“Yeah.” Sebastian answered,
“Almost finished, lovie?” The smooth, familiar Irish lilt wafts through the reciever into his ear.
Moran smirkes, “The wee bastard kicked me in the face. I’m just gettin’ started.” He snarled, giving John Watson a stoney stare.
“Let’s leave it for another time, shall we? You’ll get your turn soon enough.” Jim purred in response. “Watson’s ‘owner’ is on his way. I would like you to make yourself scarce.”
Sebastian sniffed in sharply, taking a few steps away from the group, huddled in the stoneway tunnel. “…You think the Lotus can ‘andle ‘im?” He muttered.
“Of course not.” Jim mused lightheartedly. “But they have outlived their usefulness. You’ll exterminate those who evade the police Sherlock is suuuure to alert upon arrival.” He instructed. “But you will pull back. And return to me.” He ordered a bit more firmly.
“On my way.” Moran nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket.
Heading further back into the dark, looming tunnels - Sebastian could hear the arrival of another voice, wafting over the panicked pleas of John Watson and his female counterpart. Sherlock Holmes. Just in time.
Sebastian growled to himself, and grabbed his shirt and sweater as he left the scene; tugging them on overhead as he weaved through the decrepid passageways that would lead him out a little more discretely. He’d get Watson back later for that little, well-aimed kick to his brow. The ex-mercenary could already feel a warm, trickle of blood trailing down along the side of his nose as he emerged back into the fading daylight.
Old traintracks were underfoot now, and he had distanced himself enough in the darkness not to get tracked. Knowing Moriarty, he’d already have a car waiting to whisk him away, anyhow.
Pausing on the tracks, Sebastian glanced back toward the tunnel, taking a few breaths, before smirking to himself.
…Yeah. He’d get Watson back later… that pathetic, limping faggot and his-
His phone vibrated again, and Sebastian answered without speaking,
“Stop plotting your revenge, and leave.” Jim tone was almost petulant, and most certainly impatient.
Moran grinned cheekily as he jogged off down the tracks, before veering off to the nearest street.
“If you miss me, jus’ say so, darling…” The Brit breathed, slowing to a walk as his eyes landed on a sleek, black vehicle on the other side of the street.
Familiar driver. Tinted windows.
“I don’t ‘miss’ you, Moran, I just want to play.” Jim answered stubbornly. His voice seemed to lift on a whim (just like his odd personality) as he continued, “You and I are going on a little road trip to Cornwall. Won’t that be fun?!”
Sebastian sighed, trudging over toward the car; eying it skeptically, as if he were speaking face to face with the occupant inside. “Fun? …The ‘fuck is in Cornwall?” He groaned.
“The PERFECT, little, innocent, meaningless hostage for my next game!” The madman squeaked. “I have masks and everything.”
Smirking, Sebastian ended the call and slipped into the back of the car.
“I thought you didn’t like getting your hands dirty?” The soldier quoted lazily as he gave his employer a wry smile.
Jim was currently lying on his back across the adjacent seat in the luxury car.
“Kidnapping is hardly getting my hands dirty.” The Irish genius purred innocently. “Besides… I told you I wanted to play, my dear.”
Slowly, Jim opened his large, dark eyes to lock on the man before him. A playful little smile growing on his lips…
