Work Text:
Jim Moriarty made no secret of how little he valued life in all it’s forms.
He had about as much objection to ending a child’s life as he had for the cattle in the nearby slaughterhouse and that fact alone tended to make people sick.
No, life only mattered as much as people were willing to pay.
Sebastian Moran had no issue with that, no objection, no moment of vomiting the first time Jim had him pull out a gun and shoot the only witness to his crime at the time, a small child no older than 5, in the center of her forehead.
However, if the worth of a life could be measured in monetary form than those lives Jim saw as ‘his’ were of frightening worth.
“Jesus Christ Jim! The little shit did it again!” Sebastian’s voice bellowed from the small kitchen of their shared flat, turning to a low growl as Jim swaggered in and pulled a particularly hideous animal off his second-in-command’s arm. “I don’t know why you even got this damned thing! Fucking Gollum, s’what she is!”
Jim raised an eyebrow at Sebastian before looking down at the creature in his arms.
She was an ugly cat. Maybe the ugliest Sebastian had ever seen.
Hairless, scab-covered and, after several of her teeth had been removed from infection, had a tongue that hung gracelessly out’ve her mouth. The collar she wore was ungodly expensive, matching Moriarty’s favorite tie and worth more than her bony form could ever have been.
“She ate a plastic bag again.” Sebastian added, voice a little less infuriated as he ran water over the fresh scratches crisscrossing his already scarred arms. “Little twat’s begging for another vet visit.”
Jim just nodded his head, letting the ungainly creature climb onto his shoulder as he grabbed a tea towel and helped the Colonel clean and dry his newest ‘battle scars.’
“She’s not the brightest, I’ll admit.” he replied nonchalantly.. “Though you shouldn’t grab her like that.”
His voice dropped an octave. “I’d hate to have to take you to the vet along with her, tiger.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at the smaller man, ignoring the hair raising instinctively along the back of his neck.
Jim didn’t value life, human or otherwise. He’d shot stray cats off of fence posts, demanded tiger pelts when Sebastian returned from visiting family in India, poisoned Halloween candy during a business trip to the States and hunted more than just venison during his odd holidays.
But Jim valued what was his, be it brilliant and cunning or scarred and broken.
And no one dared harm what Moriarty valued.
No one.