James Moriarty - The Devil's Descendant

Chapter 10

What do you think of when someone says 'blood'?

Perhaps a wound, injury or pain. Life sustainer, life-giver, something to help you breathe. Something that can be drained from you to make you die. You can never understand or comprehend when a surgeon will accidentally lose some of your blood, without the intent of doing so. 

What do you think of when someone says 'bullet'? 

Perhaps a killing spree, leading to destruction and seas of pure blood. An innocent life lost. War, inside and out. Shutting down someone's body, infection when left untreated. You can never understand or comprehend when someone will fire a bullet at you, whether it's on purpose or on accident. 

When it comes to someone who you believe to be your own, there is nothing you would want more than to stop them living, depending on who that may be, or if you want them to stop living alongside you. 

Aella was James Moriarty's daughter, he was not planning on letting her go anytime soon. She may cause problems that no one else can in Moriarty's world, but she is the life and soul of his party now. His new on-call killer who he loves and cannot show to the world.

Sitting back down beside her, he took her hand in his, although he was rather unsure as to whether it was the right thing to be doing. Displaying emotion was never his strong point, but he had seen people do it before. When Moran was in the hospital with a wound that he himself had delivered, his parents, who were also similar to Moran, grabbed his hand and held it tightly. Anaesthesia was not on Moran's list of things to try, he preferred to watch the bullet being removed and feel the pain that went alongside it. 

This time, he knew he had to not let go. He needed to hold his daughter's hand. 

Moran, bring me a car around, I have found her - JM

Yes, Sir - SM

What is wrong with you? Cat got your tongue? 

No, I just have someone else with me 

Who? 

Alina Holmes - SM

James picked up his phone, raising it to his ear after dialling Morans phone number. As he called, he squeezed his daughter's hand further, letting her know she would be okay. Aella appreciated the small gestures he was attempting to use, he knew that he could be the father that she wanted him to be. Whether or not he enjoyed trying was a trivial matter he wished to never contend or fight over. As long as he was there with her now, was a matter he found had significant importance.

"Moran speaking, who is it?" he was stern, he was cold, he was annoyed about something. 

Guilt starts to creep into his head. Starting to worm its way through his skull, letting him realise how he truly had slipped up for Moriarty, the one who was always there to tidy up his dirty messes.

"You fool! You dare bring her near me, Moran,"

"Why? She has a wound herself, she is weak, she is not going to have the ability to do anything."

James stood up, letting his fingers slip out of his daughter's hand. it seemed to him that they had had a catfight with one another and decided to have each other's throats out, which would be reasonably lovely to experience. 

"They did this to each other," he used in a low monotone voice, not wanting Aella to hear whatever it was he was speaking. "You think that having them in the same car is wise?"

"Not really, but it is always very entertaining watching women fight!"

Hanging up the phone, he wished to never see his daughter defeated in the state that she was in, he needed to save her himself, he needed to heal her wound for her. The only person he knew would be able to help him was Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson was a medical man with extremely amazing medical expertise that he knew he could rely on in a situation like this, Whilst he was at war, he had seen wounds he wished to erase from his memory, yet wished to see again. Bullet wounds, leg amputations and inside ruptures of organs from serious injuries being blown out of proportion. Perhaps he would be grateful to see more wounds again, an early Christmas present he knew he would be unable to refuse. 

Usually, his arrogance and independence would conflict with letting anyone into these types of situations, especially since they led to his ego being damaged quite badly. John was the one who people always liked to turn to for some help. He was caring, kind, compassionate, loyal and honest. Never sugarcoating the experiences, never put a silver lining on the issued at hand, he would tell you straight away.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, MORAN. You dare come near me and I promise daylight will never be witnessed by your eyes ever again - JM

DO NOT CONTACT ME UNTIL YOU FEEL LIKE THIS IS OVER.

Sighing to himself, he drifted his eyes to his daughter. Her tears were deeper than oceans, her sight more blurry than that of the blind. She was blinded by her sinful imperfection of pain. 

"What's wrong?" her voice was almost as quiet as a whimper, her lips widely disembarking on a journey of shaking. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

"Moran will not be coming to save you, to get you the care that you need,"

"Then who?" she reached out one of her hands for her father to take, which he did begrudgingly. "Who's coming, dad? Please tell me I won't die."

Resting her head on her father's shoulder as he sat beside her, he bruised his fingers through he hair, moving it out of her face. "Aella, death is as scary as you make it, so is pain. Pain is something that will subside sooner than you realise."

"Who will you call? I know the chances of death from being shot, dad,"

Whirring around in his head, he considered who he could turn to, no matter how much he did not want to. "Can you walk at least half a mile?"

"No," her gaze drifted to the ground in shame that she could not be stronger for her father, who was much stronger than she was. 

"Can you at least jump a little?"

"Probably," she lifted her eyes to meet his deep ones, getting lost immediately in her father's strength to do everything he could.

"Get on my back, we are going to 221B Baker Street, you will not die on my watch Aella,"

"You love me..." her voice trailed off, jumping up onto his back slightly. He held his hands under the arch of her legs, her hand draping over his shoulder, the other pressed into the wound.
"Just know I won't let you go like this,"

Love is a powerful weapon no matter how hard you drown it,

Even the most hard-headed will break down to its rule,

Aella Moriarty is the one you will love overall,

For any breed of the Moriarty's will dominate all.