The Daughter
Moriarty briskly walked along the streets of London with his suit flaring against his skin as he pushed against the air. His face held its hard complexion and his ridged stance was its normal straight self. Eyes of coal settled in there dreamy state with his trademark smirk imprinted on his lips. However, in spite of all the standard features, there was something new about him. Something you couldn't tell by his body language. It was obvious. Clutched in his hand was not a briefcase or anything you would suspect Moriarty to have in his possession, but the delicate hand of a six year old girl. She bounced next to him with her auburn ringlets dancing on her shoulders.
As soon as they were about to turn the corner, the pair was cut off by two middle aged men. The girl hid close to her father's arm as they circled them.
"Is it the bad man?" she whispered against his knuckles. His jaw clenched as he gave a small nod.
"We don't want any trouble," Moriarty said with heavy sarcasm.
"Neither do we," John raised his arms in surrender. Sherlock continued his stare down with his eyebrows raised in shock.
"She looks like you," Sherlock said lazily, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway with arrogance written all over his face.
The blood boiled inside Moriarty's veins. The tone of mocking in his voice made him shiver with fury. His daughter wasn't a screw up. She was the only thing in his life that made him remember he was alive. The only thing that told him he could feel and not just feel anger and insanity but something else. Although he couldn't find the name for it yet, it was better than constantly having a pounding in his skull.
"Where are your manners Sherlock? She has a name," he barked out, "Tell them sweety. Tell them your name," he cooed to his side where she still cowered behind him. She stumbled forward a bit but stood tall as she began to speak.
"My name is Ophelia."
John gave a quick smirk when she spoke. She had so many characteristics that her father had.
"Hi Ophelia. I'm Sherlock," he strolled over to her and placed out his hand casually.
She looked at the hand that rested next to her mouth. With her hands set daintily behind her back she scoffed at the greeting with disgust.
"No, you're the bad man and you need to leave my Daddy alone," she stated with a manner of authority. She teetered on the heels of her little black flats, not blinking as she waited for Sherlock's response. Moriarty swept a protective arm over her shoulder. Sherlock kneeled down so that his steely blue eyes met her chestnut orbs of wonder.
"You shouldn't be in this dear. It seems you've inherited his mirrored thoughts."
"I'm normal Mr. Holmes; you're just stupid, you and the rest of this world." Moriarty beamed at his child in approval.
"Let's go Sherlock. I didn't think we needed this visit to begin with," John tugged on Sherlock's elbow pulling him away from the little girl. Moriarty started to walk away slowly slightly pushing his daughter in front of him as they left.
"Have a nice night Daddy!" Sherlock spat. Out of Ophelia's eyesight, he flipped his middle finger up. John chuckled as the duo caught a cab and drove off.