//Whoo nelly. I had an idea and just...had to write it down. Unedited, because I needed to get words out.

Sebastian knew he had a problem. He knew the increase in how many pints it took to get him wasted wasn't always there, he knew the urge to buy a flask to carry with him was going to be more harm...and gods, the hangovers. The throbbing headaches, the queasy stomach, the dizziness...it was all fûcking him over, but so was everything else. He knew his body, having been through so much physically, was just getting more done to it. More than the occasional cigarette did already.

But he was addicted. Addicted to the poisonous taste in his mouth, getting high from the brief freedom from his pains. Whiskey became a therapist, a deadly and toxic one. One that added more problems, and solved only one. A clouded mind doesn't look at the demon shadows among it. A clouded mind is too busy wondering silly things, like why the room is spinning, or why everyone is blurry to his ears.

As painful as the hangovers were, they were a much more gentle slap back into reality. His mind would still be a bit fuzzy, but clear enough to go out and work, and to go about his day sober for at least a couple days. Whiskey was his toxic brother, and hangovers his almost gentle lover. But all that habit changed once getting a 'proper' job.

He wasn't just some sharpshooter, he was the sharpshooter. The most trusted, the bodyguard. He couldn't be waking up and heading to work after drinking himself to a drunken state. He couldn't do that anymore, there was too much to risk- all of it being that fûcking handsome devil who hired him.
So, Sebastian adapted. He didn't drink unless there was no need for him. Bad days were dealt with, walls instead getting shot or stabbed till his already worn down hands seemed to get more worn, the fingers sore and tense.

Eventually, even the occasional rounds with whiskey bottles seemed disgusting. So he stopped. Shot every bottle, tossed the rest of. Alcohol was now a never-do sort of ordeal. Not even at his kid's weddings, he wouldn't touch the champagne.
He lied with the reason. He said he didn't want a 'master' like that in his life, an addiction ruling his every action. He lied, because the truth just seemed just as bad as the addiction.

He quit for him. Sebastian was well aware of the dislike his boss had to the burning liquid guzzled down throats. He knew about it, and stopped his own guzzling down bottles because of it. Bad days were still painful, but shattering glass made it all better. A part of him would agree with the lie he gave, it was better for himself, but the rest knew it wasn't just for his poor liver's sake.

There is no limit of things that Sebastian would do just for Moriarty. Kill, lie, steal, torture, be killed...hell, he'd even go against a fücking tiger again if it would please the man! Stopping his alcoholic life seemed so minor, as if peeling off a bandage. Stopping one poisonous addiction for another one, an addiction to the criminal mastermind, an addiction he was still chasing the dragon with.