Chapter Text
“Hello, my own.”
The brunette froze, needle hovering above the last stitch. Molly turned, eyes wide, sure she was dreaming.
“Jim?” she clutched at the table, inadvertently bumping into her pale patient.
He stood at ease, hands in his pockets, jacket casually slung in the crook of his elbow. He was smiling but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You look well. How long has it been, Molly?” His voice was dangerously soft.
“Um, I-I’m not sure.”
“Yes, you are.” Jim’s eyes were dark granite as he stepped closer, pressing her until the metal lip of the table bit into her back.
Her body responded to his nearness immediately, rocketing back into old habits faster than she could think. She felt too hot, too small, too stretched. Molly dragged her eyes away from his and took a breath to calm herself. “What do you want?”
He raised a thumb and brushed her trembling lips. “You.”
She felt a tug in her chest at the sweet low tone, the bright piercing eyes, but she tried to remember all the reasons she left.
“Why?” she demanded, when what she really meant was Why now?
“Because, Moll. We’re right for each other.”
“I’m not that girl anymore. I’m mostly normal. Look!” she gestured vaguely at the morgue.
“I am looking, Moll. Wanna know what I see?” he leaned closer, lips resting just above her ear, “Fire, smouldering just below the surface where no one notices. Fire afraid of being snuffed out. I never smothered your flames, my own.”
“Y-y-you shouldn’t be here.” she cringed away from his warmth.
“Because I’m right? Because it’s you who shouldn’t be here?”
She couldn’t look – he was all around her, hot flesh pushing against hers through the satin layer of his shirt. She mentally dug her nails into that picture of who she wanted to be, how far she’d come, and then she met Jim’s gaze.
“Don’t you love me anymore, my own?” he said it with a coy smile but she’d known him the longest, could see the sincerity.
“I shouldn’t. You’re dangerous.”
“Am I? Am I dangerous to you?”
She bit her lip, wanting so painfully to reach up and touch his face. “Yes.”
Jim laughed. “I want you to introduce me to someone.”
“Who could I possibly introduce you to?”
“Sherlock Holmes.” He whispered the name reverently, looking almost as awed as Molly herself.
“Why? You’re not going to…well, do something to him, are you?” she panicked, suddenly afraid Jim was playing the jealous lover.
“It’s not about you, dearest.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m going to send him a message. Is there a problem?”
She felt like there was something stuck in her throat but swallowing did nothing to help.
“Are you going to tell me what it’s about?” she said, trying not to hate herself and almost succeeding.
“I just told you.”
“No, you gave one of your cryptic assurances. What do you want with Sherlock?”
His features hardened. “It doesn’t work that way, Moll. You only get to play for one team.”
“I haven’t picked yours yet.”
He raised a brow. “And you think there’s even the slightest chance you won’t?”
“I’m not a sad teenager now.”
“No, you’re a sad single thirty-something wasting her potential.”
She could taste the anger thick and bitter on her tongue. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? Always so clever, getting in my head! Well I know some things about you, James, so don’t think I’ll be swept away by the show like everyone else!”
She was panting, chest tight as he stared at her. Then Jim’s arms closed around her waist and hers shot up over his shoulders, and by a combined bodily lunge they fell back onto the nearest unoccupied table. Jim’s fingers were powerful and severe as he ripped her trousers open but Molly could feel the frantic need underneath.
“It’s alright, Jimmy, I’m yours, I’m yours, always yours.”
“You promise? You promise, my own? You won’t leave again?” he muttered as he battered her neck with kisses.
She wrapped her legs tighter around him as he slid inside. “I promise.”
*****
He was lounging over her couch, tapping away on his phone with unrestrained glee. It made Molly feel very young again and a little giddy, but some part of her held onto old concerns. “What mischief are you up to now?”
“Do you really want to know?” Jim asked, actually looking interested in her answer.
“Maybe. Maybe not yet.” She screwed up her nose.
“All in time, my sweet. Come keep me company.” He raised his arm, inviting her in.
Molly snuggled up against the genius gladly, resting her head on his lap as he stroked her curls.
“Do you remember that night we went down to the river and sat up til sunrise?” he said softly.
Molly smiled. “You almost fell asleep twice.”
“And your mother grounded you for two weeks.”
“And you snuck in through my window to see me anyway,” Molly’s smile changed slowly into something else, and she reached out a hand to grab Jim’s, “I missed you.”
He kissed their joined fingers. “I know.”
“Jim, I’ve got to head over to St Bart’s. There’s been some kind of weird accident and they need all hands on deck.” Molly said breathlessly as she wrapped a scarf around her neck.
He didn’t look up from the TV. “Be careful, my darling.”
Molly was not a child. She knew when Jim was hiding something, was probably the only person on Earth who knew it. The too-casual way he brushed her off was highly suspicious. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
She walked down to the street and slipped into an all-night deli where she could see the flat’s front door. Molly waited for ten minutes, and was about to give up and go to the hospital anyway when a black car arrived and Jim left the building, sliding into the back seat. The car turned down the road and Molly ran out to hail a cab.
They followed Jim’s car to an old school building, big and tatty and deathly quiet. She recognised it with a shock that made her feel sick for a second before turning to something warmer, something nostalgic. Jim disappeared inside with a group of men and Molly waited for a moment, torn. Did she really want to know what Jim was doing in there, of all places? Then Sherlock got out of a cab and her heart stopped.
By the time Molly had crossed the road and found her way into the pool building, she could hear voices. Sherlock and his friend, that John fellow, by the sounds of it. She had a cold achy feeling in her stomach as she hovered outside the doors. Someone was going to get hurt.
“I gave you my number. I thought you might call!”
She almost bit through her lip. Of course. Sherlock was in Jim’s way. The whole of Europe wasn’t big enough for the two of them, let alone London. And here she stood outside the final showdown, literally on the threshold. Choosing time.
Molly swung the door open and took a small, quiet step into the room. Yet all three men noticed her instantly, and she wasn’t surprised.
“Molly? What are you doing here?” Sherlock frowned with a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance.
Jim gave her almost the same look. “Indeed. This was a private party.”
“Are you going to kill them?” Molly ignored them, staring Jim down.
“Maybe. Depends on how bored I feel,” Jim shrugged, “Does it bother you, Moll? Come to beg me to reconsider? Come to rescue the great Sherlock Holmes? It’s disappointing you want to spend your life in the background.”
“No. I wanted to know where you were going. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He raised a brow. “I thought you weren’t interested in my work.”
Sherlock took a step towards her. “Molly, what’s going on?”
“Sherlock, I messed up my introductions earlier. Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes. He’s brilliant at thinking and crap with people, and even though he knows how clever you are he’s still underestimating you.”
“Most people do.” Jim sighed heavily.
“Sherlock, this is Jim. When we were twelve I broke my arm and he carried me all the way home. When we were fourteen he set fire to a house and I hid the kerosene. When we were sixteen we ran away for a month and lived off pick-pocketing, crisps and cheap wine.”
John looked incredulous and Sherlock’s eyes grew wider as he pieced it together, but Jim just watched her steadily, unreadable.
“When we were twenty my dad died and I got scared. I went home. I tried to hide. And that was a huge fucking mistake.”
She walked past Sherlock, past John, to where Jim was waiting with the slightest smirk.
“Because I could never really hide from Jim, and I could certainly never hide from myself.”
“And you shouldn’t have to, my own.” He purred.
“I don’t understand.” Sherlock said flatly.
“Of course you don’t, Sherlock. You’ve never understood me. And that’s okay.” Molly smiled sadly.
“You’re a good person. Moriarty is clearly not. What possible sentiment could exist between you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not the girl you think.”
“Molly my love, as much as I am enjoying this unmasking of Sherlock’s greatest flaw, I was in the middle of some very nice threats.”
John glanced at her. “You have to be joking. He’s insane! He killed twelve people!”
Jim chuckled. “Twelve? You underestimate me Dr Watson. I’m not the big fish - I’m the whole fucking pond.”
“Molly.” Sherlock breathed it, halfway between a prayer and a plea, something like a revelation.
“I’m sorry, Sherlock. This is between the two of you. And I like you, really, but I’m leaving with Jim no matter what happens,” she turned to the grinning madman and gently rested her hand on his elbow, “Though Jimmy, if you’re not going to kill him can we hurry this along? I’m bored of Sherlock Holmes.”
She gripped him ever so subtly and his lip curled back. “In that case, let’s get it over with.”
He snapped his fingers and a dozen red lights went out.
“Sorry boys, we’ll finish this some other day. The lady’s made me a much more entertaining offer.”
He offered Molly his arm and she took it, following him to the door at the far side of the pool. They were almost all the way there before she glanced back.
The door slammed shut behind them and John immediately let out a huge breath. Sherlock hurried over to help him take the vest off, flinging it away.
“What the hell was that? Was that really Molly? Sweet, lovestruck Molly?”
“Yes.” The detective said quietly, still staring at the door.
“All this time she was Moriarty’s old flame?”
“I suppose.”
“And she was going to just stand there and watch him kill us.”
“I very much doubt it. She saved our lives.”
John’s face crinkled. “Come again?”
“I didn’t expect a man as calculating as Jim Moriarty would respond to the mere offer of sex, but obviously Miss Hooper was right. I greatly overlooked them both. I won’t make that mistake again.”
*****
Jim moved them both into a posh new flat the next day. Everything was sharp and stylised and it reminded Molly of the morgue in more ways than one. It was a comforting thought.
The only thing Jim didn’t move was Toby, since the kitten was out prowling at the time. Molly cursed the little fluff ball as she made her way up the dark stairs to her old place. She’d much rather be exploring her new office or testing out the enormous king-sized bed. She opened the door and reached for the light before remembering Jim had already disconnected it.
“You know, sometimes he’s a little too efficient,” She sighed, “Toby? Toby!”
A torch flicked on and she almost shrieked. Sherlock sat cross-legged in the middle of the empty room where her couch used to be. She vaguely wondered where it was now – it hadn’t made the trip to the new place with the rest of her stuff. Not part of Jim’s décor, apparently.
“Hello, Molly.”
“What are you doing here, Sherlock?” Her voice was calm, her hand already inching towards the gun in her waistband.
The detective’s face was all crags and shadows in the dim torchlight. “I must admit you piqued my curiosity last night. I have a few questions.”
“Well I don’t think I should be talking to you. We’re not really on the same side anymore, Sherlock.”
“Moriarty was going to kill us and you stopped him. Our side might not be so different, Molly.”
She shrugged. “I stopped him this time. I am fond of you, Sherlock, but I can’t do it again.”
He nodded as if he expected nothing less. “Still, thank you all the same.”
A week ago she would have been shocked at gratitude from the great Sherlock Holmes but now she just smiled. “I hope I didn’t upset Dr Watson too much.”
“He’ll live.” Sherlock reached into his lap and held up a small black and white puff.
“Toby! There you are, naughty little thing.” Molly took him, bundling the kitten in her arms.
“Be careful, Molly Hooper. Moriarty is not a man to be trusted.”
She just smiled. “There’s an exception to every rule, Sherlock.”
*****
“More tea?”
“Thank you.”
Jim poured a cup for them both and pushed Molly’s across the table. He glanced at the office tower opposite their hotel and resettled his sunglasses on his nose. “Have I mentioned you’re looking very Audrey Hepburn today?”
Molly lowered her own huge white circular frames and wriggled her brows. “When in Paris.”
Jim bit his lip. “Hmm. I might have to cut this short and take you inside to be ravished.”
“Business before pleasure, dearest.” Molly sang.
“Very well.”
He reached into his pocket and drew out a small remote. Jim pressed the button and there was a massive roar and screech of glass as one of the windows below them burst outwards in a cloud of orange and grey. The smoke drifted up past their balcony as sirens started far away and got steadily closer.
“Satisfied?” Jim pouted.
“Not yet, but it’s a start.”
His smile grew wolf-like as the Irishman stood and offered his hand. “Shall we?”
“Here – explosion at the head office of France’s largest bank.” Sherlock pointed to the laptop screen.
John peered over his shoulder. “Says it killed a minor securities investor. Why would anyone bother to blow up a bank for someone so insignificant?”
“No one is insignificant John, no one.” Sherlock frowned as he skimmed the rest of the article.
John straightened up with a pained face. “This is about her again.”
“She was probably involved.”
“When are you going to stop beating yourself up about this? Sherlock, Molly fooled everyone. You can’t obsess. Mycroft and Lestrade never picked it either.”
Something flitted across Sherlock’s face that was almost like guilt, but John didn’t get much of a look before his features settled into their usual cynicism. “I am not Mycroft or Lestrade. The facts were right there, I just never bothered to look.”
“Now who’s seeing but not observing.” John muttered as he went back to his chair.
Sherlock grabbed a much-leafed through file from the desk and turned to the first page. “Molly Hooper, born in Cork. Moved to Brighton with her parents at age ten.”
“Yes Sherlock, you’ve read it before-”
“Went to school with one Carl Powers.” Sherlock continued.
“And Moriarty.”
“Yes Moriarty, though he wasn’t called that then. Someone’s done a good job hiding them both because even with what I know about Molly I can’t find a single thing on Jim, and according to the one classmate I could find who would talk to me, the pair were inseparable!”
“Okay! So we’re not much better off. Worse really, since now Molly’s working with him and she knows your methods. What can we do about it?”
Sherlock strode over to the window angrily and rested his fist on the glass. “Nothing. Yet.”