MorMor One Shots | Sherlock BBC

Bet

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Sebastian barely looks at Jim, but he also barely looks at the target on the other side of the room.

"Mh? What does it look like?"

Bang. The bullet leaves a hole. Bulls-Eye. But no, there are no other holes. The first bullet must have left it. Easy to figure where the next few went through. Jim could hear the shots in his study, even though the room is supposed to be soundproof.
He leans in the doorframe with crossed arms and a slight frown.

"It's half past twelve, Sebastian. Isn't it bed time for my sniper yet?"

Sebastian just snorts and pulls the trigger again. Bulls-Eye. He's wearing a strange mixture of combat boots, suit trousers and his Pink Floyd shirt.

"Please tell me you didn't go to a meeting like this."

Bang.

"Moran! Stop making that noise now."

He stops immediately but when he turns around, gun still in his hand, Jim can see the frustration in his eyes. Tiger doesn't like it to be locked up, apparently.

"Can't sleep. Why aren't you in bed, boss?"

Jim's eyes wander over the shooting range. Some of the lights aren't working and the target Sebastian positioned as far away as possible is cast in shadows. An array of weapons is lying carelessly at his feet, Jim can see the LWRC he modified for Sebastian, discarded like a toy someone got bored of. The sniper is holding a Beretta.

"Working. Can't concentrate with you shooting in my basement like an idiot though."

"Then let me go out! Let me do my job!"

The frustration inks Sebastian's tone darker and Jim can see where this is going. His sniper will provoke him into a fight and at the end of the night Jim will lock him out of his bedroom. Again. And it'll be the same game tomorrow, every day, until he lets him work again.
He cocks his head and contemplates for a moment. Then he smiles.

"Why don't you make this a bit more...interesting?"

"Interesting?" Sebastian echos and raises a brow. "What do you want me to do, close an eye?"

He gives Jim one of his best crooked smirks and makes a show of turning his back to the target and glancing over his shoulder with one eye closed, taking aim.

"Want to bet? It'll be a clear shot anyway."

"Bet" Jim breathes out with a sweet smile, stepping closer to him. "I'd love to bet. But we'll do it my way of interesting."

*

Sebastian takes another swig and grimaces, placing the bottle on the ground with an unsteady hand so it almost tips over. "I think I'm done."

"Oh no, Colonel. We said at least half a bottle. That's not even a third." Jim picks the bottle up and hands it back to the sniper. "Drink."

Sebastian murmurs a swear but takes another swig of the vodka obediently. He should know better than to bet with Jim by now. But it's Sebastian. If he knows better he tends to ignore that.

The two men are sitting side by side on the concrete floor, backs leaning against the wall. Jim is playing with the Beretta and Sebastian obviously tries very hard to stay focused.

"I'm starting to feel inco-, interx-" He looks up at the ceiling and frowns in concentration, untangling his tongue. "Intoxicated."

"Oh, well done." Jim nudges him in the side and laughs. "This brings back memories, doesn't it? Of the first time I met you. You were smashed out of your tree as well."

"I call bullshit on that" Sebastian murmurs, slurring his consonants, his head falling against Jim's shoulder for a moment. After a few seconds he recognises and sits up straight again, takes another sip of the alcohol and scrunches up his nose. It's oddly adorable.

"I was in a fight, won't... wasn't I? 't was glorious."

"You got beaten into a pulp" Jim comments dryly and rolls his eyes. "They broke two of your fingers and bruised your ribs. If I hadn't been there to save your arse you wouldn't annoy me all the time today."

Sebastian looks at his left hand in surprise and slowly bends the two fingers he still has problems with from time  to time. Jim watches him and shakes his head with a smirk, then he reaches over and takes the hand in his.

"...Come on. Just a bit more and you can prove how good you really are."

Sebastian hums at that and lifts the bottle again, Jim leans his head against his shoulder, still playing with the Beretta and humming absently.

"...You were so convinced you were smarter than everybody else" he murmurs after a while and smiles slightly. "So young, so angry, so arrogant. I liked that."

"Wasn't arrogant" Sebastian murmurs, the words carrying a thick Russian accent, and frowns slightly, almost spilling vodka on both of them. "Confident. Not arrogant."

Jim chuckled at that and continued.  "But do you know what I liked even more? Your resistance. Always tried to fight me, but beyond that, beneath all the pride and arrogance and rebellion and stubbornness you just want to submit. To let go. To have somebody else make the decisions. Perfect little soldier."

Jim looks up at Sebastian, expecting him to talk back. But the sniper gives no sign that he even heard him, he is gazing in the distance with a slight frown and half closed eyes and winces when Jim snaps his fingers in front of his face.

"Moran! Don't fall asleep on me now! You have a mission to complete."

"Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir" Sebastian mutters and picks up the bottle one more time, taking a large swig before placing it on the floor pointedly carefully. After that he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips.

"Sebastian" Jim says patiently and takes it from between his lips while the sniper is still trying to coordinate the lighter. "No smoking in the house, remember? Especially not in the shooting range."

Despite his protests Jim also takes the pack and the lighter from his bodyguard and hands him the loaded Beretta instead. "Here, shoot something."

Sebastian almost drops the gun, his fingers aren't cooperating, especially not when he tries to get up at the same time. "Damn it."

Jim watches him with a smirk and shakes his head, hopping to his feet light-footed. "...You gonna miss."

"Won't miss" Sebastian mutters and takes a step toward the target, frowning in concentration, relaxing the muscles in his shoulders. Even drunk his muscle memory seems to function. "Never miss." Then he lifts the Beretta and aims. And even though he could barley pronounce his own name right now his hand is steady. Bang.

"Bulls-eye!" Jim wraps his arms around him from behind fiercely and laughs. "Oh, you wonderful man."

"You lost" Sebastian announces quite proudly and salutes him with the nearly empty bottle, gun still in his hand and swaying dangerously. "You know what that means. Let me work again and don't torture me tomorrow. No ABBA at seven am" he slurs and smiles dreamily.

Jim shakes his head again and chuckles, stepping closer to put a steadying hand on his hip and snatch the bottle from him to take a sip himself. He shakes his hand and grimaces, wraps an arm around his snipers waist.

"Come on, tiger. Bedtime. Let's get you upstairs. And if you puke on the Persian carpet again I'll use the skin on your back as replacement."

"Yes sir" Sebastian murmurs tiredly and wraps one arm around Jim's shoulders, almost tripping over the rifle still lying on the floor. He'll have to clean and polish all of those weapons tomorrow.

"Remind me to never bet with you again."

Jim just laughs and leads him upstairs. Sebastian has a weak point for gambling, for taking risks and for challenges. Adrenaline junkie. Always the hunter.

"Come on, Bastian. I think we both need some sleep."