Multi Fandom One-shots

three, two, one, go

a/n: hello this is dedicated to my friend Boo2808 trigger warning for suicide sorry also my details are off i know but lets look over that :)

Sebastian's eyes flew open, and then snapped shut because he couldn't bare to look at the empty side of the bed. Every single night he had the same nightmare.

Jim was on the roof, Sebastian was looking between Jim and John, who was freaking out about Sherlock being on the roof. To begin with this made Seb laugh, John looked so funny worrying like that but, in the three seconds between Jim pulling out the gun and It happening, he realised what John's feeling. It was soul freezing fear.

Do you remember when you were little and you took your favourite toy shopping with you? But then you left it in the changing room at primark and you cried for weeks and weeks because, when you were six that's all that mattered. Now you're grown up but the feeling is still there, only this time you can't buy a replacement, you can't laugh about it years later and you can't move.

Seb was frozen to the spot. One hand still on his gun and the other slammed over his mouth. Jim fell to the floor and everyone stopped, Sherlock leapt back and, even from this distance Sebastian could see even Sherlock bloody Holmes wasn't expecting Moriarty to do that.

He sat, the duvet pooled around his waist and tried to slow his breathing down. If anyone was here they'd tell him to take deep breathes, which would make it worse because that always made him dizzy. "Sebby, go back to sleep."

Just to spite the voice, he rose shakily and, somehow, made his way into the kitchen and, more specifically, the cupboard above the microwave. He pulled a glass off the counter and poured in whichever bottle he grabbed first. He downed it quickly and shuddered at the burning sensation in his throat. "Sebby, you know I hate it when you drink." He looked up, even though he knew Jim wouldn't be there. It was always his voice - soft, the voice only Sebastian had ever heard.
"Piss off."

He didn't bother to pour another and drank directly from the bottle.

Maybe an hour later, or longer - he had lost track of time, he dragged himself back upstairs and started rummaging around his - their - messy room.

Meanwhile, about ten minutes away on the outskirts of London, James Moriarty was sat watching a computer monitor. He watched Sebastian, his strong Seb, falling apart like a woollen jumper, thread by thread, day by day.

He flicked his pocket knife. It wasn't his, it was Sebastian's.

"Sir, you asked for a taxi. It's here." Jim stabbed the knife into the keyboard and stood with such force that the wheely chair he was sat on flew back and hit whoever had come in.

He walked out of the small building and as soon as the early morning hit him he ran to the taxi and jumped in, half shouting the address.

"Drive. Don't stop. Don't think. Just go." He hissed before leaning his head on the cold window, only to move it away because it felt like someone had put his head in the blender.

~~~

three, two, one, go.

That's all it would be and Sebastian would be okay again.

3

Sebastian found what he was looking for. It wasn't his gun, it was Jim's. It was from when It happened. He saw Jim falling to the ground over and over again like a dvd that kept jumping and the sound of the shot repeated like a broken record.

Jim was coming into central london and had never felt such remorse for the amount of imbecilic drivers who had a sudden urge to drive around at two am.

2

Sebastian sat on the floor of their bedroom and looked around as best he could, trying to ignore the haze that covered his vision. He could see clothes all over the floor, tangled with empty bottles and cigarette smoke. It was dark, partly because it was two am, partly because he couldn't see properly and partly because he hadn't opened the thick curtains in weeks. He could feel the cold metal in his hand, it was familiar and sickeningly comforting.

Jim was one road away. He slammed open the door and started running. Fucking English traffic.

1

Sebastian had the circular escape pressed to the bottom of his unshaven jaw.

Jim had his unused key pressed into the lock of his apartment.

go

Sebastian took a deep breath and held it for a second before he slowly released it - letting everything out before he pulled the trigger.

Jim crashed through the front door and Sebastian jumped - the bullet grazing his ear.
"Sebastian!" Jim heard the shot from two rooms away and sprinted towards their room - almost tripping every other step. He flung the door open and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sebastian. He was unshaven and curled into a ball in the middle of the room, blood on one side of his head.

"What the shitting fuck," Seb hissed, "Why are you so hell bent on my fucking suffering?" He hit the gun against his head - the cold echoing and Jim's breathing the only sounds in the room.

"Sebastian?" Jim said quietly.

His eyes snapped open, the once bright blue now a dull, lifeless grey.

"Get out of my fucking head." Jim gingerly stretched out a hand.

Sebastian started to wave the gun around angrily. "get out of my head and get out of my apartment. get out before i do." He had the gun at his temple.

good lord bloody hell i really cannot deal with this Jim thought. Then he remembered that he had dealt with it. Sebastian not so much.

"Sebastian. Put the gun down."

"Three two one go - that's it and I expect you to be gone because I don't think I can see your face or hear your damn voice once more before I lose it."

"Sebastian."

"Three "

"Sebby listen."

"Two"

"Seb look at me. "

"One "

"Don't do it"

"go."