MorMor One Shots | Sherlock BBC

Homecoming Pt. 1

*Post Reichenbach*

It was not exactly going how Jim had expected it to. Then again, who was he to expect anything? A lot of things could have changed in three years.

The flat looked exactly the same he remebered it. His sniper had never been able to kick the old army habit of keeping everything tidied up, even though it had driven Jim crazy sometimes.
There were little signs of his state though. A knife was stucked into a wall over a book shelf, in perfect throwing distance from the couch. The deep marks in the wallpaper showed that throwing knifes at it had become a usual thing.

Jim ran his fingers over the holes that, without a doubt, a burning cigarette had left in the armrest of his favorite chair. Sebastian had either been very angry or his hands had been shaking. Jim didn't like any of these ideas.

Finally, footsteps. Jim adjusted his cuffs and crossed his legs. Looked up, when Sebastian appeared in the doorframe.

He was shirtless, his bare chest and arms showing the scars Jim had loved to run his fingers over. He was still muscly but had lost weight. The jeans he was wearing looked like he hadn't changed it for weeks; he was barefoot, pale, unshaved and carried an open bottle of alcohol.

"Bit early for that, tiger" Jim said, his voice calm and quiet, a slight smile twitching at his lips, as Sebastian lifted the bottle to take a swig.

His sniper looked up and their eyes met for a long moment. Jim had always found it easy to read Sebastian, but something was different this time. He didn't even look surprised.

"Get out of my head." Sebastians voice was hoarse, he lifted the bottle again and drank, breaking the eye contact and moving through the living room. Ignoring Jim.

"Oh, tiger." Jim cocked his head and let his eyes wander over the sniper. His hair needed a trim and the hand he used to absently go through a box of records was shaking slightly.
Not a good sign.
"You've been letting yourself go, darling. I would say you havn't eaten properly in days. Not to mention sleeping. I don't like that. We'll have to get you back in shape, won't we?"

He could see Sebastias shoulders shake with a deep breath, his grip on the bottle tightened and when he turned around his eyes were on fire. "I said get out of my head."

Jim rose a brow, unimpressed. "I'm not in your head, Sebastian. I'm here, you can be very sure about that."

"You know what I'm sure about?" Sebastian moved so quickly Jim almost winced when the snipers face was suddenly only centimeters away from his own. Almost. It was still the same man, skilled and incredibly fast. But Jim could smell the alcohol on his breath, the cigarette smoke, could see the dark rings under Sebastians eyes.

"I buried you." Sebastian hissed, one hand gripping the armrest, as if he needed to steady himself. "I buried you. You're not here. You're not him. You're just a ghost. Just a voice inside my fucking head. You're. Not. Real." His voice broke on the last word.

Jim got up abruptly and Sebastian stumbled back. He's afraid to touch me. He took a step towards him and his sniper took another one back, then he stopped.

"Sebastian." Jims voice was nearly a whisper, he closed the gap between them until he was close enough to touch him. "I promised you to be back, didn't I?"
He couldn't meet the other man's eyes. Instead he got hold of his nape, pulled Sebastian down, unresisting, and kissed him; for just five, six seconds he pressed their lips together, tasting the bitterness of alcohol and pain.

"My god, basher, how much did you drink of that?" He took the bottle from Sebastians limp hand, smelling it. Then he took a sip and grimaced. "You always had a terrible taste in alcohol, darling."

Sebastian hadn't moved, didn't react to the kiss. Jim wasn't even sure if he was breathing; their eyes met for a moment.

"...Jim?" His voice was barely audible.

And Jim smiled. "Hello, tiger."

Sebastian took a deep breath, moved his hands through his hair. Jim saw different emotions flicker over his face before he turned away: disbelief, pain, anger, fear.

Sebastian took a few steps away from him, stumbling. Jim didn't go after him.
"Sebastian..."

"Get out." The words exploded between them. When Sebastian turned around again he was holding a gun. Pointing it at Jims head.

He rose a brow. "Seriously?"

"Get the fuck out of my house. Before I finish the job you started on that rooftop." Sebastians voice was shaking so much he barely got the words out, but the hand holding the gun, that had been holding the bottle, was perfectly calm now. Jim allowed himself a small smile. That's something.

"...Your house?" he asked. "I heard the owner is back from the death."

"You left me alone, you fucking prick! I would have done everything. Everything!" He nearly yelled, his breath hitched and he shook his head. "You got ten seconds. Get out or I'll kill you."

To be honest, Jim had known the risk. He had known Sebastian wasn't stable. Violent, self destructive, masochistic, PTSD were the words he had written next to the snipers picture the day he received his file. To be honest, Jim was surprised he wasn't dead already.

Sebastian was shaking by now, his breath was heavy and Jim decided it was best to beat retreat. "It's okay. I'm leaving." he said calmly, but stopped in the door frame for a moment, looking back. "...I've missed you, tiger."