Sherlock Imagines

You Give Love a Bad Name (Mormor)

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. CHARACTER DEATH. SWEET CONFESSIONS OF LOVE. VERY CRAPPY WRITING. SUPER SHORT. IM SORRY.
Song is why it's entitled what it is.

His eyes watched Jim with a faint glow buried in the blue. With soft and hesitant fingers, he brushed against the ghostly pale skin of his boss. Sebastian could only smile as he thought about Jim telling him- "Of course I'm fecking pale—the sun burns my dick through three pairs of shorts!"

He chuckled at the memory, feeling bashful about his sudden elation.

"Look, I know you tol' me to never get attached to you. That you're no better than the devil, an' all...but I couldn't help it." His eyes fell to those lips—the ones that constantly taunted him. He'd felt them all over his body, except for where it counted. Years of Jim owning his body, then his mind, and months upon months of the little Irish fucker owning his heart. It was idiotic to fall in love with a narcissistic psychopath, but he'd always had such an affinity for danger.

Maybe that's why he was doing the most dangerous thing known to man: confessing his feelings for James Moriarty.

"I love you. And despite everything you said about you being a curse upon the world...you were my blessing. I never minded bleeding for you, it was the necessary sacrifice to make. I'd never expect prayers to keep a vengeful god like yourself around, and I'd never have it any other way." But he was the answer to every prayer he'd ever had in Afghanistan.

Lord, please, give me something to live for.

Every beg he'd made to a god he'd never believed in. A purpose, other than killing people (though he enjoyed it).

Fucking hell, don't let me die, not without something more than this fucking war!

If he had any reason to believe in heaven, it was tied between meeting the devil himself...and his prayers being answered. Moriarty gave him a purpose beyond killing; he was Sebastian's savior.

His attention returned to his lover—if one could call him that—and he smiled fondly at those dark, soulless eyes.
"You're everything to me."

Silence. He waited patiently for a reaction. Even if just from the world around him. Some sort of affirmation that this was still allowed, as fucked as it was.

"I'm sorry, Boss," He sniffed, leaning down to press their lips together, hand cupping his cheek as if to hold him in place.

Ice cold.

"I couldn't protect you from yourself, Jimmy...and I never got to tell you everything going on inside this dumb hea' of mine. I love you...an' I always will." His hand tightened around Jim's hand. Around the gun he still held.

About 25% of the time, when someone shoots themselves, their fingers lock onto the gun, Seb.

It shouldn't have been you. It should've been me—

Smaller calibers are more common, and it's exceedingly rare if one shoots themself through the temporal lobe.

"I'll see you in hell, Boss...I hope you don't mind me holding onto you." He winked down at the body, forcing a smile as a tear rolled down his cheek. He pressed the gun to his lips, one last kiss before he went, in a screwed up way.

"I hope I'm in that 25%." His finger tightened on the trigger.

He held hands with the devil as he entered hell.