Sebastian sat on the roof, cigarette in his hand, rifle bag at his side,
knife in his other hand. He tossed it experimentally, catching it in
the same hand, sighing out a cloud of smoke. The sun was setting in the
sky, over the city he called home. It was a beautiful city, sometimes.
One of those times would be this time of day, when the sun was setting
behind the buildings, and they cast a shadow across the ground. From up
here, on his perch, it was like he owned the world. He was king of all
he saw before him.
Slowly, he lay back, resting his head against the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. He closed his eyes, cigarette to his mouth, taking a slow drag and holding it in for a moment before breathing it out. "Fuck..." he murmured to himself.
As the sky become dark and scattered with dim stars, he knew he had to get up. The nights got too cold to lay out here on the roof like this. He needed to get back to his empty flat, if you could even call it a flat. It was barely bigger than a box, it felt like. It was suffocating and he hated it there. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his boot before riffling through his bag to get out the materials that he needed. He carefully and almost lovingly put together his rifle and set it up, taking a peek through the scope, and adjusting it to get the shot that he wanted. He grabbed another cigarette, putting it to his lips but not lighting it just yet.
He pulled his dog tags out from under his jacket and squeezed them in his hands. "Stay safe tiger..." he murmured, remembered the words by heart, always, and repeating it to himself whenever he felt alone and exposed. It had become like a mantra that gave him strength. He stepped up to his gun, peering through the scope, lining things up, finger on the trigger. All he had to do was wait now. His jobs had gotten easier since his boss had--
He swallowed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Not now, Sebastian, get your shit together. You've got one job...then you can think." he reprimanded himself, getting quickly back to the task at hand.
He waited. Waiting was always the boring part. The annoying part. He started humming an old Bee Gees tune as he waited to see the face that he needed to see.
When he spotted the man, he took the shot, took a moment to watch him fall and the people swarm around him, most likely screaming and crying and wondering where the shot came from. He chuckled to himself and started to pack up, swinging his rifle bag onto his back when he was finished. He lit his cigarette and climbed down from the roof, bag on his back, cigarette between his lips. Time to collect and then get some more whiskey. Maybe some more smokes.
He wandered through the still crowded city, head down, sticking to the shadows. He didn't want to stand out, and he hardly ever did. Because people are blind. They don't care about what other people do as long as they don't run into anyone.
He doesn't even realize where he's going until his feet bring him to the old flat, where he lived with James Moriarty. "Jim...." he breathed, swallowing heavily. His tears burn in his eyes and he looks down, taking a seat on the steps, curling up there, waiting for the morning to come.
Slowly, he lay back, resting his head against the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. He closed his eyes, cigarette to his mouth, taking a slow drag and holding it in for a moment before breathing it out. "Fuck..." he murmured to himself.
As the sky become dark and scattered with dim stars, he knew he had to get up. The nights got too cold to lay out here on the roof like this. He needed to get back to his empty flat, if you could even call it a flat. It was barely bigger than a box, it felt like. It was suffocating and he hated it there. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his boot before riffling through his bag to get out the materials that he needed. He carefully and almost lovingly put together his rifle and set it up, taking a peek through the scope, and adjusting it to get the shot that he wanted. He grabbed another cigarette, putting it to his lips but not lighting it just yet.
He pulled his dog tags out from under his jacket and squeezed them in his hands. "Stay safe tiger..." he murmured, remembered the words by heart, always, and repeating it to himself whenever he felt alone and exposed. It had become like a mantra that gave him strength. He stepped up to his gun, peering through the scope, lining things up, finger on the trigger. All he had to do was wait now. His jobs had gotten easier since his boss had--
He swallowed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Not now, Sebastian, get your shit together. You've got one job...then you can think." he reprimanded himself, getting quickly back to the task at hand.
He waited. Waiting was always the boring part. The annoying part. He started humming an old Bee Gees tune as he waited to see the face that he needed to see.
When he spotted the man, he took the shot, took a moment to watch him fall and the people swarm around him, most likely screaming and crying and wondering where the shot came from. He chuckled to himself and started to pack up, swinging his rifle bag onto his back when he was finished. He lit his cigarette and climbed down from the roof, bag on his back, cigarette between his lips. Time to collect and then get some more whiskey. Maybe some more smokes.
He wandered through the still crowded city, head down, sticking to the shadows. He didn't want to stand out, and he hardly ever did. Because people are blind. They don't care about what other people do as long as they don't run into anyone.
He doesn't even realize where he's going until his feet bring him to the old flat, where he lived with James Moriarty. "Jim...." he breathed, swallowing heavily. His tears burn in his eyes and he looks down, taking a seat on the steps, curling up there, waiting for the morning to come.
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Sebastian sat on the couch, staring at
the sleeping pills on the table, and the few bottles of alcohol he had left.
Then he glanced over at his rifle bag and his handgun. He closed his eyes and
ran a hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts as the tears welled up
in his eyes. He had nothing left, and everyone was after him now, so what was
the point in sticking around to be caught and tortured in a prison somewhere.
He had been living on what Jim had left behind for him, which wasn't all that
much in retrospect. What with all the expensive suits the man always wore...
But that wasn't what mattered. He took a deep breath and pulled out his e-cig.
It was one of the last things Jim had gotten him, telling him that he 'didn't
want you to kill yourself like that'. He took a deep drag, the taste of coffee
filling his senses, and then he blew out the vapor, sighing. It wasn't as good
as the real thing by far, but it was alright... Better than nothing anyway. He
opened his eyes slowly and looked out the glass doors in front of him, out at
the dimly lit cityscape. It was beautiful tonight... And how appropriate. It
had been exactly a year now. Today, last year...Jim had shot himself. In those
beautiful brains. That marvelous, brilliant, STUPID, SELFISH brain. Sebastian
squeezed his eyes closed as a tear dripped down his cheek, and then the
floodgates broke and he was sobbing all over again. God, it was pathetic... Jim
would slap him silly if he saw him like this, but still, he couldn't stop. He
picked up a bottle and poured himself a glass, not caring of the substance,
just needing to be numbed. He glanced again at the sleeping pills. He was
really thinking about it now. He took a gulp from his glass and then downed it,
still thinking as he poured himself another. "Jim...I don't know what to
do without you..." he whimpered. "How did you expect me to live after
that...after watching you...seeing you...How could you do this to me...?"
he asked, staring up at the ceiling. He angrily threw the glass across the room,
watching it smash against the opposite wall. He blinked and stood up from his
spot on the sofa and sighed, starting to pace. "FUCK YOU JIM!" he
screamed, falling to his knees finally, grabbing his head and rocking on the
ground, sobbing. "You fucking bastard...you said you'd never leave
me...But where are you now, huh? Where the FUCK are you NOW!?" he cried
out between the heavy sobs. He curled up on the floor, crying himself into a
sleep.
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Sebastian sighed out a cloud of smoke,
the cloud floating lazily from his lips. He set his cigarette down and looked
through his scope, trying to find a good target. He'd finally stopped moping
about the flat and was getting out and about a bit more, but never going near
St. Bart's for fear of relapsing from this leap forward. He still thought of
Jim, fondly, but he was done feeling sorry for himself. Moping wasn't getting
him anywhere with his life, so it was high time he put his big boy trousers on
and got over it. He found a target and took a deep, calming breath, and the
frigid morning air waking him up and keeping him alert. He gently squeezed the
trigger, hitting his target dead-on, and the can nearly 100 meters away
practically exploding. He chuckled and sat back as chaos began on the streets
below. His work was done.
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The streets were quickly emptying,
everyone heading home to their loved ones or at least something they loved. The
dark clouds were quickly closing in and he could hear thunder off in the
distance, rolling in with the clouds. A storm was heading his way, but he was
far too in his own world to pay the ordinary world any mind. It wasn't his top
concern right now. Not really. Memories had been attacking him constantly in
recent days, the stress of solitude eating him up and spitting him out. He was
clearly losing himself along with everything he once had. /flashback/ Lightning
clapped outside the small fragile building and Cyrus was curled up in his lap,
shivering and whimpering, tears streaming down the small boys cheeks as Seb
gently carded his fingers through the light hair, humming a gentle lullaby.
"Cy, what do you say we go curl up in bed, huh?" he asked the smaller
boy, kissing his hair carefully. "Come on. I'll keep you safe, I swear it.
The mean ol' storm will never get you with me on the job." he said and
grinned, ruffling the boy's hair. /end flashback/ He held his head, slipping to
the ground, shaking and squeezing his eyes shut, just as the rain started to
come down on him. /flashback/ "Well, are you going to really do it, or can
I trouble you to work for me?" the genius man said, an adder grin on his
thin lips. He offered the sopping wet sniper a dry umbrella and a kinder smile.
"You're wasted on that pavement Tiger, come home with me." he added.
/end flashback/ The tears were mixing in with the rain and he was shaking uncontrollably
now with the sobs and the cold. He just wanted it all to stop. He wanted to be
okay again.
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Sebastian sat up on the rooftop where
he had first met the Napoleon of Crime. He smiled slightly at the outlandish
nickname. The last time that he had been here, he had been planning to off
himself. He closed his eyes as the sky drizzled tears down on his cheeks. The
man had saved his life, as others had tried, but he was the one to succeed. Not
only had he gotten him away from the roof, but he kept him busy enough that he
never even thought to try again. And he taught Sebastian how to fall in love
and be in love. Even if it was on accident, it happened all the same. He had
fallen in love with the genius man. The small terror of a man. The spitfire.
And never again would he find a love like they had. Jim was the only friend
that he had ever known...The tiger sniper sighed, staring up into the sky,
water falling in to his eyes. "I love you Jim...and I always will."
he whispered, pulling a little box from his pocket and setting it on the ledge
beside himself. "And...I wish I knew how you felt in return..." he
sighed, getting up carefully and leaving the rooftop and the box, along with
the painful memories, behind. And hopefully this would be the last time...But
he knew that hope was misplaced. One didn't get OVER Jim Moriarty.
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Sebastian watched the clouds overhead,
arms behind his head, rifle at home. His only form of protection today was his
handgun. Not that he wasn't good with a handgun. In fact, he was just as deadly
with a handgun as his rifle. But today was a relaxing day. Another anniversary
of Jim's death. He sighed, wishing for some action. He missed the danger.
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Sebastian hated the nights when he just
couldn't get to sleep; he would just stare at the ceiling or drink. He had
given up smoking a few years back, but every year since, he contemplated taking
it back up, just to spite the man he had quit for. "Damn idiot..." he
murmured, rolling onto his side on the couch. He couldn't sleep in that bedroom
anymore. Hadn't even opened the door since... He grumbled to himself continuing
to stare at the dull ceiling. "I'd rather be anywhere right now...anywhere
but here without you..."
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