James Moriarty curls one hand underneath the infant, supporting its weight with his forearm and resting him in the crook of his elbow. The baby stirs and grunts, but never once opens his beady eyes. Moriarty bounces the child back and forth as he paces the room, his lips curling into a sly grin. He disliked children. He disliked their size and their little round tummies he could practically just pinch. He hated their inept brains and clammy hands that seized onto any sweet thing they could grasp and the mouths that wailed and begged when they couldn't have it. And the especially small ones, the screaming, drooling, stupid ones, pestered him most of all. But this one cradled in his arms, Moriarty held a profound connection with, or would hold one eventually. So, he decided, he must cast away that distasteful attitude he had towards kids and learn to...what was the word? Love, he supposed it was, the baby who could fit so easily thought he, into an oven.
It was a part of his game, after all.
"You've certainly got Daddy's genes don't you?"
He says as he draws a free hand through the baby's fuzzy locks. At this the baby stretches its tiny arms, his eyes fluttering open, expecting to find the face of his mother bearing down at him softly. Upon staring up at the face of a stranger, he releases quiet squeals. Moriarty raises his eyebrows while leaning in closer to the child.
"Shh, shh...hush. We wouldn't want to wake Mummy and Daddy...would we?"
He looks back at the two. Sound. Undisturbed. Too tired to even notice what was happening. Well, that just proved how intent they were when it came to their child's affairs. Jim made a mental note. That would come in handy.
"Well...while we're here...maybe you and I should chat a little hmm?"
He lifts the infant up and presses a hand on his back and rests him on his shoulder. The baby weeps quietly, emitting small squeaks like a puppy locked away in its kennel.
"Oh hush up. You'll get my suit all wet and snotty."
He bounces the child while he walks to the far side of the room.
"John...Hi! Yes...I know what your thinking I'm a big scary stranger...Not entirely true though, your parents know me quite well I'd say so..."
He peers over his shoulder to find Sherlock and Molly both sound asleep still. Sherlock had both hands placed over his lap, like he was silently praying. Jim narrows his eyebrows at him.
"Never thought of him as the paternal type."
Moriarty whispers, voice light as a feather.
"But I suppose he'd do anything to please his darling wife wouldn't he John?"
The baby stares aimlessly at Moriarty, the little creases in his forehead scrunched together like crinkled paper.
"Oh, Molly Hooper..."
He whispers, his voice drawling like taffy. He quickly stops himself and blinks.
"Oh but that's not her name now is it? Its Molly Holmes now. She's a Holmes! Just like she wanted to be. It's a fairy-tale ending for the damsel..."
He pauses. In that pause, silence fills the room, but it's heavy and weighted. Their is something secret laced in that silence waiting to be expelled through the criminals spiteful lips. His eyes eat up Molly's figure, petite if not for the mound on her stomach, bulging through the covers like a beach ball tucked underneath the sand. He watches her chest heave up and down softly and rhythmically to a deaf lullaby.
"That's great isn't it?"
He breathes out on a deep sigh. He really shouldn't lie to himself. If it was so great, he would definitely feel better.
"You're very lucky to have her as your mum John,"
His eyes remain locked onto the small frame belonging to Molly. He smiles, bearing two shiny rows of white teeth.
"Your awfully young for me to be telling you this, even though I doubt you'll remember anyway...but you should learn before you go on making big problems like I do."
He brushes his cheek along the babies soft pouf of hair, the feel of it tickles his skin. Turning his back towards the sleeping couple now, Jim continues his ramble.
"Well I mean it's my job to cause big problems, but what I really mean is their are some problems you just don't want to get involved in...like the one I'm in now...I wouldn't have to be here now if it wasn't for her..."
Jim Moriarty holds the baby out in front of him as he grunts and babbles quietly, his tiny eyes wandering his surroundings, unaware that he is being carried by London's most dangerous criminal. The villain stares into the baby's gray eyes and smiles once again. But this smile, is not mischievous, or suspicious. It does not mock with smugness nor does it cause one to cringe out of its twisted-ness. It is pained. Heavy with the weight of a secret, something that weighs the corners of his lips down in melancholy, and goosenecks him so that his forehead meets with that of the child's. Moriarty can't help himself, his pink lips perch themselves on little John's forehead, quivering as they bore words of powerful meaning that even he had trouble uttering without some rash emotion trailing behind. Jim closed his eyes and clung to that baby smell. The scent of him drifted Jim into somewhere relaxing. John smelled nice. Like powdered milk. And soap.
"I guess I'll just have to make this fun."
His voice is muffled while his lips still rest against the babies head. He stares down at the ground seemingly dazed, though his mind is racing.
"It'll be a very long game. My, you might be walking and talking and deducing by the time things kick into action. But in the end it'll be worth it. After all, good things come to those who wait."
A pause ensues. Silence is broken by the soft click of shoes against the tile. Moriarty is well aware of who's eliciting the sound, but he ignores it.
"I'll convince you. And her. In the end it'll all work out."
He nods his head up and down like a buoy.
"Boy..."
He whispers quietly to himself.
"My boy...my little baby boy..."
Moriarty showers the baby in kisses and speaks inaudibly to him in an unnaturally high pitched voice. He laughs blatantly.
"Oh Sherlock, you are so right. They are so much more lovable when they're yours."
"Aren't I always right?"
His velvety voice cuts through the moment like a blade and hitches onto Jim's ears like a pin on silky fabric. Jim smiles, trying his best to suppress giggles, excitement boiling inside of him. Of course he knew Sherlock was awake. Like he said before, he was doing his best to make this game interesting. He strokes the babies soft head while spinning around on his heels to face the detective.
"But he's not yours."
Sherlock growls at the villain, anger pumping through his veins like blazing fire. Jim's smile does nothing to cease the flame.
"And he's not yours either Sherlock dear."
Sherlock stares at the villain, mouth agape, words caught in his throat. He had no idea why the insane man would say such a thing, nor did he want him to stick around for him to explain. Sherlock balls his hands into fists, he can practically feel flames burning hot and scorching through his skin. James takes a step forward, his thumb stroking John's forehead soothingly.
"So Mr. Holmes, who does he really belong to?"
"No..."
Through clenched teeth Sherlock snarls,
"Give. Me. My son."
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Well this is going to be italicized because I can't get it un-italicized. Obviously I am such a tech genius.
I was at band camp this week and I would've updated sooner but yeah. I was busy. Anywhore I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Read and review! Have a nice day!
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Broken Child
Fanfiction(AU) With Sherlock Holmes's attentive and meticulous demeanor, one might think nothing passes by him unnoticed or disregarded. But when his wife, Molly, staggers him with unprecedented news that changes his life, and very being, Sherlock's often sec...
