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The weight of the rifle in his hands felt calming. His body knew what it has to do, every single muscle string knew when it has to contract.
His finger lay on the trigger, the gun was propped up in front of him on a tripod, his left hand stabilized the barrel while the end of it was pressed against his right shoulder.
It was beautiful. Through the bull's-eye he could see his prey - a man in his mid-thirties with hazelnut hair and blue eyes. He was a businessman who was foolish enough to think that he could lie and betray the great James Moriarty. Well, after this job he will certainly change his attitude (okay he would, if there wasn't going to be a pretty bullet hole in his forehead). .
The best sniper the British Army ever had and at least the best in the northern hemisphere laid on the rooftop of a building, neatly hidden behind an huge billboard, his SV 98, commonly known as a Bullsniper, in his hands. Cold air was surrounding him, the temperature has dropped at least 20 degrees since sunset. Not that Sebastian Moran bothers about something like temperature.
After his time at the Army there was hardly any climatic condition left he hadn't had the pleasure to be in: Siberia, Libya, Afghanistan, Northern and Southern America. He had been there and he had fought. The scars on his body were proof of that.
Times like this made him remember the first meeting he ever had with Jim. A lovely day it has been.
He was the best sniper of the whole army and then, after one incident, they kicked him out.
Which left him alone in London, with nothing but a stolen gun, some money, his passport and the urge to kill anyone stupid enough to ask why he was both job and homeless.
After another bar fight with yet another wound he should get treated he lay in the alleyway, drunk and angry with everyone and everything. Then a small man appeared, he seem to have hidden in the dark shadows, a smirk on his pale face, dark eyes glittering dangerously, black hair slicked back, wearing one hell of a suit.
"Now now, get up my dear. It's not the time to sleep, especially not in a dark street behind a bar."
"Fuck off...", he slurred, the back of his head seemed to be bleeding. He must have hit the pavement rather hard this time.
"Oh Sebastian, that's not a nice thing to say. You don't want to get shot, now do you?" the man said with a slight Irish lithe, pointing a gun straight at his head.
The man on the ground blinked slowly, his gaze fixed on the gun pointed at him, on the gun that he could swear hadn't been there a second ago.
"How.... How do you-"
"Know your name? Easy. Army file. As well as your rank. Colonel Moran."
That left Sebastian speechless. He simply sat there, his mouth slightly open, unable to process what just happened. This man, he can't simply access the army server. Can he?
The small lost his patience and stepped right in front of him, bend down and whispered in his ear.
"You have exactly two choices now: Get up now, move your drunk arse into that Mercedes," he said sweetly, still smiling at the sniper while a black S63 AMG pulled over at the end of the street, "Oooooor I shoot a hole through your brain. To be honest with you, sweetheart, I'd rather not. Such talent shouldn't be wasted." His voice trailed off at the end.
Finally, after he considered his chance of fighting his way past the psychopath in front of him he slowly got up. Moran was taller than the Irish man, so he was forced to look down at him.
This didn't mean that he was in charge, oh no. The dark eyes of the smaller man told everyone who had the fortune or misfortune, depending on the situation of course, knew that this man meant danger and death if you step over the line.
"Let's say I'm stepping inside that car of yours… what do you want from me? There are dozens of other guns-for-hire."
"But I want you. And you should know something about me, Seb. I. Always. Get. What. I. WANT." His head was tilted to the side, his eyes narrowed. He noticed every movement of his opponent and looked rather pleased as he finally decided to get up.
The sniper sighted and walked to the car but just before he opened the door he stopped, turned around and faced the other man and asked.
"I just want to know to things. Who are you and what should I expect?"
He grinned his insane smile, showing his way too white and way too many teeth.
"Jim Moriarty. And I'd advise you to prepare for everything and anything. Oh and don't worry, your stuff has already been picked up."
They sat down and Sebastian was about to ask Jim a question as he interrupted him.
"And yes, your AWSM has been picked up as well, although I'd prefer if you'd use this one. It's more discrete and to be honest with you I like them more."
Jim Moriarty gave him a SV-98. A Russian Bullsniper, one of the finest sniper rifles you can buy for money.
"How… and why?"
"Silly you, you'll soon know the how. About the why… well I like you. And my sniper needs a good gun, right? Be a nice boy and do as I say. Just do not dare to disappoint me."
He smiled, then turned his head and looked out of the window, watching London at night.
Although the city wasn't aware of it right now, in this Mercedes sat the notorious Consulting Criminal James Moriarty and his right hand, the Ex-Army Sniper Sebastian Moran, on their way to their first job as partners.