RP oneshots

Dear Tiger.

-Right before Jim's suicide attempt-
[Mainly wrote this to try out 1st person POV, and I am so sorry, b/c it's worse than my usual crap. Feel free to not even bother reading it, it's Jim's suicide note to Sebastian from before the twins were born. So... yeah. -Clarissa]

Recently, I've been having a bit of pressure from "people" to post this, because they want to see it... Seb, I wouldn't suggest reading it, alright? Just- don't. Please. Don't read this...

Dear Tiger,
I'm writing this in case you ever come back. I tried to message you, but Mycroft had your phone. I tried to find you, but even as I write this, your portion of the screen remains blank. Jane is at a coffee shop with her phone off, Irene is trying to find me, and Minnie is at Baker Street- crying as she reads my goodbye. But your screen is blank. I can't find you, no matter how I try.
I'd like to start this off by saying I hate you. So much. The amount you hate Minnie, the amount you hate Sherlock, and the amount you hate that pain in the arse father of yours- all combined. That's how much I hate you.
And I hate you even more because I can't hate you. For the way your eyes sparkle like sun reflecting off the blue, blue sea. Sometimes I pretend that sparkle's for me, even if I know it probably isn't. Why would it be? I only seem to matter to you when I'm not yours. I hate you even more for letting me believe I had someone- someone who cared. I guess when you grow up with no one by your side, you're desperate to find someone who will be. I hate you for the way kissed me- chasing all the twisted memories that created the mosaic that is me away, until it was just you. I couldn't remember the creaking of the door as that drunken bastard found his way into my room. I didn't see my mother's blood seeping from that god forsaken bathroom, flowing towards me as if it knew I was the one who caused it to be leaked from it's host. I couldn't hear Danielle's rasping breaths as her heart finally gave out from too much kite flying, as she managed to look at the little boy responsible one last time. Couldn't even see those haunting eyes. My reflection wasn't altered from the bloody grey matter behind him on the wall... I think Richard hoped that by choosing his own death by his own hand over his desires he could salvage himself- be saved and walk right upstairs to heaven's gates. I didn't think about me watching him do it. No, I could only think of you, and how surreal you were. And when your arms wrapped around me, for the first time since I was three years old in Dani's arms, I felt safe. Like the nightmares that waited on the dark fringes of what little is left of my sanity couldn't touch me, because you were right there. I could be in your arms and killed by your hand, and I think I'd still feel safer than any other in the world. And I hate you for that.
Because it isn't fair, Sebastian. It isn't fair that I can look for any excuse to be near you, even when, in the end, it makes me feel nothing more than used. And I know it does. But I will keep doing it, because it was the only thing that helped. That, even though it was temporary, came close to fixing me. Even after all those times you left me shattered, I ran back to you. Listening for my name on your lips, like some pathetic mutt desperate for your attention. The running joke has always been that you're my pet, but I've never understood how confused one must be to actually think that.
You say you'd die for me, that's how much you care for me- but I don't want that. I'd much rather you stay with me- just once. To stop running away.
317. It's my least favourite number. 316 is the number of days I let myself believe there was something there. That I let myself fall victim to your sweet words that were truly poison, and kind eyes that hid the malice you guarantee. 316 days was the number of days I felt your arms around my waist as I made breakfast, and tricked myself into believing in you. And on the 317th, I handed you the very last piece of me I had left to give. It's become a tradition, waiting for 317 more days to come along so I could hear the same words that broke me, more than anything else ever did, play in my head- a taunt from you to me. We don't love.
For two days I tried to figure out how that could be. Try to find some sense in sweet kisses and sugary smiles, since that was your truth. For another, I finally remembered who I was- James Isaac Moriarty Jr., the son that couldn't stop breaking everything around him. Someone no one could actually ever love, even a tortured army colonel. One more to let my anger flourish and hate myself for letting me be manipulated by something as petty and useless as feelings again. And on the fifth... on the fifth you brought home dinner. Wanted to talk- probably wondering why I was avoiding you. And I nearly fell for it. All over again. You nearly had me.
But I did what I do best and blocked you out, heading to get more work done, until I felt your hand around my wrist. You barely blinked when I repeated your words back to you. You didn't tell me that it wasn't true, you didn't try again to get me to talk. You just let me be after that. And that's what broke me the most. How easily you went back to how things were before- how easy it was for you to be without me, when all I wanted was to wake up and be in your arms.
I've learned over the years that the easiest people to manipulate are manipulators, themselves. Needing someone to trust, and tired of the lies as they chip away at who they once were. Manipulators will manipulate themselves.
I think that's what happened when we started sleeping together, again. When I went back to counting the seconds, and curling up on the spot you'd left. Somehow I tricked myself into thinking that, if we kept it up, we could have those 316 days back. That's all I wanted.
And we got close. So, so very close. But it was taking so much longer than I'd expected, and it was wearing me down. I was tired of watching other people come and go through a cycle of where you were- unable to stop watching them with disdain as they went.
That's when the new little assassin in my ever growing web became your equal- if not professionally, then outside of the office. Sex was never uncommon for either of us, and clearly it wasn't for her, either. But you never liked to share your spot. You downright hated it. I saw it as the closest thing I'd get to jealousy from you. And while you and I drifted apart from both anger and plain old giving up, I brought Minnie to Ireland.
And we had fun. It wasn't me constantly drowning myself in alcohol and the feel of your skin between my teeth, nor the drugs and sprees.
Where you flushed the bad memories away, she helped me face them. It was like a god fearing git at confessional, the stories washing their own scars away as they spilled to her. And one by one, the pain lessened.
And yet, you stayed right there after. As I began falling for her, already at the bottom of the rabbit hole when it came to you, something happened.
I watched congratulations pour in, both terrified and... happy. Because I was going to have something- I would matter to someone. A little baby...
But you couldn't let me have that, because it meant I was no longer yours. I'd give you the knife to cut me bit by bit if it'd make you smile, but I should've known it wouldn't be the other way around. I should've known you would run, rather than stay here and give me any support whatsoever. You're selfish and a bastard and I hate you. Because you always leave me.
You were supposed to be the one person that didn't leave, and you've run away from me, again. And it has shattered me, fully and completely, yet again... how can you do this to me, Seb? How?.. I should've expected it, in reality, though.
Because I know you. And I know that we don't feel the same. Because...

...I love you. Goodbye.

Love,
Spider.