Chapter 6

Erika smiled weakly at the infant lying in the basket in front of her. He was sleeping quietly with his hands under his head. She gently patted the soft, dark curls on his head, glad that they had been passed on. She leant down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and he woke up, his eyes opening to reveal irises green as emeralds.

The boy let out a gentle yawn and the young woman laughed. Her son looked up at her and raised a hand to grab her finger. He held onto it with a grip she was sure was stronger than the norm, but he was the son of a strong man, in every sense of the word.

"I'm so sorry William," she whispered to the baby. "You could have so much. You could have a genius father and a dying mother, but instead you get a madman."

She let a tear fall down her cheek. "You could have grown up with people who love you, not people who need you. You could have been a detective or an artist or a scientist. You could have been anything you wanted and it wouldn't have mattered. But he will make you a criminal."

She let out a sigh. "He will make you too much like me."

William looked up at his mother crying and just lay there watching. He didn't stir or whimper, he just watched. Finally, Erika stopped weeping and looked out the window, sadly. "You'll never be allowed to go. We never will."

But then she stopped and looked down at her boy. "Unless we run."

And with that she picked up the boy who let out a coo in protest. She smiled and walked to the window, opening it wide as it would go. She then carefully folded the pair out of it and into the sun. As soon as she got out she ran to the property gates, knowing they were just beyond the hedges but when she arrived she was met with a sorrier sight.

Moriarty stood leaning against the gates with a gun in his hand, aimed lazily at her. He smiled and walked closer to Erika who had frozen in place. "You know, it's not polite to turn down someone's hospitality, my dear."

He took William from her arms with less care than Erika would have liked and smirked at the woman. He looked down at the boy and said in his childish, sing-song voice, "Say goodbye to Mummy."

Then everything went black.

Erika woke up bound to a chair; the same chair, she realised in horror. However this time she wasn't stripped, instead she was clothed in a hospital gown, green and white, and she was in a cellar. The cellar of the house she thought. She could feel the blood matted in her hair from where he'd hit her with the butt of a gun, and a throbbing pain was shooting down her neck.

Across from her, Moriarty sat on what looked like a bar stool. One of his legs was hanging loosely but the other had its foot resting on bar holding the legs apart. He had his left elbow on his knee with his head in his hand. The other hand hung loosely beside him where a knife was grasped between his fingers. Erika recoiled.

"I really thought we could have made this work," he said, his voice laced with mock disappointment. He dropped his hand and looked at her coldly. He smiled a little and jumped up, walking closer to her, the knife still in his hands.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice him gone? Both of you gone?" He leant forward and she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. "Did you think you could get away?"

Erika remained silent, looking away from him. His eyes blazed with anger and he slapped her. "ANSWER ME WOMAN!"

"You can't be everywhere," she whispered. He smirked and walked around, so he was standing behind her. He leant forward so his chin was on her neck. She winced as he applied pressure to the bite-marks still painfully fresh on her skin.

"He's a week old and you think I wouldn't notice?" He leant in closer so his lips brushed her ear when he talked. "You were going to steal him away weren't you? Take him back to Sherlock? Create your happy little family?"

"He doesn't deserve this..." she said, tears in her eyes as she thought of her son lying in the room above her; helpless and alone. "Nobody does."

"You do." His words hissed into her ear made her shudder and recoil. The consultant criminal walked around her again so he was facing her. He leant in painfully closer to her and she tried to back away. He looked at her for a long while, examining before he backed away, grinning.

"Why don't we do something for Sherlock then?" he said gleefully. "Dr Watson has an old war wound in his left shoulder." He leant in and pulled the knife up. "Why don't we give him a matching set?"

Before she could speak, Erika felt the blade pierce her shoulder and she let out a scream so loud and high that she was amazed it came from her. She felt as though her arm was burning and freezing at once as the blade twisted in her flesh. She yelled and screamed and tried to get away from the weapon but he would have nothing of it.

Moriarty's eyes glistened joyfully when he saw the blood painting her gown crimson. He twisted the knife and dug deeper, listening to his victim shriek. He laughed as she writhed and shuddered, enjoying the agony in her eyes. Finally he pulled the knife out and watched Erika fall into unconsciousness. He smirked and dropped the knife beside her, before undoing her bonds and throwing her over his shoulder, careful not to get blood on his suit.

He took her back upstairs but made no effort to take her to her bedroom. Instead he dropped her unceremoniously in the tiled hall. He then made for Williams room. Opening the door slightly he looked in to find the child lying, asleep, in the basket he had turned into a make-shift crib. He walked up to the boy slowly, never being all that fond of children. It was then he noticed an abnormality.

The boy's skin was pale; far too pale to be healthy, even for Sherlock's son. Carefully he walked closer, looking for any cause and finding none. It was then the cause hit him and he looked away and out the window. Shame, he thought. He could have been useful.

Leaving the room he found Erika still lying on the floor. Bored, and wanting her to wake up, he pressed his foot to her wound. He eyes opened as she gasped in the pain. He removed his foot and she lay there, looking at him. "You have saved me time, deary."

She looked at him blankly through her pain and he continued. "Your genetics mean that your son will be dead within the hour. Congratulations."

"N-no. William," she whispered, breaking into sobs. Jim let out a bored sigh before starting to walk away when he felt a hand grab his ankle. He turned to see the woman looking at him pleadingly. "Let me see him."

"No." And with that he walked back into William's room, content to wait until the boy breathed his final breath which he knew wouldn't be all that long.