Sebastian watched the car go, face impassive, frustration creeping up on him. He turned to walk towards Marcus’s building, thinking now, an unpleasant look in his eyes.
He was angry. Partly at himself, for drifting in his thoughts when he was near the boss, and partly at everything else. He shouldn’t have asked questions. He shouldn’t have spoken out of line. He shouldn’t have acted so casual around Jim, where keeping a business relationship was the most important thing. Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. He needed to stay sharp. He needed practice- So much sitting lately, sitting and waiting for something to go wrong when nothing ever did and he could never shoot. Marcus was his first real kill in awhile, and even that hadn’t been challenging.
Sebastian was in the building now, up the stairs. Marcus was on the 9th floor, and that was where he found his body. There was no one else around- His contacts had made sure of that.
Kneeling down, Sebastian examined the corpse, looking for the bullet wound- There. In his head, but not where Sebastian wanted it to be. It was embedded in the forehead, just above his eyebrows. Always aim for the eyes. Sloppy work, Sebastian, sloppy.
Sebastian pulled a knife from his pocket- A small thing, just a pocket knife. He stared at Marcus for a moment more, hatred boiling in his eyes, his lips drawn back into a thin line. Slowly, Sebastian took the pocket knife, carving into Marcus’s face, his movements drawn out and precise. Venting. Venting.
Sebastian had finished his work not even ten minutes later- Marcus no longer resembled a human being, at least by his face, and his fingertips had been cut, too- You wouldn’t get any prints off of him. There was the issue of his teeth- Sebastian would crush his face in later, when blood was no longer an issue. For now he had to move the corpse- There was a garbage shoot, in the closet nearby, which would serve him well. He hefted the body over, dropping it down the shoot, and began his descent down the stairs. Thinking, still. Less furious, but still irritable.
'Have your fun,' Jim had said. Did he know? It wasn't a recurring thing so much as an occasional whim. Just a way to vent, hurting people. And bodies, too, but more often it was people. He only cut the bodies when he was on a schedule.
It wouldn’t surprise him, Jim knowing. Jim knew everything that was going on, always. In fact…Sebastian would be more surprised if Jim didn’t know.
Outside now. Marcus was in the garbage, and Sebastian made short work of crushing his skull in- Goodbye, teeth- and hiding the body more efficiently. Sebastian hailed a cab then, going to a location that was about 5 blocks away from the safe house. He started to walk the rest of the distance, calm, at least for the moment.
Sandwiches. Two, one with mustard and one without, because often Sebastian found that his taste buds flipped between enjoying that taste and despising it. Holmes and Jim were getting into some sort of tiff, and even though Sebastian wouldn’t take his eyes off of them, he could still reach down, rumble around in his bag, and grab one of the two sandwiches. Without mustard this time, because he suddenly found the condiment disgusting.
One hand was still on the gun- Rosie, he named her- but his other had found a sandwich and gone up to his mouth, his eyes not leaving the pair. They were really getting into it now. Jim had pulled out a gun.
Oh, disgusting. Wrong sandwich. Nasty, nasty shit this was- Sebastian glanced down, spitting out the bite he had just taken and dropping the sandwich. There was a shot. Another sniper-?
He looked up, sharply, and time seemed to slow. Jim was on the ground. Holmes was standing there. Jim wasn’t getting up. Jim had had a gun- What had Holmes done? He had wrestled it from him, maybe, Holmes-
Sebastian peered through the scope, suddenly, watching Holmes. John was on the ground below, way below, and Sebastian knew that he could kill the both of them with ease. Jim had said-
Holmes was moving. At the edge. He was calling somebody- John, down below, of course. Talking. Sebastian focused now, ignoring Jim, ignoring him. Sherlock jumped. He was tempted to shoot him on the way down. Just to kill him, to know that he had murdered the great Sherlock Holmes before he offed himself. But Jim had said…
Sebastian stood, swinging his rifle over his shoulder on a strap, the bag of foodstuffs on the ground now forgotten. His mind had changed, became one-track. It was something he had grown to rely on throughout his life. It had helped in the army. In the smuggling ring. And it helped now, in his latest profession. Focus, that was the key. And right now, he was focusing on the body on the roof. He didn’t know if Jim was alive or dead. He didn’t stop to think about it. He just moved.
Down the elevator. Down some stairs, out the back, quickly but subtly. Into the other building, ignore the body of Holmes, ignore the crowd around it. Up some stairs. Up an elevator. More stairs. The roof.
Sebastian emerged, spotting the body, pausing for a moment- Just the briefest of moments, not much long than a second- And continuing onwards, squatting at the body and peering at Jim for a moment, unblinking.