Hello everyone! I know I've been really sucky with updating Miss Me Molls, but well here we go with this new story co-written with Consultingangelofthetimelord . I hope you guys like it.
It was much more fun then she had imagined. Observing him. Hearing him tear her down. Watching him look over her with that barely there acknowledgment. Oh silly silly boy. So beautiful, so brilliant, but so very stupid. He was everything she wanted and Molly was a very patient girl. She'd watched him for years. Ever since he'd first inquired about Powers. The boy who'd made her so miserable when she was a child and for years he'd seen past her. He'd never noticed. Not once and she reveled in her small victories. The poor man, as brilliant as he was, he reeked of arrogance, not that she could blame him. He was as deserving of it as she was, but it blinded him. It almost made her sad. Watching Richard say her words, getting to be there with Sherlock as the game unfold, but she was winning, she was the victor, and she wondered how long he it would take for him to realize that even though "Moriarty" was dead nothing had changed.
Richard was a lovely man, dull, but brilliant in his field. Molly couldn't pick just anyone to play herself. No he had to be perfect and he was. Richard was entertaining in a variety of ways, till he stopped being useful and she got bored. Then he had to go. It was all a matter of waiting. He'd come back eventually, following her trail, putting away the men she left for him. And when he did, she'd be there. Waiting. Waiting for her silly boy to come home.
You'd think that by cutting off the head of the snake, the rest of the body would begin to wither. Take the spider from the web, and what is a web but an annoyance. But this… this was not right. Sherlock did everything, went through the motions, tracking Moriarty's criminal empire, dismantling it- but nothing seemed to change. Nothing at all.
Perhaps he had a man to take over in the event of his death. Yes, that seemed the only reasonable explanation. After three years of fighting, of running, and nothing changing? Something was just not right. And the trail. The trail led right back to London. It all started to make sense.
He needed to go back to London, find who took over, and travel from the inside out, dismantle the web from the inside out, top to bottom. Once in London, he pulled his hooded sweatshirt close, the hood covering his face. He couldn't risk being noticed. He slipped through the city until he got to Molly's flat. Molly, the only one to know he was alive. That timid, mousy Pathologist that he never realized how important she truly was until he was about to die. And she came through.
He shook his head. Of course she'd come through for him now, give him a place to stay while he tracked this mysterious new person down. He gave a quick rap at her door.
Molly was sitting with Toby, the tabby who not only helped confirm her act, but she even had a small affection for the animal. Her fingers drifted lazily through the cats soft fur as she stared into the emptiness of her flat as the TV flashed with some dull program. Appearances. Every moment had to be modeled in such a way that there was no option but to believe that Molly Moriarty was in fact Molly Hooper. So many plans rushed through her head, so many possibilities, so many ideas; however, they were silenced when a sharp rap cut through the haze. Dropping into the familiar act that was Molly Hooper, she formed her face into a mask of confusion and then shock when she opened the door.
Oh her boy was home and he looked..delicious. Exhausted, ragged, far from the glory that he once was. Molly reached forward and pulled him inside. She looked frightened, as if she was scared that someone might see him, that he might be in danger, but inside she was grinning. The game was back. She could play again.
"Sherlock.." his name was a breathy question. A plea for explanation. A wash of concern.
"I missed something," he said, going into her flat, letting her usher him in. He practically collapsed on her sofa, pulling off the hoodie, tossing it to the end of the sofa and he sighed. "Some tea, Molly. No, it's obvious, its stupid that I didn't think about it before. Of course he would have had someone that knew his secrets, his goings, and set them up to take over once he was gone. They're here, Molly, in London." He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Get any boyfriends lately?" That was his bad attempt at a joke.
Molly watched him with eager eyes hidden behind avid concern. She listened to that voice which had torn little Molly Hooper down again and again and it sent shivers down her spine. Gods she'd missed it. He was wrong of course. She didn't have anyone. Not even dear Sebastian. The empire was her creation to leave behind her boredom. What happened after her eventual death didn't concern her. She let herself fall into Molly, she let his words sting her, she let her lips fall into a sheltered smile to hide the small pain his words caused. She made the tea and in a moment of rebellion, in a moment where she simply could no resist, she positioned the cups the same way he had done with Richard. Oh she'd watched, and it was funny. Sherlock's small barb.
"No, no boyfriends and what do you mean? They're here? Shouldn't they have moved they're base after his death? Laid low? That's the smart thing to do isn't it?" she asked her eyes locked on him.
"You'd think," he responded, absentmindedly taking a tea cup. "It doesn't make sense. Staying in London after what happened," he shook his head as he took a sip. "No, its not what I would do at all, which makes me think that whoever is in control now is no where near as intelligent as Moriarty was." He set down the tea cup and looked over at Molly. "I need to use your flat, of course."
"I love how nicely you ask." she said a hint of annoyance to her voice. Just the slightest bit, just enough for him to believe. Molly was annoyed. Molly would see how this could be a bad idea. Molly would have rules. Leaning forward she let her eyebrows draw in such a fashion that it looked as if she was struggling with what she was going to say. "Sherlock, I'd do anything you asked, you know that, but if you're going to stay here, we have to discuss some things." Molly would feel bad about this, about offending him, but the real Molly, she was ecstatic. He was going to be here, under her thumb, in her flat, and he didn't know what he was getting himself into. Silly silly boy.
She knew he'd come to her first, he had to, and she knew that he'd stay with her. She'd planned it that way. When her poor boy realized he'd be caught in her web, unable to escape and he would be livid. She wanted to see that look come across his face. When he realized who she was, when he fit it all together. And then she'd kill him. To have him realize that the one person who never mattered was pulling all the strings. It made her shake.
And what guidelines are you presuming to place, hmm?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked to her. "You know you're the only one I can come to, Molly." There. Those words were sure to make Molly calmer, less irritated with him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the sofa. It had been far too long since he was able to just sit and relax, even for a moment. It was times like this he wished he still had his violin.
Molly leaned back in her chair and for a moment just let him breathe. Everything had to be timed. Ten seconds of silence. Half a second for Molly to hesitate. Another second before she would speak. "Just try to be nice okay? I'm not your maid, I'm not your girlfriend or you mother. I'm not going to clean up after you, don't expect me to make food for you. You're responsible for you're own health. I have a job and I have a lie to maintain and I'm not going to juggle that and you. I'm you're friend and I'm your colleague. I'm not John and if I'm going to keep lying for you, let you stay here, then I expect you to treat me well." she explained meeting his eyes with a hard resilience that did not allow room for argument. "You're not going to destroy my flat with your experiments, anything you destroy you replace. Stay away from my photos and anything that could have sentimental value to me. Those are the rules and if you break them then you have to leave."
Molly Hooper adored Sherlock Holmes and she was gullible, kind, smart, but ultimately boring, at least that is how she was supposed to appear to Sherlock, but he needed to see a new side of her, a stronger side of her. The her when he's not around. How he saw her needed to change and this was just he beginning.
"Did I ask you to mother me?" He snapped back. "No. I asked you to merely allow me a place to stay. I do not have the necessities here for experiments, nor do I have the time. This will merely be a place that I will stay when I run out of energy, or need to be alone to think. I don't eat when I'm working, digestion slows me down, so food won't be a problem. You can go on with your life and pretend that I am not even here."
Yes, but you won't be alone. This is my home, and I know you Sherlock. I know how you are. You're inconsiderate, you're rude, you don't mind tearing me down and you have a habit of manipulating me and ordering me about. You didn't ask me to mother you, but everyone mothers you. Mycroft, John, Lestrade, and now me. If we don't you'd die of starvation or get yourself killed because you smarted off to the wrong person, but you've got to learn to deal with it on you're own. I'm not going to deal with your childishness. You can stay, but I'm not going to let you walk over me. Three years is a long time. People change." Molly said letting some of her real fury show through. Molly Hooper, wasn't real, but Molly was hers. Her creation and in a manner Sherlock dismissing her, lashing out, it wasn't just Molly Hooper, and although a part of her reveled in that complete ignorance he dwelled in, another grew angry, another facilitated the anger and malice she felt for Sherlock Holmes.
Standing Molly cleared her throat. "Bathroom is down the hall, to the left of that is the guest bedroom, feel free to the kitchen, and lock the door before you go to sleep." she said pointing in accordance to her words. "Now I'm going to sleep, if there is an emergency you know where I am." she said solidly before giving him a tight smile and turning from him.
Sherlock was quiet. Molly had changed. She was no longer merely that timid pathologist and he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Molly Hooper. He watched her intently, and finally pulled away his gaze. Yes. She was different. Something was off. But what it was, he couldn't tell. And that's what made him even more upset.
"You've changed," he said slowly. "Quite a bit."
Molly pulled her lip between her teeth and turned to him. Her dark eyes met his blue ones. She had to let the anger she felt bleed into Molly. The irritation. "Three years of lying to everyone you love sort of does that. Maybe not you someone like you, but for someone like me, seeing them like that, miserable, heartbroken. It kills you." with every word she said her tone shifted from irritated to extreme sadness. Molly showed Sherlock how lying to everyone for him had in a way killed her. Molly was gone, at least most of the Molly he knew. Straightening herself Molly shifted. "Look I've got work, so I'm going to sleep."
She turned once more and as she walked down the hall she felt herself grin, scenario after scenario playing in her head. Each plan shifting. The game was going to change.