Moran picked up his boss and Amelia, Jim's daughter. It was Sunday. No work today. Not for Jim. He would take absolutely no clients, and if any dared to try and disturb him on this day, they'd find themselves being used to test different methods of torture. No, today was a day of sorrow for him, and most of the staff. He held the six year old at his side, staring out the window at nothing in particular. It was a short drive, and he held the two roses in his hand, Amelia going through and listening to stories only she could hear, thanks to the ear buds. He couldn't do this today. Usually he would listen happily to the stories written by the woman he'd give anything for, but today he couldn't bring himself to listen. Never could on Sundays. The car crept to a stop at the beautiful green area, the lines of headstones to mark where those who've left us have gone. The lack of flowers or memorials proving how many had been forgotten. In the centre of rows upon rows of greying, dull stones, was one that was immaculately sparkling. Jim stepped out from the car, leaving the door open so Amelia could hop into his arms. He carried her on his hip to the gorgeous stone for the gorgeous woman.
"Daddy, why do we come see mummy every Sunday?" The question pained him, hating to explain why this day held so much significance.
"Sunday was the day your mother died." He answered in a sulking tone, not bothering to check the area around him for other visitors. He set the small girl with big e/c eyes, and curly raven hair down to see the grave, careful not to let any harm come to the two roses he carried with him. He looked at the stone, the dark pit growing ever so slightly at the name 'Y/n Holmes'. That's not the name she died with, but she didn't want her brothers finding out where she had been, and who she'd been with. He respected her decision, but it hurt nonetheless. He looked down at the two roses from their previous visit, noting how they already began to wilt. He carefully picked them up so their stems made an 'X', willing the shiny ring that kept them together not to fall into the vase that hid it so nicely. Tears escaped their confinement sad they slid down pale cheeks.
"Why do we come if it makes you sad, Daddy?" He laced the two new roses in the ring, then into the vase.
"It doesn't make me sad, dear. It makes me happy to know that you know who your mother is." He held the little girl close, his tears sliding straight down and onto her black velvet curls as he pressed his lips to it. Her head tilted down in a small bow. It was always an oddity to see Jim Motiarty cry, even for Amelia. Actually, especially for Amelia.
"Daddy?" He had almost forgot she was there, but was pulled from his thoughts by the soft inquisitiveness of her tiny speech.
"Yes, dearest?" He followed the young girls' gaze to the roses, identical in every way except for colour. He looked back at her, her bouncy curls gleaming with the dark tints like her father's hair. When y/n died, he almost begged for her eyes to become dark black like his, unable to see anyone but his beloved staring back when she looked at him. Yet beloved the light they held, loved holding that tiny bit of her close.
"Why do we bring two roses?"  Since Moriarty arrived, a curious army Doctor watched curiously, trying to figure out why he recognized the gleaming granite.
"Your mother was always a story teller, Mel. One of her favorites to tell me was the story of 'the blood rose', as she coined it. That was before we started dating. I wasn't much for stories, but she had hated me for so long, I had loved her for so long, and let's face it; She was absolutely gorgeous when she recited the careful words of each fable, fiction, or fairytale. The story of the blood rose was as follows..."

~Flashback~
"Jim!" You ran to catch up with the Westwood-wearing criminal, taking into account the small smile that grew sheepishly into his features as you slid next to him. Using his shoulder as support, you managed to catch your breath, not, in fact, noticing how he looked so caught in the headlights, that he practically grew antlers. Your touch sent blossoms of joy and thorns pain through him. You could never love him, yet you trusted him. Despite being the unreliable criminal mastermind (who could never manage to get you to leave his head), you trusted him. It felt... Good.
"Yeah, angel?" He teased, earning a slap on the shoulder. He laughed despite, and began moving as you started walking.
"Just for that, I'm retelling the story." He gave a disinterested groan, yet couldn't be happier. Eventually you came to a bench, and he slid in opposite of you.
"Once there was a lowly thief, who fell in love with the most beautiful maiden in all the land-" he hadn't heard this one before, but he just had to cut you off.
"Don't you mean the princess?" You glared in return. Nope, never princess. He held his arms up in the 'don't shoot me, I'm innocent' position, but his cocky smirk held a different aura.
"The most beautiful maiden in all the land. One day, he had the chance to meet her, so he dressed up in all the fancy things he could find, so he could fit in with the multitude of men attempting to court her. When he got there, however, he found she wasn't interested in the riches of others. Desperate to impress her, he found two white roses, and begged them to never die. Once they had agreed, it was on one condition. He had to spend eternity with them, even if his love did die. He hurriedly accepted, not thinking of his future pain. He presented her with the gorgeous blossoms, her delicate fingers touching soft as a butterfly's wing as she ran in across each petal. They were married not a year later. But alas!" You were so entranced by your story telling, the dramatized motions, the fluctuating of your voice-you didn't notice how he stared, starry-eyed at your excited figure. He swore that if he could kiss you in this moment, he would. But instead, he listened intently on the story.
"One day a group of jealous scoundrels, scorned with how she could choose a thief over a prince, threatened his life. She held her rose close to her as they lunged to stab him through his heart. As they pulled the blade out, they realized their mistake- she had jumped in front of it, her purest white rose staining with the Crimson of her flowing blood. He wept over her corpse, yet held up with his end of the deal. He took care of the roses, cherishing the one that held a part of her in its forever lasting petals. His blood rose. He would never let it go." In that moment he did something he never thought he'd do. Yes, you knew you loved him, and that he at least enjoyed your company, but never expected he'd be so straight forward about it. He stood right up, and kissed you.
~End of Flashback~

He recounted the story, only leaving out the details of what happened next. He had a feeling he'd be in trouble if he told her how he had her mother that evening. How y/n didn't expect to see him in the morning. He did, however tell her that they were married by the next year. Preparing for Amelia the following year. He smiled as he recounted the memories, but in the distance, John Watson was starting to piece things together, but his pieces were all jumbled up.
"What the hell are you doing at Sherlock's sister's grave?!" John demanded as he marched to the criminal, who didn't have any time to act. His first thought was to get Amelia out of there.
"Amelia, go wait with Sebastian." He stood, dusting himself off. In her terrified state, the little one did as told, scurrying off to wait with the sniper.
"Ah, Johnny-Boy! What a pleasant surprise!" He forced his voice hollow, and eyes threatening with a glint of madness.
"I asked you a question." John had his usual military voice, a finger pointed accusingly at the Napoleon of Crime.
"Can't even say hello? How rude!" He feigned offense, and John realized the only person fit to deal with Moriarty was Sherlock. He began pulling out his phone as Sebastian returned with the little girl John had failed to notice earlier, bouncing lightly on his hip. John began to dial, and suddenly Jim was wired. He couldn't let him call either Holmes brother... He couldn't fail her... Without a second thought, a gun was drawn to John's head. John froze, phone in his hand, Sherlock's number half-way dialed.
"Drop. The. Phone." John carefully set it on the ground, holding his hands up next to his head. Suddenly, a frantic cry caught both men's attention.
"Daddy!" Amelia was terrified now. Jim worked so hard to keep her safe mentally and physically. Now, she wasn't just in danger. She was scared. Of him.
"Boss, what's going o-" that's when Sebastian saw who the gun was aimed at, "Boss, I'll handle this, you've got a meeting and you're scaring Mel. Please?" Since the moment he realized his daughter would never fully trust him again, Jim began breaking. Couldn't save his wife from being murdered, couldn't save his daughter from seeing him as a murderer.
"Yeah," he clicked on the safety, dropping the gun, "alright." He bent down to the little girl, softly pressing his hand to her cheek in a futile attempt to catch the scorching tears. He pulled her in for a quick hug, kissing her temple.
"I am so sorry Amelia. Just, remember to put the drawing on the fridge. I'll explain when I get home. Promise. And when we make a promise, what does it mean?" He had a light playful tone towards the end, whereas the beginning was heartbreaking to hear. The little one giggled, he hair bouncing with every heave of her chest.
"It means it's as unbreakable as a diamond!" He gave her a quick praise, another small hug and kiss, before he got up to leave. Before he did, he sent an icy glare to the doctor who had interrupted his private session with his beloved. Dumb hobbit. John was undeniably shocked, unable to comprehend, to fathom, the fact that this monster had a heart. Furthermore, a wife and child.
"He has a wife and child?! Him?!" Sebastian rolled his eyes, quickly checking to make sure Amelia was back to her stories.
"Had a wife, has a child, yes. Now, if you wouldn't mind not telling Sherlock about this little meeting, that'd be peachy." Seb knew he wouldn't comply, but he had to hope, right? He had to have at least some hope, if nothing more.
"Why shouldn't I?!" Amelia's attention now belonged to the arguing men at her mother's grave, she watched quiet as a windless night.
"Because it's his sister. And she didn't want him to know who the father of his niece was! It was her dying wish, for god's sake! Now please, if you have any respect for y/n, for Sherlock's sister, you won't ruin the only way his niece gets to know her." This struck her. Sherlock? As in Sir Sherlock? From her stories? She squealed suddenly as realization hit, and excitement plagued get.
"YOU KNOW SIR SHERLOCK? AND QUEEN MYCROFT?!" Both army men turned their attention to her, who was now staring at John as if he was the celebrity himself.
"Oh, um, yes. I-I know Sherlock Holmes. He's my best friend, actually. How do you know about him, exactly?" Now he was confused. Moriarty refused to let Sherlock know about her, yet she was Sherlock's biggest fan?
"Mummy always told me stories about the palace and the knight, Sherlock Holmes, not to mention the Queen, her brother Mycroft! Never really understood how that worked, but she was always right!" John stared in amazement as she held up the tablet, stories lining the screen. Each one titles differently, yet the author and storyteller always remained the same; Y/n Moriarty. He had to admit, he was impressed with the lengths he went through to make sure the young girl would never forget her...
"So, does that make your mum the princess then?" Sebastian stifled a fit of giggles, as the little girl looked as if he had just cursed the very grave he had come (wrongly) to protect. Then her head began to race side to side, the frizz of curls obscuring her features.
"NONONONONONONO! Never princess! 'Princess implies a damsel in distress!' Mummy was mummy! That's all she needed to be!" She defended, John was flabbergasted, staring in utter awe at the little girl. A-what, seven?- year old that didn't like princesses? That was unheard of in his book.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think through that all the way." He could see her mother in her. Sherlock had shown him enough photographs that he could practically imagine the woman alive, but this was... Different. She looked like Moriarty as well... Sebastian's eyes plead with him not to tell Moriarty, but John was still unsure.
"Wait! D-Do you have a picture of my mummy? I-I would love to see her, please?" He knew he had Sherlock's wallet somewhere... He looked cautiously at the sniper, before returning his gaze to the child, and began searching. Eventually he produced the leather foldable, with the production, an audible sound of amaze and bewilderment. It took only a second to slip the photo from its place where a normal person's license would be, and Amelia's eyes soaked up every little detail of the stunning woman. John smiled a bit, and another tick of curiosity soared through him.
"Why hasn't she seen her photo before?" He was semi-looking for any excuse to tell Sherlock... He got the opposite.
"The people who killed y/n went looking for Amelia next. They didn't know her name, only that she had Holmes' blood in her. That's why her mother's dead. Boss knew they'd hunt Amelia down, but being only a child- and his child at that- he knew that they would want proof before they killed her. So he got rid of it... All of it." Meaning: He burned every photo he held dear to him. This grave, this time with their little one, it's all he had. John nodded.
"I won't tell Sherlock."

~Timeskip brought to you by Soulless!Sam, cause Sam is eight times hotter when he doesn't have a soul to hold him back... Not in a dirty way-actually... ~

"Sherlock, our dearest sister's grave has been disrupted. I'm on my way home from Korea, but please check on it. I know you care." That's all Mycroft had to say to have Sherlock sprinting down the stairs, John trailing swiftly behind. He had been enjoying his lazy Sunday, but things rarely got Sherlock as... Excited? Agitated? He couldn't tell what, but it took a lot for him to be like this.
"Sherlock, where are we going?" John of course remembered seeing Moriarty with the young child, he often contemplated on it. Moriarty was so inhuman to John before, and now he had even contemplated whether it'd be a better idea to have him or Sherlock babysit. Jim did owe John, and seeing his fathering skills, he actually made a great candidate. But he didn't want to push his luck. He eventually convinced Sebastian to do it, without Jim or Sherlock's knowing. Sherlock didn't even notice how Jim immediately stopped threatening John, how he always kept the threats to Sherlock. John was off the table for all criminals in the underworld. Him, his wife, and his child. In his mind, it was the least he could do. John could've easily told Sherlock. Ruined the small day he had to remember his sweet wi-
"My sister's grave." Crap. The whole way there, John was attempting to convince Sherlock not to go, but time, and sometimes even becoming a physical barrier. Sadly, Sherlock managed to make it. Luckily, today was one of the many anniversaries Jim had bestowed on her, and he held a special place for each, so Seb and Mel were giving him some private time.
"Moriarty! I should've known!" Of course the anger in Sherlock's voice was more present than the sneer, but it managed to throw Jim off guard enough that he physically dropped his little token back into his pocket.
"Sherlock! Stop!" John warned, he made a promise not to tell, but how could he stop this? Jim quickly stood up, turning on his heal as he cleared his face of the year stains rolling down his cheeks moments before. He wasn't Moriarty, not as Sherlock remembered, anyways. He was distant, holding onto any emotions. He wasn't acting care-free or erratically.
"Why're you here, Moriarty? Don't make me ask twice!" Anger was boiling inside of him, but he couldn't do anything. He couldn't risk her secret being out in the world, as he promised to never let happen. It happened that he wouldn't have to. Amelia came running at once, excited to show her father something on her charcoal tablet.
"Daddy! Daddy! Look! Loo-" suddenly she was pulled to Sherlock, and he seemed upset. It didn't take a genius to deduce who the child was, though, if he had taken a closer look, he might've seen the resemblance to another woman...
"Let. Her. Go. Now!" He demanded, voice rough like he had overused it, which he had in reality. Amelia began crying, scared for her and her dad's safety.
"Tell me or I never will." Sherlock remained calm, but fire danced in his eyes, burning Jim with their utter sincerity.
"SHERLOCK!" John warned, temporarily getting his friends attention, "Trust me, you do not want to hurt her." The tall trench-coated man, once seeming like a grim reaper to the girl, narrowed his eyes, yet scoffed while forcing a small, insincere laugh.
"And why not? Because she's Moriarty's daughter?" Sherlock challenged. Jim's eyes pleaded with the army Doctor, to just be silent.
"Sherlock? As in SIR Sherlock? Brightest knight of Queen Mycroft's army?!" She squealed like a whovian next to a blue police box. The knight her mother told her about time and time again! How exciting! Her father straightened uncomfortably, as Sherlock eyed the girl. Only one person referred to him as 'Sir Sherlock'. His sister. She came up with Queen Mycroft, and often wrote stories of his adventures he or herself took in the name of Queen and Country.
"Wait... Tell me, what is a princess?" He kneeled down to examine the girl, curious to how she knew of his sister and her endless stories.
"A princess implies a damsel in distress. Never be a princess. My mummy always said she was a White Raven." That's when he knew. His entire world came crashing before him. This girl knew all the stories and terms of his childhood, and he even could see the resemblance to his own flesh and blood. The bone structure, her burning e/c eyes, soft as rose petals, but mischievously glinting with a blazing curiously. His eyes seemed to be soaking up the new information, and he looked to his nemesis for confirmation, who instead avoided his gaze, pulling out the trinket he brought, and placing it in the vase. Waiting until he heard the soft 'clink' as it reached the bottom, to look down in shame. His fingers twirled something in his pocket.
"I'm sorry, my..." He looked sheepishly over his shoulder, is this something he really wanted Sherlock to hear?
"Love. I-I tried. I swear I did..." His eyes struck with tears one more, but the little girl's excitement bested his pain.
"Daddy! Look!" He put on a happy face, pulling her onto his knee as Sherlock remained still, processing taking longer than he expected.
"Yes, darling?"  She held out the tablet pointing excitedly to a story that he hadn't downloaded. His smile dropped, confusion rampaging through his features.
"Darling, where did you get this story?" He asked, unable to think of a possible solution. In response, she shrugged, hitting play. He listened as the words of his late wife filled the small space, sparking Sherlock's first reaction so far. Instead of the bedtime stories that the woman meant for the little girl, this was their story. Their love story told with the finish of fairytale. The blood rose, only with full details, and storytelling he could never do himself.
"This isn't possible..."
"Is it possible you forgot you downloaded it?" John had to ask. It seemed logical. He shook his head solemnly, listening to each word.
"No. These are a collection of stories only meant for Amelia... This story... This one was one she told me..." The beautiful tone he'd missed so much fluctuated with every word, description bringing the story to life. Then the impossible happened. The voice resonated the last line, but it wasn't the voice from the recording. No, too clear for that. Not only that, but it wasn't coming from the tablet, it was coming from behind John.
"Because love is eternal, we've no reason to ever say goodbye, nor to fear death."