Are we not all a bit mad here?

“You're annoying.”

Sebastian just chuckled quietly as he loaded a plate with the food he had prepared. Adding a slice of toast, he put the second slice between his teeth, holding onto it with his lips. Placing the plate on the table in front of Jim who had just sat down, he then headed for the living room.

“Where are you going?” Jim arched a brow questioning.

“I have something to take care of in town.” was the reply between two bites of toast.

This was unusual. Sebastian and he always had breakfast together. Besides he wasn't sure he liked Sebastian being so vague.

“And what is it that you have to do? Don't make me pull it out of your nose.”

Sebastian who had already stepped out of the kitchen poked his head back in.

“I'll tell you later. I've got to go now. It's already late.”

He waved the leftover piece of toast at the other man and was gone. Jim blinked, then got up to follow Sebastian for a definite answer.

“Sebastian Moran, I demand an a-”

'Click.'

He was just in time to hear the front door close. Confusion turned into something else, something Jim couldn't quite place. What was going on here? Salus wandered up next to him, wagging her tail, In her mouth she was carrying her leash. Jim stared at it then groaned. So Sebastian had not taken her along for his morning jog? What was going on? Unfortunately he wasn't given an immediate answer and instead he had to take Salus for her much needed walk which almost ended up with him getting dragged into one of the small ponds because his -Sebastian's!- dog had decided to greet the ducks close up. After getting back home and changing into fresh clothes, Jim had a client meeting which took up most of his morning and after lunch there were a million other things that kept him busy as well. So by the time he was draped over Sebastian's lap as they watched the latest instalment of Good Omens he had totally forgotten about this morning's events.

The next few days continued just like this. Sebastian would have to leave early for some reasons that always sounded made up and he left Jim with the dog walking duties and a growing frustration. Then when he also announced he had to go and 'get some smokes' at 9 in the evening, Jim was certain something was up. Well, he had already been certain about it before because Sebastian's reasons for leaving in the morning had been vague at best. Not to mention he had met up with the team several times beyond what briefing was necessary and whenever Jim had walked past them, the men had either started to drop their voices to a whisper or had done a cartoony way-too-loud-let's-talk-about-the-weather-and-sports bit that Jim had found silly at first but then quickly also very annoying until it became worrisome.

It wasn't like Jim needed to know all their stupid little secrets and... Correction! He DID need to know all their stupid little secrets! He was Jim Moriarty after all! And Jim Moriarty knew what you were thinking even before the words left your mouth! So the moment Sebastian had left the building he had Jim's eyes follow him via CCTV.

At first it seemed like Sebastian was really just grabbing some smokes as he bought a pack at one of these late night kiosks. However he didn't head home from there and ten minutes later Jim caught him meeting up with another person. Who was it? Jim felt his mouth grow dry as he zoomed in on the picture. Filtering it several times he finally could make out the stranger's face in the grainy image.

SHERLOCK HOLMES!

Sebastian Moran was meeting with Sherlock Holmes!

Sebastian 'I hate that bloody detective' Moran was handing Sherlock Holmes an envelope and was handed one back in return!

Jim sunk back into the office chair he was sitting on. What was going on here? There was of course one glaringly obvious explanation but Jim couldn't and didn't want to entertain it. But what else was there? The early morning leaves, the whispers among the team and the added briefing times, the secret meeting with Holmes where something important was changing hands. It could only lead to one terrible conclusion.

Sebastian Moran was conspiring against him.

After all these years he had decided to betray him.

Jim dragged a hand down his face. No, no, it couldn't be. He didn't want to accept this possibility. He knew Sebastian! The man was loyal to a fault! He had proven again and again that he was willing to die for Jim.

But still...

The evidence was irrefutable. Sebastian Moran had just met Sherlock Holmes and something had changed hands. And Jim would have to find out what it was. And then... Then he'd see what to do with his chief of staff. For now he saved the evidence on his laptop and when Sebastian returned he was merely reminded to not smoke inside. Jim did his best to not let the man know that he was highly suspicious of him now. And since playing a role came naturally to him, Sebastian didn’t suspect a thing, falling asleep quickly as usual after they went to bed, leaving Jim to listen to his quiet breathing.

He would get to the bottom of this and then he'd get Sebastian's bottom for it!

In the morning it was still harder than ever before to go on with the routine as if nothing had happened. Sebastian stole a quick kiss and Jim fought back the urge to just grab him by the collar, yank him close and wring the truth out of him. Instead he just muttered a 'Coffee first, kisses later, Moran.' which earned him a laugh and this time it actually hurt Jim to hear that laughter because he liked Sebastian's stupid 'donkey laugh' and with the possible betrayal in the air it just sounded mocking.

They both then went their separate ways until the early afternoon where Jim received a text from Sebastian. 

'Let's meet for dinner at our favourite Sushi place. I'll send Dekker to pick you up. -SM'

Jim stared at the message and hesitated. Then he decided this might be it. The moment where he'd find out if Moran's loyalty had changed.

'I'll see you there. -JM'

Taking a deep breath Jim looked at the clock on the wall. Three more hours to go. He slowly got up from the couch and walked into his office, opening the safe. Picking up the small case in it, he returned to the living room. Opening it, he stared at the gun nestled in velvet. Salus had stopped chewing her toy and had padded over to him, big brown eyes gazing up at the man. Jim turned his attention to her and gently grabbed her fuzzy face between his hands.

“Is Sebastian Moran a massive idiot?”

Salus barked softly and Jim sighed.

“Yes, yes he is. Even you are agreeing with me. Isn't that sad?”

The wolfhound, who didn't understand a word but could tell there was something wrong with one of her 'dads' just proceeded to lick Jim's face which, unfortunately, was not terribly appreciated.

“Salus! No! Stop! Ugh!”

He got the wolfhound to finally relent and as she returned to her dog bed, Jim loaded the gun.

Two hours later he slipped into the back-seat of the black Mercedes, dressed up in one of his favourite suits.

“Good evening, sir.” Dekker, second in command after Sebastian looked at his employer in the rear view mirror and Jim could almost smell how nervous the man was.

“Evening, Michael. Let's go. Rush hour traffic is a mess and I'd hate to be late.”

“Right, sir.” Dekker tried his best to make small talk but when he saw that Jim was busy with his mobile he just fell silent.

Even after all these years in Jim Moriarty's employment he was still terrified of his boss. The drive continued in silence for a good twenty minutes before something cold and metallic was suddenly pressed to the side of his head. Dekker didn't need to see it to know it was a gun.

“This is not the right way to the restaurant.” Jim's voice was so close to his ear and cold and hard as steel. Dekker swallowed.

“Sir, I...”

“No, no, keep driving. Now you have my full attention. You should feel proud of yourself.” 

Dekker felt a shiver run down his spine but he didn't dare to reply anything and instead just kept driving.

When they arrived, Jim had stepped out of the car without waiting for Dekker to open the door for him. Gazing up at the building, he frowned. This was one of their safe houses. Why here of all places? It made no sense to him. Entering the house they took the elevator up to the top floor and from there the staircase to the rooftop. Jim could hear several voices through the door before it was opened and his eyes fell upon Sebastian.

Then they stood outside, the sun just about to go down at the horizon, so he could still clearly make out all the faces: Sebastian and the rest of the team. At the moment the sniper was discussing something with Lafayette before he noticed Dekker standing there like a pillar of salt, hiding Jim from view that way.

“Dekker? You're already here? You were supposed to send me a text before you'd arrive. Where is Jim?”

That's when Jim decided to step forward but only so far he could still keep his gun trained on Dekker.

“Hello Moran. Miss me?” he asked with scathing sarcasm in his voice.

Sebastian's confusion only grew further when he not only noticed Jim's dark expression but also the weapon in his hand.

“Jim? What are you doing?” he asked just for the man to narrow his eyes even further.

“Me? Seriously, Moran, you are asking ME what I'm doing when you....” he gestured across the rooftop and at the men standing there, all clearly as confused as Sebastian, then at the long table set up and the...cake? There was a cake. Why was there a cake?

Jim's anger turned into confusion as well. Sebastian lifted his hands slowly, attempting a tense smile.

“Jim, what day do we have today?”

The other man glared at him, gun still in his hand, though it had been lowered since.

“Wednesday. What sort of idiotic question is that?”

“Yes, but I mean...what date?”

“Moran, I'm in no mood for riddles after you went behind my back to conspire with Sherlock Holmes of all people!” Jim felt everybody stare at him with utter disbelief.

“Jim.” Sebastian started again, suppressing a mixture of a laugh and a groan. “Jim, it's your birthday today.”

“WHAT?” Jim's jaw dropped and he stood there like he had been hit by a freeze ray.

Sebastian sighed soundlessly then stepped forward and gently took the gun from Jim's now slack grip. Jim just looked at him helplessly as he tried to piece everything together.

“My...birthday....” he repeated then, before he broke into a fit of laughter. “My birthday.”

“Yes. Today is your birthday.” Sebastian spoke with the gentle tone of voice usually used to break bad news to somebody. “Remember two weeks ago when you complained you were bored out of your mind and I told you to be patient because I'd surprise you soon? And you just laughed at me and told me I could never surprise you? Well... Surprise! Happy Birthday! You didn't see that coming, did you?”

He passed the gun over to Kamal who made it disappear then opened his arms wide in a comical sort of 'Ta-da!' gesture. In the meantime Dekker had stepped a bit away from his boss and his superior, glad he had not been shot by a very irate and confused Jim Moriarty.

“Two weeks ago? I....” Jim blinked then groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “And the whole conspiracy with Holmes? Exchanging envelopes and all?”

Sebastian coughed into his hand.

“Well to be fair, I understand how that could have been misunderstood out of context but I thought you already knew what was going on at that time.”

Jim felt heat rush into his face. There was no denying it now. Sebastian Moran had gotten him good. And the whole team knew about it as well now.

“Why were you even meeting with Sherlock?” he snapped the, way sharper than intended. Mostly to cover his embarrassment.

“Well....” Sebastian gestured to the table and Jim walked over to it.

There wasn't just a cake -thankfully without candles- but also champagne in a cooling sleeve, a few nicely wrapped presents and an assortment of finger food and among everything laid a newspaper.

“Tomorrow's issue of the Times. Go to page five under 'People.”

Jim did as he was told and ended up staring at a bunch of photos. The headline above them read: 'Mr. Mycroft Holmes, esteemed member of the Diogenes Club, was kind enough to allow us a glimpse into his photos album, revealing how he has been a strapping lad since young age.' Then there was some more blurb about the club's history and its current jubilee but Jim didn't care about that as his eyes darted to the photos.

One was of Mycroft Holmes, butt naked, laying belly down on a fur rug.

One depicted the older Holmes' brother trying to fit his foot into his mouth.

A third showed him sitting on a pony at the age of maybe four, crying his eyes out.

The corners of Jim's mouth twitched upwards.

“Scandalous.” He eyed Sebastian who was still waiting for his full reaction with a slightly tense smile. “What did you give Sherlock in return for these candid photos?”

“I gave him important pointers to some information he was seeking for one of his cases. The case in question is not connected to the firm or one of our clients.”

Jim arched an eyebrow.

“You were giving away classified information?”

The way he said it made Sebastian sweat bullets. Until Jim started to laugh. Loud and thoroughly amused.

“You've got me! Sebastian Moran, you've got me good! I didn't see it coming at all and I'm halfway impressed and halfway annoyed with myself!”

Jim's words finally broke the tense atmosphere and everybody started to laugh as well before the champagne was opened and the caked sliced up, the team digging into it and the finger food. Stories were shared, presents were opened and then, two hours later, it was only Jim and Sebastian left on the rooftop, standing at the edge of it to look over the city that never fully slept.

“I still can't believe you thought I was conspiring against you.”

Jim groaned and swatted at Sebastian's arm.

“Or that you came up here facing me and the whole team with just one gun.”

Another groan and a bit of a harsher swat followed Sebastian's words.

“Please, 'Bastian! I already feel like a fool about that! You're not going to let me live this down are you?”

Sebastian just grinned and shrugged his shoulders, which earned him a glare and then a sigh of capitulation.

“Don't think you will ever be able to surprise me again, 'Bastian.” Jim said then, sipping from the last few drops of champagne left in his glass. He felt slightly buzzed and very relaxed now, which was something rare for him. Sebastian's grin never wavered and he leaned a bit closer to the other man.

“I bet I can.”

“Don't push your luck. If you don't succeed, I might have to punish you after all for this whole affair.”

Sebastian just leaned even closer to Jim to whisper something into his ear, causing Jim's eyes to open wide, before he smacked at the taller man's chest.

“You're awful and I love it! But being a pervert is hardly a surprise!”

He threw his free hand into the air before being silenced as Moran leaned in another time and stole a deep kiss from him.

The first one would be the clients who came from a family with a name. Old aristocracy often enough. The sort who had a suit made for them with an air of this being a commonplace event for them but they would also show appreciation for the craftsmanship and the personal service that came with having somebody dedicate as much time as was needed to make sure their new outfit would be perfect.

They often also shared a few stories and news, knowing fully well, their personal tailor would not gossip back. Mr. Tarik prided himself in being somebody one could confide in like one would usually only do to a doctor. He had his customer's full trust which he felt was very important for this sort of work.

The second group was always 'on the hop'. Busy manager types which seem to be glued to their mobile phones and would often type something, read up something or sometimes even take a phone call during a meeting with Mr. Tarik. And while he found it a bit bothersome, his expression would never give away such thoughts as he was thoroughly professional, no matter what happened. Usually he worked quickly and silently, not bothering them with any unnecessary questions. 

And then there was the third group. The 'Nouveau Rich' as one might call them. A few of them came in it quite the attitude, mostly younger people who had never worn a suit specifically made to fit their measurements perfectly. They came with a sense of entitlement too, treating staff often like they were inferior. All of this was based on the size of their wallets and Mr. Tarik knew that usually he could get them to go quiet very quickly by showing nothing but cold, calm perfectionism. Never unfriendly but distant and the way he'd speak about fabrics, colour choices and fits showed his expertise to such a degree that most of them would end up listening to him and his suggestions. In the realm of a true master only those with very bloated egos wouldn't listen to his suggestions. This was the group he, of course, enjoyed working with the least.

And then there was this man who didn't fit into any of the aforementioned groups. The first time Mr. Tarik had met him he had thought him one of the business types since he had been busy with his mobile. But the moment they had stepped into the tailor's office and Mr. Tarik had brought in the fabric samples, he had realized that he had been mistaken. This man was definitely well off but none of the puffed up Nouveau Rich. And he was not of Old Blood but carried himself with an air off confidence that surrounded him like an expensive perfume as if he was closely related to the queen. 

And there was something in his eyes that made people much taller and more muscular built step out of his way without even questioning it. His entire aura demanded respect and there was something dangerous about him that Mr. Tarik couldn't quite place. He had missed it at first though but now after having been his personal tailor for years, he found himself fascinated as much as intimated by Mr. 'M' who spoke with such a soft voice and would be missed in a crowd at first glance. And maybe that was exactly the impression he wanted to give at first glance. But Mr. Tarik who had worked with people so many years and in a rather intimate setting had noticed the signs much faster than others would have. Whatever field Mr. M was working in, the tailor was certain that he excelled at what he was doing. 

Usually this particular client came alone, but today he had brought another man along who, from the looks of it, was the polar opposite to Mr. M. Not just from his appearance- tall, hair not as perfectly coiffed with a few loose strands always trying to escape, his expression more on the disgruntled side while his blue eyes were always looking around sharply- which led Mr. Tarik to believe that this man might be Mr. M's bodyguard. 

Because, of course, having an eye for such details, the tailor had also noticed the slight bulge under the man's suit jacket. By the way the taller man stood to attention now, also made Mr. Tarik wonder if he wasn't a former member of the British military. 

As he and Mr. M went over the fabric options for a new suit for his quiet and unhappy looking companion, the tailor found himself mildly amused to see the obvious dislike on the taller man's face. He couldn't understand why anybody would possibly hate having an outfit tailor-made to their wishes so he simply assumed it was just the long process that he might found boring.

Mr. M seemed just as amused and he only egged the other man on by holding up the fabric pieces to his companion's chest, having him turn here and there for no reason or simply walking around him, prodding him at times before telling him to 'stop looking as if you're being put on the chopping block'. The taller man just muttered something in return which triggered Mr. M into declaring that his 'bodyguard' was in need of not just one but two new suits for an important event up ahead.

The way the tall man's face turned even more sour made it for a moment very hard for the tailor to hide his amusement and it seems Mr. M caught the twitch of his lips, because those dark eyes were suddenly on Mr. Tarik and made him shiver inside.

“Should we go ahead and have measurements taken, sir?” the tailor asked then, readying the measuring tape and the paper he'd transfer every number onto to start the actual process of the suit being made.

Mr. M just nodded which resulted in his taller companion to turn into a statue as Mr. Tarik started taking measurements. The facial expression had now turned from sour into the expression of somebody suffering great injustice.

“Sebastian, please, you're scaring Mr. Tarik with that face.”

Mr. M looked like a shark who had just tasted blood in the water. His taller companion just muttered something again which might have been an apology but for some reason Mr. Tarik doubted it. But keeping things professional he simply continued and by the time he was writing down the next few numbers, Mr. M had stepped up to the other man, he had called Sebastian and his hand was suddenly splayed across his chest as he looked up to him.

“You'll look so good in blue.” he declared, before pausing for a moment. “Oh, my bad. I meant marine, of course. 

Sebastian rolled his eyes- at least that was his intention- but he stopped halfway through the motion as he was given a sharp glare.

“Jim. I'm begging you. Just stop this.” he whisper-hissed then which only earned him an even bigger smile.

“Shush, 'Bastian. You know I'm right. Now stop pulling such a face. You should enjoy this more.” The hand disappeared and instead two fingers slowly walked their way up Sebastian's chest. 

Sebastian's face twitched and it only shifted into an expression of relief when Mr. Tarik cleared his throat and Jim stepped away to allow the tailor to continue. But every time he stepped away, Jim was there again, his touches so swift that one would most of the time miss them. And Sebastian endured all of it until the tailor was finally done and for the first time the taller man's body relaxed again. But only briefly because his smiling tormentor decided that he wasn't done just yet.

“Wait.”

Sebastian stiffened again, giving Jim a wary glance.

“We first need to find a few matching ties. I mean...why wait until the suits are done when we already know the colours of them. Right 'Bastian?” The taller man's eyes met with Jim's and for a moment a silent power struggle seemed to go on between them before Sebastian gave a long suffering sigh. “I hate you.” “Mmh, yes, yes, you do. But you also love my impeccable sense of taste.” Jim turned to Mr. Tarik and the tailor nodded, leaving briefly before returning with a few small boxes. Opening one he handed Jim the first tie. “100% silk. From Ermenegildo Zegna.”

“Lovely. Thank you.” Jim took the offered piece. His voice was almost a purr now and there was something hypnotic about the way he let the fabric glide through his fingers while approaching Sebastian.

Reaching up Jim slipped the tie around the taller man's neck, tugging at the fabric with just enough force to have Sebastian bend down to him. The tailor tried his best to busy himself with the measurements he had taken while simultaneously wishing he knew more about Mr. M and his bodyguard and how it was possible for a man this soft and fragile looking to have a man twice his build and almost a head taller to bend down for him without any further complaint. Because this went beyond what an employer and employee would do if this was merely work related...right?

Although saying there were no further complaints was not quite right as Sebastian's eyes spoke a very clear language. But he bent down, allowing Jim to slowly and meticulously tie the silk until the knot was slipped up to fit snug against Sebastian's Adam's apple.

“Hmm... I'm not sure if this particular one is your style.” Jim's fingers kept a firm grip on the lower end of the tie. “Although I know you love silk.”

His smile widened as Sebastian's eyes told him not to dare to continue on this path. It made it so much harder for Jim to swallow down that evil little chuckle that was trying to force its way out of his throat. So to distract himself and Sebastian he pushed the knot just a but more firmly against Sebastian's throat, feeling the man's body twitch as a shiver run through it.

The tie was finally removed just to be replaced by another one in another colour. Again the knot slid up, touching skin, held there in place firmly.

“How's this one?” Jim's voice was a soft whisper, words dripping from his lips like honey. Sebastian swallowed thickly.

“I hate it.”

Jim hummed softly, playing with the knot but not pushing it up any further this time although it still felt like a punishment, Sebastian's mouth dry now and heat coiling in his lower abdomen. God, how he loathed how easily Jim could rile him up with small gestures and little words.

“You're no fun,” Jim declared then with a wistful sigh, before he stepped back to take it all in, eyes subtly wandering south for a short moment. “But I think we're done here.”

He had gotten the reaction he had wanted and now all that was left was to finalize his order and gloat at Sebastian's misfortune by continuing to smile at him, knowingly.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed as he watched Jim talk to the tailor about a few more details then as Jim walked towards him for them to leave together he followed him but not without bending down again, this time to whisper to him.

“We might be done here, but don't think I won't be getting back at you for all of this, sir.”

Jim's dark eyes almost glowed at the other man's 'threat' before he stepped through the door Sebastian had opened for him.

“I'm awaiting your revenge then, tiger. Eagerly.”

Mr. Tarik watched them leave and after the door had closed behind both men he realized to his own surprise that he was looking forward to their next meeting.

There was really no category Mr. M would ever fit into.

At the age of five Jim had written down only one wish on his wishlist for Santa. Though he decided it was more a request than a wish. Maybe even a trade. In return for Santa not bringing him any gifts he wanted him to take away his father. Take him along to the North Pole. Or maybe just drop him by accident from his sleigh while passing the ocean.

His father had not disappeared that Christmas but he had not been home at all that night which Jim decided was fulfilling his wish halfway.

At the age of seven his mother had to be called into school for a talk with Jim's teacher because for an assignment where every kid had to write a wishlist, Jim had only written: 'I wish for Christmas to disappear forever.'

That was the Christmas when Jim had decided while attending Christmas mass with his mother and brother that Santa was a lie, God was dead and that for him to have any of his wishes fulfilled, he'd have to work hard to do it himself. There was no love and peace on earth for Jim Moriarty.

Sebastian Moran didn't hate Christmas.

He just hated the thought behind it. At the age of five, he felt Christmas was a really weird sort of festivity, celebrated in a foreign land where the family would set up a fake tree while outside it was 30 + degrees. Sebastian never figured out how Santa didn't miss their house because they did not have a chimney until he realized that not everybody even celebrated Christmas.

At the age of seven he overheard his father talking to his mother about their plans to return to England. This year Sebastian had only one wish on his list- to stay in India. Santa did not fulfill that wish.

At the age of ten his only wish was to not celebrate Christmas at all because Christmas meant for him to dress up, put up a fake smile and play 'the smart oldest son' for his father's friends and associates. Santa did not fulfill that wish either.

That was when Sebastian had decided that Christmas was fake, that there were not really any 'jolly old men' that fulfilled wishes and that everybody could just kiss his arse. There was no love and peace on earth for Sebastian Moran.

And then he met Jim Moriarty. And moved in with him. Christmas had no meaning in their life during the first year of them living together. Nor the second. It was just something that happened. On the morning of Christmas Eve Sebastian would usually find something laying on the couch table in their living room. A 'Christmas' gift. And Sebastian would then gift Jim something in return. The day was spent as usual- Jim busy with his work and Sebastian busy with his own. There was no tree, no special Christmas dinner and especially no wishlists and masses.

The next year Jim found his gift wrapped up nicely and with a card that read 'For Jim'. Jim had arched a brow at this but not questioned it. But Sebastian's gifts had been wrapped in Christmas paper from that year on as well. During the third year Jim had noticed that something had started to seep into their life. Something that could be called the beginning of a tradition. Wrapped up gifts, a bit of decoration, cookies in particular shapes of stars and trees and snowmen. It started to feel like Christmas and he didn't like it. And that's what he told Sebastian.

Unfortunately in year four he realized the man was stubborn and had even opted for a small Christmas tree. And the cookies were home made. It irritated Jim. He didn't need Christmas. He didn't want Christmas. It was just a bothersome thing from the past.

Maybe he had to tell Sebastian off a bit more firmly. It was not something he particularly enjoyed doing but it was the only way he'd get his peace of mind. That evening Sebastian decided, after having had a few drinks too much, feeling upset with Jim's reaction to everything he had been doing, that he needed to go one step further.

So Jim was woken in the middle of the night by a strange noise coming from the living room. Creeping out of his bedroom he slowly made his way towards the sounds, gun in hand, just to find somebody dressed in all red and white standing at the fireplace, attempting to shove a wrapped up parcel into a large, gaudy stocking that had been put up on the mantelpiece.

For a long moment Jim just stood there, confused and unsure if the picture in front of his eyes was real. Maybe he had worked too hard the day before? Then the figure turned around and Jim did a double take as he realized who it was.

Their eyes met and Jim stared at Sebastian, dressed up in a Santa costume, as if the man had lost his mind.

"What on earth are you doing, Moran?" he said then, voice sharp, gun still in his hand.

He could tell by the sheepish smile that appeared on the other man's lips and the way he rubbed his neck, cheeks glowing with a hue of red, that his sniper was still pretty buzzed.

"Oh..uh... Hey Jim. I mean.. 'Ho ho ho. You caught me, Mr. Moriarty. Tsk tsk there aren't even any cookies left out for me. You are truly a naughty one.'"

Jim just blinked then slowly dragged a hand down his face before he walked over to the couch and sat down.

"Alright, Sebastian. You better explain to me what was going on inside your brain that you decided dressing up as Santa and sneaking around the house was an acceptable choice of action."

Sebastian just laughed at that, still all sheepishly and struggling to keep proper balance as he walked towards Jim. Now from close up, Jim could also tell just how cheap and garish the Santa costume was. Goodness, had he really hired this man, had let him move in with him and decided that he liked him? In those four years Sebastian had done a lot of things Jim considered stupid to this day, but this was by far the most stupid of things.

"So..uh..." Sebastian started then, coughing into his fake beard before decided he should pull it down because it was tickling his nose and the sound that had woken Jim up had been a sneezing fit combined with Moran accidentally hitting the couch table with his bag when he had tried to set it on the ground, "you see... It's quite simple. You don't like Christmas, I don't like Christmas..."

"Well said, bravo." Jim interjected with a sharpness to his voice that helped Sebastian sober up quite a bit.

"And we're both not fond of winter and the cold..." Moran continued, which earned him an impatient wave from Jim.

"Yes, yes, go on. Get to the point, Moran."

"But I like...this.." Sebastian hastily said then, gesturing between them. "It feels...good. And because you've been such a good boss -and partner- I felt it should be rewarded and we could maybe start our own...Christmas traditions.."

Alright, this plan had sounded SO much better four beers in than it did now as Jim was staring at him in that way one stared at a person who had just lost their mind. Jim just sat there in silence for a moment. Then he sighed deeply and shook his head.

"So... Let me get that straight. In order to start a new Christmas tradition with me, you dressed up as generic jolly old McBeard Santa Claus, bag and all, tried to shove a gift into a Christmas stocking you put up over the fireplace and then asked me for cookies? What exactly is new about this, Moran? Please, enlighten me."

Sebastian cleared his throat again then suddenly started grinning.

"Well, you see, Jim, this is where you're wrong. I'm not generic jolly old McBeard Santa Claus! I'm the Irish version of him, Santa Bastian. His better looking, hotter, younger cousin who carries not just gifts but also a Glock under his coat to get rid of whatever naughty boy had bothered the one nice boy he's visiting every year."

"What?"

That was all Jim could reply because he simply couldn't believe his ears. Then he started to laugh though, gesturing Sebastian to come closer by waving the muzzle of the gun at him. Sebastian did so, a bit reluctantly, but the way Jim was laughing assured him that the man was no longer mad at him. Hopefully.

"Alright then, Santa Bastian...."

Jim couldn't believe he was saying these words and he couldn't believe he had fallen for the biggest dork to ever exist on this planet.

"I fear you are mistaken though. I'm not on your nice list. And to prove this..."

He reached out to take hold of the collar of Sebastian's coat to pull the man's face closer to his. God, he'd hate himself for saying what he would be saying next. Of course Jim would blame this on Sebastian being a terrible influence.

Jim was laying on the ground face down, his clothes ripped and torn, the snow around him soaked red. The sound being pulled from Moran's throat sounded like a mixture between a scream and sound of pure panic. Carefully turning the smaller man around his fingers started to flicker over the life less body, searching for a pulse and after finding it, weak but steady, for all possible injuries. He couldn't say if there was internal bleeding but Jim had a large gash across his chest and his arm was clearly broken, the bone not having pierced the skin but he could feel the pieces under the skin.

Cursing he carefully carried him to one of the seats that was still in one piece, kicking it over so he could place the man on it. Then he started a frantic search for the first aid kit and whatever parts of their belongings had survived the crash. But the first aid kit was first and finally digging it out of more broken up pieces of the plane, cutting his hand by accident, he returned to where Jim's still unconscious body was sitting. Then the man was starting to visibly tremble and cough, eyelids fluttering as he tried to open them. Dark brown eyes stared up at the sniper who had found sterilized wads of cotton and a small bottle of disinfectant, ripping Jim's suit jacket and shirt open to clean up the long cut. The smaller man winced as the liquid burned on contact, trying to push at Moran's arm.

“You're ruining my suit.” he slurred, then shuddered again before he suddenly hunched over and retched.

Sebastian hurried to help him up so he wouldn't throw up on himself, Jim's elbow hitting his chest, making him take a sharp breath, black dots dancing in front of his eyes. Forcing himself not to scream out he waited for Jim to calm down again, his body collapsing back into the seat so the taller man could finish patching up the gash. Then he cut off Jim's sleeve and looked for something he could use as a splint. Jim was half conscious at this point, whimpering at the pain, unable to control his body at the moment. Once done he forced a pill down Jim's throat with a gulp from a water bottle. When Jim came around fully the next time he found Moran in a circle of opened luggage, stuffing things into his large military style backpack.

“'Bastian...” The consulting criminal's voice slurred and sounded a lot more coarse than expected, trying to lift his left hand just to find himself unable to move his arm properly, eying the splint that Moran had fitted onto it.

The sniper lifted his head and slowly hobbled over to the other man.

“What happened?” Jim demanded to know then, licking his lips, the cold was already starting to make the sensitive skin crack, “'m cold...”

Sebastian pulled the fleece blanket back over Jim's body.

“I'm not sure. I doubt we were shot down so I have the feeling they either fucked with our plane or with our pilot.” he replied then, face tense with exhaustion and pain, breathing strained. “We're in the middle of God fucking knows where. I tried to pinpoint our location with my mobile but we don't get any reception here. Must be a damn blind spot.”

His anger sounded flat and Jim pushed the blanket away again to grip the man's sleeve.

“Tell me.” he demanded then which caused Moran to pause then press a hand to his own face.

“For you- a broken arm, a concussion and a bad cut across your chest. I have at least one or two broken ribs and a sprained ankle.” he informed Jim, voice empty, “we don't have much food to take along, it's mostly bagged snacks but there's bottled water. We need to get to a village or any sort of housing quickly. I estimate it's around noon now. Before night falls it's important we find a spot somewhere where we could light a fire as we have no tents or sleeping bags.”

Jim's expression never changed, obviously not concerned in the least or at least not showing it. Sebastian carefully pulled his sleeve out of Jim's grip.

“I'll finish packing then we need to go. Guessing from where the sun is standing we are northeast of Moscow. How far northeast I can't tell. Depends whether the pilot tried to bring us here on purpose but didn't expect to die in this or not. In any case you shouldn't move much right now. I'll get you your clothes in a moment.” And then, noticing how Jim's eyelids were shutting slowly at times he added: “And no matter what you do, don't fall asleep, Jim.”

“You're not my boss, Moran.” the other man muttered but heeded the 'order', watching the sniper sort through everything that had survived the plane crash.

But he was less interested in the fate of his expensive suits as he was in noting mentally every time Moran's expression changed, trying to assess how damaged the taller man truly was. That their situation was dire didn't need a genius to figure out but with Sebastian injured everything was so much worse. Jim Moriarty was amazing with computers, with reading and manipulating people. But out here in the wilderness he was as helpless as a newborn, had little to no survival skills. In a city he'd make it but here was nothing but the snow, the cold and the sound of a few crows in the nearby trees that had not been destroyed by the weight of the plane. Curling up further under the blanket he waited until Sebastian was done.

Then the sniper approached him again and half an hour later Jim was wearing several shirts and sweaters, the last one one of Moran's own, same for the second pair of trousers. The sniper had also found a pair of better suited shoes, getting dressed as well, finally taking care of his own cuts before he shouldered the backpack, another sharp inhale following.

“Give me something to carry as well.” Jim demanded, his tone of voice, while exhaustion and pain bleeding through, not allowing any arguments.

So in the end he had strapped several rolled up blankets to his back, the load not terribly heavy but his step was still unsteady. They followed the trail of broken branches and destroyed trees the small jet had left as Sebastian assumed this would be the best direction to follow to find their way back to civilization. He had his rifle ready, resting across his arms as he always kept an eye on Jim. The consulting criminal wobbled at times but pushed forward, not intending to become a burden to them. Moran was of course aware of Jim's stubborn approach to things but there was little he could do right now, feeling his own body not being up to par.

But they both kept moving, the cold wind biting at their faces, the strips of cloth that functioned as a scarf hardly helping. The next two hours they were engulfed in a total silence as there was nothing around but the blindingly white. The sunglasses helped but of course nothing could curb that growing exhaustion that soon seeped into every bone of their body. Jim started to stumble and fall several times, at first refusing help to get back to his feet but in the end Sebastian was more or less dragging him along. In the late afternoon Moran realized that Jim couldn't go on any further and neither could he.

In the distance he noticed a small rock, the top creating an overhang so that two people could crouch underneath and be a bit more safe from the harshness of the weather. With the sun settling the temperatures would drop even further and Moran's worst fears were for waking up next to Jim's frozen solid corpse. Shaking such thoughts off he managed to shove the other man underneath the overhang after moving as much snow away as possible, using one blanket for them to sit on and the other two being wrapped around Jim's shoulders for now. There was no way he could make a fire, there wasn't even any wood around.

Taking a pack of dried fruits and nuts out of his backpack he forced Jim to eat some of them, handing him another painkiller and a bottle of water afterward. Ten minutes later the man's head was resting against his arm, Jim's eyes closed. Sebastian checked his pulse again, then tried to push back all his worries so he too would get some rest. Just an hour. For now they couldn't do anything else to protect themselves, and lifting the blankets he moved as close to Jim as possible, one arm draped around him before he too drifted off.

When Moran came back to his senses it was in the middle of the night and the sound that had awoken him was a distant howling. Checking his watch he then looked after Jim again. The man's face was cold to the touch but his body still had some heat left, mostly leeching off of Sebastian's though. The sniper pulled his rifle closer, resting a hand on top of it, as he looked up to the starlit sky. Under any other circumstances Jim would have been delighted to see all the constellations so clearly. Instead the man was pressing subconsciously closer to Sebastian, trying to steal more of the warmth the sniper's body produced.

Moran estimated that they could survive two, maybe three more days like this before the cold would get to them, leaving their extremities frost bitten and with Jim's broken arm and his cracked ribs there were other risks that would eventually slow them down or worse. He tried to force himself to stay awake, at least until he could tell whether the howling was getting closer or not. He had enough ammunition to deal with a small pack of wolves, granted it wouldn't do much if they all attacked at once.

But Sebastian would rather wish save every bullet for possible game they might encounter. By now he was hellbent on making sure they survived. At least Jim had to survive. He was his bodyguard. He couldn't let the man die in the middle of fucking Siberia. While Jim wasn't afraid of dying itself, Moran knew that he'd quite be afraid of dying in an undignified manner. And this here was very undignified. Struggling to survive in the wilderness, never to figure out who had tampered with their plane. There would be no chance to take revenge either.

Taking a deep breath Moran carefully slipped a hand under the layers of clothing to touch his ribs. A light pressure applied and he winced again. No. He had been right unfortunately. Something was broken. His ankle was worse though and he hoped the throbbing and the pain would subside until the coming morning. Somehow he had little hope however. At least the howling didn't seem to get any closer to them....

When Sebastian awoke the next time, it was already daylight and Jim was pushing at his arm. For a brief second he saw panic on the other man's face but when he realized the sniper was still alive it shifted into relief then mild annoyance.

“Good morning. About time you're waking up. We have to get going.”

Jim's voice was annoyingly sarcastic but this time Moran didn't mind. Instead he dug out another pack of snacks which they shared. Then he tried to check on Jim's injuries but the man didn't let him. Stubborn prick. Trying to act all tough for...their sake. Moran sighed soundlessly.

“I'm fine, Sebastian. You can't fix my arm and the rest is as it is. Now let's go. Chop chop.”

With a grunt Moran pushed himself back on his feet just to almost scream out. Fuck! Through the night the pain had gotten worse and he knew his ankle was all swollen up inside his boot. In a way he was lucky though that he was wearing his military issued boots. As worn and old as they were, they kept his foot stabilized. A regular shoe would not have worked this well, neither with the weather nor his injury.

Jim's look of concern was brief and unwanted by both of them. Weakness was not something either man was eager to show and Jim knew Sebastian wouldn't want his pity or any sort of talk meant to cheer him up. The best either of them could do at this moment was to work through the pain and grit their teeth.

Continuing onward Moran briefly checked behind his back for the wrecked plane. The smoke had stopped by now but the remains and the swath of destruction were still visible from the distance. Which hopefully meant that they were in the right direction as they were still heading the direct opposite way. Hours passed by and besides a few lonely trees here and there, huddled together as if to keep each other from being blown away by storms and a small frozen lake they passed, there was nothing else. Not a single sign of civilization.

At times they stopped and rested, the blankets used so they could sit without the snow melting and seeping into their clothes. But resting didn't really help because Moran could tell they had passed a point where their bodies would only deteriorate, partly from their injuries weakening them constantly and from the cold eating away at whatever heat their bodies tried to keep. It was very disillusioning.

Sometime after midday Jim started to stumble and fall again. Even with the frequent pauses his body was simply too exhausted to go on for much longer. Moran tried to help him along but he too was barely able to move much further. An icy wind had picked up by now, whipping into their faces and the sniper cursed under his breath, feeling his heart sink.

As the wind grew stronger it brought along dark clouds which gradually covered the sun, only the whiteness of the snow helping to provide enough light to see. More curses spilled from Moran's lips, before his eyes settled on something in the distance. Could it be...?

Hurrying towards the small square object as fast as his heavy legs and Jim's equally heavy body allowed him, Sebastian found himself standing in front of what looked like a small wooden cabin. Most likely used by hunters or poachers. It didn't matter. Breaking the lock open with an ax he had found stuck in a large piece of wood he carried Jim inside. It wasn't as cold inside without the wind but still too cold to survive for long. Dragging Jim's unconscious body to a small bed he placed him upon it then stepped back outside to grab as much firewood as he could. Digging through the snow he found a stack that seemed not very wet, carrying it inside. By the third time he stepped outside the storm had reached them, yanking at Moran's clothes, threatening to bury him under all the snow it was stirring up.

He barely made it back inside before the force of the wind would have thrown him to the ground, quickly locking the door from the inside. Then he worked on starting a fire. Moran could hear the wind pull at the wooden shutters, making them rattle, as if a giant was trying to tear its way into the cabin.

It took him almost twenty minutes to get the fire burning, his cold hands trembling and almost numb, dropping the matches several times. Then after what felt like an eternity it crackled to life, the shine lighting up the now dark inside of the cabin, shadows dancing over the walls.

And then, finally, the heat came.

First it was a gentle touch of warmth that soon grew as it crawled over the ground and engulfed Moran and finally also the bed where Jim was laying. Tugging off layers of clothes, Sebastian carefully hobbled over to Jim, examining the man closely. Gritting his teeth, Moran could feel Jim's forehead burn under his palm. A fever! It had to be expected but now as they were trapped out here in a snowstorm, there was nothing he could do for the other man but try to keep his temperature down.

Digging through the first aid kid after taking it from his backpack, he found a box of antipyretic medicine, somehow managing Jim to swallow it with a sip of water. After a moment of pause he decided to take one himself. Then he wrapped the consulting criminal up in as many blankets as he could and used a handful of snow that had been forced into the cabin by the wind earlier to apply a cold compress to Jim's forehead. And now, all he could do, was to wait. And periodically wake the man to make him eat and drink.

Taking out his mobile Sebastian switched it on in hopes that maybe now he could get a signal. Nothing. Frustration boiled up inside him before he switched his phone off again, then started to remove his boot. His ankle was still swollen, throbbing hotly so he wrapped it up in a cold compress as well. Sitting in a chair next to Jim's bed, the sniper watched the feverish man and the fire, feeling exhaustion tug at his eyelids. Damn it, he was not allowed to fall asleep!

In the end it was the howling of the storm that kept Moran from dozing off, as well as Jim's moaning as the man was fighting the fever that made his body shiver and tremble under the blankets. Every two hours Moran forced him to take a sip of water and by the time everything calmed outside again, he went to grab more snow for cold compresses as well as firewood. At first he could barely push the door open, fearing they had been trapped inside the cabin by a snow wall.

Finally outside he stood there for moment, taking a look around. He guessed it was around midnight now, the sky once again lit by a million of stars. If they weren't trapped here with no idea which way to take, Sebastian might have even enjoyed this trip. Though he did hate the cold, feeling how it crept under his clothes again and into his bones.