Ficlet: The Wilful Child (PG, Sherlock Holmes-BBC, Moriarty)
Title: The Wilful Child
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (BBC)
Rating: PG
Character: Moriarty
Summary: An AU stream-of-consciousness ficlet for the Wee Doctor series by americanjedi.
Disclaimers: A lot of different, large corporations, some even overseas, own the rights to this version of Sherlock Holmes. The original character concepts by Sir Arthur C. Doyle.
Warnings: Spoilers for the Wee Doctor series. Seriously people, read that wonderful piece of art first.
A/N: God, I love that series so much. It just hits my secret love of well-written de-aging and time-travel fics right in the bulls-eye. Never thought I'd see it in this fandom.
Title from a paragraph-long story in Grimm's Fairy Tales. It'd be perfect here, if you just switched the genders of the characters.
*---*---*---*---*
James Moriarty often became bored - this wasn't unexpected, seeing as there were few people in the world that could come close to his intellectual level, let alone in the same areas of life that he cultivated an interest in. So finding the Holmes brothers in London, England was a windfall of luck he gleefully celebrated by setting up a game for the younger brother, Sherlock, to prove himself on James’ level.
Things became fun, for awhile, as Sherlock jumped through his hoops like a trained seal. Fun to dress up and dance before the detective so that he could rub it in the man's face later that his wonderful deductive science, his vaunted intellect, wasn't that infallible; that it could be outclassed, and Moriarty's cleverness was just the thing to do so.
Then an anomaly occurred - the blind woman stepped over the bounds of her role, tried to tell on him like the little tattle-tale that she was. But the words never made it through.
Everything in his head paused, like the calm before the storm. And what an apt description, as it then started rushing through the data like a whirling dervish, churning up the deep waters trying to find what he'd missed.
Admittedly, the game became a little sloppy for Sherlock at that point, seeing as James had to rush to distract the detective while Moriarty's men dug further for any scrap he'd missed.
He found it, in whispers through his network from a promising distraction in Russia, in decrypted text messages to and from Sherlock's phone. Suddenly, things became so much more interesting.
The boy. A silly, little mistake. Something he'd thought was just an odd, insignificant indulgence of the detective's. Perhaps even a latent, barely heeded biological imperative or experiment Sherlock was being driven to, passing his talents on to the next generation.
But oh, it was so much more then that. Not two, but four potential toys to play with (and, eventually, break; there could only be one true winner of the game, after all, and it would only ever be himself).
And oh, oh! Little Johnny and his mysterious Daddy didn't disappoint, unlike the Holmes brothers. They'd been so irritatingly predictable.
Johnny was so clever, so stubborn, and so brave. Already a little killer, he'd be so perfect to take under Moriarty's own wing if it wasn't for that pesky hero worship he had for Sherlock.
And Johnny's Daddy, so surprising. Moriarty's snipers may have been neutralized, but not all of his surveillance had been seized. Recovered and decrypted texts from Mycroft's and the Yard Inspector's cells revealed just how organized the raid had been, and the recordings his team had been able to salvage from the debacle had revealed W's hand in the interruption. A man - as yet unidentified even using the hacked government databases - that hovered too possessively over Johnny-boy matched descriptions of one of the men the rumors and whispers from Russia had mentioned.
Delightfully, something to distract him from the final solution to the boredom. He even knew how to play with all of them at the same time; he just needed to manipulate the common denominator, and they'd all come running.
He'll twist and break his way into being that wilful child's father figure. Turn the boy into a delightful little marionette, or bury the boy alive while trying. Considering where the Holmes brothers had sent the boy, not even Johnny's precious Sherlock can stop him.
"Oh Seba~stion~! I've got a job for you..."
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (BBC)
Rating: PG
Character: Moriarty
Summary: An AU stream-of-consciousness ficlet for the Wee Doctor series by americanjedi.
Disclaimers: A lot of different, large corporations, some even overseas, own the rights to this version of Sherlock Holmes. The original character concepts by Sir Arthur C. Doyle.
Warnings: Spoilers for the Wee Doctor series. Seriously people, read that wonderful piece of art first.
A/N: God, I love that series so much. It just hits my secret love of well-written de-aging and time-travel fics right in the bulls-eye. Never thought I'd see it in this fandom.
Title from a paragraph-long story in Grimm's Fairy Tales. It'd be perfect here, if you just switched the genders of the characters.
*---*---*---*---*
James Moriarty often became bored - this wasn't unexpected, seeing as there were few people in the world that could come close to his intellectual level, let alone in the same areas of life that he cultivated an interest in. So finding the Holmes brothers in London, England was a windfall of luck he gleefully celebrated by setting up a game for the younger brother, Sherlock, to prove himself on James’ level.
Things became fun, for awhile, as Sherlock jumped through his hoops like a trained seal. Fun to dress up and dance before the detective so that he could rub it in the man's face later that his wonderful deductive science, his vaunted intellect, wasn't that infallible; that it could be outclassed, and Moriarty's cleverness was just the thing to do so.
Then an anomaly occurred - the blind woman stepped over the bounds of her role, tried to tell on him like the little tattle-tale that she was. But the words never made it through.
Everything in his head paused, like the calm before the storm. And what an apt description, as it then started rushing through the data like a whirling dervish, churning up the deep waters trying to find what he'd missed.
Admittedly, the game became a little sloppy for Sherlock at that point, seeing as James had to rush to distract the detective while Moriarty's men dug further for any scrap he'd missed.
He found it, in whispers through his network from a promising distraction in Russia, in decrypted text messages to and from Sherlock's phone. Suddenly, things became so much more interesting.
The boy. A silly, little mistake. Something he'd thought was just an odd, insignificant indulgence of the detective's. Perhaps even a latent, barely heeded biological imperative or experiment Sherlock was being driven to, passing his talents on to the next generation.
But oh, it was so much more then that. Not two, but four potential toys to play with (and, eventually, break; there could only be one true winner of the game, after all, and it would only ever be himself).
And oh, oh! Little Johnny and his mysterious Daddy didn't disappoint, unlike the Holmes brothers. They'd been so irritatingly predictable.
Johnny was so clever, so stubborn, and so brave. Already a little killer, he'd be so perfect to take under Moriarty's own wing if it wasn't for that pesky hero worship he had for Sherlock.
And Johnny's Daddy, so surprising. Moriarty's snipers may have been neutralized, but not all of his surveillance had been seized. Recovered and decrypted texts from Mycroft's and the Yard Inspector's cells revealed just how organized the raid had been, and the recordings his team had been able to salvage from the debacle had revealed W's hand in the interruption. A man - as yet unidentified even using the hacked government databases - that hovered too possessively over Johnny-boy matched descriptions of one of the men the rumors and whispers from Russia had mentioned.
Delightfully, something to distract him from the final solution to the boredom. He even knew how to play with all of them at the same time; he just needed to manipulate the common denominator, and they'd all come running.
He'll twist and break his way into being that wilful child's father figure. Turn the boy into a delightful little marionette, or bury the boy alive while trying. Considering where the Holmes brothers had sent the boy, not even Johnny's precious Sherlock can stop him.
"Oh Seba~stion~! I've got a job for you..."