Title: Faith Comes in Moments

Chapter Six: Hunted

AN: Hello, all. Sorry for the delay in posting, but school and work have been eating my brains for the past week and a half so I haven't had a chance to actually sit down and write. This particular chapter is actually being typed out on four hours of sleep, so I apologize for any errors, as always. Also, I want to give an internet hug to Atticus who left me a wonderful review that made me smile. Of course, reviews usually make me smile, but that one in particular was lovely. On that note, read on.

*MMM*

"Oh God, Seb."

"Jim...oh, fuck."

"No, just...yes," Jim's breath hitches and he whimpers. He holds Sebastian's hips in place and grinds against him. "Just there. Stay right there."

"Do you really expect me to not move?"

"Yes."

"Fat chance."

"Bastard." Seb covers Jim's grin with his mouth and kisses him artlessly, all teeth and tongue, as Jim rubs against him.

It was a good night...for Jim, anyway. He'd finally confronted Holmes at that godforsaken pool and come out of it, not only alive, but with an interesting new client in possession of compromising pictures of a certain member of the monarchy. He'd been positively manic when they'd left.

Seb, on the other hand, had been less than pleased. When Holmes had aimed at the explosive jacket, he'd been an inhale away from pulling the trigger and covering Jim's suit in the detective's brain matter. It would've been a pleasure, actually. For once he was thankful Jim never silenced his phone.

They'd gotten out of the car and barely made it inside the flat before they were on each other, kissing, and trying to throw aside clothing but failing. Life or death situations were a daily occurrence for both of them, but this had been different. Seb could feel it. A panic had bloomed in his chest like a wound the moment he'd thought Jim might die, pulsing and fluttering frantically. It wasn't a usual emotion for him. His hands were always steady. He was always sure, but the though of losing Jim terrified him. It was a horrible realization.

Jim threw his head back against the wall and groaned. Seb licked at his exposed neck and nipped at his pulse point. Alive. Jim was alive. He had to keep reminding himself or risk losing it. He had to remember that everything was fine now.

"Seb," Jim whined, a desperate note in his voice, as he pulled at Seb's hair. Sebastian grinned and rolled his hips, watching Jim's eye lids flutter as he came with a strangled cry. Like a chain reaction, Seb followed suit a moment later, his climax taking him by surprise. They'd barely touched each other and yet here they were, already spent and panting against a wall like teenagers. It was almost embarrassing.

Although it had been a tense day.

Jim knocked his head against Seb's and sighed, looking at him in the eye and scowling.

"This suit," he said slowly, "is Westwood." Seb huffed a quiet laugh and kissed him.

"Then I guess you'll have to get it dry cleaned, won't you?"

"I'm not getting anything dry cleaned. You, on the other hand, now have an extra errand to run tomorrow." He smiled sweetly, then pushed Sebastian away from him, going to the bathroom to change.

"Not my fault you have the stamina of a bloody sixteen year old," Seb called as he grabbed a pair of dirty sweat pants inexplicably lying by the couch, and put them on. He threw his suit pants and underwear into the hamper by the bedroom and unbuttoned his shirt. He'd save the shower for tomorrow. He was too tired to actually clean himself properly at the moment. Right now all he wanted was sleep.

"I think we both know the limits of my stamina, Sebby." Jim shot back as he walked out of the bedroom and past Seb, typing on his phone.

"I do know you're limits. Which is why I think you should put the phone down and go to bed."

"No, no, no, darling," Jim sing-songed, plopping down in his computer chair, eyes glued to his phone. "I have plans to make." He looks up at Seb for a moment. "I have games to play with dear Sherlock."

"You what?"

"Games, plans," Jim waves a hand distractedly, "whatever you'd like to call them." His phone pings with a new text and he opens it. "And I think I have just The Woman to begin them." He smiles gleefully and begins to type. After a while, he notices Seb's silence and looks up. "Something wrong?"

"I thought we were done with Holmes."

"You might be," Jim scoffs. "I have a score to settle."

"No, no you don't." Sebastian shakes his head and goes to his jacket, feeling the sudden urge to have a cigarette.

"I don't?" Jim repeats slowly, not quite understanding where Seb's coming from. He puts the phone on his desk and folds his hands, watching as Seb lights his cigarette.

"Sebastian darling, I don't think I'm following."

"You're obsessed, Jim."

"I'm just play -."

"Don't even say it. You're not just playing. Not anymore. Christ," Seb curses and runs a hand through his hair. "This isn't a game anymore, Jim. You could have died. If he'd pulled the trigger -."

"He wouldn't have," Jim says knowingly from his chair, and Sebastian rounds on him, furious.

"How do you know?" he walks up to Jim and puts both hands on either side of Jim's chair, staring at him intently. "His finger was on the trigger and I was in another building, watching, trying not to lose it in front of my men, and you say, 'he wouldn't have' like you know him." He stops and exhales, searching Jim's face for a shred of something human.

"He's me, Seb," Jim says, all lilting voice aside now. He looks fierce, like he wants Sebastian to understand. Seb looks away, scoffing.

"No, listen to me," Jim yanks Seb's head so they're facing each other again. "He and I have the same problem," he laughs. "It's the final problem and he needs to figure it out." He pauses, looking at Seb, his eyes a hard black and his mouth a thin line.

"And then we'll be done with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Then we'll be done with Sherlock Holmes," Jim affirms, looking at the sniper. A flicker of sadness moves across his eyes, but it's gone too quickly for Sebastian to completely understand it as such.

He opens his mouth to ask about it, but suddenly Jim's lips are pressing against his own with a gentleness that takes Seb by surprise. Nothing about Jim was ever gentle. Even when he was asleep, he was violent. It wasn't like him to kiss so softly.

Normally, Seb wouldn't mind, but this was strange, even for them. It awakened the part of him that felt hunted and suspicious; a part that had rarely reared its ugly head in India and in the army because it was always soaked in a thick layer of adrenaline. There was none of that here. Jim was kissing him tenderly and nothing had ever unsettled Sebastian so much in his life. He pulled away and rested a hand on the back of Jim's neck, touching their foreheads together.

"Promise me," Seb said, trying to find gain purchase on something somewhere. He wouldn't let himself get lost in the plot. He was tired of being another pawn in Jim's games. He refused to be thrown aside. He didn't want to lose.

"Promise me that this will be finished," he clarifies, watching Jim carefully. "Promise that this will be the last time."

Jim moves away from him, his face a perfect mask. He smiles slightly but it doesn't reach his eyes; not like Seb knows it should.

"I promise."

The next day, he sends Sebastian on a long job in Russia.

By the time he comes back, Jim and Sherlock Holmes are both dead.