Title: Faith Comes in Moments

Chapter Two: Chemistry

AN: Well, here is another chapter as promised. The last chapter got so much love and I'm so grateful for it! Seriously, you guys rule! This is yet another moment in Seb and Jim's relationship. I actually sat down and outlined what chapters are going to be which moments and I have to say I think it's going to be an emotionally damaging fic. Sorry in advance. Also, this chapter is in Jim's POV because I figured he's a bit more observant than Sebastian. Like the last one, this chapter is unbeta'd so please be kind to me. Read on.


Jim Moriarty was a busy, busy man but, he supposed, that was why he was so successful. He'd built himself from the ground up. From drowning bullies in swimming pools to running one of, if not the most lucrative crime ring in the world. It'd been hard. Of course, if it'd been easy he wouldn't have wanted it. And it hadn't been easy. To his surprise, most of the sharks in the crime tank had taken some persuading to believe that a short "kid" with an accent from no where and a funny voice could tear them open with one observant look and a phone call. But eventually they'd get the message because everyone always underestimated Jim and usually when they found out how wrong they were, it was too late. They were already in his boat and gasping. He'd already made the call.

And that was just fine with him.

Except when his phone calls got ignored.

Which was why Jim was currently wrist deep in his latest employee's stomach. He twisted the knife and the man in front of him screamed, causing more blood to spill onto Jim's shirt sleeves. It was a good thing he'd taken his suit jacket off. His dry cleaner had been starting to get suspicious.

"Now, Tommy boy," he said as he took the knife out of the man, "tell me again why you didn't do as I asked?" He smiled and rocked back on the balls of his feet while he waited for the man to stop coughing up his own blood.

"They, oh God," he spluttered, "they were just kids. Their mum was just reading to them."

"Hmm, yes I see," Jim crossed his arms and nodded, his voice light.

"So, you didn't have the shot, then,?"

"No, I-"

"Sorry, you did have the shot?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No," Jim's voice lowers and his stare is black. He had been playing before but he's angry now. He approaches Tommy again and put the point of the knife under his chin, forcing him to look up.

"No, no, no, no, no, my dear Thomas," he shakes his head, genuinely crestfallen, "you had the shot. I told you to take the shot and you didn't." He sighs.

"You disappointed me and now you've wasted so much potential," Jim shrugs, then smiles sadly, brushing away a strand of the man's hair.

"But, fortunately," his face falls for a moment, "for you, that is," he adds disdainfully, "I need someone who's a good shot so I have to keep you around." Jim unbinds Thomas and throws a first aid kit at him. Thomas fumbles the catch and scrambles to open it.

"I've not punctured anything crucial. Clean yourself up. I'll be outside." Jim can hear the man crying with relief as he steps into the alley way. Hip lip curls. He's always hated the criers, but at least he waited until Jim stepped outside to blubber.

Anyway, it isn't as if he has a choice. Thomas is his third sniper this month and he's running low on help as it is. If he doesn't start controlling himself now, he'll have to start doing the dirty work himself and his suits are much too expensive for that sort of thing.

There's a gun shot and Jim spins around, looking for the source. A second ticks by and there's another blast. Jim follows the sound down the alley to what looks like the back of a small pub, and watches as a man lights a cigarette then loads his pistols again.

The man is tall but broad shouldered with light brown hair and a slight tan. His straight back screams "army" but his stance whispers "self taught" as his tense jaw states "officer." Jim narrows his eyes, intrigued when the man looks up for a moment, exhales in a puff of smoke and fog, aims, and then pulls the trigger. There's a short squeal as a rat falls off the roof above and lands in the dumpster sitting against the wall of the pub. The man flicks the ash off of his cigarette and Jim releases the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

He's lovely.

Jim emerges from the shadows, applauding, and the man looks up. Jim is pleased to see that his eyes are a cold blue but they don't look surprised at his sudden appearance; just hard, a challenge.

Jim grins.

"Oh well done, you," he purrs and puts his hands in his pockets.

"I must say, you're quite an impressive shot," he stops walking when he's about three feet from the tall man. Oh, and he is tall. Jim had underestimated just how powerfully built he was from his vantage point in the shadows. Not that he was hiding, of course, but the alley shadows hadn't shown the man in detail. Up close, he was much more...defined. The man quirks an eyebrow and grinds out the cigarette under his heel.

"Can I help you?"

"I don't know yet," Jim surveys him coolly, "do you come here often?" The man shrugs.

"Not really, but...," he trails off. His words are slightly slurred but he's standing straight, so he's not completely drunk. Probably just buzzed, Jim thinks.

"Have we met?" he asks. His accent is clipped and proper. He's most likely been to college, somewhere expensive, too. In a conversation he'd be well spoken. Jim shakes his head.

"Unfortunately we haven't," he laughs and loses his accent in favor of the man's posher one, "but I do think we could be friends." The man laughs at him as if he's not dangerous. Jim smirks because he knows he is. He doesn't mind the way he's being assessed by the soldier.

"Right," he hesitates, then, "do you have a name?"

"So many questions," Jim teases, back to his sing song Irish. He approaches the man until they're almost toe to toe. The man meets his gaze with those cold eyes and Jim suppresses a shudder. He can practically feel the coiled energy in this man waiting to spring, has been waiting all night for something to pounce on, whether it'd be a fight or a shag, Jim can't tell but he knows this man won't shy away from trouble. It's a head rush. He leans in close towards the man so their faces are almost touching. Jim hates his height for a moment but shakes off the feeling.

"I do have a name," he whispers, keeping his eyes locked on those eyes. The man licks his lips.

"And?" Jim's eyes are all light and malice. He's precious.

"I have a lot of things. I might even have something for you if you're lucky enough." He's about to slip one of his business cards into the man's pocket but the man catches his wrist. His hands are warm and rough as he brings Jim's wrist up to eye level and reads the card.

"A business card with no name?" he smiles slightly, amused, and Jim shrugs, all wide eyed innocence. He takes the card but keeps his hand on Jim's wrist. His grip is tight.

"And the blood all over your hands?"

Jim says nothing but flexes his fingers pointedly, and the man lets go.

"I might just be interested in that something you have for me, then."

"Then may I have your name?"

"You want me to give you my name when I don't know yours?" he shakes his head and gives a small laugh, "fat chance, mate."

"Well," Jim grimaces, "I suppose if you're not interested...," he trails off and starts to walk away, counting in his head.

He gets to six.

"Sebastian Moran," the man calls out and Jim grins triumphantly, his eyes closed and his head thrown back to the night. He spins around on his heel, settling his face back into an impassive mask, but even he can't keep the glee out of his eyes.

"I'll be in touch, Sebastian Moran," he nods his head at the puzzled looking man and walks back inside the abandoned store where he'd left Tommy to patch himself up. He takes the hand gun from the counter and walks to the back room where Tommy is. The gun man's managed to stitch himself up though he's still shaking. He notices Jim standing by the door and smiles nervously, glancing at the gun.

"Hi, Boss. I-,"

"Change of plans, Tom my dear," he raises the gun and pulls the trigger. The bullet flies and Tom goes still. Jim walks out and tosses the gun behind him, already on his phone.

"You're fired."