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The dark haired man stared hard at the metal shape in front of him, thoroughly confused. Although he was pleased that he was starting to remember things, Jim Moriarty was, to be honest, more than slightly afraid about what a gun had to do with his past life. He could vaguely remember a figure staring up at him, eyes narrowed and intensely blue. Jim flinched at the figure as though he were still here.
"Jim." a gentle voice spoke, and he looked up with frantic eyes at the nurse who was holding the picture up. For a split second, he could've sworn that the curly haired man from before was sitting across from him, but as soon as he blinked, the nurse was there again. "Do you know what this is?"
"That's a gun." Jim said slowly, the word coming out of his mouth much easier than he thought.
"And how does it make you feel?" Jim paused before answering.
"Oddly free." The nurse scribbled something down in her notepad before looking back up.
"Do you remember anything about a gun?" Jim had to stop to think about that one. Did he? Everything he remembered seemed so far away and distant... No, wait. There were those faces. Two haunting faces, watching him, always watching. He blinked, and suddenly he was on a rooftop glancing at a building out of the corner of his eye. There was a man there, crouched, waiting, with a rifle pointed at a man below. In front of Jim stood the curly haired man, who was a lot taller than Jim had expected, and he was smiling. Jim found a smile come across his own features, hand moving towards his mouth as his finger twitched, pulling the imaginary trigger.
"Bless you." he murmured, eyes still watching the man as he felt himself fall back, back, all the way back...
"Mister Moriarty?" the nurse spoke, and suddenly he was out of his trance. He was surprised to see that he had taken the picture of the gun and was lying on the ground with the flashcard beside him. The nurse was peering at him as she leaned over the table. "Sir, are you alright?" Jim sat up slowly, rubbing his head as he glanced up at her.
"Yeah. Fine." he murmured. He picked up the flashcard and looked at it for what felt like hours before handing it over to the nurse. "I'm great." the nurse nodded slowly, obviously suspicious of Jim's trance. She tucked the card away in her purse and headed for the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Jim?" Jim nodded, eager to be able to leave the room of questions. He followed the nurse out the door, and as she closed it, he glanced outside the window. A man was sitting on a bench just outside, coffee cup in hand as he watched the building. Jim contemplated whether or not he should tell the nurse; the man seemed awfully suspicious. But then their eyes met, and for some reason, all Jim could see was the same man smiling at him, standing at his side. Then the man was reaching for Jim's hand, and for some reason, Jim let him take it, and then they were smiling, sitting together in a café. But all Jim could remember was feeling happy, so very happy, and most definitely happier than he could ever remember feeling. The nurse took Jim's arm and tugged on it gently. "Jim, it's time to go." Jim was torn from the dream and followed her back to his room, a small ten by ten cube with a bed and a dresser. He sat on the edge of his bed, thinking hard about the man waiting outside.
"Do I know him?" Jim asked himself, his voice loud in the quiet room. He shifted so he could lie down on the bed, and he lay the back of his hand across his forehead. He closed his eyes and tried to figure out who the man was, and how Jim knew him. He had started to see the man's name, blotched out letters slowly becoming clear, when he was in a pool, talking to the curly haired man.
"But then people do get so sentimental about their pets." Jim found himself saying, and he could almost feel the shorter man grabbing him from behind. He flinched as he continued. "They’re so touchingly loyal. But, oops! You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." Words are coming out of Jim's mouth that he never could've imagined himself saying, and he can already see the laser pointer that's now aimed at the curly haired man's head.
He watches the two men's faces as he sings "Gotcha!" The man behind him takes a step back without a moment's hesitation, and Jim feels something in his gut. Something new. It's... guilt?
He's about to say something else, and his hands are moving to his shirt, but then the picture changes, and Jim finds himself on a sailboat, leaning back on the deck as he sipped some sort of fancy drink that tasted sweet and sour in an odd combination. The man from before was steering the small boat, and Jim put down the drink as he walked over to him. So, he was a friend then. Jim guessed. But then he was holding the man from behind and nuzzling his neck affectionately. The man just smirked and raised an eyebrow. Jim wasn't sure when he had started blushing, but for some reason, he was feeling oddly content. Was he a boyfriend, then? He guessed. He felt embarrassed to not be able to remember someone who had obviously been such an important figure in his life.
Then Jim was seeing the blurry letters again, and now they were clearing up, and he could read it.
Sebastian Moran.
Jim opened his eyes at the new information. He was still in his room, unsettled by the odd memories, but otherwise completely unaffected. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temple and groaning a bit. What was he supposed to do now? There was a knock at the door, and Jim prayed that it wasn't the same nurse again, eager to ask him more questions.
"Come on in." he said glumly, and when the man, Sebastian, stepped in, Jim raised an eyebrow. "Sebastian!" The man had stopped glancing around and broke into a grin as he saw Jim.
"Jim!" he rushed over and pulled the man into a tight hug. He buried his face in Jim's neck, smiling against his skin. The latter coughed awkwardly, gently pushing Sebastian away. The sniper looked up at him in confusion. "Jim, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Jim nodded in reply, shifting in his spot on the bed. How was he supposed to tell this man that he could barely remember him?
"I need to find Sherlock." he announced, the name of the curly haired man coming out of his mouth as though he had said it a hundred times.
"Sherlock?" Sebastian repeated, aghast. "What, you upset that he's been disassembling your little criminal empire or something? Jim, you said that-" By now, Sebastian was angry, standing up and frowning at the man who sat before him.
"Seb." Jim interrupted, finding that the nickname rolled off of his tongue effortlessly. He reached for Sebastian's hand and pulled him closer. Perhaps I should just play along. He thought. He nodded to himself. He would, for his sake and for Sebastian's. "That's not it. I need to speak with him. And John as well." Sebastian sighed, sitting beside him.
"Alright. But first things first. We need to get you out of here."
***
Jim fidgeted in his spot, the air cold as he watched his breath fade away along the street. Sebastian was still in the car, waiting right by the side in case Jim needed to make a quick escape. Jim had made him promise that he wouldn't stay the entire time; neither was sure about what to expect from the two men inside 221B. On the ride over, Sebastian had told Jim that Sherlock had moved back in with John the day before; the rest of the week had been spent disassembling the rest of Jim's web (other than Moran, of course). Jim had nodded, thinking about how cruel he was to have separated two friends purely because he had been bored. He shook his head. That was a different man.
The door opened, and the shorter man, John, gaped at Jim. His mouth opened and closed, unable to form any proper words, and he leaned back to call for his friend.
"Sherlock!" he hollered, and the consulting detective was there in an instant. When he noticed Jim, he glared hard at him as though it alone would kill him.
"Um... hi?" Jim offered weakly, and he could tell from Sherlock's glare that neither of the pair had forgotten the consulting criminal. "Do you mind if I come inside?" John sighed after a moment, noticing Sherlock's hard gaze, and opened the door wider. When Jim walked past, awkward and stiff, John whispered something to Sherlock when he thought Jim couldn't hear them.
(He still could.)
"You can shoot him later, Sherlock."
***
Jim took a sip of the warm tea, closing his eyes and smiling at the soothing taste.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock growled, refusing to sit down, as it would make it more possible for Moriarty to catch him off guard. Jim put the cup to the side and cleared his throat. He focused more on John; it was no secret that the ex-army doctor was more forgiving.
"I woke up in a white room. There were blinding lights, and people were rushing around me, and I felt a lot of pain. Couldn't see much and couldn't feel much. Just lights and pain." Jim began, recounting the terrifying day. "I felt something sharp before I went back under. I woke up again later, in a hospital room, and I was hooked up to a lot of stuff and my head hurt. I couldn't remember a thing." Jim lowered his voice as though Sebastian might here. "To tell you the truth, I still don't remember everything."
"You didn't answer my question." Sherlock grumbled, and Jim sat back up in his chair.
"Right. Sorry." he coughed and tugged at his shirt collar. "Anyways, I didn't know a thing about who I was. Then someone got an ID on me or whatever, and they shipped me off to this rehab place. I've been there since, and I've started to remember things. Bits and pieces at first, but then I started getting names and phrases." Jim paused, glancing at Sherlock. "Do you know what Reichenbach is?" Sherlock's continued glare told him that he did know, but wouldn't say anything of it. Jim sighed.
"I'm here to apologize." He said plainly, shrugging as he leaned back in his seat. "I did a lot of wrong things to both of you, and I'd like to officially apologize. I was unnecessarily cruel, and neither of you deserved my treatment at all. I was heartless and thoughtless, and I didn't care. I did all of it because I was bored, and for that..." Jim trailed off, taking a deep breath before finishing. "I'm sorry." he whispered.
"You expect us to just forgive you?" Sherlock asked, his voice deep and gravelly. Jim still had a hard time actually believing that he was living this out and not having another memory. Sherlock was standing up now, glowering at Jim as he shrank back in his seat. "After all you've done?"
"Sherlock..." John tugged at the detective's bathrobe. "Let it go." he pleaded. Sherlock shook off his friend's desperate grasp.
"How can you say that?" he fumed, now turning to face John. "Don't you remember what he did? He threatened to kill you, John. And not just once, either!"
"I'm saying that because I'm a big enough person to be able to forgive someone no matter what they might've done to me." John responded, fighting hard to keep his voice level. He could still remember Jim's cold hands dragging him off in the night, tying the bomb over his chest and grinning. The nights when John didn't wake up panting at his bad dreams were becoming more and more rare; although Sherlock had come back, alive and well, John still had dreams about his friend's falling body as well. "I know what he did was wrong. He was a bloody bastard, but I'll still forgive him. Because that's who I am, Sherlock. And because, in the end, even after everything he did, you're still alive and I'm still alive and we're both here in 221B, and nothing has changed." Sherlock's eyes softened at John's words, and he took a deep breath before stumbling over to his chair and leaning back.
"Fine." Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his forehead and refusing to look at Jim in the eyes. Jim slunk back in his seat, unsettled by the dispute that had just happened in front of him, finally realizing that his apologizes kept hurting the duo.
"I'm sorry." Jim repeated quietly. John just nodded, forcing a smile.
"S'okay." he replied.
But they all knew it really wasn't.
***
"Ji-im!" Sebastian groaned, pounding on the door impatiently. "Hurry up! We're getting late."
"Just a sec!" his fiancée responded, and after a few more moments of Sebastian impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, he burst out, dressed nicely in his Westwood suit with his hair combed back. "You look gorgeous." Jim grinned, pressing a quick, chaste kiss against his lover's lips. Sebastian smirked.
"As do you." the pair hooked arms, walking out to the car as they exited the small apartment building. "Such an exciting day." Sebastian slipped into the driver's seat of the silver convertible. It had been a present from an old friend of Jim's, one who had also retired from the criminal life, for an engagement present. Since they had gotten it, Sebastian had refused to drive anything else.
"Mm-hm." Jim agreed. He checked his tie in the mirror to make sure that it wasn't crooked. Sebastian noticed this and smiled.
"You look fine." he smiled, starting up the engine.
"I sure hope so." Jim muttered, and the pair drove across town to the small church. Even though they were at least ten minutes late, the parking lot still only had six cars already parked. When he realized that Sebastian had also noticed as much, he announced, "Must be a small wedding." Sebastian nodded, parking the car quickly and carefully.
"Jim! Seb!" Lestrade grinned at the pair as he waved at them from the church entrance. "There you are. C'mon, you'd better hurry up. The ceremony's almost over, but you're just in time for the vows." The two former criminals nodded, rushing inside the church and sitting in one of the pews that was furthest in the back.
John and Sherlock were standing across from each other, and Jim couldn't remember Sherlock ever looking so happy. If he were at someone else's wedding, Sherlock would definitely be yelling "Bored!" at the top of his lungs before they had even gotten close to the vows, but he seemed oddly content with savoring the moment. Jim felt Sebastian lean his head against his shoulder, and Jim rested his on top of his lover's.
"Do you, John Hamish Watson, take Sherlock T-" The priest was asking, his voice loud and emotionless. Jim figured that he did weddings often and never really bothered to get emotionally attached to his clients.
"Just Sherlock." the detective corrected, eyes never leaving John's. The doctor smiled slightly and answered quickly to save the priest from anymore embarrassment. Sherlock had already asked that his middle name go unsaid (Apparently, "Timothy Carlton" was much more embarrassing that "Hamish").
"I do."
"And do you, Sherlock Holmes, take John Hamish Watson to be your beloved husband?"
"I do."
"I now pronounce you bound together by the holy matrimony, and pronounce you man and spouse. You may kiss the groom." The priest had already started to gather his belongings as the pair gave each other a quick, gentle kiss. The priest left as quickly as possible per Sherlock's request, and the younger Holmes had managed to remain civil with Mycroft during the entire ceremony, so Sebastian and Jim were both equally impressed. As Molly started gushing to Sherlock about how special the day was and how happy she was for him and John, the doctor made his way over to the two ex-criminals.
"Hey, glad to see that you two could make it." they clapped each other on the back and grinned.
"Of course. Sorry that we were late." Jim smiled. John and Sherlock's happiness seemed to be spreading.
"Yeah. Jim here took a little too long getting ready, and then there was traffic, too." Sebastian gave a pointed glance at Jim, who blushed.
"I started getting ready five minutes earlier than you told me to!" he protested.
"S'okay." John grinned as Sherlock came over to greet them.
And for once, it was.