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That rooftop.
That goddamn rooftop, and he was here again. Dreams like this were the reason Sebastian preferred to stay awake, now. Just like every other time, he found himself ascending the stairs of a neighboring building, fragments of reality cracked through the dreamscape, nearly lucid if it weren’t just a distorted memory of his own.
Sherlock-fucking-Holmes was to fault for this, being clever. He just had to be smart enough for Jim, didn’t he? Sebastian had welcomed the distraction at first, the detective keeping Jim interested passively. Then there was the pool, and he came to realize that Holmes wouldn’t be a passing fancy, but someone much more reoccurring than he would like. Jim was infatuated, and when he was focused on something like that, he got reckless - as though he now had something to prove - as though he hadn’t been proving himself his entire life.
He’d called Jim, dialed and cursed at him under his breath for not picking up, that bastard knew he could see him, and now he was going to ignore him?
And now - the problem with dreaming was the cutting, manipulating his life like a film reel. Forced into his own eyes and gazing, gazing, gazing, but Watson was nowhere in sight.
Jim. Like always, he’s out of reach, through a scope and defined. He’s too far, and a dread filled Sebastian like it always did. Pacing around Sherlock, yelling- then calm - then disappointed. Sebastian knew the look, seen it hundreds of times before in the dream in their lives in his memories.
He shook in anticipation, and couldn’t remember if he’d shaken at the time. He’s aware of what was to come as Jim leaned in, shook Sherlock’s hand.
In a flash. Everything, everything, everything, was ripped from him. The panic, the gasp, the soundless yell happened in an instant as Jim raised the gun - what kind of idiot was he to - and fired.
Gunshots never bothered Sebastian. This was at a distance through an open window, a rooftop and a universe away. But a bomb may well have gone off next to his ear. Jim was gone. Jim had just killed himself. And Sebastian had watched it happen.
He couldn’t breathe, he was cursing or crying, or hyperventilating, and this couldn’t be real? Jim couldn’t be gone? It wasn’t a dream - rather it was but Sebastian was so far gone it was happening for the first time all over again. That little shit couldn’t have just, no, this had to be a trick.
It couldn’t be. He’d just watched. Jim had left him, left him, left him, left him, and now Sebastian was alone. There was a vacuum in his chest, he understood Jim’s plans but couldn’t be bothered with Watson beneath him or Sherlock on the ledge. He was still staring through that scope and he knew - goddamn it he knew that Jim was right and this would burn the heart out of Sherlock just like he wanted. But it burned the heart out of him, too. That vacuum grew into a black hole within an instant, everything was gone.
Leave it to Jim to take everything from him, that cock. Dead. Who the fuck did he think he was? He was alone now. Entirely fucking alone. Of course it would be Jim’s fault - not that he’d own up to it. Not that he can. Sebastian was hyperventilating, he’s out of focus, he has nothing no one, he’s alone. He couldn’t breathe and all he could realize was that Jim couldn’t either. He tried to scream, no sounds presented themselves, only the ringing of a gunshot. Jim is gone, gone, gone, and he’s alone. All alone - no one is here - no one will be here - he’s gone - gone gone gone he’s alone he’s gone he’s gone he can’t be–
“Sebastian!” Sebastian jolted up, knuckles whitening as he gripped the sheets, gasping for air in the dark bedroom, chilling sweat slipping down his chest.
Jim. It was Jim. Of course it was, why wouldn’t it be - they were in bed. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” He apologized by habit, drawing his shaking hands up to run them across his face, glaring at the wetness of his eyes. He was a fucking idiot, it had been a long time since a night like this, why couldn’t it just be over?
“Not a good night, hmm tiger?” Jim drawled at him sleepily, fingertips coming up from Sebastian’s arm where he’d forced him awake, to run softly across the scars on his back.
“Yeah, fuck, sorry.” Sebastian sighed, pulling back the sheets, “I’m fine - go back to sleep, I’ll just…” He laid an arm against Jim, solidifying his existence and moving to get up, before two arms snaked around him.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Jim tugged him back harshly. “I run cold.”
Right. Sebastian tried to regulate his breath, panting and closing his eyes. That little shit was right, he really did run cold, something Sebastian had learned the hard way when Jim had declared him a human heat generator and proceeded to shove his freezing toes directly under Sebastian’s thigh. But this wasn’t just running cold. Years of attempting (and failing) to understand the madman gave him the slightest bit of insight, which caused a flutter in his heart, Jim knew he needed him. In subtlety. Obviously.
“Fine, fine.” He played along and brought his arms over Jim’s, feeling teeth gently scrape and tug at his skin, that fucking creep. Sebastian smiled to himself, as he glanced back as far as he could to catch a glimpse of Jim’s silhouette, his hair unruly and cute. “I love you.”
Jim hummed in feigned annoyance. “You better, after everything I’ve done for you.” He let out an indignant squeak as Sebastian twisted around and laid himself over Jim, carefully as to not crush him. “Ugh, you behemoth, get off.” But damn, Sebastian was warm.
Letting out a chuckle, and a residual sniffle, Sebastian leaned down from his forearms to press a kiss to Jim’s nose. “Shhh, I love you.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jim kissed him slowly, gently, and strangely calm in a way often only found in the darkness. Sebastian rumbled a purr in response, dragging his lips down to Jim’s chin, edging slowly across his jaw. “I love you,” He sighed into Jim’s ear, slipping the tip of his tongue into the shell.
“Fuck off-” Jim squirmed underneath him, shooting him a glare, even if he couldn’t see it.
“Mhmm, will do, boss.” Sebastian replied idly, trailing his mouth down Jim’s neck. This wasn’t romance, or foreplay, this was a test of tangibility. This was proof that Sebastian’s universe thrived another night, that Jim would be awake in the morning to make sex jokes about their breakfast. That Jim would be there to whine at him about his psychotic plots, to drool when he put on a leather jacket, to snap at him and ignore him, or not let him out of his sight. Jim would be there. “I love you.”
Sebastian continued kissing as much of Jim’s skin as he had access to, having slid the Irishman’s shirt up to nose against his stomach and rest against him, the other no longer complaining as he threaded his fingers through the sniper’s hair. Seemingly content with the verification of Jim’s presence, Sebastian laid his head against Jim’s diaphragm with a sigh. “I love you.” He mouthed against him, letting his eyes fall closed when he wrapped his arms around Jim.
Later, after Sebastian had drifted off again, Jim’s fingers still trailed through his hair. “I know,” He said to the larger man, curled around him. He said, with the slightest twinge of remorse.
“Goodnight, tiger.”