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The rain slammed down upon roofs all over London, sliding swiftly across the dimly lit windows. The sound of expensive shoes was barely audible as the figure clad in Westwood strode up the concrete path.
It was late.
Later than Jim had realised.
Jim actually didn’t like the rain, but what he did like was the stillness of London late at night, when the rain confined everyone to cover.
Unlocking the door, he stepped inside the small flat and shook the rain out of his hair. Taking quiet steps upstairs, he slipped into the shower, letting the scolding hot water warm him and sear red marks into his skin. He stood there for a moment, trying his hardest to keep his mind blank- he couldn’t manage it for very long…
He stepped out of the shower, drying himself off before he stole quietly into the bedroom. As he opened the door, the dull shaft of light illuminated the bed, and his eyes landed on the outline of a figure wrapped up in the sheets.
“Hello Tiger,” he murmured to himself.
Shutting the door, and plunging the room into darkness once more, Jim crept forward and slid into the bed, silently sidling up against Sebastian’s side and laying his head on his chest, drawing warmth from his bare skin.
In an odd display of affection, he reached a hand up to brush across Sebastian’s cheek, tracing a line along his cheekbone. He was careful not to wake Sebastian, though.
It wouldn’t do to have Tiger see him so strangely loving.
Jim closed his eyes, listening to the deep, rhythmic sounds of Sebastian’s breath, clashing against the loud, erratic pounding of the rain on the roof.
He knew what tomorrow would bring, and if all went to plan it would be delightful.
He was sure it would go accordingly.
Sherlock was being so disappointingly dull.
There was a large part in his mind that knew he didn’t really want to come back from the roof.
It was a part that he had previously deigned to ignore.
Now, in the stillness, he allowed it to surface, to whisper its venomous words.
He wasn’t afraid to die.
That was never a problem.
Never.
Dying would certainly not be very boring.
The more he thought about it, the more he realised that dying wasn’t so bad- actually, it would solve the problem.
The Final Problem.
No, that wasn’t what stood in his way…
It was Sebastian.
He didn’t want to leave Sebastian.
A very loud voice in his head began to swear and bite and sneer at him for that.
Why should he care about his sniper?
So they had fucked a few times- so they shared a bed.
It wasn’t like he loved him.
He was Jim Moriarty.
He didn’t love things like that.
He had the gun picked out and everything…
Such a nice little one, it was…
One of Sebastian’s wasn’t it?
It probably was…
His eyes snapped open when he felt something cool slide down his cheek.
The roof wasn’t leaking was it?
What was that?
A tear.
What?
No.
He was Jim Moriarty.
He didn’t cry.
So why was there a tear on his cheek?
Angrily, he pulled his hand away from Sebastian’s face, sitting up abruptly, yet still careful not to wake him.
He couldn’t allow such feeble things as emotions stand in his way of solving the problem.
The Final Problem…
He lay back down, pulling the sheets around him and feeling Sebastian’s arm unconsciously tug him closer.
He would solve the problem.
Sebastian would be fine without him.
Why should Sebastian care about him anyway?
He was like Jim, in a lot of ways.
He didn’t love things like that, either.
He didn’t, did he?
No.
This man was Sebastian Moran.
And he was Jim Moriarty.
They did not love things like that…
No…
Jim would solve the problem…
The Final Problem.