BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Moriarty: The Winning Side (Part 1)

Request for dragonlover1234567

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John's POV

"Someone is here for you John," called Mrs. Hudson up the stairs.

"Send them up," he called. He wasn't sure who it could be considering he had just recently moved in to 221B with Sherlock. Speaking of, the detective was now eyeing John, probably wondering the same thing. They heard light footsteps come up the stairs, and a young girl rounded the corner and entered through the door. She was about (your height) with (your eye color) eyes. Her hair was (hair length) and a (hair color) color.

"Hello John's daughter," said Sherlock, before the other two could say a word.

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(Y/n) POV

Had your mom called before? You weren't sure how the man with the dark curly hair knew you were John's daughter. In all honesty, you didn't look that alike.

"Sherlock, that's not my daughter. I don't have a daughter," said the man who, despite his beliefs, was your father. He eyed you suspiciously, and you smirked at him.

"Nora Cooper. Remember her? Dated in high school. Left her to go into uni. Never returned. That was about... 22 years ago." You watched his face crumble as you spoke. He really had no idea. Could you blame him? Your mother had never told him. But would it have even changed anything? Would he have come to your rescue from hell (AKA your stepfathers house) instead of your mom having to drop you off here on her own, risking her own safety to save you? You shivered at the thought of it.

"H-how do you know that name? Who are you?" asked your father. The word sounded weird in your head, and you made a mental note to not say it out loud for you knew it would sound even weirder coming from your mouth.

"(Y/n) Watson. Mom wanted me to take your last name because she thought you died or something and wanted to honor you," you said, straightening your shoulders.

John looked at Sherlock who just nodded his head and returned to his laptop, now seeming to be bored with all of this. "So, um, what are you doing here?" asked John.

You couldn't lie, his tone hurt a little. You swallowed back the hurt and tred on. "My stepfather, he isn't a very good man. Mom dropped me off to stay here until it's safe to come back."

"Well good news, we have an extra bed," said John. He got up from his chair and walked you to a  small guest room with a single bed in it.  "Uh, I'll let you settle in," he said, then awkwardly left. You threw your small pack on the bed and laid back on it, not really sure what you wanted more - to stay here for long or to go back home fast.

~

You were called to dinner 10 minutes later and you ate the nice lady's food while the tall man talked nonsense. Once done, you followed John out to the living room. You scanned the bookcase and the mantel, your eyes landing on the skull. You picked it up. "Who's is this?"

"The last person whose nosed through my things," answered the man you learned was named Sherlock.

"Cool," you answered, and he turned to eye you. Next, you spotted a pink phone sitting on his desk. You walked over, picking it up. "And what is this?"

"None of your business," answered Sherlock, grabbing it back. You felt the eyes of John on you, but you didn't care.

"You guys are boring," you said, walking to your room and shutting the door behind you. You waited a couple hours till all was quiet in the living room, and you heard the last shuffles of Sherlock go into his room, and you crept out. You snatched the pink phone that still sat on his desk and walked back to your room. You shut the door and dove onto your bed. Immediately the phone began ringing. You tried to hush it under your covers, but you couldn't stop your curiosity from answering. It was obvious this phone was important, but why? You decided to find out.

"Hello?" you spoke into the receiver quietly.

"Who are you?" asked a mysteriously high voice.

"Who are YOU?" you asked.

"The owner of this phone."

"Name."

"Jim Moriarty."

"If you are the owner of this phone then why was it in my father's flat?" You realized you had said father and you froze at the weird taste it created in your mouth.

"Your father?" he asked with a tone of humor.

"John Watson."

"Your father and Sherlock borrowed it from me, I'm here to pick it up."

You mulled it over in your head, a bad feeling coming to you. But you shrugged it off, deciding to help this seeming kind friend of John and Sherlock. How rude of them to go to bed before he came. "Be right down," you said, then tiptoed out the flat and down the stairs.

You exited 221B to find a sleek car waiting. A big man in a suit stood outside of the back door. "Are you John and Sherlock's f-"

"That's me," said a man who had just exited the car. His hair was a mess, and he walked towards you, putting his hand back to stop the big man from following close. A bodyguard? "I didn't expect John's daughter to be so," his gaze traveled you up and down, "not him."

"I wouldn't really call him my father. He just helped create me, but this is the first time I've met him."

The man, Jim, looked surprised. He looked young too. And handsome. And mysterious, like he had a wild animal trapped behind his eyes. You wanted to search his eyes. "Well let me tell you something," he said, stepping closer, "your father and Sherlock, excuse me, John and Sherlock, they're on the wrong side. I hope you choose to be on the right side, my side."

You returned the immense stare he was giving you, the pit of your stomach sinking almost. "I don't pick sides. I don't even know what you're talking about. I thought you were friends with them."

"No, that was just a stupid little trick to get you down here so I could talk to you. Keep the phone. They need it to play my game."

"What game? Why did you want to talk to me?" you asked, your heart beat racing as he put up his hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear.

"Do you like to win?" he asked, his eyes latching themselves on yours once again.

"Of course."

"Then don't side with them. They're losers. I'm a winner." Your heart fluttered as he leaned close and slipped something into your jacket pocket, his lips almost brushing your neck. "See you around, what's your name?"

"(Y/n)," you shuddered.

"See you around (y/n)," he chuckled, his laugh high and manic. You couldn't say anything, still in shock over the events that just took place. Why were there sides to something? Why did he want you on his side? A million thoughts ran through your head as you made your way back upstairs. As you laid down in bed, your mind nowhere close to shutting down, you realized something. Your father was a loser. He was a loser for leaving your mother. He was a loser for not being happy to see you. And he was a loser for not being on the winning side of whatever it was. You wanted to win. You remembered Jim had slipped something in your coat pocket, and you jumped out of bed to check.

It was a scrappy piece of paper, a phone number scribbled on it with the words, "Call me (y/n)." You would.

What you didn't realize was that he had already had his number ready with your name on it, even before you had told him what it was.

A/N

Quick update before Christmas Eve and Christmas!

Random: Least favorite part about the holiday season
(Mine is too many people out shopping. I hate it because I see everyone I know and it's crowded and I feel trapped and people walk slow and ugh. This is why I online shop lol)

"I read, I travel, I become."
- Derek Walcott