Work Text:
It has been two years since you had met Sherlock Holmes, your father. After an accident on a sloppy road, resulting in the death of your mother and you being severally injured, you were sent to live with your last family member. You had been a mistake in high school and far more than a decade later of your birth, you met the Great Detective.
During those two years, you realized Sherlock wasn’t the best father. He often forgot you, never paid attention and if he wasn’t on a case, he was shooting the wall. John Watson, his flatmate was more of a father figure at this point. John Watson tried not to bother you but occasionally throughout the week he would check up and invite you out for food. Sherlock never tagged along and you managed to bond with John. Although even that bond wasn’t very strong.
“Y/N, you can head home,” Your favorite teacher announced after an hour of chatting about school. Pity crossed his face in a twisted emotion. You had stayed after school for a parent-teacher conference but your father never showed. “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks,” You simply muttered as you left the classroom, calling over your shoulder. “You too.”
You grabbed your coat from your locker, slamming it shut. Sherlock had made a fool out of you to your teacher. He had wasted time and effort. You grumbled, storming through the halls, huffing mutters and complaints. It was ridiculous, could he not remember a single about you? Were you still not important enough for his memory? It had been two damn years.
Rain pounded down onto the streets of London as the sky’s rumbled with gray. It was windy and cold when you stepped out of the school. You pulled your coat close to you, cursing for forgetting to bring your umbrella.
Although the thought of the umbrella left your mind as a car pulled up next to you. You swallowed, picking up your pace as it continued to follow you. Eventually, it pulled to a quick stop as the door flung open. A hand grabbed you, pulling you in. You attempted to call out for help out a gloved hand covered your mouth, along with a cloth and the world fell silent. You fell limp.
When you woke up, a man was pacing around in circles, mumbling things to you as you woke up, feeling foggy. He glanced down at you, speaking louder.
“Sherlock Holmes will finally be defeated, this is a better ending than his death.”
You weren’t sure what he was rambling about but he looked thrilled. Suddenly you were aware of your tied hands and change of scenery. The man that was pacing was the infamous Moriarty. Realization set in, you were kidnapped and were going to be used against your father. A feeling of amusement bubbles up despite the situation.
“Don’t get too excited yet, man.” You muttered, yanking against your bonded wrists, not really expecting anything to happen. “He forgets about my school events, my requests for quality time, and occasionally my existence. Actually, always my existence. He’s not exactly the best father.”
“Oh,” Moriarty says simply. “This might throw the plan off course”
“That sucks, sorry for that.”
Moriarty walked over to you as you felt yourself tense. Although instead of the string of expected threats, he grabbed your wrists. The tight hold on your wrists loosened before the rope fell to the floor. You stared blankly before shifting the gaze to your capture who shrugged. He didn’t seem interested in the so-called plan anymore. There was a deafening silence before the kettle began to whistle. You didn’t care enough to glance over as Moriarty's footsteps walked over.
You gripped yourself on the shoulders. Despite being free from the rope, you knew better than to walk away. It wasn’t an invitation to leave, at least to your knowledge. Cold pricked at your skin as time dragged by. Had your father even realized you were gone by now? Did John have to remind him that you existed again? Thoughts swarmed by loudly, there was nothing to do. You would have to rot in this stupid apartment. Sherlock Holmes would forever be the worst parent ever. Finally, you forced yourself to look at your father’s arch-nemesis. He was swaying in the kitchen, listening to some song in his earbuds. The sound of steamy water pouring filled the apartment. Then Moriarty’s eyes caught yours.
“Tea?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be threatening?”
“Perhaps but you’re not as valuable as you should’ve been,” He shoots back with a grin making you suddenly feel small. If you weren’t of any value, nothing was stopping him from killing you. “You spoiled my evil mood.”
”Am I going to be murdered brutally?”
“I’ve loved this little game of Sherlock and mine.” He gave a menacing look of amusement, dragging out his movements. “Killing his child, oh the look on his face would’ve been marvelous. People die. That’s what they do.” Your eyes darted around the room, there had to be something. An exit, a weapon, anything to keep you from death. “Though, no. You’re not dying, at least not by me. Sherlock, The Greatest Detective, and Worst Father is far more interesting.”
The dark-haired man walked over without another word, handing you a cup of tea for your parched throat. Taking a sip, without much care of the possibility of it being poisoned, you let out a sigh. The taste of tea is warm as it mingles with warmth. Moriarty sinks into the couch next to you. Earbuds are out, he looks far less bored than he should. A pang of self-pity shakes through your body. Here you were, alongside a criminal mastermind who paid more attention to you than your father. Silence settles in a bit longer.
“Do you know if he’s noticed my absents yet? “ You ask, in a tone far too vulnerable for your liking. You clear your throat. “Is John at least aware?”
“Why don’t we have a look.”
He pulled out a laptop, clicking away as you glanced away awkwardly. It was a habit you had when people typed their passwords in. In a matter of seconds, the screen changed to the view outside 221B baker street. You could make out the sound of cars.
There is no movement, no sign that anyone is aware that you’re gone. No visible motion of worry in the flat. You can’t say you’re not exactly surprised but disappointment pours across your face. Moriarty seems to notice as he reaches for the top of the laptop to close it and change the subject.
Suddenly movement flickers across the screen, causing him to pause on the trail of closing. The door of 221B flies open. Sherlock is the first to come into view, his detective outfit on. The blue scarf wrapped around his neck. For a second you allow a moment of aspiration to linger before it’s pushed aside. Realization crashes down upon you. Your father is in no rush and he’s mumbling something about a case, this was no rescue. The great detective is about to shut the door when a hand stops it. John Watson scurries out, a look of fury painted across but Sherlock simply waves it away. Your heart sinks, you’ve seen this scene play a million times before. It’s the look of disapproval when John reminds Sherlock of you.
“Sherlock. You’ve been here all bloody day and you can’t seem to notice when Y/N leaves the goddamn flat? Did you even go to the teacher-parent conference?”
“I’ve been occupied with a case. I’ll check in on them later.”
It was the same sentence he always said, the same action he promised but always forgot to act upon. John swings around in disbelief which is similar to the feeling that is swelling up inside you. Although before another word can make it out of either man on the screen, you turn away, interrupting the live feed.
“Turn it off.”
Your voice shook dangerously as the laptop snapped closed. There are no more words exchanged as Moriarty got up, disappearing around the corner of a hallway. For the first time, you decide to give a good look around, you seem to be in a house with no windows. You notice it’s unnaturally quiet.
There was no point in brainstorming a way out, there’s no point in trying. You sink deeper into the couch, placing down your finished tea on a coffee table. For a moment, you’re shaking, threatening to spill unwelcome tears. It’s all too much, you’re going to be stuck here forever. Times passes as minutes bleed into hours. Unsure how much time has passed, you feel a surge of motivation. You stand up, ready to escape but as you walk over to a hall, Moriarty appears.
“I was wondering when you’d stop being boring and sulking in self-pity.” Moriarty hummed. “Even if you were to leave this house, you’re quite far from London and I’d hate for my men outside to waste time escorting you back.”
You swallow. Moriarty had said you weren’t dying but he didn’t say anything about torture. Instead of your brain screaming at you to run for the door at the end of the hall, you force a nod. Your capture seems pleased with your response as he turns around, signaling for you to follow him up a set of stairs. You climb up as he leads you to a single room at the top.
“You can sleep here.” He nodded over to the decent-looking room. “Might as well get comfortable, you won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
“Fuck,” You mutter, those words confirming Sherlock was never coming for your rescue. John wouldn’t even come to save you from the criminal. Panic falls over you, the true intensity of the situation sinking in. You’ve always felt as if nothing could happen to you, after surviving the car crash when your mother died. You were too calm for this situation, nothing good ever happened to you, was this for a reason? “Is this my fault? Was I not good enough for my father, am I going rot and die here? Hell, I’m not even a good hostage.”
“You’re far too young to bore yourself with thoughts of death. You’ll have plenty of time to die some other time.” Moriarty seemed to try to sound genuine but the tone came odd sarcastic as if he didn’t know how to be genuine. It was odd to hear him attempt to be comforting. “Let me make a promise to you, I won’t ever hurt you.”
“Never thought I’d hear those words from a criminal mastermind.”
“It was rather dull,” Moriarty agreed but didn’t make an effort to take back those words. You took a sip of tea before he added on. “Don’t be foolish though, I’m still going to ruin your father.”
“I assumed as much.”
“What’s your favorite book?” Moriarty changed the subject.
“(Insert favorite book), it’s truly greatly written. I don’t think I ever could get bored of reading it. Although I haven’t read it in a while.”
You fell silent. Despite how terrible Sherlock was, he was still your father. Moriarty would still be a murderer after this all. You thought back to Moriarty’s promise. Dread pierced through you, it wasn’t possible that you could promise Moriarty the same thing. He wasn’t a good person. The consulting criminal seemed to read your thoughts as he spoke up.
“I’m not expecting you to make the same promise.” Moriarty stood up from the chair, grabbing the door as he headed out. “In fact, you shouldn’t make that promise.”
The door closed as you glanced down at your hands. Aloneness settled in as the bed shifted. The blankets shifted over as you slipped into the bed. Your mind drifting to John, Greg, Moriarty but most importantly Sherlock. No one was coming for you, no one spared more than a thought. A bloody criminal who wanted to destroy your father was more of a comfort than anyone else. A sob threatened to pour out but it was swallowed down as darkness took its place.
The next day flew by in a blur. Moriarty wasn’t there when you had awakened but the copy of your favorite book was sitting alongside you. There was a note explaining where everything you needed was. The channels for the T.V., a list of the DVDs, and where food was. You spent the day drifting in and out of sleep, reading the book and watching T.V. Time ticked by as you laid on the bed, not daring to allow yourself a moment of hope of being rescued. You didn’t dare try to leave, you didn’t explore the house, you found it rather decent here. Your (insert favorite crackers/chips) was in the pantry, you weren’t sure how he has gotten the information but you shrugged.
Eventually, you finished your book and with a glance at the clock, you realized it was three in the morning. You had been here for far over 24 hours. No one had realized or been very concerned over this period of time you had been missing. Deciding to sleep with thoughts of what those you knew were doing, you drifted off, dreaming of what life would’ve been if you were given a good parent.
You slept through the morning until, in the afternoon, a sweet smell drifted through the house jolting your awake. The smell was awfully familiar. Tiredly, you stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen, being aware of the basic layout. Moriarty was there, making tea with a plate of breakfast on the side.
“Good afternoon or shall I say good morning, Y/N,” Moriarty called. “I brought your favorite pastries.”
“Geez, how thoughtful,” You mumbled as you thought of the odd situation. From being planned to be murdered to receiving your favorite food. You half expected Moriarty to ask questions for information about Sherlock but he didn’t. “Thanks for the book, it helped pass the time.”
“Time,” Moriarty dragged out, “It's hardly relevant.”
You gave him an odd look before taking a bite. The savory flavor melted in your mouth as you turned back to him. He was watching you with a look of curiosity as if he couldn’t figure you out. You raised an eyebrow.
“You’re awfully normal for an exceptional kid,” Moriarty said, when you continued to look confused, he spoke up again. “I’ve done some research on you yesterday,” He signaled to the crackers and pastries. “You’re clearly smart, more clever than a majority of the population although you seem to be purposefully failing school. You don’t act any different, you act normal.”
”I was raised normally,” You shrug as he heads to the door, “I’m not egotistical enough to think of myself higher than everyone else.”
“I’d be very proud if you were my kid,” Moriarty decided, “Sherlock will realize your intelligence sooner or later.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Criminal business calls,” Moriarty sang song as pulled on his jacket. “I’ll be back tomorrow to update you on your status.”
“Alright, figure out what will become of me as soon as possible. Being a hostage has proven to be boring.”
“My apologies young Holmes.”
Without another word, he left as you grabbed the box of (insert favorite crackers/chips) and headed to your temporary room. The rest of the day flashed by with rereads of your favorite scenes, watching T.V, and sleeping. It was almost normal. You would’ve done similar activities at home over the weekend. It was almost more comforting to be away from your father and the doctor.
It was around dusk when you heard a car pull into the driveway. You sat up instantly, you hadn’t heard a car before since you’ve been here. Perhaps Sherlock Holmes had finally realized you were taken. You jolted out of your room, skidding into the living room as Moriarty entered the house.
“Change of plans,” Moriarty titled his head. “My mind changes a lot. Come on, Y/N, I’m taking you home.”
He leads you out of the house, not making any effort to blindfold you. The air was fresh compared to the stale one lingering in the house. It was a house in the middle of nowhere in the country. You stepped into a dark car that was parked.
It was almost as if you were dreaming. Freedom didn’t seem very promising as you never felt too trapped in the custody of Moriarty. You recapped the last 72 hours in your head, you were kidnapped, planned to be killed, met a criminal mastermind with sympathy for you, and now we’re being released. It was nearly unbelievable but you guessed that happened a lot with Moriarty. He was simply unpredictable and ever-changing. Although to confirm it all, you decided to speak up with uncertainty.
“You’re letting me go?”
“That’s right.” Moriarty chimed, sliding into the car. “You’re officially free as a bird.”
The ride back was silent besides the engine of the car. There wasn’t much to speak and the quietness was comfortable. The curvy country roads made you slightly motion sick but the feeling was replaced with relief as familiar sights came into view after an hour. The roads of London were breathtaking at night as the clouds seemed thinner. As they neared Baker Street, Moriarty pulled into an alleyway to avoid the suspicion on Sherlock Holmes.
Moriarty got out of the car as you followed. It certainly had been quite the adventure and you had enough. The consulting criminal explained that you could walk home and tell Sherlock whatever you wished. The truth of being captured or a lie of anything you could want. You turned to leave, casting one last look.
“It’s dangerous at night,” Moriarty nodded. ”I’ll keep an eye from a distance to make sure you get home safely, then I’m afraid I’ll be leaving.”
You simply nodded, understanding that after this, the war with him and Sherlock would resume. It was a nice feeling to return but dread fell over you. One of the two at Baker Street would demand where you had been. You flickered through different possibilities as you walked through familiar streets. Cars passed by as the crowd moved on. Eventually Baker Street came into view, it was unusually empty. You were on the other side of the street from the flat, ready to walk over as the door flung open.
“Y/N!” Sherlock called from the doorway of 221B. You managed to catch him as he was leaving for a new case. “Where have you been? You’ve been worrying John for quite some time.”
“I was-“ You started, searching for the right excuse. There was a feeling of deceiving bubbling up, if Sherlock hadn’t cared enough to be worried, he didn’t deserve to know the truth. The detective could go his whole life without knowing a single thing. Although as your excuse was beginning to form, the last thread of tolerance snapped, letting rage fly lose. “Sherlock,” Your voice shook slightly as red seeped through your vision. You refused to call him ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’ any longer. “I was kidnapped. I was going to be killed by Moriarty. You say John was worried. You weren’t? What type of fucking father are you.”
Sherlock looks momentarily stunned. A face of unreadable and hidden emotions crossed over his face. After what felt as if an eternity has passed but only could’ve several seconds, he raised an eyebrow. An empty feeling fell into your stomach as you felt a feeling prick at your eyes. He didn’t believe you. He has no reason to. You were in absolutely fine condition, mentally and physically. Your favorite book in hand. You looked as if you just came from having the best time of your life, something unheard of after leaving the consulting criminal’s captivity. In Sherlock's mind, there was no way. You couldn’t even blame him.
“Hey, I know we don’t really get along since I’m always busy with my work,” Sherlock started, clearly unsure how to comfort you. “But you shouldn’t feel that you have to say these things and disappear to feel noticed by me.”
“Y/N is no liar,” A voice echoed behind you. Moriarty was there, practically next to you on the other side of the street from Sherlock. ”Don’t accuse them of it.”
“Get away from him.”
Sherlock’s voice hummed with worry for the first time. It took you back a bit, he was worried for you. But it took his arch-nemesis to get the slightest drop of concern and at that moment, you took a step back. A step towards Moriarty.
“Isn’t this great. The mighty detective can’t even observe when his own child has been taken hostage by his greatest enemy.” Moriarty’s Cheshire grin flickered over his face before fading as soon as it had appeared. “It would bring a smile to my face but I’ve grown rather fond of Y/N.”
“Y/N please, we can talk when you’re safe from him.” Sherlock was holding a gun by this point as you glance around the empty street. “Moriarty, if you have laid a finger on them, I will end you.”
“Moriarty has treated me better than you ever have.”
Those words flowed out of your mouth smoothly before you could stop it. Sherlock faltered, lowering the gun. Silence spilled out onto Baker Street while no one moved. It was everlasting before it broke by you twisting around to see Moriarty although he was gone. A strange sense creeper inside of you, was this his plan? Was this how he would break the detective? You couldn’t help but feel as if everything he had said was fake. That you were his weapon all along as you were fooled. By turning Sherlock's own child against him.
The thought of betrayal left immediately as your eyes widened. Moriarty wasn’t attempting to destroy Sherlock with you, he was attempting to help you. Not for Sherlock's sake or the sake of the game. But for your sake, he was trying to fix your and Sherlock's father-child relationship. Although you didn’t know if you wanted to fix it anymore. After all, there was never a bond there, to begin with.
“Y/N..”
“Don’t act like you care all of a sudden,” You muttered as you stormed across the street, shoving past Sherlock. “I’m going to talk to John, he actually notices me.”
You slam the door closed as you take a deep breath. A feeling of weight lifting itself off your shoulders, you had been meaning to confront him but never had. It felt good to let yourself be known to your father, to let it be known how shitty he was.
Sherlock didn’t come after you as you listened through the door. He got into a cab and drove off for the case. At least you wouldn’t have to speak to him. With steady feet, you crept up the stairs. You were careful to not make any creaks, perhaps it was a habit of returning late at night when you lived with your mother. The thought of her put a sour expression on your face. There were two chances of decent parents for you but both times, they had failed to be proven as good parents.
“John,” You called as you stepped into the living room. “Sherlock told me you were worried, I wanted to let you know that I’m okay, mentally and physically.”
“Jesus, you scared me.” John looked relieved to see you. He was sitting in his usual spot, looking a little flustered and disheveled. You wanted to raise an eyebrow. Sherlock had just left, leaving behind this. Your eyes unnoticeably widened in shock. We’re Sherlock and John- “Where have you been?”
“Sherlock can fill you in. I’m going to sleep.”
Without another word you headed towards your room, collapsing in the bed. Despite sleeping all day in captivity, you felt exhausted. Perhaps it was a mental toll, you had a lot to think about. After a moment, you stood up, walking over to your desk. There were notes of deductions scattered across your desk. Your most recent attempt to impress and catch your father’s attention. You weren’t as good at deducing as Sherlock but you were far better than John.
Reaching for a note, you gaze over it. Tracing over the messy letters of it with a fingertip. The yellow sticky notes are pinned to a bulletin board with other attempts of catching your father’s validation. You were done with the attempts as you grabbed the notes, swiping two years' worth of attempts under your bed. Solved cases, deductions, results of the experiment were all written down and shoved away out of view. From now on, you would work on the only relevant validation, validation from yourself. You would redo it all with a different motive in mind. You took a long-needed breath before you grabbed the next thing. A framed photo of you and Sherlock. It was taken two years ago a little after the two of you had met. You were grinning but Sherlock looked rather bored.
Giving no more than one last glance, you dropped it in the trash. The sound of glass cracking bounced through the room. Not wasting another thought on your father, you sunk back to your bed. Grabbing an extra pillow to hold as you sobbed into it as it muffled the choked cries. You allowed yourself a moment to let the crashing relief and distress fall over you.
You had fallen asleep without realizing, hours drifting by in silent sleep. Shouting filled the house as you groggily woke up. Sitting up, you leaned slightly closer to listen to the argument. John was yelling at Sherlock, words tumbling carelessly out of his mouth. It was a blur of rage and lecture. You knew what had happened, Sherlock must’ve told John what had happened to you. The yelling was getting louder as a pair of footsteps approached your room. In an instant, you buried yourself back into the bed, pretending to sleep. You were expected at pretending to sleep after years of pretending to avoid your late mother.
“….You machine,” John's voice called as the door slipped open, Sherlock stepping inside, closing the door behind him.
The quietness and darkness settled back in as you heard the detective shift through your room, a feeling of anger filling you. In a moment, the shuffling stopped and was replaced by the sound of glass moving. Silently, you sat up, watching as he knelt, the broken frame in his hand. His face was soft yet unreadable as he scanned over the details of the picture, tracing it with a slender finger.
Suddenly, he drew back, dropping the image as a piece of glass sliced his skin. More glass shattered as he let out a curse, wiping the blood on his coat. He picked up the frame once more, letting the rest of the glass slide into the trash can. Blue eyes flicked to yours as your gazes met. Sherlock looked rather shocked as you frowned. You flipped back into bed, yanking the sheets over you and turning your back to him. Silence reclaimed its place as you assumed your father was about to leave. Instead of the door clicking open, his voice spoke up near you as the bed dipped as he took a seat on it.
“Sorry,” He said softly, “Did I awaken you?”
“I’ve been awake for several minutes,” You answer after a long pause. “The shouting woke me up.”
Neither of you spoke up for another several minutes. Then his hand rested on your shoulder as you furrowed your eyebrows. For such an observant detective, he couldn’t take a hint to piss off.
“I apologize for being a bad father,” Sherlock started hesitantly. You turn your face farther from him, keeping your back to him. You didn’t want him to see your dried tears and reddish eyes up close from falling asleep crying. “I haven’t paid much attention to you, I’ve been forgetful. I know I forgot your teacher conference. I don’t really understand this whole father thing but I want to try.”
“You’re kidding,” You snap, sitting up. Glaring at him. “You have had more than two years to try and you never attempted to. I get you don’t want to be a father and I get that you’re often busy. But don’t bullshit me with that, if you wanted to, you would’ve at least tried to be a father.
“And if it takes a goddamn criminal mastermind to kidnap me with the original intention of murdering me for you start trying, I don’t want it. You’ve had your chance, I have constantly reached out for your quality time and validation and never received any in the past years. I’ve tried everything to be enough, to be loved by you and have a father figure. You’ve been completely unfair to me and I’ve had enough of this neglect. Don’t bother anymore.”
You turned to return to sleeping once more but Sherlock swung you around as your face landed on his chest, arms wrapping around you. The first embrace you’ve experienced with him. The fabric of his coat pressed into your face as emotions burst inside of you. Sobs shook through your body as you clung onto Sherlock, fistfuls of the back of his coat in your hands. He was whispering words of comfort to you, apologies and promises. Eventually, the sobs died down but you didn’t dare let go as he didn’t either, you eventually realized tears were rolling down his face as well.
After a moment of simple silence, anger has left your system. A few shivers and breaths shuttered through your body. Although you had no more tears left to cry or sniffle. This is what you’ve wanted since you were a kid. Someone who was there for you, an actual parent.
“Moriarty,” Sherlock said after a moment, “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” You answered, letting go of Sherlock and looking down at the patterns of your bed covers. “He brought me to the countryside, he planned to murder me when you came to rescue me. Though since you never showed, he promised to not harm me ever and treated me very kindly.”
“You expected me to fail to show and were right,” Sherlock said simply. “I’m sorry Y/N, I know simply words can’t fix that. From now on, I will work on it, prove myself for another chance at being your father, a good one this time. But at the end of the day, you get to decide if you forgive me and how I can make it up to you.”
“Well,” You decide after a moment. “Let's start with rescheduling the conference.“