MorMor One Shots | Sherlock BBC

Memories (Homecoming Pt. 2)

Second part of my one shot "Homecoming". Angst & fluff. Mainly angst.

"I have no idea what color they are..." Jim hums, holding Sebastians face in his hands to take a closer look; stubble against his palms and Sebastian making a sleepy noise, smiling up at him lazily.

It's sunday morning. It's four years ago. It's his Sebastian again.

"They  remind me of rain..." Jim says seriously, cocking his head slightly. Sebastian huffs a laugh and stretches underneath him, trying to bat his hands away so he can turn on his side.
His hair is a delicious mess, his bare chest lifts and drops in a steady and relaxed rythm, his skin feels warm under Jim's fingertips.
"Hold still, tiger. Stop squirming or get up." Jim uses his boss voice, whacking Sebastian's shoulder, but the sniper just chuckles, sleepy and  unbent, his skilled hands catch Jim's wrist and  he pulls his boss down next to him.
"Five minutes" he murmurs into the other man's hair and closes his eyes again.
Jim thinks about pulling back, about refusing to give his employee what he wants, about kicking the sniper out of his bed like he should. He even thinks about the knife that's hidden under the pillow they share. But there's a tight feeling in his chest and after all, he allows Sebastian five more minutes. Sentimental idiot.

                                                                                +++

"You're going out?"
Sebastian flinched and looked up, staring at Jim for a moment with clenched teeth. The criminal was sitting in his armchair again, like he still owned the place. Pretending you still belong here.
"How did you get in?"
Jim waved him off and rolled his eyes with a sympathetic sigh. "The same way as last time."
 Sebastian took the bait. "I changed the locks."
"That you did. I'm flattered."
The sniper snorted, hands on his shirt buttons again, closing the last few, adjusting the cuffs. "You know where the exit is, psycho."
"...May I ask how long you've waited?" The question was a desperate attempt to keep Sebastian talking, to make him stay in the room and Jim knew that. But Sebastian took the bait again. Still so easy to control, tiger.
 The question caught the sniper off guard, he stopped in the door frame and Jim could see him take a deep breath.
"...Two years, Jim. Two years spent waiting for you to come back. Why? Oh yes, because you had promised to come back. Guess I got tired of waiting." Another deep breath. "I changed the locks four months ago."
"Tiger..."
"Don't call me that! Don't you dare." Sebastian's voice was still hoarse but when he turned around again his eyes (grey, blue, green? What color are they?  Depends on the mood, he had always said. Now they looked like storm clouds) had the same threatening spark Jim remebered.

                                                                                           +++

"You're a failure, Moran. Be  glad I allowed you to come back here."
Sebastian says nothing in reply, his chin up he looks at a point slightly left and above Jim's head, even though it must hurt his broken ribs to stand this straight.

It's tuesday night. It's three  and a half years ago. It's a mission gone wrong.

"Oh, always the stoic colonel. It's pathetic. Look at me when I'm speaking!"  Jim commands and his sniper obeys.
"What do you think, that our little thing changes anything? That I all of sudden care about you, Moran?" I do. It changed everything.
"I don't care about you. It doesn't make you special. I won't tolerate your mistakes just because you happen to be a good lay. Do you really think a man like me would want to be with a man like you?" Stop.
"It means  nothing, you hear me? I'd put a bullet in your skull if it ever serves my cause in any way, understood?" Stop it. You're hurting him.
"I said, understood, Moran?"
Sebastian swallows audible but lets no sign of pain slip through his facade.
"Understood, Sir."

                                                                                           +++

"You look good." Jim looked Sebastian over slowly.
His hair was trimmed, he was clean shaved and wore a white shirt. No tie. Sebastian had always hated ties. He still smelled of cigarettes, but Jim had gotten used to it over the years, even though he'd never admit it.
"You still broke into my house."
Jim sighed dramatically. "I was curious. You didn't move a single thing in my room. I'm touched."
The sniper gave him an aggressive glance, but didn't come closer. "You better leave."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you here."

                                                                                     +++

"Say it again"  Jim demands, his right hand resting against the wall on one side of Sebastian's head (even though he has to stretch to reach there) and his body up agaist the other man.
The sniper returns his look, the fact that he's pinned against a wall with a knife alarmingly close to his ribcage doesn't seem to bother him too much.
"Don't do it."
"Do what? Speak louder."
Sebastian takes a shaky breath and an emotion flickers over his face, nearly too fast for Jim to catch: Its fear. But not fear for himself.
"Don't do it. Tomorrow. Don't kill yourself." After a momet of silence he adds a weak "Please."

It's thursday night. It's three years ago. It's the last kiss for a very long time.