Hi guys! I'm so sorry this took ages to update, I've had this chapter for a while, but year eleven is scarier than I thought :O So here's chapter nine, all ready for you! Feel free to drop in a review, let me know what you think, and scold me for leaving this for so long :D
Enjoy xxx

Jim Moriarty was furious.

When Holmes first mentioned the presence of the child, Jim assumed he must be bluffing. Only for a second though, Jim had looked into that man's eyes and seen there was no hint of a lie in there. Watson didn't matter, but while little Miss Chase was wondering around London in the dead of night, so was Danny Claydon. He was the most violent, insane, and unintelligent of all the men he's worked with over the years. He'd given Claydon strict instructions to save his energy for Watson; that was the most important thing tonight. It had been weeks since Jim's last fix, and he was starting to feel desperate.

He knew Claydon had vowed to follow his instructions, but the man was very good at steering off track, if only for a moment. But a moment was all he needed to screw everything up. Jim left Holmes with a little hint of where the detective should actually be right now, and disappeared.

Marching through the darkness, Jim got the phone call

"Ah, hello, is James Moriarty there?" a pathetic lilt of sweet peas in her voice couldn't disguise the thick treacle of exhaustion as Jim heard the woman on the other end stifle a yawn. Most definitely a receptionist. "Yes, this is he," He replied, fearing the worst was coming, "Is there a problem?" Jim waited patiently for the woman to collect her thoughts before bringing any news. "This is St Bartholomew's Hospital, a teenage girl called Louise Chase has come into our care, and I believe she's a family member?"

"Yes," Jim Swallowed, "she's my daughter."

"Well," The person on the other end continued, giving the address and the extent of the injury, completely oblivious to the fact that Jim had stopped listening. He had known the minute his phone rang what it would be about, but that didn't help the shock. He felt his heart fall through him, through the gaping hole in his chest, caused by his melting inners. Jim could hear a low keening sound through the choking fog that clouded his brain. Yet at the same time, the fog was steaming. The keening sound was beating out waves of red pulsating through him with every corner he turned, getting closer and closer to his target.

Sebastian Moran turned to face his only friend, his eyes so wide you could see more white than blue. Jim grabbed hold of Sebastian, making up in lack of size for ferocity. He snarled "What happened!?" before Sebastian got his own grip on the consulting criminal. "I don't know!" He cried, both men now trying to free themselves from each other. "One minute he was there, and then he was gone. By the time I found him it was too late!" Sebastian was the only person Jim would let in, only Sebastian could see him like this. Jim felt like he should be falling apart, at his little girl's bedside, praying for her to get better. "Where is he now?" Jim snapped, then immediately after silently apologising for his harsh tones, which had now dropped into a muddy green, his least favourite. Sebastian nodded his head to his left. As both men loosened their grips on one another, they turned to see Danny Claydon, curled up in the filth, letting out whitish blue glitters of a whimper, shattering in the air around Jim.

Jim felt the bile rise in his throat, he could taste his pure loathing of the creature before him. He only realised he had stepped forward when Sebastian a strong hand on his arm, steadying him. Jim looked up to the man, the claws of his tattoo writhing around his neck, only just visible. Jim knew his Tiger would take sort this out. "Take care of him, Seb." He said, turning to face Claydon now. "I have to go see my daughter."

Jim felt a shiver run right through him as he walked away, hearing the burgundy droplets of pain ebbing through the streets.

He had given strict instructions to both men that only John was to be targeted. Had he not made that clear? Now he was waiting on the second floor - as he had been for twenty minutes - to see his only child and know she was ok. No one would tell him anything, doctors and nurses kept on telling Jim to remain calm and stay where he was, he'd be the first to know anything.

Then they wandered off down the corridor, contributing to the hollow sounds that bounced around him and made the glowing stench of bleach even more obvious. He rubbed him thumb against his palm, in an attempt to focus on something else, he'd already tried humming the 1812 Overture, and scanning the area for any possible hint of that burgundy liquid he so often craved for. Nothing helped. Jim knew Louise was here somewhere, he knew she was hurt, but he had no clue how badly, or how long it would be before she could see him.

Or forgive him.

He had taken off his hooded jumper, revealing a plain white T-shirt covered by a red woollen cardigan. He was awarded by some strange looks from other family members, how could one man wear so many layers in Spring? Jim was always cold. Always. Somehow he survived winter every year, whilst Louise practically melted in a home filled with piping hot radiators. He could feel every inch of him overheating. Beads of sweat started to form across the back of his neck. Jim took a few breaths, in an attempt to calm himself down. If course it didn't work. Every time someone new appeared from the ward, Jim would look up expectantly, but he was always ignored.

So far, five doctors and nurses had brought news, none for him.

A worried partner had been told he could go and see the patient; he'd wept gratefully and thrown himself down the corridor. A set of parents had been told they could never see their little boy again; they'd been carefully led off by one of the gentler nurses. A daughter was told to come back in the morning, and a brother had been notified of his twin's death. That was all.

That was four.

The fifth nurse was stood in front of him.

He leapt out of his seat, towering over the tiny blonde. Before Jim could get any words out she spoke, softly. "She's fine," She started, waiting for Jim to release the breath he'd been holding, "We're just keeping her overnight to be sure. She'll probably be quite upset about all this-"

Quite, that's an understatement. His thoughts interrupted.

"-and she may not want to talk about it, I suggest you don't push her too much, at least not tonight." Jim didn't need to; he knew exactly what had happened. Jim supposed her voice was meant to be soothing, but it was nothing of the sort. She sounded hoarse, tired, and Jim could feel the damp metallic sound sliding across his skin. He repressed a shudder as he was shown to Louise's bedside. Her face lit up the moment he was in view, and Jim slowly made his way over to his daughter. He looked to the nurse, who took her cue to leave the small family alone.

Louise shifted in her bed, getting herself into a better position, while Jim took no chances. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, placing his hand on her neck, resting his chin on her head. Louise tucked herself underneath her father, her face pressed into his chest, her eyes shut tight. Jim could feel Louise shaking beneath him, and he murmured words of comfort into her hair. He took in everything he could, her soft pink scent which usually floated around her clung to her flesh, threatening to claw away at the girl. He could feel her irregular breathing stabbing into his chest, little splinters poking at him until he could bear his daughter's pain no longer. They stayed in this position for some time, until Jim's arms began to ache. When they broke apart Jim finally took the opportunity to see Louise's eyes, which seemed almost black, reflected in the bags spreading under her eyes, her flushed face, and her features, knotted together. No face had caused Jim more pain to see. Those black pools which had been Louise's eyes threatened to swallow him up, and hold him in their grasp until he could no longer breath.

Louise flopped down, resting against her pillow. Jim collected himself then sat down on a rickety chair by her bedside, which threw brown splinters from beneath him. He pushed away a grimace and took his daughters hand, she smiled at him. "Stop it," She said, giving his hand a squeeze "I'm fine." Jim rubbed his thumb across her palm, calming himself more than Louise. "I highly doubt 'multiple lacerations across the back' is fine, in anyone's book." He said, quoting a doctor from earlier. Louise almost flinched at the memory of it, and Jim instantly regretted mentioning anything.

He pulled the chair closer to the bed, the feet of it scraping against the floor, juddering through Jim's body. He tried to think of how to put his next words.

"Thank you," He started, "for the past couple of weeks. I really appreciate what you've done, it's helped so much." Louise looked hurt, Jim knew he hadn't said it right, and tried to find another way to put it. "I'm also so sorry for what they did to you." This, Jim found, was much easier to say. "The information you've got me, in incredibly valuable, but it wasn't worth this. Nothing," He looked around him for a moment, "is worth any of this." Louise squeezed his hand, and Jim pulled away. This wasn't right; he was the father in his thirties who should be comforting his teenage daughter, not the other way around. Louise knew it too, but didn't say anything; she only offered a small smile and straightened up. "It starts tomorrow, doesn't it?" She said in a quiet voice, much more like her natural peach vowels which always managed to calm Jim. "Yes, it does." He said, attempting to smile, a little comfort to Louise, he hoped. "But I can hold it off, you never have to see them again, this was to be your last night the whole time, I can go to the tower next week, when you're all right again, don't worry." Jim rushed, he was determined not to leave his daughter while she was still stuck here and hurt so badly.

The look on Louise's face stopped him. "No, you've planned this for months, there's no way you're backing out now. Everything's in place, I can wait." Over the years Louise had managed to mask most of her troubles from her father, but every now and then something would crop up, and she'd be left unable to hide anything. Jim knew she'd told a lie, so did Louise. Neither one of them decided to point it out. Jim's mind went into overdrive, moving everyone around in his head, there were so many people involved, so many places and intricacies. Louise could see Jim had escaped the real world for a moment, and, as always, waited patiently for him to return.

"Seb isn't doing anything tomorrow; he can pick you up in the morning and stay home with you for a while," Jim said, knowing Sebastian would comply, he loved Louise as if she were his own. Yet Jim was feeling a little apprehensive of leaving his daughter so soon, "if you're all right with that." He mumbled as an afterthought. Louise raised an eyebrow. "You said yourself, you'll only be gone for a day or two, and by that time I'll be well enough to spend an hour or two in court. I'll never leave your or Seb's sight, and I'll be perfectly safe." She smiled at him, and Jim felt the lights brighten a bit around the ward. It all made sense, Jim now had even more motive to get to Holmes. After all, it was his fault his daughter was hurt, and his fault...

Jim sighed, not daring to raise his eyes to Louise. "You're sure?" He asked, almost inaudible. She nodded, which Jim could see out of the corner of his eye. "Okay," He said, taking in a deep breath and straightening up, "I should be able to stay the night with you, I'll ring Sebastian in a minute and he'll be here in the morning. I might not be there when you wake up." Jim wasn't happy about this, but it was the best he could do at short notice, and it was imperative now that he got to Sherlock. He'd waited years for a chance like this. Jim excused himself from Louise's bedside and moved away to call Sebastian Moran, everything was falling into place, and he felt almost guilty for realising a smile was slowly creeping onto his face.

Basically because I love Jim so much I made an excuse for him being an utter psychopath :P I always think of him as living with synesthesia, a neurological condition altering how you view the world, hence the sounds, sights and smells from certain emotions are attractive to him. I took some poetic licence saying that it's pain, suffering, and misery that he enjoys (especially Sherlock's) but that's just the way I imagined it :) Hopefully that explains why writing from his point of view is a bit odd :)
Hope you liked it! xxx