Mormor Oneshots *OLD WRITING*

93

(Warning: angst...?)

Tiger.

A nickname I didn't expect to emerge from my lips for someone I loved. Most call their loved ones by their name, a nickname of said name, and all those other cheesy nicknames. But I choose tiger for my loved one.

Ha...loved one. It works well, the word "loved" in this scenario. Past tense, I mean.

He's dead. Has been for months now.

Only comfort I've had while grieving was the knowledge that it wasn't my fault he died. I didn't send him off on a too deadly mission, I didn't kill him myself, and I didn't...kill him.

I don't even know how he died. I just got the news from Jackson, another sniper who was like a brother to my tiger.

I say he's mine but he wasn't. He didn't belong to anyone, just himself.

I don't remember when I realized I loved him. It may have been on one of our quiet nights, where he'd be draped in blankets and complain of cold, then collasp onto the floor and just think and talk to me for hours.

Perhaps it was then. Perhaps it was upon first sight.

Which would be funny, since our first sight was him on the job to kill me.

Assigned to kill me and yet came to be hired and loved by me. A twistedly romantic tale, one that all should hear.

I needed to know how he died. It was driving me insane now.

Was it quick and painless...did he suffer at all...how?

But while I do not have the cause, I do have the relief that amoung all the horrible things I've done...I, James Moriarty, did not twist fate and cause the death of Sebastian Moran.