*smiles sheepishly* I realise that this is not a very good way to begin my return... but, here we are. This is simply an alternative to the prompt, "Person A calls Person B while dying and is all normal on the phone." If you know, I have already done a version where Sherlock dies. This is the other side of it.
Yes. Angsty angst angst. Sadness everywhere.
For InMollysWildestDreams and TheHolmesSister.
Inside Molly Hooper's apartment, beside the giant bookshelf, Molly kept another small shelf. This shelf was wholly unremarkable in what was kept in it, for it held things which were very typical of people who held onto sentiment. There was a photograph of her best friend and herself, a picture of her father and herself, and one of both her parents. Aside from that, there was a small stuff toy, which possibly held meaning to her alone.
The only thing that was out of place on this shelf was a coffee cup. A cup which would have fit very well in the dustbin, had been placed on that shelf as if it was a treasured possession. The cup held nothing else, nothing at all, not even a phone number. The completely blank cup was the only one among the shelf that held an elementary of mystery.
Jim Moriarty picked the cup up first, staring at it with an amused expression. Molly stared at hi, frozen in place, her eyes darting.
"How typical, Miss Molly," said Jim enthusiastically. "It's perfectly adorable!"
"Yeah?" asked Molly, nostrils flaring. "You wouldn't even know what it meant."
"Oh, you underestimate me," said Jim, rolling his eyes dramatically. "It's really not that hard to guess."
"Mmhmm?" asked Molly, her fingers moving swiftly, trying to escape from her bonds. The chair was not very helpful, as it made sure that she could not move.
"Oh, I don't think it would help a lot," said Jim, without looking at her even once. Molly blew away the hair from her face.
"Why this?" she asked, finally. "Why now? Why me?"
"Good golly, Miss Molly. I knew you were slow, but I did not expect you to be this slow!" said Jim. "Now because now is a good time. Your little boyfriend was being sent out of the country, and I was on a good path to set up a new network. This because I can do such delicious things with you in such a position. Don't worry, I'm not quite as odious as Mr. Magnussen. However, I do have some… things in mind for the woman who bested me."
"I did not best you," said Molly, focusing on trying to keep his attention occupied while she tried to remove the bonds. "That was Sherlock."
"Oh, I know," said Jim thoughtfully. "Sherlock was the one who took down the criminal empire, he was the one who survived, who beat me. But… well, I don't quite know how to explain it –" he paused, turning to her. Molly immediately stopped fiddling.
"Oh, you might as well continue," drawled Jim. Molly glared at him. "You won't get out. See, Sherlock may be the one who caused my downfall, it was you who beat me. You orchestrated his death, his life and later saved him. You are the one I would like to get rid of."
Before Molly knew it, he had pounced on the chair, without touching her, staring into her eyes, his breath contaminating her face. "Every second of his return, I wondered. In my coma, and I my thoughts, I wondered. It was you. You vile, disgusting little cheater. This is not how we play the game. One angel and one devil, that's how it is."
"You had your demons," said Molly, glaring right back.
"But he was supposed to have four angels!" said Jim his mouth frothing. "Four, Molly Hooper, four! Where did you come from?"
Molly, leaning as far back as possible, hissed, "Try to not spit, please."
Molly's hand came free off the ropes – she aimed her free hand to the best of her abilities, focusing on fracturing him as her medical training had taught her.
Please hit, please hit, please hit, come ON!
It was a bit irrelevant, for her punch landed straight into his hand. Molly did not see him reach out into his pocket for the gun, but he must have, for it was pointing straight at her.
Molly focused on evening out her breathing, told herself to think straight, and looked at him head on.
"Brave little Molly Hooper," whispered Jim. "Let's call your boyfriend, shall we? Yes… let's do that…"
The gun did not shift while he felt inside her coat for a phone. Molly continued to force herself to focus, remembering everything that might be useful, any code she could use, anything she could say to make Sherlock know.
"It won't work," said Jim as he pressed the call button. "Codes won't work until it's too late."
Her breathing was already taking so much effort; the gasp did not seem out of place. "All right," she whispered. "I shall simply speak to him."
Jim grinned at her toothily, putting the phone on speaker as he did so. Molly fought back all her tears and waited.
Ring.
Maybe he wouldn't pick up.
Ring.
Maybe she'd just die here without him knowing.
Ring.
"What is it, Molly?" came the crisp voice from the other side.
"You picked up!" said Molly, without keeping the surprise out of her voice.
"That is the purpose of phones, is it not?" asked Sherlock, irritated. "To talk to one another via an elaborate system of outer space signals which convert one set of sounds into electrical impulses which further convey it to another side?"
Molly laughed, and even though she tried to not make it watery, she failed.
"Is everything alright?" asked Sherlock suddenly. "Something sounds wrong."
Behind her, Jim giggled.
"No, nothing," sniffed Molly. "Sherlock, could you do me a favour?" asked Molly suddenly.
"What?" asked Sherlock.
"Do me a deduction."
Jim's mouth made a very curious 'O' and he laughed at her.
"Why on earth?" asked Sherlock. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I promise!" said Molly. "Just look around and deduce someone please."
There was a pause on the other end. "There's a woman who is walking down the street with her dog. He has discipline issues, you can tell by the scar on her finger. She's considering having him neutered, there's a little slip from the vet. It's the only logical conclusion, since the dog seems to be in the prime of his health."
Molly laughed just a little bit, while Jim almost looked nostalgic underneath the mania.
"Two daughters, on bad terms with both of them. Divorced, which is ridiculous, her husband was not cheating on her, not matter what she thinks. Well off, but worried about her business. Pretty boring, actually. Now what's wrong?"
"Sherlock," whispered Molly, her voice becoming laboured. "I wish I could tell you." Tears ran down her face.
"Aww," mouthed Jim.
"I wish I could, I really do," Molly continued, without paying attention. "There's a box in my closet, I'd appreciate it if you went through it."
"Molly, what's wrong?" asked Sherlock, his voice alarmed. "Where are you? What are you doing?"
"I have a really bad memory," whispered Molly. "Don't you know that?" Jim seemed to be laughing again. "How cute," he said softly.
"Yes, I do," sighed Sherlock. "What's happened? We don't need to talk about you forgetting to put baking soda in your cake, please."
"I'm sorry about that," chuckled Molly.
"Ooohh, what did you do?" asked Jim, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.
"Maybe you'll know in another life," said Molly viciously. "Now let me talk!"
"Molly, is someone with you?" Molly could almost hear him pacing. "I can hear someone with you."
"Nobody – it's just the telly."
"Then why are you crying!" he said, frustrated.
"Because I'm sad," said Molly. "That's what people do when they are sad."
Jim raised his eyebrows at her.
"You don't," said Sherlock finally. "I've only seen you cry once, maybe twice."
"I try to avoid doing it around you," supplied Molly.
"Why are you sad, Molly Hooper?" asked Sherlock.
"Yes, why are you?" whispered Jim.
"I'm sad because – because – I'm going to die, and I don't think I will find time for a good replacement at Barts. I'm sad because I'm a pathetic woman who can never let anything go and keeps stupid coffee cups. Who keeps coffee cups as morbid reminders, Sherlock? Who?"
"Molly, what are you talking about? Where are you? What coffee cups? What's wrong? I'm coming to your apartment, alright? Just sit tight."
"It's too late, Sherlock Holmes," breathed Molly, her heart panging. "Too late."
She heard John indiscreetly in the background. She ignored all of it.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" she said. "And Sherlock?"
"Molly, please, just listen –"
"Yes, do listen," said Jim, eyes glittering.
"Sherlock, you listen!" said Molly. "I only have a few more minutes.
"Fine – fine. Stop being so melodramatic, you'll be fine, whatever you say."
"Very well," said Molly.
She paused, taking a deep breath. "Sherlock Holmes? Do you fancy a coffee sometime?" she asked.
There was a silence.
"Molly, please, just tell me what's wrong. I'll make it right, whatever it is – you count, for heaven's sake -"
Jim smiled at Molly. Molly adjusted herself in her chair, while Jim turned the phone to face him.
"That was her very pathetic way of telling you she loved you," he said to the phone with a grin. "I'm sure you won't mind –"
"Moriarty – you – leave her –"
"I am so very afraid I have to go," sang Jim. "Goodbye!"
The shot rang true and well, straight into Molly Hooper's brown head. Mrs. Patterly from down the hall dropped her tea cup, and wondered what all the fuss was about, while the deaf Bates continued playing bridge. The phone fell to the floor, and Jim Moriarty cleaned his suit, staring at her lifeless body.
"Pity. What a waste," he said dully. He walked out of the apartment as the phone echoed in the apartment with distant cries of "Molly! Molly, pick up! This isn't a very funny joke. I love you, for god's sake, stop it at once!"
I am DESPERATELY sorry for that.
And yes, Mockingbirds is finally seeing the light of day again. I shall post it as soon as done!