Sebastian Moran was never dubbed as "Mentally stable". It just wasn't the way you describe a child with a gift for knives, or a teenager whose best friend mysteriously died while they were on an 'adventure' or a grown man who had an infatuation- if not obsession- with lethal weapons. No, Sebastian was typically described as "Strong willed" or "talented" or "different". Which is partially why he wasn't surprised to find himself under the profession of hit man after being dishonorably discharged from the army. It was a great job, he wasn't tied down to one boss, still got to kill, and was always on the right side of the gun. Then Sebastian met James Moriarty. It had been a normal job; he was lying on the floor of a grubby, abandoned building. His target set, head in Sebastian's crosshairs, brain matter about to hit the wall. There wasn't supposed to be a calm, slightly Irish, voice speaking behind him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sebastian didn't pause to consider the situation. He spun around and whipped his pistol from his waistline, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Who the hell are you." Neither Sebastian's voice nor his hand wavered as he stared down the wiry man.

"Why, such hostility!" the man in question smiled, undaunted by the gun aimed with precision at his head. "Not to worry, Sebastian, I only came to watch."

"How do you know who I am?" Sebastian was slightly put off by the man's calm demeanor, but not much.

"Oh, don't be daft. I've been keeping an eye on you." After a moment or so of silence, the man motioned dismissively at the gun "Put the gun away, if I was planning to kill you I would have done so." Sebastian didn't move for a good five minutes before slowly lowering the hand gun. Not a second after there was a knife pressed against his throat.

"What the fu-"

"Rule number one: I'm the most dangerous thing this city has to offer." The man whispered into Sebastian's ear, pausing to draw the slightest amount of blood before stepping back and flattening down his suit. It took Sebastian about thirty seconds to recuperate, after which he stood up as well.

"Rules for what?"

"For when you're working for me."

"Who said I wanted to work for you?"

"No one. You don't have a choice"

"Don't I?" Sebastian asked, slowly reaching for his gun.

"No, you don't. And don't bother trying to kill me, it's daft." The man's dark eyes never left Sebastian's face, leaving the sniper to wonder how the Irishman knew."Now, either accept my offer or let my sniper do his job." As the man spoke, a single red dot appeared on Sebastian's shirt, brining his attention to a window above the man's head. Crossing his arms, Sebastian nodded

"I'm listening…" The man smiled at Sebastian' s compliance.

"Good, killing you would have been such a waste."

"Your name."

"Hm?" The man smiled, he was having fun with this

"What. Is. Your. Name?"

"Oh, that. James Moriarty" at that, James grinned in almost a reptilian fashion and strode out the door and down the stairs. A minute or so later Sebastian got a text from a blocked number

Leave the gun, no one under my employment uses anything that low grade

-JM

Sebastian smiled and jogged downstairs, the rifle – and its target- abandoned in the hope of a darker day.