The hand held within his own was pale, lifeless and lacking anything remarkable beyond the bruising and discoloration that scattered like Rorschach patterns; in fact, the only way he could tell the small child was alive was the weak pulse beating beneath his fingers and the minuscule, wheezed breaths that lifted the chest. But still, the child lived, despite several days of the horrid condition inflicted upon them; indeed, the child had survived years of neglect and abuse at the hands of creatures not worthy of being called human.
"There's spirit in you yet, little dove." He whispered, dark eyes moving from the child to the cowering figure on the floor. "I was going to walk away from this deal, let you deal with the aftermath, BUT I changed my mind-I do that." His eyes grew sharp, lips twisted violently upward.
The man stepped away from the unconscious child, steps not unlike a predator stalking his prey towards the figure, who squeaked and moved back until they hit the putrid coloured chair they had been in not twenty minutes ago.
"I don't like the mess you've created. You've hurt what's mine!" The man's voice was ice, anger hitting the figure like a knife. "Now you're going to pay."
With a snap of his fingers, a taller man stepped into the room, his hazel eyes sharp while taking in the scene before nodding. He slipped his hand into his jacket, removing a slender metal item before firing four rounds into the figures knees, ignoring the howls of pain that rang out before turning the unconscious figures on the floor near the window, a questioning look to the first man, who waved him off.
"Yes, yes, take care of that Sebastian, I have other concerns." He then leaned over, hands gracefully moving the small child off the couch, a small cover wrapped around them, pausing when a pained hitch in the child's breath sounded before they settled. "Do hurry up Seb, I do not have all day."
Sebastian nodded while the other man moved from the disgusting house; it might be spotless and pristine, but the sheer amount of dirty laundry from those inside broke the illusion and the man would be damned if he would leave the child there any longer. It had taken him too long to locate them and he was taking what was his back and would keep them safe; no matter what. His dark eyes sharpened again while looking over the too numerous injuries that blanketed the child's pale skin; this would not stand.
Stepping off the curb towards a sleek town car, he quickly but carefully got in, holding his charge close to his chest, taking note of every ragged pained breath they took, his anger building once again. He bite his cheek, not wanting to wake the small bundle in his arms with his rants: instead, he began to form his plan to gain satisfaction for both himself and the child. The ones responsible would be reminded why he wasn't one to be messed with for allowing his blood to be placed in such an environment.
It was time for magical Britain to be reintroduced to James Moriarty.
A/N: been sitting on this for months. Haven't had much time to write anything and finally found some to get this down. Let me know what you think.