#If sebby had a gaming channel we would all watch

[dragonfairytype]

Gamer sebastian? Gamer Sebastian.

Why is NO ONE talking about the possibility of sebastian being a gamer? He's a man in his early 30's he'd definitely play cod, resident evil, ANY Pokemon game honestly, and Assassins creed. Literally no one talks about this

[ll-again]

Eliot Spencer is Sebastian Moran, pass it on.

After Moriarty destroys Eliot's ex-boss, Damien Moreau, and, you know, takes over his business Eliot sticks around to play happy families with Jim and Molly.

(I realized I was channeling Eliot as Moran in the thing I wrote this morning and yeah...  Ficlet under the cut.)

Eliot watched his (hopefully) new boss flip haphazardly through the documentation he'd brought to prove he was everything he'd said in the initial interview – the little of it that was public record, anyway.

"Blah, blah, blah," Moriarty mumbled, flicking pages left and right. "PMC… PMC… wounded… boring… metal of commendation from-" He straightened from his slouch, peering intently at the certificate, "the Republic of Nauru?"

"Yeah, um," Eliot said. He wanted to shift on his feet, but years of military discipline kept him still. "Long story."

"I'll bet." Jim's mouth twisted upwards into a wide and wild grin. "Well," he slapped a flat hand on the pile of paper. "This is all in order, Moran."

Eliot blinked. "Spencer…"

"Nope! Sebastian Moran. Deal with it. And your first job is…" Moriarty spoke in a sing-song, like a game show announcer drawing out a prize reveal, "making sure Molly makes it to work. Oh and Sebbie, darling," Jim crooked a finger at him, beckoning Eliot closer. When he reached the desk, Jim leaned in and lowered his voice, "If one strand of her hair gets bent out of place, I will make an exception and get my hands dirty. Understand?"

He did. Men like James Moriarty never did their own dirty work. Didn't mean they couldn't.

Over the years, Eliot had been on the receiving end of hundreds of threats, all the usual ones, in every possible permutation, and even some that were just bizarre. This was one of the few that actually alarmed him. "Yessir."

Not for the first time, Eliot wondered if this was a good idea, getting into bed (so to speak) with Moriarty. But the man knew things – about him, about Damian Moreau – and the offer he'd made when he approached Eliot wasn't one he'd been able to resist in the end.

Eliot was out of Moriarty's office and into the opulent sitting room of the Chelsea flat before it occurred to him. "Who the hell is Molly?" he muttered to himself.

The question answered itself soon enough, as not a moment later a woman emerged from another room. Brown eyes, mousy brown hair tied in a high ponytail, the very distinctive slouch of someone who worked on dead bodies. And her clothes … she looked more like a maiden aunt than the kind of person a self-styled 'consulting criminal' would even allow in his flat, much less threaten to mess up his tailored suit for.

"Molly?" he asked, still not quite believing it.

"Oh hi!" she chirped, waving at him as cheerfully as a four-year-old. "You must be the new Moran."

"Uh…"

Molly giggled. "Jim doesn't like learning names. The man you inherited it from wasn't the real Moran either. His name was Cummerbund. The real Moran has been retired fifteen years and living like a king in Patagonia."

Eliot's brow furrowed. "Is that from the Princess Bride?"

"Yes!" Molly clapped her hands together, a light blush painted high on her cheekbones that was strangely adorable. "Good, you got it!" She leaned towards him conspiratorially, "I think you'll fit right in."

"I see you've met," Moriarty drawled. He was leaning against the study door, arms folded over his chest.

Not being stupid, Eliot took a big step back, putting some space between him and Moriarty's girl.

"I like this one, Jamie," Molly said, skipping over to her boyfriend to put her hands on his shoulders and press a kiss to his cheek. "We're keeping him."

Jim's eyes flicked to Eliot. "Are we?"

Molly turned around so she could also look at Eliot. Chewing her lip, she said, "Aren't we? You were so excited when you found him…"

Behind her, Jim threw his hands up in a silent 'gah' gesture, then dropped his face into his palm. "Molly," he groaned, "what have I said?"

Molly scrunched her head down, lips pressed together but eyes twinkling merrily. "I didn't think you meant I couldn't repeat nice things."

Jim sighed. Loudly.

Eliot decided it was best to take pity on his new boss. "Yeah, I'm staying," he said. "We have a deal, don't we, Moriarty?"

"Yes!" Jim's head popped up, and he rolled his eyes at Eliot in commiseration and a silent 'thank you'. "A deal. And after that… we'll see. Go to work, Molly."

"Want me to bring anything home?"

"What, like a liver?" Jim huffed. "Do I look like Sherlock Holmes? The only liver I want is in pâté. Actually…"

"Goose liver, I hope," Molly said dryly, digging into her over-sized purse for a scrap of paper and a pen. She used Jim's shoulder as a writing surface to scribble a quick note. "Right. Pâté and crackers. Text me if you think of anything else."

"No, don't," Eliot found himself saying before he could check himself. Molly paused, halfway to Jim for a quick, goodbye peck, and both of them turned to their newest employee. Eliot cleared his throat. "Don't buy that stuff from the store. You do not want to know what they put in it. I'll, uh, see Molly to work and get the ingredients. Make you a fresh batch."

Molly's eyes went round. "You can cook?" She whirled on Jim. "He can cook? We are definitely," she jabbed Jim in the shoulder with a finger, "definitely," and a second jab, "keeping him."

Moriarty, narrowed eyes fixed on Eliot, closed his hand around Molly's. A moment later, a sly smile quirked his mouth. "Well, aren't you just full of surprises, Moran? I think you'll fit in rather well."