Sherlock Imagines

Close to Heart (MoriartyxChild!reader)

The wound was bleeding heavily, and he began to grow desperate. He was your father, and it was his job to protect you. He couldn't just waltz into a hospital, you'd be taken as a suspect in a recent crime. Or worse, Mycroft would take you. No, he had to make his sweet little girl the victim here. He dialed the tip hotline, his boyfriend holding his hand tightly as their angel slept in her room, blood growing thinner by the minute and they knew it.
"Yes, hello. I have information on James Moriarty. Yes, mhm." Sebastian listened closely, unable to understand what was said on the opposite line.
"He's holding a young girl captive. She's six. He calls her y/n. Yes. That's correct. I also have his address. Please hurry, I heard a gunshot, she could be in danger." He continued the call, reciting the newest safe house's address. He didn't have a lot of time to wake his princess, or say his goodbyes, but he would take every second he could get.
"You have to get her before the elder Holmes decides she could be useful, please Sebastian. She is my little girl, we've raised her together. After her mother, I constantly worry. You have to be sure she's safe. Promise?" Sebastian's eyes sting with tears at the words. He remembered saving his boyfriend's young girl just in time, and the way Moriarty looked at the woman formally referred to as his wife. It had been a con, but when you, young y/n, had been born, he only wanted to cherish you. He loved you more than anything. Sebastian could tell you exactly how he looked as he personally beat the vile woman for hurting you, his little girl. The best thing to happen to him.
"Promise." The sniper remained neutral to the situation, but the hooded look in his eyes conveyed all the meaning needed to show Moriarty his words were true. They shared a short, tender kiss. A rare sign of sentiment from the criminal, and it only worried Sebastian more. Moriarty stood up, gripping Sebastian's hand tightly as he made his way to your room. He gently shook the uninjured shoulder, waking you with soft whispering.
"Love, time to get up now. I know it hurts and you're tired, but we're getting you help. Time to get up." Your large eyes fluttered open, a small yawn erupted into the heavy air. A readable look of relief washed over him seeing that you were alive, and doing well for being shot in the shoulder.
"Why can't uncle Seb do it? He always patches your wounds up." This had been an argument since the shot rang out an hour and a half ago. Moriarty and Sebastian hated to send you away as they planned to, but letting Sebastian patch it up wasn't a good idea. All the wounds Moriarty had ever had, were relatively minor, and Sebastian barely got them out correctly. He'd hit painful nerves trying, and with a wound so close to your heart, they worried with what would happen. That, and Moriarty wanted you to be under, so you wouldn't feel the pain of the bullet being dug from your flesh.
"Because uncle Seb doesn't have a medical degree, and your wound is more severe than any of mine. Now, we have people picking you up, so time to get moving." You shrugged off the blanket, your personality the same as before the incident happened. You sloppily pulled your black jacket over your long sleeved shirt. Sebastian had cleaned and bandaged the wound, but it hadn't helped much. Moriarty picked you up, holding you closer than need be, but delicately as if he was holding a porcelain doll. He pressed his lips to your temple, noting the drop of body temperature as his lips touched the tender skin.
"Seb will pick you up from the hospital." He choked out, counting down the seconds to explain this sentimental topic with your mind. It knew no bounds, except sentiment. The only people you cared for were Sebastian and your father, and even towards Sebastian, your savior, the man who raised you along with your father, who repetitively tried to get to know you, and always cared for you as his own, loved you more than he did his boyfriend, because despite what any DNA test said, you were his daughter, even towards him you had little sentiment for. If he died you'd be upset, but you wouldn't shed a tear. You'd be sad for a day or so, then back to conducting experiments on gravity and reading biology text books. And you never struggled to alert him to that fact. Your dad on the other hand, he was everything to you. Every time he came through the door with a new hole, or a slash across his arm, you cried. He always doted on you, even in these pained moments, even when you didn't want him to. He tucked you in every night, Seb by his side, telling you stories of what used to be Knights and princesses, quickly moving to how the stars align, and history's tragic tales of war and bloodlust. Every night he'd leave, but not before gently kissing both temples, then your forehead, and stopping in the door say to be sure you were safely in the world of dreams, and no nightmares would come to you. He always awoke you with the delectable smell of syrup and freshly made pancakes, or some other breakfast treat. He never missed a night, and always worked extra hard not to miss a morning. Even if he had to skype it.
"What about you? If you weren't planning something, you'd have said we will pick you up." Tears threatened to tear from his eyes, but he smiled softly at you. He pecked your nose, leaning your head into his chest. Even to you, this was more affection than you'd known your father had.
"Daddy won't be back for awhile, sweetheart. Don't worry, I will be back, but when I am..." He choked on the words, knowing this would hurt you further, but knowing you would figure it out eventually, "I may be a bit beat up." He had begun the walk to the doorway, the impending sound of sirens blaring. You began to piece together the situation.
"Dad, you're turning yourself in?!" You complained, rather upset with his foolishness. Why was it so hard to find a loophole? He had people who could take you to the hospital, and you expressed that idea vividly. He always had an answer. At the moment, you were helpless, and there was no end to the high percentage of the people who worked for him that would take full advantage of that fact. And he knew it well.
The others would put you in immediate danger of police, and you'd never return.
"Sweetheart, this is the only way. Now, be a good girl for Daddy, alright?" He said lovingly before opening the door. You could feel reality slipping, and you began to become woozy as blood continued to leave your small body. You refused to go into shock, instead letting the pain envelope you, but never take control of you. You were a Moriarty, after all.
"Alright. But I won't like it." He smiled sadly at you, and nodded once to confirm he had heard. His smile turned into a stale straight line as he opened the door. Half of Scotland Yard was waiting for him, along with his old pal, Sherlock Holmes. How lovely.
"James Moriarty, set the girl down, and let her go!" Lestrade demanded, gun held out warily. Moriarty crouched down, setting your tiny feet on the ground, but kept you facing him. No one would dare shoot him, he held too much power and control.
"You're going to walk straight to the tall man in the black trench coat. The little hobbit next to him is a doctor, and since they ignored my request for an ambulance, that's your best chance for help. Simply show him the bloody bandage, and he'll help patch you right up!" You nodded along, careful to remember every word, "Daddy loves you, remember that. Uh, don't talk to too many strangers, especially those with badges, and if Sherlock, or any of the other officers ask, play down our relationship. Need be, say I down right despise you. Say you're just a piece on the board, nothing more. Otherwise people will set out to harm you, and I can't have my princess getting hurt, now can I?" You shook your head at his last question, causing a slight smirk to rise to his lips. He kissed your temples and forehead, as he did every night, (further confirming suspicion of this being the last night for awhile) trying to think if there was anything more to say.
"You're an idiot. This is a terrible plan." You stated, hurt he considered this reliable. He shrugged with a quaint smile.
"One-You've already expressed that, what did we say about originality? 2-Hey, it's more fun this way anyways!" He perked up, being his usual changeable self. He stood, and turned you straight towards Sherlock. He patted your shoulders toward the way to walk twice with both hands.
"Run along, darling. Your becoming boring by just standing there." He sang, and you rolled your eyes. You did as told, stumbling only a bit, but enough for Moriarty to get more than a little worried. You went straight to the man as said, and unzipped your coat calmly as ever. He looked at you slightly at a loss, unaware of what was happening.
"I am supposed to show you." You struggled a bit to remove the coat, but once it had been, the short blond next to Sherlock began doting on you, precisely as your father said. Many of the officers jaws dropped at how calmly you reacted to the splurging of blood coming from your shoulder. One was immediately calling the ambulance. Even Moriarty started to fear for your life as a sudden dizziness overwhelmed you, and you fell into John's arms. The DI (as you had correctly guessed) handcuffed Moriarty prior, but he was now struggling to be freed and help you, as you fell into darkness.

Beep. Beep. Beep. What was that insufferable noise? Beep. Beep. Beep. Oh right. You're in the hospital, it's the heart monitor. You forced your eyes open, and carefully came to a sitting position. It was nearly midnight, but the doctor was by your bedside, sleeping gently on his hand, which propped his head up through his elbow. You decided he grew attached far too easily. Your throat was dry, but you managed to speak.
"Hello? Sir?" It was a hoarse whisper, but John immediately bolted up. His heart has leapt in fear for a split second, but calmed as he realized this was a good thing. He'd stayed all night for you to wake, not wanting to leave the poor little child alone. Sherlock was reluctant, but John eventually convinced him to stay. After Sherlock questioned your father.
"Oh good, you're awake!" He looks pleasantly surprised, but immediately realized your throat must be killing you, and grabbed a water bottle from the ground. He unscrewed the cap, and handed it to you. Warily, but dehydrated, you took a small sip. Then another. And another. Then suddenly, all the water had disappeared. You set the empty container of liquid down, and patiently sat, secretly waiting for the sniper to get you.
"So, do you remember your parents?" John asked cautiously after an awkward silence had arose. To you, it was an odd question. Had Moriarty not told them?
"All Moriarty said was that you, to you at least, had three parents. Two biological, and one step, but supposedly, we already know all three of their names." Realizing he wouldn't shut up until you told him, you turned to him and looked honestly in his eyes.
"Well, my mother's dead. But I can tell you this much; she deserved it. My fathers you do know, but I don't consider uncle Seb my dad as Daddy would have you believe. It sometimes bothers him, but I think he understands it enough." John looked at you, curiosity mixing with a twinge of fear danced like fire in his eyes, and you could see it well. The big eyes you inherited from your father stared him down as if it were nothing. The incandescent e/c colour sparkling with curiosity and intelligence. Your usual straight hair, also from your father, was in h/c tangles crawling on your head. Uncle Seb would take care of that later.
"Wait, isn't Sebastian Moran with..." Fear began to lead the fiery dance in his eyes, as dots began to connect in his head. You just stared, forcing the light smile not to come to your lips.
"J-James Mor-oriarty?" His voice shook as much as he did, like a feeble branch in the wind. You bobbed your head a few times, alerting him to the answer. The tall, stalky man from earlier entered through the door. He looked to his friend, then you. His eyes scanned you over, like he was trying to solve a complex problem.
"Oh good. Someone with an intellect is here. Do you have any puzzle books?" Sherlock smirked at your comment, pleased to be known as such. His eyes quickly went back to John, realizing he wasn't okay.
"Yes, Moriarty said you would request some... What kind of puzzle books? Lestrade recommended some kind of pony thing..." He waved his hand dismissively.
"But you managed to refrain from going into shock for over three hours, not to mention how close to your heart the bullet was. My guess would be Mayvelle for scholars, but I can never be quite sure with a child raised by Moriarty." He said dismissively, grabbing a bag he had by the door, and tossing the books to you.
"Sherlock..." John whispered warningly. You began solving the first book, pen whirring across the page, putting answers in their spaces, never pausing to think.
"I'd like to question her, if you wouldn't mind John. Calm down." Sherlock ordered, and you smirked, knowing why John was so terrified.
"Sherlock!" John snapped once more, slightly louder this time. Sherlock just looked bored at the man with wide eyes.
"What John?!" Sherlock snapped back. John turned his head slowly to look a Sherlock. He swallowed the large lump in his throat as you completed your third book.
"Y/n... She's his daughter. His actual daughter..." You continued as the two grown men now matched in horrified facial expressions.