This was done for my own amusement. Originally, it was going to be a rather comical exchange of a very, very drunk Seb and a clumsy Jim, but it kinda ran away from me and did what it wanted.

The result is the rather abstract study of Jim and Seb's relationship, or mostly how Seb may view it. This is NOT meant to be Slash, and part of my reason for writing it is to beef up the Moran/Moriarty fics available that are platonic.

May be a little OOC, but since Moran doesn't exactly exist in the BBC Sherlock yet, and we don't see much of Moriarty in his daily life, I did the best I could.


"Not a chance mate, you've had more than enough." The bartender said firmly, pulling the glass away from an obviously very drunk man. The redhead protested weakly, a string of half-hearted curses coming from the counter where his face was growing ever more intimate with the wood.

"Look, you had better have a designated driver or I'm gonna lock you up in the cellar until morning, because I'm not about to let you out on the road like that."

The drunk in front of him shifted his head to glare at him, his ginger hair falling into his face. The man had stubble lining his cheeks, and his green eyes were glassy with drink. The man's muscled shoulders tensed under the leather jacket he was wearing. "I don't think youwant to try locking me anywhere." He slurred, his attention already drifting.

The bartender sighed exasperatedly. He was used to drunks, he just wasn't used to having to deal with someone this drunk outside of a weekend. "Look mate, get yourself a cab, go home, and sleep it off with a prayer that you don't get fired in the morning for showin up to work like this!"

The man snorted. "Work's murder 'nyway." He mumbled.

"Well, nobody likes their job but you gotta do it. You think I really like dealing with people like you all week? But it pays the bills. So out. I'm doing this for your own good."

The man glared at him again, hand sneaking into his jacket, surprisingly steady for someone so intoxicated. Before the man could close his fingers around the combat knife though, a voice sounded from behind him and a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"There you are! Time to go home, Seb. You know you've got work in the morning." Jim said, squeezing the other man's shoulder to drive the point home. Sebastien just flopped his head back onto the counter, trying to ignore James' presence.

"About time. You his driver?" the bar tender asked.

"Nope. I'm his boss." Jim said, giving the man a slightly unhinged grin. "Now, off we go Sebbie." Jim said, steering the other man by the shoulders and towards the bar's exit, his left hand holding onto the sniper's shoulder as best it could, confined as it was in a cast.

Once the two men were beyond the confines of the bar, Jim shoved Sebastien ahead of him, his expression immediately twisting into one of violent anger. "What have I told you about binging the night before I have you set for a job!" He spat, feeling absolutely no remorse as Sebastien stumbled, catching himself against a light post as he slipped in the snow. "You think you can go off whenever you please and do whatever you please. That's where you're wrong, Sebastien. Because as long as you work for me, you will be sober the day I need you for a killing. You're just lucky my two-thirty canceled. Seems like he can get along with his boss for a while after all. You on the other hand." James advanced on the sniper, grabbing the edges of his coat and pushing him harshly to the lamppost against which he was still trying to steady himself. "Do this to me again," He warned softly, his voice hissing with a deadly calm. "and I will use your own rifle to put a reminder...here." He finished, pressing his finger against Moran's forehead.

Moran didn't seem effected by his boss's words until a moment after. He looked up, blinking blearily as a fresh wave of snow started to drift down, catching in the light cast from the lamp. The harsh contrast lit his and Moriarty's features and made them look washed out, except for deep bruising that lined Jim's right eye socket and jaw. A thin line of a healing scar ran along the side of his throat, an angry red against the pale skin of his throat. His dark eyes were the only other things that stood out so in the light, and they swallowed it as they bored into Moran.

Moran's eyes slowly focused on Moriarty. In a moment his expression twisted and he lashed out.

Jim hit the ground hard, clasping at his nose as it gushed blood. The red leaked through his fingers and down his face, a look of surprise, then a sadistic humor crossing his face. Blood dripped to stain the snow beneath him as he got up, using his bandaged hand to support his weight. "So that's how it is, is it? Finally get sick of taking orders from Daddy?" Moriarty said, dropping his now bloody hand to his side, letting the blood trickle from his nose over his mouth, staining his Cheshire cat grin into a twisted parody. "This is why I picked you Moran, you know that? This is exactly why." He said, chuckling and using his undamaged hand to point at the sniper, who was now standing on his own power. "Because you'll do whatever you want. Never mind anyone else. And yet, sometimes you can be sooo compliant. Nice to have a tamed tiger on my side. Oops!" He said brightly. "Guess I got bit."

Moriarty's mocking tone was cut short when Sebastien reversed their roles, grabbing the smaller man's lapels and shoving him against the lamppost. Moriarty gave out an involuntary cry of pain as a severely bruised rib came in contact with the metal.

"Bit?" Moran snarled. "You're lucky to be alive James!" he said, his tone dipping sharply into one that was almost pleading.

"Oh come on, now you're threatening me? That's precious." Jim panted, finding it hard to breath with the way he was forced to put pressure on his cracked ribs.

"I don't need to threaten you, since you're obviously so keen on killing yourself." Moran shouted, his tone laden uncharacteristically with emotion. His speech was shockingly clear, and his grip was strong on Moriarty's jacket.

"Now now Seb, you know I'm far too intellig-"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR STUPID GENIUS BRAIN AGAIN!" Moran shouted, shocking Moriarty into silence. "You died. And you act like you don't bloody care. You died and it was my fault and I supposed to- protect..." He started to choke on his words, tears starting in his eyes as he let Moriarty go.

Jim stood there, shocked. He'd seen Sebastien drunk plenty of times, but nothing like this had ever happened before. He wondered just how much Moran had had to drink. Because Seb certainly didn't care that much about his paycheck, did he? He was the best sniper in Europe. Someone else would hire him if Jim died. But Sebastien hadn't said anything about money, he'd said...'protect.'

"Sebastien, is this about last month?" Jim suddenly said, his voice weaker than he would have liked, his ribs burning when he attempted to breathe or speak. He held his side with his good arm, trying not to let himself show the pain. He hated how trapped he felt in this body, especially the way he'd felt over the last month while in recovery. It was infuriating having something so persistent as pain cloud his thinking.

Sebastien didn't speak for a long time. It almost looked like the fight had gone out of him. Instead, his eyes appeared haunted by the memories that Jim's question had sparked. Sebastien remembered too well the moment Jim's pulse had died under his fingers only a month ago today. Jim's heart had stopped. And even though the medical team had re-started it, Sebastien couldn't shake the fact that Morairty's near death experience was his fault.

Sebastien had been away, and in that time one of the groups that Moriarty had screwed over figured out how to break into their flat and use the opportunity of Moriarty being alone to torture and then kill the psycho behind all their troubles. No one knew about it because Moriarty refused to have any form of bug in the flat. He was perfectly content to watch everyone elses' movements, but when it came to the center of his spiders web, no one was allowed to see him.

Jim's brow furrowed in confusion. Sebastien felt guilty. He stared at the sniper incredulously. While living with Sebastien had given Jim insight into more 'normal' aspects of human behavior, Moran was hardly the poster child for mental health and Jim couldn't for the life of him understand why Moran was acting this way. "I'm not dead." Jim said, exasperated. He dropped his hands to his sides dramatically.

Sebastien looked up, nodding slowly.

Jim sighed, rolling his eyes and checking his watch. "It's late and I want to go to sleep. Come on." He said, taking Moran's arm and slinging it over his shoulder to help him stand. Now that Sebastien had had his outburst, he was back to having a hard time standing. Dragging his sniper to the edge of the street, Jim hailed a cab and gave the cabbie a death glare before he could even think about complaining that they were going to get blood on the seats. Once back at the flat, Jim helped Sebastien into the living room and then abruptly sat down, unable to support his own weight any longer. His entire body ached and burned, his healing injuries aggravated by helping Moran.

"You're going to pay for this you know." He said, hiding a grimace as he shifted to avoid his ribs.

"M'Sryy." Sebastien mumbled, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Sorry isn't going to get the blood out of my silk shirt." Jim said petulantly, looking down at himself and his severly stained clothing. Ruined.

Sebastien nodded again, looking forlorn. He sat himself down on the couch next to Jim, staring into his lap. "Sorry dind'n fix you neither." he mumbled forlornly.

Before Jim could say anything to that, Moran slumped sideways, his face sliding against the couch as he fell over in slow motion. When he came fully to rest, a hand unconsciously gripped the front of Jim's shirt, and his head was resting on Jim's shoulder. Jim tried to move, but it was plain that the other man had passed out completely and was now over two hundred pounds of dead weight.

"If you throw up on me, I will kill you." Jim mumbled, too achy to bother with wrestling with Moran's limp body. Instead, he occupied himself with complex math equations until he fell asleep.


Didn't know if I wanted to post this for a long time, but at the insistence of a friend I figured I would. Hope you enjoyed it!