Moriarty wasn't sure at first what woke him out of his deep sleep until he heard the noise again, the soft pitter-patter against hardwood floors. It's too light to be Seb, plus, his pet was snoring beside him in bed. Was there a mouse in the house? He listened harder without moving from the comfortable position he was in, his eyes staying closed, but his brow furrowed. No, the scratching of the rodent's claws are missing.
A burglar? For their footsteps to be that light, the mouth-breather would have to be a woman or very small. That's it, his burglar is one of those little people that he screwed over back in Brazil! Wait, no, they were dead and buried. The only woman that comes to mind with the skill of breaking into one of the most secure houses in London is Irene Adler, but she was smarter than to do that when Moriarty was home. So, what is it?
A part of his mind, the part from childhood, placed a bet on a ghost, but Moriarty's adult self knew that this particular house was built not three years ago and no one had died in it or nearby. If it was a ghost, then they had better be prepared to run towards that light because Jim wasn't above killing a person twice.
He opens his eyes, hearing a floorboard squeak and a quick intake of breath. One glance in Sebastian's direction and Moriarty knows that he wouldn't be waking anytime soon, so he'll have to deal with this intruder himself. With a quietly grumbled threat of mutilating the person's corpse, Jim pulls on his black silk robe and shuffled out of his room on light feet. He skipped over all of the squeaky floorboards—purposefully placed every few feet in no particular order in case someone did break in—and followed the noises of clinking china.
Was this person seriously making themselves a cup of tea for all their hard work? Moriarty lets out another, nearly silent, curse as he moves towards the room the sounds are coming from. He's dimly aware that a light in the kitchen is flipped on as he peers around the wall to see the intruder. They're tiny like he'd expected, their long blonde hair hanging down their back like a waterfall of corn silk, and their chubby little hands are digging around in the nearly empty cookie jar.
Now Moriarty understood why only one of his floorboards creaked; only two other people had a basic knowledge of the layout, his Tiger and his pet's little daughter. Feeling as amused as any man can feel at two in the morning, Moriarty flips on the overhead light and watches as the person's shoulders tense up. They slowly turn, cookie in hand, to face their judgement.
"Any particular reason you felt the urge to get a cookie this late, Missy," he asks dryly, walking to stand next to her. Thalia's standing on the small step stool she uses to wash her hands and still her head barely reaches the middle of Jim's stomach. She stares up at him with her dark blue eyes wide, the hand holding the cookie no longer steady as it had been a moment before. She's afraid he'd spank her or hand her over to her father. He grins down at her, reaching past her to pull a cookie out of the jar for himself before picking the little girl up and carrying her into the dining room, sitting her down on the tabletop. "You should always invite me before you go stealing my cookies." As she processed he hadn't sounded the alarm, she relaxes under his gaze and begins munching.
"We make more a'morrow," the three year old asks innocently, swinging her legs back and forth in the air. Jim joins her up on the table, wrapping an arm around her to make sure she didn't fall. Finding out Jim let his daughter get brain damage wouldn't exactly reassure Sebastian about moving in permanently, so Jim wasn't taking any chances where the little one was concerned.
"Of course, we can't let your papa in on our little secret." She giggles, snuggling closer to Jim even as the man stiffened slightly. This kind of touch, so gentle and clearly affectionate, is still foreign to Jim, but he's learning to accept her little embraces. After the pair had finished their cookies and scooted the jar back to its original position, Jim scoops the child up in his arms. "Now, Thalia, it's time for bed."
He drops her on the soft nest of sheets and blankets, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch up in a sort of smile when she giggles again. He was going to leave on that happy note, then she did the strangest, most unexpected thing. She wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug and whispered three words in the criminal's ear. "Night, night, Daddy." And he surprised himself when his body responded before his mind caught up, giving the child a hug in return.
"Sweet dreams, my Honeybear."