It was raining when he finally woke up. With a groan, Jim blinked away the water that kept falling into his eyes.He could taste dried blood in the back of his throat, nearly smell the dirt he had been buried under for three years; Jim sat up, a hand going to the back of his head, feeling for the gaping hole that should have been there but finding nothing. He turned and a loud bark of laughter ripped through his throat. He traced a finger over the embossed tombstone before standing to wipe off his clothes. Sebastian, loyal as always.Richard Brooke marked the grave, one last blow to the world’s only consulting detective.
Walking out of the cemetery, Jim shoved his hands into his pockets, enjoying the feel of the rain pelting overhead. He wondered if the sniper had followed his directions prior to he and Sherlock’s face off; whistling a tune he had heard in the Pit, Jim strode down the sidewalk, earning looks for his mud-stained and singed suit.
First he had to see if Sebastian had been a good boy while he had been away; the next thing one the agenda would be to relieve to have some fun! Daddy’s missed you, London!
Sebastian visited the graveyard often where he’d had Jim buried. Hell, he knew it was stupid, lurking about the same place so often and frequently. Didn’t mean he’d stop doing it anytime soon. Wasn’t like anyone else of import was buried there- Sebastian’d made sure of that. What he did get tired of, though, was the occasional gawker that stumbled by, entranced by the made-up story of Richard Brooke. When that happened, Sebastian tended to scare them off with a glare, macrabe grin or a little glimpse of the gun beneath his coat. Made him feel like a dog that wouldn’t leave his masters side, even when there was no point anymore- but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Wasn’t like there was anyone to taunt him about it anymore, after all, so what the fuck ever.
His steps were measured, slow, and as he squinted through the rain, Sebastian ground to a halt as a hauntingly familiar shape began to become clearer. It took his breath away, and he could count on one hand how many times that had happened. For a second even, he considered if he was hallucinating- or dead, himself. But Sebastian prided himself on his grip of reality. The rain soaking him was real, the cool gun against the small of his back was real… and… he’d stopped walking, he realized, belatedly.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he realized someone was watching him. Without stopping, Jim quickly crossed the street, dodging cars that honked loudly; he felt excitement jump in his throat when he heard steps following.
Dogging Jim’s steps without even bothering to try and hide the sound of his footsteps, Sebastian followed him across the street recklessly. To be fair, his head wasn’t exactly the clearest it had ever been at the moment. Tamping down the roiling emotions, Sebastian waited as patiently as he could until they were well enough alone and reached out to grab Jim’s shoulder and whirl him around.
He’d been meaning to punch him. He had. But when Sebastian saw Jim’s face, he froze, hand still clenched in Jim’s jacket and he stared, unblinking.
He felt Sebastian’s hand begin to shake around his jacket. He swept his eyes over the sniper, face impassive as he took in the dark purple bags and thinned cheeks. Jim cocked his head to the side and removed Sebastian’s hand from his jacket, dropping the sniper’s hand and letting it flop to his side. “Hello Sebastian.” Jim leaned against a building, crossing his arms and allowing his gaze to thoroughly examine his right hand man. He made a small noise and shook his head, his expression morphing to one of ‘concern’. “You don’t look well, darling.”
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