sheriarty's fangirl, she/her, 🇲🇽, 29 😬

Sebastian knew things were bad because Jim became quieter.

Short answers.

Sharper words.

Snapped orders.

Then his temperament became dangerous —more dangerous, that is.

Again.

Not the deliberate danger that made Jim Moriarty so effective —the cool, ferocious menace that had carried him from a nobody to a name whispered across three countries.

This was different.   

Franklyn, their chief books man, ducked the glass that shattered against the wall behind him when he misread a figure, though it had been entered correctly in the report. Frank raised a concerned brow to Sebastian when Jim continued, not acknowledging his mistake or apologizing to one of the very few people he genuinely trusted.

Sebastian was not surprised when Frank shot him a concerned look, then ended the meeting.

Jim was no good to anyone when he was like this, not even himself.

And yesterday, Sebastian could not recall if Moriarty had consumed anything besides coffee –meaning he had forgotten to eat.

Again.

Sebastian stood outside the closed office door and knocked, waiting to be buzzed in.

"Boss?"

Nothing.

He tried calling Jim's mobile.

It went to voicemail. Twice.

Sebastian's jaw tightened as he used his biometrics to open the door.

Jim was asleep at his desk.

Again.

His usually slicked-back dark hair, sleep-mussed, rested on one arm. Papers were scattered beneath him. The other hand hung loosely beside a half-empty glass of expensive whisky. The desk lamp cast a pool of warm pale light over his face, making the dark circles under his eyes look even deeper.

For a moment, Sebastian simply watched him.

Even asleep, this terrifying, brilliant man looked exhausted and…

Human.

Sebastian crossed the room quietly.

"Moriarty...?"

Nothing.

He reached out and touched his shoulder.

Jim moved with startling speed.

Steel flashed.

Sebastian barely had time to react before his own blade was pressed against his throat.

"Don't."

Jim's eyes were open now.

Dark. Furious.

And not entirely awake.

Sebastian froze. "Fair enough."

The knife remained at his neck.

Sebastian carefully raised both hands.

"You're going to kill me over a wake-up call, sir?"

"I might."

"You need sleep."

"I was sleeping."

"At your desk."

"It's still sleep." Jim twisted his neck in that serpentine way he had when tired.

"Your neck disagrees, sir."

Jim's eyes narrowed.

"You've had migraines for days now. You've eaten approximately nothing. You've threatened people who weren't actually threatening you, and you nearly stabbed your best employee. That’s me, by the way.” Sebastian pointed to himself, then gave a little wave. “Hi."

"You're still alive."

"An oversight, clearly."

Something flickered in Jim's expression.

"You need to take a rest, Jim."

Jim glared at him.

Sebastian had faced guns, knives, men twice his size, and Jim himself on considerably worse days.

Somehow, this was more frightening.

Still, Sebastian continued. "And not for an afternoon, Jim. Not for one night or a couple of days. A long rest."

Jim's grip on the knife loosened by a fraction at the diminutive that he knew Sebastian only used when the killer was serious, and now he’d said it twice.

“Rest… I… I don’t know what that is, Seb.”

Moran wanted to cry, because he knew Moriarty was not entirely joking.

"A holiday for at least a week, before you regret killing the only bloody people you trust.” Sebastian swallowed carefully and added. “Or me."

Silence.

Jim finally lowered the blade, his dark eyes thoughtful with an expression Sebastian couldn't quite read.

"I’ll go, Seb, but only if you come with."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I did. I'm just trying to determine if the migraine spread to your brain."

Jim's mouth twitched as he put the knife back in Sebastian’s holster.

"I trust you, Sebastian. You know I do."

It was true, Sebastian knew; Jim trusted him, but Jim had never said the words before.

It was also an explanation, a perfectly reasonable one.

And it was, Sebastian suddenly realized, not the whole truth.

Jim, who looked everyone in the eyes, looked away first.

Sebastian slowly lowered his hands.

"You want your bodyguard on holiday with you?"

"I want… the only person in my life who happens to be capable of telling me when I'm being an idiot," Jim said, "…and I might actually listen."

Sebastian's heart gave one hard, treacherous beat.

"And if I refuse?"

Jim’s brow rose in challenge, even as his voice dropped, “I’ll take someone else.”

There was something almost vulnerable beneath the threat.

And Sebastian slowly understood.

Jim wasn't asking for his bodyguard because he wanted protection.

Jim was asking because he wanted Sebastian -he wanted him.

That he wants him in the same secret way that Sebastian has been secretly wanting Jim for a year.

“So, okay?”

Sebastian's expression softened.

"Okay."

Neither said what had suddenly become obvious.

Sebastian didn't say I love you.

Jim didn't say I've fallen for you.

Instead, Jim said, "Book somewhere quiet."

"How quiet?"

"No internet. No phone, except for emergencies only?"

"Now you're learning."

Jim leaned back in his chair, exhausted, but visibly relieved.

Sebastian watched him for another moment, then held out his hand. "Come on, Jim."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

"Bed."

Jim paused; whatever was going through his mind, he considered it carefully before speaking.

“Only if my rest mate comes with.”

As Jim rose and took his hand, Sebastian’s smile was small, crooked, and filled with new possibilities.

"Lead the way."

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So when I was showing a friend my drawing of sheriarty as flowers. I thought about drawing jim like that flower and singing to sherlock to not use drugs 😅🤣

Choosing flowers for Jim 👀?

I Have Not Written

please yell at me (nicely) to write

Write!!!!!!!!

Today is China's Zhongyuan Festival, also known as the Ghost Festival. According to tradition, on this night the dead roam the human world in the form of spirits.