So long little birdy.

[thecrackshot]

Moran stood over Jim's body, blood on his shoes.  Jim bought him those shoes last week because he thought the other pair were hideous or scuffed or didn't match his own eyes.  Moran hadn't paid attention at the time and now it was lost to him.  He smirked for a moment and crouched down, stupidly feeling for a pulse that couldn't be there. The wound

Comments

[dontbeobvious]

What a warm welcome, he didn't even get chance to brag either! He pulled a face at the lack of chance to remove his shoes and the potential dirty he may end up tracking but Moran was too busy giving him a hello-I-want-to-fuck-your-brains-out kiss. And frankly, Jim had no problem with it.

What was wrong with a touch of the old passion to spice everything up between them?

Smirking, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around Morans neck. It didn't take much to do what he did neck but transferring his weight, he hauled himself up and managed to wrap his legs around Morans waist before pulling back.

"Oooh goodie! Is this my gift for being such a good boy and escaping jail? Shall we fuck up the wall darling?"

So romantic.

[thecrackshot]

"You shot yourself," Sebastian said, still glowering in the corner, "so stop playing fucking cute with me. You might charm the panties right off of the nurses but I'm--" Wait.

Shit.

He stalked across the floor and plunked down in the seat next to Jim's bed. He didn't touch him. He just scowled. "What's the last thing ou remember?"

[dontbeobvious]

"Did I?" Jim paused and raised an eyebrow before touching the back of his head with a baffled look. Suicide wasn't really his thing but then he supposed he did have a flare for melodramatics. Perhaps he was showing off or maybe he was playing incorrectly with Morans gun. The man was an ex-soldier, he had plenty around.

"Last thing. I can't remember well, everything a bit everywhere. I remember rabbits, how odd. Rabbits and you," Jim smiled that odd almost unsettling smile before shaking his head in disbelief. Jim always did have the most unnerving smile unless he was playing someone, it never looked quite right on his face.

"Moran, darling, why would I blow my wonderful brains out when the survival chances are so poor? I need my brain, how else will I make a living? Formula's are my life-- sorry, that isn't right, is it? ... Acting?" Jim honestly couldn't recall his job, he had so many bouncing around in his head, which one was right.

[thecrackshot]

Acting. Mathematics. Neither far from the truth but certainly none close either. Moran felt his heart actually sink into his stomach. He felt his breath catching and his palms start to sweat. Jim but not Jim.

"You--" He wouldn't entertain the thought actually. He couldn't stomach it. "Jim, what do you know about me?" If Jim didn't know he was an assassin, if his clients found out he wasn't a brilliant criminal genius, they were fucked. Both of them. Good. And. Hard.

Oh God, he wanted to kill Sherlock again. Dig him up and shoot him in his stupid face.

[dontbeobvious]

Moriarty lay back in the bed an focused. Moran, Moran, Moran... he killed a tiger once. He was in the army, dishonourable discharge and then he employed him as a ... hitman? No, that made no sense? Bodguard? That... that was more likely. He could of sworn that was it, why else would he be at his bedside.

"Bodyguard? With a sniper," Moriarty smiled and snorted in amusement, hard not too because it was all so mad. What mental little life did he lead?

Despite his jumbled mind, one thing was still certain. He knew what he wanted and he expected Moran to do it. Which is why he soon leaned over and wrapped his arms around the other man.

"Sneak me out, I want to go home."

[thecrackshot]

"Not until you get your fucking mind back, Jim," Moran said, eyes steely. He wasn't going to play the neglected, lost lover. He couldn't manage it, he wasn't even sure if he'd want Jim back unless he was himself -- Oh, who was he kidding? He was employed to take care of the man. A LIVE IN. And yeah, it wasn't marriage. No sickness and in health but--

Sebastian gently pushed Jim back down.

"Or at least until your skull isn't being held on with bandages. I'll sneak Inle in, all right? But I can't take you home yet."

[dontbeobvious]

Jim got bored as quickly as ever and what with being stuck here, he slept away the rest of the day in a sulk and the next day, he didn't pretty much the same when he realised he was just stuck alone bored with Moran. Yes, Moran was fine company but not all day all the time because it was fairly boring.

It wasn't still the Friday that he got to see Inle, the snuck in rabbit that he had to stop to pet.

He was bored of being here but he was told his stay could be up to a month depending on if the ex rays of his head get better and if he cleared up in some ways. Moriarty wasn't impressed at all.

"Moran, I still want to go home."

[thecrackshot]

"Jim. You had a gun in your mouth and the bullet ricochetted off of your skull and... And... Oh, fuck it. Fine. But you're going to listen to me, all right? Everything I say. And... Fuck, you're going to have to call me Jim. Moriarty. I'll explain later, but from now on, I'm James Moriarty and you're Richard Brook."

He waited for Jim to make a fuss and then put a hand on his chest.

"You're not safe," he spat at, growling slightly. "You're really just not safe, Jim. Why do you think you needed a pseudonym and a bodyguard huh?"

[dontbeobvious]

Jim just blinked before reaching over and yanking the IV from his arm. "Perhaps there was a good reason why I tried to blow by brains out. I was meant to die and past me is going to be very disappointed, I wonder what was so unbearable to live with."

Pulling himself upright, he grasped Moran, his legs feeling wobbly and his vision blurred. He hadn't been up in a week and a half and he did have a rather serious injury.

"I'm Rich? Shame, I hate that name. But, Jimmy, its fine as long as he get home," Grinning that same old mocking smile, he picked up the rabbit and held onto Morans jacket. He was determined enough to do anything, to go beyond what most would.

A shot to the head? Pfft, like he needed treatment for that.

[thecrackshot]

God, he hated Richard but he couldn't just give Moriarty his own name, now could he? No. No, that would be a terrible mess. Sebastian Moran was a well known name in several, dangerous circles and if Moran wanted to call his doctors in to look at Jim, he'd need to do it under a false name to keep Moriarty's identity as secret as possible. That was the key,

The way of the world of the clan of the consulting criminal. And when Jim's mind came back? He wanted to have secured it's safety.

Sebastian ended up lifting Jim up after he dressed him in his street clothes and carrying him out. He'd deal with the hospital later. Luckily, there was a helicopter waiting for them. Ah, being Moriarty had it's perks.

[dontbeobvious]

The plane was nice and showy, Jim definitely loved it. He was thrilled really, he felt like he'd woken up being unaware that he was essentially a king or something. In fact, he remembered wearing a crown and the royal jewels. He was actually pretty proud of himself actually, he had a funny feeling he must of had a great life.

So why shoot himself? The only thought that came to mind was Stayin' Alive... such a boring song as well.

Once they were outside Jims place, he looked out of the plane at the roof of their flat before turning his head to the man across from him. "My live in pet, that's what you are."

Well... he was remembering right?

[thecrackshot]

"I'm not a fucking pet," Sebastian grumbled. "Inle is the pet. Jesus, get your fucking facts straight before you open your God damned mouth!" He wasn't an equal and he wasn't even that offended by it, but he was deathly afraid of getting close to Jim like this.

In any way.

The other man slipped in an out of himself and while that was typical for the acting genius, Sebastian liked it better when it was less consistent and more mood-based.

"Take your shoes off inside."

[dontbeobvious]

"Why, its my house," Jim snapped before strolling through the house, tracking along the floor in the battered trainers Moran had dressed him in. As much as he appreciated a bodyguard, he didn't like his taste in clothes but apparently he had to fly under the radar. Staggering into the bedroom, he sat on the edge of it and opened the bedside draw to try and work out what he had been doing last.

Pulling out two tickets to Boston, he raised an eyebrow and dropped them on the bed. Pulling out a London baseball cap, he tugged it on his head to cover the bandages and looked over at Moran.

"We're going to America?"

How odd, he didn't recall booking time of work.

[thecrackshot]

"Were," Sebastian corrected with a frown. "You can't travel with a head wound. You just can't. The pressure in the air cabin... It'll probably kill you," he muttered and snatched up the sneakers from the bedroom to throw into the foyer again. Where they belonged.

He was trained. Damn it, Moriarty had trained him. Just like a pet.

"You should really be resting. I'm going out to get your prescriptions and get that fucking surgeon you keep on call in here. Do not answer the door while I'm gone all right?!"

[dontbeobvious]

"The tickets are book for a month from today," Well, three weeks, Jim still didn't know the exact date. He dropped them aside before crossing his legs and looking up at the other man with a tentative tilt of his head. It didn't hurt as much as he thought but there was a definite painless throb that he knew would get worse ... no one was that stupid.

The drugs he was doped up on would leave his system eventually.

"Yes sir!" Jim mocked, putting on an over the top American accent before saluting the other man.. He lay back and waited for the sound of the door to close before he relaxed and picked up the phone. What? He had to ring up Molly and cancel their date. Maybe he should tell her what happened... and that he had a boyfriend. Oh Jim, his mind was so muddled that all his made up aliases were coming alive.

"Hey, it's me... yeah, Jim."

[thecrackshot]

Moran arrived back home to find himself having to deal with a massive mess. Molly hadn't believed Jim at first, and then when she did, she hung up. So of course Jim couldn't leave it at that, so Molly was forced to call poor Lestrade, under investigation himself for letting a suiciding fake genius to work with them for five years... Lestrade ended up setting up a trace and--

Well thank God that Jim's cell was untraceable!

"Jim? Are you all right?" he asked, pain killers in hand and the assurance that the surgeon would be over shortly. "You're not..." Laying down. Smiling. Playing with Inle. Fill in the blank.

Instead, he looked mildly upset.