This time, he won't be able to run away.

He could hear the sounds of his laugh; loud, shrill, the sound he loved and hated at the same time, a melody no one was able to understand. The song of his soul, the dark, twisted sounds, sometimes high and sometimes low, no steady rhythm like the ordinary ones. No sound matched it; it changed with his moods, sometimes fast, sometimes slow only to change a few seconds later.

It was unique.

In his long life, he've only met two people with a melody like this. The first one had been a man of high rank, a man of the peer in the land now called Italy. A priest praying to the lord to release him from his unholy and doomed life, to burn his body until the ashes would cover the floor and the wind would blow it away in seconds, the wind taking it away until no one would be able to reawake him again.

This priest has died five minutes after insulting him.

The second person was the man standing on the rooftop with the gun in his mouth.

His fingers rested against the trigger of his own gun, the big one ready to kill John Watson if Sherlock Holmes wouldn't do what his boss wanted him to. He was close to tears; he saw the water even from here, the sparkeling as the sunlight was reflected in it.

He was ordinary, nothing more but a man with a big brain and no knowledge of the powers playing with him.

I'm boooored, you know how easy that can happen. I need someone to plaaaaaay, bring me someone!

He has searched the whole country for someone to play with his boss. Moriarty was a madman, a genius with the curse of boredom, and he was his toy. He never complained; the hunter, the monster kneeling in front of his new master; an human being, weak, mortal. But he never complained, he liked his role, the gifts he got when he did something which amused his master.

The blood…

He quickly shook his head and concentrated on the scene again. Sherlock talked to the doctor, spreaded his arms like wings and fell. Seb watched him falling down, in slow-motion with his coat dangling in the wind like a cape or wings – he looked like a black angel, falling down from heaven to die on earth. His boss would have loved this image, the reason why he was recording it.

Speaking of his boss…

He turned his head and looked down on the rooftop. The body of Jim Moriarty was lying on the roof, blood pouring out of his head, his eyes wide-open, his mouth like he was laughing. Seb still could hear his melody, the slow tunes whenever Jim had been in his sad mood; the rare times Seb saw the human in him, broken and burned from whatever happened to him in his past – Seb knew that there was something, but he never dared to ask.

He was immortal, but Jim had his ways to torture him.

He once has cut Seb's legs and arms off, left him in a desert and waited five hours until he came back and saved Seb. The sun already has burned his skin, he had been thirsty, almost dead and shouting angrily.

Jim just has smiled down at him. This angelic, cute smile he always used to make Seb love him again. And he had allowed Seb to drink from him until he was healty again, his skin healed, his legs and arms new-grown. Jim seemed to have an endless reserve of blood in his body, no matter how long Seb drank from him, he didn't pass out, never flinched or cried out in pain.

Sometimes Seb wasn't sure that Jim was human. Sometimes he feared he might live in one house with the devil and was about to get killed. But then, Jim freaked out because of a spider, he laughed because of the report of a bomb accident in Kairo with more than hundred dead people, he coughed because he chocked on his food.

Jim Moriarty was competely human but still more terrifying than every single vampire Seb had to fight against.

And now, he was dead. The bullet hit his brain, damaged it before the body shut down competely. He was dead, a corpse, gone.

I'm going to die, Sebby.

W… what?

You heard me, Sebby. I'm going to . And you are going to save me.

How?

Do I need to tell you how, Sebby?

He understood, now. The conversation they had a few hours ago still was playing in his mind, the taste of Jim's blood still was on his tongue, the sweet taste reminding him of love, sex, lust, sin – everything Jim represented. This wasn't the last time he tasted the blood of his boss, not the last.

He watched the people running around on the ground. The corpse of Sherlock Holmes lay in the middle of a crowd, people screamed, fast heart-beating, crying. John Watson, standing next to someone Seb didn't know, not crying, not screaming. He just starred.

No one kept attention to the roof. Good enough for him, he had something to do and didn't need watchers.

He quickly packed his gun away, shouldered the bag and jumped out of the opened window. He was too fast to be seen, like a shadow running around, between the people. Faster than wind or light. The hair of a woman moved a bit as he passed her, his feet never touching the ground for more than one second. His glance was focused on the top while he jumped strong enough to reach it in one try.

Dust dispersed. The smell of blood was strong and almost made his mind dizzy. He shook his head, the temptation to lick it off the floor was strong, demanding. It was singing for him, the melody he missed and loved, his body aching for the beating and singing, the neverending melody.

Jim just laid there. He wasn't breathing, moving. Nothing.

Seb kneeled down next to him and stroked his hair, looked in the cold, dead eyes and tried to ignore the knot in his gut It hurt to see Jim like that; he always thought no one could kill the devil himself.

No one but the devil on his own.

Did he know it from the beginning on? Was this the reason he always said No when Seb asked him if he wanted to be turned? Why he always studied vampires, even before he came to know Sebastian? Jim knew he would die and he knew he would need his soulmate.

Their songs matched; the melodies both strange, unique, too bizarre and crazy for anyone but the other. Seb always has tried to find his mate, hundreds of years have passed before he had found his mate; Jim Moriarty. An human knowing about vampires, someone who adored them because they weren't on the side of the angels.

Seb lowered his head and placed a kiss on his boss's forehead. He waited for him to complain about this display of affection, but nothing happened.

Oh, stop it you, don't kiss me on the forehead, kiss my cock or let me kiss yours.

People down on the ground screamed. He ignored them and took Jim's head to let it rest on his lap. He had to be quick, he didn't have much time left, if he would waste more Jim would be gone forever…

Are you willing to safe me whatever it will take, Sebby? Will you love meeeeeeeeeeeee?

I'm trying to watch this, boss.

Come on, why would you want to watch 'Buffy'?

Because I can.

Nah, nonsense. Now come to bed, Sebby. I'm bored and you are thirstyyyyyy!

He should concentrate on his mission, not on his memories. He only had a few of his human life; the strongest was his turn. Painful, like fire, agonising and the wish to die. Jim would go through it. Seb would be here to hold his hand, regardless of girlish it was.

Seb rolled the sleeve of his shirt up and dragged his teeth in his wrist. Blood poured out, lines running over his skin before dropping down on Jim's skin, the pale colour a strong contrast to the reddish liquid. Jim opened his mouth and let the drops in, his tongue slipping out to catch them before falling out of his reach. He was dead, yes, but even a corpse knew when his time was coming.

"It's going to hurt", Seb whispered and lowered his arm until the wrist was directly in front of Jim's mouth, "You are going to burn."

, I'm waiting! Come on, I'm boooored!

You are going to die and you don't care?

That's what people do, Sebby, now turn me.

Jim's body moved. He was sucking at Seb's wrist, drank the blood like he would die without it. Seb saw it rushing through his veins, the skin was too pale, too transperant to hide it. Jim was smiling. A corpse.

And then the fire began.

Jim was suddenly shaking, tried to push Seb away from him. He didn't scream, something Seb did the whole time when he had been about to become a vampire, didn't cry or beg.

No, the sound suddenly coming out of Jim's lips was a laugher.

He laughed. He was in pain, burning, felt that his flesh was being ripped away from his body, the fire rushing through his veins like poison or venom, every touch like needles being dragged in his brain. And he laughed.

An hoarse sound, too deep for Jim; a shive ran down Seb's spine and he shivered. The devil was laughing in his face, he was laughing and giggling, chuckling the whole time. Not once Seb heard of an human laughing during his turn; not once.

Jim was unique in every single way.

"Seeeeeby", Jim laughed and opened his eyes, bloody red veins around the iris, "Hi-hi!"

"How is the turn, Sebby?"

Seb didn't bother looking up. Jim was lying on the ground, gun in his hand, knife in the other. Holes in the wall were the evidence that his boss was bored; he has shooten it twice before trying to hit the holes with the knife until it was stuck in one of them. He didn't succeed and Seb only had to try once to be successful.

"It hurts."

"Thank you, OF COURSE IT HURTS!"

"It feels like fire. You are burning, you smell your flesh, no longer blood is rushing through your exploding veins, it's pure and agonising fire."

"Fire, mmh?" Jim turned his head to look at Seb and smiled demoniac. "I love fire."

Another laughing attack. Fangs were coming out of Jim's normal ones, sharp and dangerous. The red veins in his eyes were slowly reaching the iris.

"I can feeeeeeeeel it!"

"Of course you can, boss", Seb said and ran his fingers through Jim's hair, tensed as Jim hold his breath painfully, "You are turning."

"Sherlock is de-head!", Jim laughed and hissed at a wave of pain rolled over his body, "Argh, this is indeed painful."

"Told you."

Fire is power. Sebby, you know how powerful fire is? It can kill you.

Yes.

You like pain, you kinky boy. Lemme see, I have a lighter here in my pocket. I'll burn you.

"How long will it take?"

Seb looked down in Jim's red eyes and tried to smile. He honestly had no idea; his turn was over after five minutes, one he has witnessed took five hours, one he heard about seven days and three hours. He just hoped Jim wouldn't have to suffer that long. He would pray, but he didn't believe in a god anymore. What a pity.

"Ah, you don't know, Sebby", Jim chuckled quietly and closed his eyes again, "It gets better."

"It does?"

Jim nodded and grinned. "Got you!" He laughed, but the laugh quickly changed into a cough. "And I set fi-aah-ha-ha to my body."

Seb smiled and stroked Jim's hair again. "It will be over soon, I promise."

"Liar", Jim said, "Idiotic liar."

Five hours later, Jim's transformation was over.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

"Sheeeeeeeerlock, did you miss meh?"

The man turned around and frowned. The voice came from every direction, the source unknown and undeducable for him. He was alone, except for John who stood directly in front of Sherlock's grave, about to leave. He stopped as he heard the call, turned around and searched for the source.

The man hid behind a tree and watched carefully. He knew the accent, but this was impossible; not true, a fake to scare him.

Jim Moriarty was dead.

"She-herlock! I know you regonise my voice! You know what? I'm a-lah-hi-ve!"

Someone grabbed his shoulder and threw him against another tree, John screamed in surprise and took his gun out, shot twice. The bullets hit the stranger, but he didn't seem to care, a smile appeared on the well-known face. Sherlock starred. Jim Moriarty was standing in front of him, his eyes red, his skin pale and fangs instead of normal teeth.

"Hi John, how are you?", he asked John who ran to Sherlock's side, the adrenalin rushing through his system, "Surpriseeee! Sherlock's aliveeee!"

"And so are you, Jim", Sherlock growled deeply and stood up, felt the blood running over his face coming from a wound on his head, "I should have known you faked your death."

Jim waved his hand and laughed. "Nah, I was dead. Am still currently."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and titled his head. "Impossible."

Jim showed his fangs and hissed. His claw-like fingers were spreaded in tension, his muscles shaking.

"Wrong."

And he lept at Sherlock, dragged his fangs in his neck while Seb got out of his hiding place and killed John with one single motion.

As Jim finished and Sherlock was dead, he looked down at the corpses.

"Turn John and Sherlock and make sure to let John know who his new master is."

"Why, boss?", asked Seb, but already got down and prepared John to be turned.

"This will burn his heart completely out."

And he laughed.

The sound of the devil.

The immortal threat.

This idea just came in my mind. If you think about it, how could someone survive a headshot? And I wanted to write something involving Jim getting turned, so I kind of turned Seb into a vampire just to turn Jim... yeah^^

Thanks to SilentEyedKat for beta-reading this.