The Consulting Criminal's Pressure Point

A/N: Pretty much just a one-shot Parentloc, in the kid's POV.


Everyone knows who my father is. They know him as the man who pulled off a triple heist and got away with it. My mother knows him as an unfortunate one-night stand. I know him as the one who unwittingly gave me my name.

"His middle name is Andrew, and that was the only thing I knew about him aside from his surname," my mother told me when I was curious about him. "So, when you came, I named you that. You don't look a thing like me, so I reckoned it was appropriate. There is one area I wish you were different from your father."

"What?"

"Crime-he's a criminal, Andrew," she had told me. "I don't want you to be one as well. I want you to be an engineer, just like your grandfather."

So I promised. I was only four years old then, and never really understood all she said-I just said yes, because, apparently, she wouldn't take no for an answer.

I was six when a man named Sebastian Moran took me from my ordinary home, and brought me to the man I had asked most about-James Moriarty.

He looked like me, except those eyes. They were brown in color like mine, but I felt that I had been staring at a dead man when I first looked into them.

Father taught me how to perform crimes without ever being suspected. He gave me my first phone, which had buttons that, when pressed, would make a certain person be shot. He told me that the best tactic in the world of crime is hiding in plain sight.

While he was indeed the criminal he proudly was, I strangely liked being with him. He made sure I was safe at all time. He would come to my aid when I get any injury-from scratches to fractures. While he said that pressure points are a nuisance when one is a law-breaker, I had unwittingly become his.

It was my phone in his hand when he broke into the Tower of London, Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison. However, it was his phone that he had when he was on the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where he said he would solve the final problem with a man called Sherlock Holmes. He used that phone to send me a message.

Don't look. JM.

I did not know what exactly was I was not supposed to lay eyes on. So, after a minute or so of trying to guess, I texted back, At what? AM.

My message was not sent. So, I decided to give up on figuring the forbidden object out, and looked out the window of the house across the hospital where Sebastian and I were. I saw my father and the other man talk, and-being the nosy boy I was-I opened the window.

"Well, good luck with that," I heard Father say.

After that, he pulled a gun from his hip and shot himself on the head. His body fell down from the rooftop, and onto the pavement below. He shot himself as to have the last laugh, apparently. He always did dangerous things just to be the one to win.

Sebastian had to restrain me from running out the house, and had to muffle my screams with his hand.


Two years have passed. Sebastian, out of sheer loyalty to my father, had been the one who had taken care of me. I was not surprised when I saw on the television screen an image of my father saying "Did you miss me?" over and over again.

It was a ruse-an extremely well-made one which included expert computer skills. My father died. No one could fake a death with the gun that close to his face-even if he had fired a blank shot, he would be burnt by the gunpowder. Though I didn't like it, I had to accept that James Moriarty is just another decomposing body somewhere.

I have been rather infamous everyone due to him, but I'l never deny he was my father. I am Andrew Moriarty. I am-and will always be-the Consulting Criminal's son.


So, how did I do? Though I believe that Moriarty's alive, you really can't deny that the chances are kinda slim. May be edited when I'm in the mood.

~MoJ