MorMor one shots

just stay alive, and that would be enough

Job off. Holmes jumped. AP

Message received. SM

JM head wound. Body retrieved. AP

What the fuck happened to Jim? SM

He shot himself, Moran. As planned. AP

What fucking plan was that?! None that Sebastian had been informed of, that's for sure.

He shot himself.

Those words flipped Sebastian's world upside down. The ground beneath him disappeared, leaving him floundering in the unforgiving ocean currents, quickly and definitely dragging him down to crushing depths, lungs drowning in unshed tears. In a dizzying daze, Sebastian disassembles his sniper, packing it all away based on muscle memory alone, his brain somewhere completely different.

Numb panic. Disbelieving fear.  He wouldn't, would he? He would. Sebastian knows Jim has little regard for life, his own included. Jim's suicidal, irrational, fantasies about a sacrificial death, an allegoric finale to the great play that is his life.

Poachers in the den. SM

That's their code for one another, their urgent, world is ending, someone's dying, the end is nye, message. No matter how annoyed they are at one another, they have to reply.

Jim doesn't reply.

Sebastian clenches his trembling hands, making his way to the car. Where does he go? Does he go to the last place Jim was- Barts? Does he go home and hope that he'll turn up? No. No, he can't sit around waiting, twiddling his thumbs like some useless piece of shit. Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, struggling to keep his composure, not to speed.

He's not dead. He would've told me what he was planning.

Then why didn't he tell you? Simple: he knew you would've tried to stop him. They have a strict no strings attached sex life.

Don't get attached to me, Tiger. This means nothing.

It's not nothing. It means everything to Sebastian, those moments of intimacy. Jim's a cuddler, and in the afterglow of their union, he snuggles into Sebastian's side, face hidden in his chest. He feels so small, so fragile, so completely undangerous and almost vulnerable in those times, that Sebastian can't help but fall in love with him. He's cold, Sebastian's warm. They balance each other, an otherworldly harmony to their companionship that's enviable.

And now he could be dead. And yes, Sebastian would have tried to stop him, and Jim knows he would have, because Jim knows fucking everything, the demented genius. That realisation consumes Sebastian in a storm cloud of dread, a lump in his throat that won't be swallowed, a tension in his heart that makes it hard for him to breathe.

There's a tsunami of stimuli encompassing Barts when he arrives, sirens, people, anxious chattering, all a blur to the panic consumed sniper, who in the confusion, sneaks into a side entrance, heart threatening to rip his chest open with every passing second. He runs up flight upon flight of stairs, his lungs already strained with uncontainable panic. The fresh air that hits him when he gets to the roof sends a deep chill through him. He's already clammy with cold sweat. The anticlimax of there being nothing there is more haunting than anything he could have encountered. A tension hangs in the air, pressing down on him. He's expecting something to jump out at him. What, exactly? Jim. I want Jim to jump out. But he's not there. And that's worse than being greeted by his corpse- the unknown.

Body retrieved, is what Parsons had told him. What does that fucking mean?!

Where did they take his body? SM