It's three in the morning, and Jim still can't sleep.

Of course, this was nothing novel. Having a mind as great as his was both a blessing and a curse, but Jim is especially worn out tonight, having dealt with many new clients earlier on, and all he really wants to do now is shut off the incessant whirring of his brain and sleep, goddammit.

He's restless, and the idea is tugging away at a corner of his mind, but he is trying so very hard to ignore it; he had promised himself that he would never do it again, ever. He was the world's greatest criminal mastermind, for god's sake, and there was absolutely no way he could afford a weakness.

But tonight, like so many other nights before, that part of his mind wins the game of tug-of-war, and Jim finds himself springing up out of the sofa and padding softly across the familiar carpeted path to that room.

He lingers on the outside for the slightest of moments, but before he can change his mind, his shoulder involuntarily nudges the door open, casting a sliver of light that shines upon Sebastian Moran.

The plain white covers are messily wrapped around his middle. An errant strand of hair rests lightly on his left cheek, and Jim can monitor his slow, even breathing from the rise and fall of the comforter. He shuffles inside, silently shutting the door closed behind him, and treads closer. Jim can't help but smile as his gaze travels to Sebastian's sleeping face—his usually ridged eyebrows and serious, if not somewhat grumpy, expression is smoothed out now, and Sebastian Moran, the second most dangerous man in London, if not the world, is the very picture of innocence at this moment.

Absentmindedly, Jim brushes the strand of hair that had been lying on Sebastian's cheek aside and replaces the spot with a small butterfly kiss. Sebastian doesn't even stir. Jim takes a moment to ponder whether or not this relieves him or disappoints him.

Watching Sebastian look so child-like and naïve, Jim can't help but think of the 'what-ifs;' the other lives they could have lived—infinite other possibilities other than the 'consulting criminal and his sniper.' He wonders what it would be like to have Sebastian in his arms at all times, free from any worries of what his countless enemies would do if they ever caught the two of them together.

It's pointless, but he can't help imagining.

Soundlessly, Jim twitches the covers aside and sidles into the warm bed, and this time Sebastian stirs.

"Go back to sleep, Seb," he murmurs. "Don't mind me, my little tiger."

Sebastian grunts groggily in reply, but he makes a bleary attempt to roll over, leaving more room for Jim.

Instead of taking the advantage of the space, Jim curls himself up even closer to Sebastian, wraps one arm around his waist, and nestles his head in his chest.

"Goodnight, Sebby." Jim's mind is oddly blank, but on this occasion, the oblivion is welcoming.

Within minutes, they are asleep in each other's arms, and for that night they could've been any couple; any two persons sharing dreams and a place to sleep in each other's comfort. They could've been anyone other than the two most dangerous men in the world—the consulting criminal and his sniper.