Sebastian L. Moran, 38, Chief of Staff for J. Moriarty
Nick leaned his forehead tiredly against the door and said, raising his voice to be heard through the door, “I want you to know that I wasn’t making fun of you.”
He didn’t really need for the sniper to reply to anything he was saying. However, just as he gave praise when deserved, he also gave explanations when he felt they were needed. He didn’t apologize.
“I really was trying to explain it to you. I can’t. There aren’t words.”
He closed his eyes, feeling an uncomfortable rise of emotion. It was like a secondary backlash of whatever had struck him in New York upon realizing that Jim was dead. This time, however, he had no intention of indulging it.
He coughed to clear the tightness in his throat and said, “Anyway. Yeah. I’m going to clean up and then review the footage of what we missed. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
Frowning Sebastian wanted to ask if Nick was feeling alright but bit his tongue. He wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t missed something but he decided that arguing was not in his best interests at the moment. He sighed through his nose and turned over.
“Tell me if you find anything.” Sebastian said, just loud enough to be heard. He needed a nap, and there was no way that he wanted to awake for any more of this. His phone was by his head and he had it on. Nick would buzz in case he needed something but right now Seb just wanted to be alone. He winced as he turned on his side, feeling his ribcage.
“You arse! You cracked my rib!” He yelled over his shoulder, more annoyed than anything else. Fucking hell. Sebastian didn’t even bother with the blanket, just pushed his face into the pillow and drifted to sleep.
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black
