The Daughter
"Something's not right," Sherlock said as he paced the small floor of the apartment. John groaned at hearing the phrase for the fourteenth time that night. He licked his finger and turned the page of his book.
"He's got a daughter so what. I see no problem in that. I mean even Moriarty has to have something to do besides chase us around," John rolled his eyes as he saw his words were blocked out yet again and Sherlock continued to walk up and down the length of the room. Did he even notice how his footsteps fell in a perfect rhythm against the worn wood? It was little things like this that drove John wild for the man. He oozed flawlessness even when he didn't try to and had no idea that John was forced to stop and gape every time.
"What if he's going to use the kid like a weapon? We can't have a Miniarty running around," Sherlock stopped and picked up his phone staring intently at the glowing screen.
John winced, "Miniarty? Wow I would have thought when the Great Sherlock Holmes decided to be funny it would at least be slightly humorous."
Sherlock smirked at the monitor and pulled his scarf around his neck. John groaned at the expression and got up stretching his back.
"Why'd you get up?" Sherlock asked.
"I know that look," John laughed. He got up and went down the steps of the apartment leaving Sherlock standing in the dust his shoes had kicked up.
"He's getting good," Sherlock whispered to himself, "Do I really make it that much?" he called out only to receive a silence although Sherlock could almost feel the cheeky grin that spread to both of John's ears.
They arrived at a park just as the sun was setting over the horizon. There sitting on the bench was the little girl staring out into space beside her father who fiddled with her hair. John cleared his throat to mark his arrival.
"I see you brought your pet with you Sherlock," Said Moriarty.
"I see you did too," his deep voice sprung Ophelia out of her thoughts. Moriarty whispered something into her ear. She then walked off with the looks of someone beyond her years. The way she moved was so different from anyone her age. Her arms swung arrogantly at her sides and her back had excellent posture. She strolled more like a queen owning the land she lightly treaded on. It seemed the pavement bowed at her touch and left an invisible wake. Sherlock watched in awe as she left.
"She's beautiful," said Moriarty thinking the same idea. They both nodded their heads slowly as she left their sight.