Sherlock Imagines

Secrets (MoriartyxReader)?

Moran picked up his boss and Amelia, Jim's daughter. It was Sunday. No work today. Not for Jim. He would take absolutely no clients, and if any dared to try and disturb him on this day, they'd find themselves being used to test different methods of torture. No, today was a day of sorrow for him, and most of the staff. He held the six year old at his side, staring out the window at nothing in particular. It was a short drive, and he held the two roses in his hand, Amelia going through and listening to stories only she could hear, thanks to the ear buds. He couldn't do this today. Usually he would listen happily to the stories written by the woman he'd give anything for, but today he couldn't bring himself to listen. Never could on Sundays. The car crept to a stop at the beautiful green area, the lines of headstones to mark where those who've left us have gone. The lack of flowers or memorials proving how many had been forgotten. In the centre of rows upon rows of greying, dull stones, was one that was immaculately sparkling. Jim stepped out from the car, leaving the door open so Amelia could hop into his arms. He carried her on his hip to the gorgeous stone for the gorgeous woman.
"Daddy, why do we come see mummy every Sunday?" The question pained him, hating to explain why this day held so much significance.
"Sunday was the day your mother died." He answered in a sulking tone, not bothering to check the area around him for other visitors. He set the small girl with big e/c eyes, and curly raven hair down to see the grave, careful not to let any harm come to the two roses he carried with him. He looked at the stone, the dark pit growing ever so slightly at the name 'Y/n Holmes'. That's not the name she died with, but she didn't want her brothers finding out where she had been, and who she'd been with. He respected her decision, but it hurt nonetheless. He looked down at the two roses from their previous visit, noting how they already began to wilt. He carefully picked them up so their stems made an 'X', willing the shiny ring that kept them together not to fall into the vase that hid it so nicely. Tears escaped their confinement sad they slid down pale cheeks.
"Why do we come if it makes you sad, Daddy?" He laced the two new roses in the ring, then into the vase.
"It doesn't make me sad, dear. It makes me happy to know that you know who your mother is." He held the little girl close, his tears sliding straight down and onto her black velvet curls as he pressed his lips to it. Her head tilted down in a small bow. It was always an oddity to see Jim Motiarty cry, even for Amelia. Actually, especially for Amelia.
"Daddy?" He had almost forgot she was there, but was pulled from his thoughts by the soft inquisitiveness of her tiny speech.
"Yes, dearest?" He followed the young girls' gaze to the roses, identical in every way except for colour. He looked back at her, her bouncy curls gleaming with the dark tints like her father's hair. When y/n died, he almost begged for her eyes to become dark black like his, unable to see anyone but his beloved staring back when she looked at him. Yet beloved the light they held, loved holding that tiny bit of her close.
"Why do we bring two roses?"  Since Moriarty arrived, a curious army Doctor watched curiously, trying to figure out why he recognized the gleaming granite.
"Your mother was always a story teller, Mel. One of her favorites to tell me was the story of 'the blood rose', as she coined it. That was before we started dating. I wasn't much for stories, but she had hated me for so long, I had loved her for so long, and let's face it; She was absolutely gorgeous when she recited the careful words of each fable, fiction, or fairytale. The story of the blood rose was as follows..."

~Flashback~
"Jim!" You ran to catch up with the Westwood-wearing criminal, taking into account the small smile that grew sheepishly into his features as you slid next to him. Using his shoulder as support, you managed to catch your breath, not, in fact, noticing how he looked so caught in the headlights, that he practically grew antlers. Your touch sent blossoms of joy and thorns pain through him. You could never love him, yet you trusted him. Despite being the unreliable criminal mastermind (who could never manage to get you to leave his head), you trusted him. It felt... Good.
"Yeah, angel?" He teased, earning a slap on the shoulder. He laughed despite, and began moving as you started walking.
"Just for that, I'm retelling the story." He gave a disinterested groan, yet couldn't be happier. Eventually you came to a bench, and he slid in opposite of you.
"Once there was a lowly thief, who fell in love with the most beautiful maiden in all the land-" he hadn't heard this one before, but he just had to cut you off.
"Don't you mean the princess?" You glared in return. Nope, never princess. He held his arms up in the 'don't shoot me, I'm innocent' position, but his cocky smirk held a different aura.
"The most beautiful maiden in all the land. One day, he had the chance to meet her, so he dressed up in all the fancy things he could find, so he could fit in with the multitude of men attempting to court her. When he got there, however, he found she wasn't interested in the riches of others. Desperate to impress her, he found two white roses, and begged them to never die. Once they had agreed, it was on one condition. He had to spend eternity with them, even if his love did die. He hurriedly accepted, not thinking of his future pain. He presented her with the gorgeous blossoms, her delicate fingers touching soft as a butterfly's wing as she ran in across each petal. They were married not a year later. But alas!" You were so entranced by your story telling, the dramatized motions, the fluctuating of your voice-you didn't notice how he stared, starry-eyed at your excited figure. He swore that if he could kiss you in this moment, he would. But instead, he listened intently on the story.
"One day a group of jealous scoundrels, scorned with how she could choose a thief over a prince, threatened his life. She held her rose close to her as they lunged to stab him through his heart. As they pulled the blade out, they realized their mistake- she had jumped in front of it, her purest white rose staining with the Crimson of her flowing blood. He wept over her corpse, yet held up with his end of the deal. He took care of the roses, cherishing the one that held a part of her in its forever lasting petals. His blood rose. He would never let it go." In that moment he did something he never thought he'd do. Yes, you knew you loved him, and that he at least enjoyed your company, but never expected he'd be so straight forward about it. He stood right up, and kissed you.
~End of Flashback~