than he'd expected. His throat felt swollen shut and scraped raw. His eyes were dry and irritated, symptoms of his dehydration. He hadn't relieved himself in days.
"No? No, what?"
The door behind the woman slammed open and before Sebastian could register what was happening there was a gunshot and her blood sprayed across his face. Sebastian winced, the gunshot ringing throughout the room and making his head spin. Her body slumped over the table, spilling the water across Sebastian's lap. Sebastian was trying to figure out why the questions had stopped, because the reality in front of him wasn't registering properly.
"Hey Tiger. Did you miss me?"
Things were not clicking in Sebastian's mind. The man looked a hell of a lot like Jim Moriarty, crisp gray Westwood and all. It sounded like Jim too, no one else ever called him Tiger, except maybe Irene, if she was feeling playful. But Jim was dead. Sebastian has to be hallucinating. Sleep deprivation would do that to you.
"No," Sebastian mumbled.
"Sebby, it's me." The phantom Jim stepped around the table and started untying Sebastian's restraints. Sebastian didn't argue. He didn't bother protesting or working with the phantom.
"Who?"
Sebastian just wanted to close his eyes, to curl up and fall asleep. He wanted Mycroft Holmes to come question him himself and be unsatisfied with his answers, make him disappear so he could join Jim. He could infuriate Holmes enough to make that happen.
"It's Jim Moriarty." The phantom tilted Sebastian's face up to look at him.
"Prove it."
Jim was worried about how harsh and uneven Sebastian sounded. His words were barely audible. Sebastian's gaze was unfocused, his breathing drawn and ragged. Jim noted that Sebastian was thinner than he'd ever seen him, even during pre-pubesence.
"In secondary school I was suspended for kissing you in Religion class. My father beat me during the suspension and you broke into my house to bring me an apple and some water."
Recognition flickered in Sebastian's eyes. "James—"
"I'm here Tiger. I'm here." Jim, was it Jim? It seemed a hell of a lot like Jim. The figure at least stepped in front of Sebastian, gently stroking his jaw.
Sebastian slumped against Jim, his brain fried and over exhausted. He couldn't keep thinking right now. Too many things were happening, there was too much going on within his body. Sebastian had to shut down and reset. Jim caught Sebastian, not wishing for him to get hurt. Jim had come to free Sebastian, not make things worse.
For perhaps the first time ever, Jim carried Sebastian. Jim carried Sebastian's unconscious form out of the interrogation room, through a handful of hallways, and out to Irene's car, where she was waiting to drive them away. Jim laid Sebastian in the backseat and slid into the passenger seat next to Irene.
"Is he—?" she asked.
"Weak. Starved most likely, dehydrated. Could do with a shave. He should be fine though. Once we've taken care of him."
"He's going to be furious with you."
"I know," Jim sighed. "I had little choice."
"I doubt he'll see it that way."
"Seb will come around. He'll understand once I explain. He's not huge on holding grudges."
"He might be this time. You broke his heart Jim. He fully believed you were dead. As cool and calm as he is, he's still emotional, Moriarty. He doesn't have the disconnect you do. He's going to be hurt and angry. You need to remember that. And you need to actually try to make amends with him. I doubt he's going to be as quick to forgive you as he usually is."
"I… I'll take it into consideration."
"You'd better. I'm not taking your side in an argument."
"I would expect no less from you."
Irene cast a sideways glance at Jim before starting to drive. They had a safe location prepped, including the medical equipment they were certain Sebastian would need.
Four days after the rescue
Sebastian was trying desperately hard to wake up. He felt as though someone had stuffed his head with cotton. The room was dim, but it felt like he was sitting under a harsh florescent. He whimpered against the light.
"Easy, Sebastian." Irene's cool voice was a welcome comfort.
"Irene I had the weirdest—" Sebastian broke off, coughing hard.
"Shh, have some water." Irene lifted a cup with a straw to Sebastian's mouth. He took a long sip, enjoying the cool water against his throat. He kept drinking until Irene pulled the cup away. "Sweetie, take a second. You'll make yourself puke."
Sebastian pouted at her, and she laughed. "You're mean Adler."
"Yes, I'm awful for trying to make you take care of yourself."
Sebastian nodded. "Evil."
Irene snorted. She put the cup down and checked Sebastian's IV. He probably couldn't handle solid food yet, but he should continue to have nutrients supplied. His recovery would take a while.
"Irene…" Sebastian sounded intense.
"Yes Sebastian?"
"I…I had this dream… where Jim wasn't dead."
"What would you do if Jim wasn't dead?"
Sebastian gave a sad laugh. "I'd punch him in face for lying to me. And then I'd kiss him until neither of us could breathe because he's not dead."
"Sounds reasonable enough."
"And then I would make him tell me why he faked his death, why I wasn't part of the plan. Why would he do that to me?"
"Because he’s complicated and conflictive. Because he's three steps ahead of all of us. It could have been dangerous for you to know."
Sebastian snorted. "He doesn't trust me. After all this time, he still doesn't trust me."
"He trusts you Sebastian, he trusts you completely. And he loves you, okay? Jim loves you. He doesn't show it in the ways you might expect, but he loves you."
"He loves you too. He cares about you so much, so deeply Irene."
"I know Sebastian." Irene put her hand over his, avoiding the indents from Mycroft's restraints. "It's okay to believe he cares about you too."
"It's hard. It's so hard to believe that he cares when he doesn't show it. He doesn't show it. And if he faked his death? Why would he do that to me?"
"He's not…Sebastian he's not normal. His brain works differently than yours or mine. I… I doubt it would really occur to him how much it would hurt you to lose him."
"He doesn't get that sort of thing."
"He'd probably expect you to be relieved enough at the fact that he's not dead that you forgive him."
"I'd be relieved, if he wasn't dead. But I can't… I can't just forget the past two years. I can't move on like they didn't happen. I've hardly spoken for two years because of him. I'm not… I'm not alright anymore. I'm sick from it, from grief. I can't just forget that."
"I know Bastian, sweetie, I know. No one is asking that of you, least of all me." Irene squeezed Sebastian's hand. "Have some more water, but drink it slowly."
Sebastian nodded, exhausted by their conversation. He sipped the water she offered before slumping against the bed. He needed to calm down, to allow his heart rate to settle before he could think about anything else. Much less the fact that Irene almost made it sound like he wasn't dreaming. Like Jim really wasn't dead. He wanted to know. Was he hallucinating in a sleep deprived, starved, dehydrated state, or was Jim really back? He didn't know and he wasn't ready to deal with the possibility yet.