Sherlock Imagines

The Storyteller [Part II] (Parent!lock, MoriartyxReader)

So, votes are in, and you guys decided you wanted Part II of The Storyteller before requests. Can't say I'm complaining, because I'm getting serious writer's block on them. Oops.

"You need to tell Lestrade, love." Jim reasoned, pulling on his skull tie, while you finished drying your hair.
"I'm maybe two months in. I can't even get maternity leave, yet, Jim." You rolled your eyes as he shot you a look. In response, you glowered at him. You would never admit it, especially not to Jim, but you enjoyed the excitement of your job. Doing paperwork for three months, until you could get leave, didn't sound like anything more than a death sentence.
"Don't give me that look!" You snapped playfully, a small grin tugging to your lips. His hand shot up to his chest, mouth falling open as if he were offended.
"Why I'd never! What look?" He played along, arm pulling around your waist as you sauntered up to him.
"The 'you know I'm right look'. In case you forgot, I invented it." You teased, arms wrapping securely around his neck. He smirked lightly, bringing his free hand to your hip, as he leaned his forehead against yours.
"I know you did, but hey, it's my turn to use it." A small amount of shared laughter bounded through the air before slowly fading. The silence lingered with nothing but the sound of breathing as Jim stared at you, his playfulness dissipating into seriousness.
"You need to tell Lestrade, darling. Please?"
That's how you ended up at work, pacing between your boss' door and your desk every few times, and at least every hour. After a good four hours of unease crawling through you, you stood tall at the door, hand up, and ready to knock, when-
Secret lovers- that's what we are. Trying to hide the way we feel, 'cause we both belo-
You scrambled to answer the call, not even checking who it was in your haste. You could've sworn you'd turned your ringer off last night, but then again, Jim always loved to pull the occasional practical joke.
You cleared your throats before properly answering, "Sargent l/n, what can I-" Geez, today must be a cut off kind of day.
"Y/n, it's Sherlock."
Sherlock had called you from work. Something about "you being the only competent detective at Scotland Yard," which was Sherlock for "I want to see you, but don't know how to ask". What really caught your attention, though, was him saying he had a lead on Jim Moriarty. The hook hadn't been great, the line was concerning, but the sinker had you racing to his flat as quickly as you could. He'd found out Moriarty had two children... and Sherlock had them. The idiot had kidnapped your kids, and no way in heaven, hell, or anything in between was he getting off easy for that. Even Jim knew not to piss you off too badly- you rarely got severely angry, but when you did, your temper greatly surpassed even his own.
After your small drive to "cool" down, you carried yourself up the stairs to flat 221B, the stairs quaking beneath your feet. Even they knew to be afraid. To make matters worse, Jim was already there, pissed beyond pissed, and had no clue you were invited to this deadly party. Your steps made his eyes snap from a glare to scared in a moment flat. See, Jim had this scale of your anger. Yellow meant there wasn't any, orange stood for slight irritation, red was starting to get upset, and continuing on to blue, which meant you were angry. All, though, elicited no external reaction (except maybe a scolding). No, you were in the white range, and that meant no one was safe. This is where it exploded, all over everything, and after the first time he'd seen it, he swore to himself he'd never bring it out of you again. It shook him to his very core (he still thought it was a tad sexy), and he could feel the chill wash up his spine as the cold scrambled not to be eaten up by your inferno.
"Oh, y/n, you're that detective from Scotland Yard!" His best chance for making it out was to play on what you'd want. In his own sneaky way, he'd reminded the kids that you "weren't" their mum. Despite his charming grin, you shot him a dark glare that made him gulp, and curse under his breath.
"Cut the crap, Jim." You seethed, and he nodded once. Sherlock's expression read as confounded, and clearly, he had yet to understand what was happening here. Between you calling Moriarty 'Jim', and the man himself seeming to quake at your anger, things just weren't adding up.
"Ravyn, Alex, car. Now." You ordered. Just because you were angry, didn't mean you wanted your kids to see it. That was part of your and Jim's deal, given how his temper tended to explode, while yours was more of a fester. They never saw either of you mad, and any anger was to be controlled until they left the room. All Sherlock heard was you'd somehow guessed the names of Moriarty's kids, while John was still trying to figure out why Moriarty seemed to be shaking.
"Yes, mummy." Ravyn hopped down, grabbing Alex's hand and leading him back out, Jim attempting to hurry them and get out of there, himself.
"Jim. Get your butt back in here, right now." He froze, and the blood drained from his face, and he momentarily considered just blowing his brains out- for real this time. But you'd probably find a way to drag him back up from the pits of hell, just so you could give him something a whole lot worse. So, he slowly back tracked, watching Alex and Ravyn head out to the car, while he complied with your directions. No point in angering you further. But that was a cause for alarm in John, the pieces beginning to come together, but Sherlock was too stubborn to allow himself to understand. You were this beacon of light, and there was nothing darker in this world than Jim Moriarty- the two of you couldn't be further a part. Plus, you were married, to a bloke named 'Brooks'. And yes, his mind had made the connection to Richard Brook, but he shot it down as pure coincidence in an instant.
"Y/n- no..." John pleaded, hoping for Sherlock's sake that this wasn't what it looked like. You were too infuriated to care about the repercussions of your actions.
"I don't care who you think you are," Your steps echoed everything the name 'Moriarty' stood for as you marched up to Sherlock, "I don't care if you think what you're doing is the right thing. You don't take someone's children-" Your voice was deathly calm, Sherlock's eyes watching your every movement. Jim almost pitied the man... but he'd be lying, fully and completely, if he said he didn't find it absolutely delicious.
"EVER!" You snapped, Sherlock's back hitting the wall as he leapt away from you. He'd never seen so much anger pent up in someone's eyes before, had never seen something so totally and completely raw of any positivity... something that reminded him so much of the dead eyes Moriarty had back at the pool. No, this wasn't you, he decided. This was Moriarty toying with your mind, tricking you, to get to him. That had to be it.
"Y/n, please tell me that you're not involved with-" John had really never felt so betrayed, but now it was Jim's turn to discuss.
"With me?" He finished for the hedgehog, simultaneously holding up his hand, brow raised. He fought off the need to smirk as his eyes met Sherlock's. John just felt positively sick.
"No." Sherlock refused to believe that this was happening. You thought you saw your brain while you rolled your eyes.
"Face it, Sherlock: She's mine." Jim taunted, earning himself another dark glare from you. His hands came up in front of him, surrendering. Sherlock focused his attention back on you, eyes softening while his hand slowly reached to take yours.
"We can help you--I can help yo-" He was cut short by his cheek hitting the wall behind him, and his arm twisting at an angle that just didn't look physiologically possible.
"For Christ sake, Sherlock!" You hissed, eyes an inferno of twisted e/c anger, a certain sparkle of bloodlust in your eyes, "I don't need help, I am perfectly happy with my life, thank you very much." Jim didn't know what he liked more: that you were completely wrecking his enemy, or that you'd basically admitted that you loved him. The second made him want to dance with proud joy, the other made him want to take you on Sherlock's sofa. He held both back, biting his lip to effectively hold himself back as he watched the scene play out.
"Let me get one thing straight for you. You and Jim can play your little games, try to kill each other, get one another arrested for whatever reason- I don't care. But leave. My children. Out. Of. It. Do I make myself clear?!" Your bubbling anger was burning Sherlock alive as he swiftly nodded, clearly afraid of your abnormal behavior. Jim hated to do this, but he had plans for the detective, and you breaking his arm would put a bit of a dent in that. His hand came to your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the blade, lips tracing the shell of your ear.
"Darling, perhaps we should go?" He offered gently, free hand coming around to capture yours. Without letting your grip on Sherlock fall, you spun around to meet his eyes.
"Jim. Go to the car right. Now. Ravyn's in charge." Jim's eyes widened, astounded by how easily your anger bounced from target to target. He almost wanted to study your habits when enraged, and had he been an absolute idiot, he would. But he was smart enough to know that was a terrible idea. His brows snapped together as he backed up, pouting.
"She's six!" He argued, a bit peeved, himself, now.
A growl escaped your throat, "Jim." You threatened, and his entire argument seemed to turn to dust before.
"She's more of an adult than you are, now go to tHE DAMN CAR!" The moment the threat escaped your lips, he was gone.
"I'll see you at home, love!" His voice ringed through the flat, the echoing sound of the door hurriedly following shortly after. Smart man. Your attention was brought back to Sherlock, as you pushed further on his arm.
"Your lucky I have an appointment to go to, or else I'd throw you out your own damn window. I ever hear you so much as touched a child in order to get to their parents- I'll burn you alive." And with that threat, you seemingly disappeared, yet, somehow, Sherlock's feelings for you, didn't.

{Should I do a Part III where Sherlock and John try and figure out how You and Jim's relationship works? Or like backstory to this? I'm not sure? Hmm...}