Click.

Re-writing this because I wrote it for Sana over skype and it was 1am and it was crap. Still is crap but meh.

Jim was sitting in the center of the dingy basement, elbows resting on his knees and shot gun angled dangerously at his head. He was having a… moment. A tantrum as Sebastian would call it. Frequently these spats would end in a night curled up beside Seb, who's arms would be around him, rubbing his back or stroking his hair. He would be in peace for a little while. But not even the thought of spending an entire night with his love would deter his thoughts now, he was too far gone. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his right hand. Not two seconds later he did it again, this time accompanied by a light whimper. Sebastian was sitting up there watching telly and eating take out while Jim was down here trying to stop himself from pulling the trigger…. but it was so fucking tempting. Just a split second and the bullet would tear through his head and come out the other side splattering the wall in blood and bone and brain matter. His brilliant mind all over the fucking walls.

"Sebastian!" he finally wanted him to help. Or maybe he did just want to die, but wanted to see Seb one last time. One last time. That was all he needed to change his mind… then if it didn't. Well. Fuck it. He'd do it anyway.

He heard Seb's heavy footfalls crash down the stairs before the door was flung open. "Jim?"

Seb stared around at the room, noting various things. The gun was first, the shaking of Jim's hands, the way his breath hardly penetrated his lungs before being forced out again… but the most heart-breaking thing was the out of place and far too obvious way he'd been crying.

"I'm sorry…. I tried," he murmured, keeping his voice to hopefully detract from the pain shining through.

Seb started to take a step forward but Jim yanked another gun from under the chair and raised it at him, arm straight but trembling. Seb raised his hands in submission.

"Jim. Listen. Listen to me," he didn't dare go any closer, maybe if he distracted him he could get close enough to take the guns off him. He smiled, he wondered briefly if this plan would work. "What would Scotland Yard think of the shortage of crimes?"

At that Jim faltered, the gun in his right hand -the one that was raised- lowered slightly and he started to cry again, harder. Unwelcome tears rolled down his cheeks and Jim was terrified of this emotion, fear and grief and pain and… he couldn't deal with it. "Who the fuck cares!" he shouted.

Seb realized that it really wasn't going to work, so changed tactics. "What would I think?"

"I don't care!" his answer was so quick, you'd think he said it on coincidence. But it wasn't, that was just how Jim worked.

In the few seconds that Jim had his eyes closed, Seb managed to yank to the gun from his right hand and throw it across the room. "Look at me!" he leant down to him, heart pounding and stomach churning in terror.

Jim turned glassy eyes up at him, his jaw slackened and his finger pressed down on the trigger. BANG. Read sprayed across the walls, the floor, the ceiling and Jim collapsed into Seb's chest, dead.

No. No, that was just Sebastian's imagination. Click, click, click, click. The sound of the gun jamming wasn't like in the movies, the click was Jim's fingernail hitting the side of the gun when the trigger wouldn't move. But what everyone was trying to get over was the fact that it jammed. The gun jammed. Jim's gun never jammed! After a few moments of stunned silence Jim shook his head.

"No!" click, click, click. He hefted the useless gun across the room to hit the wall and clatter loudly to the floor. "No!"

Seb was still in utter shock, hands shaking too hard to do anything practical with them and vision blurred by tears. He took a step forward. "Jim."

"What!"

"The gun jammed-"

"Did you fucking do this! DID YOU JAM MY GUN?" rage was now taking over Jim's features, lips a thin line and his eyes…. his eyes were a stormy grey but seemed to be burning. "SEBASTIAN!"

Seb's knees gave way and he crashed hard to the concrete floor. "No."

Jim roared. Despair and pain creating cracks in his voice until it trailed into quiet sobs. "Seb…"

Seb found his feet again and stood up, picked up Jim, and carried him in all his panicked form into the bedroom.

Two hours later Jim was still sniffling occasionally and Seb was still there to comfort him. An hour after that Jim had fallen asleep in his arms. A few hours after that he woke up, got dressed and went out to buy groceries. He forgot about it -or so it appeared- but Seb found his gun in the trash can.

Eugh. This is terrible. Ajhwg2wrhjqwertdyf.