He gazed at her delicate and lithe neck, wanting to touch, to squeeze his hands wrapped around it; he wanted to strangle her, not for anything in particular she had done, besides being so completely ordinary like the rest of the world, but because he wanted to feel her silky skin bulge slightly between his fingers, warm and soothing, as he gripped tighter and tighter.
He lusted for the feeling of her body, writhing, and the pain that was sure to come to his hands and arms as she clawed at him in her soon ending struggle for air…
But though her simpleness was monotonous, he only looked, did not touch.
At the same time as his violent musings, he only wished to graze his fingers across her cheek gently, to grasp her smooth brown hair and breathe in its tropical scent.
He had a strange attraction to the short and practical coroner.
This particular emotion confused him; it wasn't quite lust or even love.
For all his genius, he could not figure out what it was that pulled him nearer to her.
He strolled into the room and quietly walked behind her, lifting a tendril of her hair and smelling it, closing his eyes and relishing in her scent.
She whipped around and gasped when she saw his face.
He grinned.
The fear in her eyes amused him, making him chuckle.
"James…Moriarty?" she breathed in her fright and confusion, her brown eyes wide.
He let his eyes slowly study her from head to toe.
"Hello, Molly." Moriarty purred, his face hovering in front of hers; his skin tingled when her breath warmed it.
His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders.
Moriarty's eyes lingered on Molly's lips; he remembered how sweet she tasted.
He licked his lips, absently.
'Oh…Little Miss Hooper…' he thought.
"Tell me, where are you hiding Sherlock Holmes?"