Title: A Bright Hot Light
Author: porpoise-song
Characters: Moriarty!Molly, Moran!Jim, Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson.
Rating: Pretty much a G.
Disclaimer: Unless I want Weeping Angels and the Crack to follow me (Steven Moffat), umbrella marks on my body (Mark Gattis), red coats storming my place (BBC), and a Victorian Age dressed zombie chasing me (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle), I need to say that I own absolutely nothing.
Summary: From sherlockbbc_fic: "'I think I'll do just a touch of murder tonight.'
'A... touch of murder?'
'Mmmyes. Just a bit. Helps me sleep, you know.'
Warnings: Nothing really. Except that Sherlock has an arch-enemy by the name of Moriarty.
A/N: Written for anonymous for sherlockbbc_fic prompt. Moriarty happens to be Molly, however, Sherlock doesn't know this. But, what's even worse, is that Molly Hooper still works at St. Bart's and, thus, with Sherlock.
It's after eleven o'clock on a Thursday night. It had been a dreadfully cold and wet day with overcast skies and the general atmosphere just made one want to go back to bed. On this particular night, we find one Molly Moriarty and Jim Moran in bed; the disheveled soft, expensive silk sheets barely clothing their limp, warm, and boneless bodies.
He rests his head on Molly's taut belly and, now, she's absentmindedly, but gently stroking his brown hair, her dark, bright eyes fixed on the ceiling. She's not looking at anything in particular, but, clearly activity is going on behind those eyes and in that brilliant head of her's.
They were lying in a comfortable silence when Molly places her arm on her forehead and says, "I think I'll do just a touch of murder tonight." The words send shivers down Jim's spine by the way she says it with such a sweet airiness.
"A...touch of murder?" She can feel his cheek curve in a smirk on her belly and hear the excitement in his voice.
She lets out a content sigh. "Mmmyes. Just a bit. Helps me sleep, you know."
He turns his head to her and peers at her expressionless face through his dark eyelashes. "And this doesn't?"
"Nothing amuses me more than watching that man and his little monkey dance", she tells him tonelessly. "Besides"—a small coy smirk lights up her face and she glances down at him—"gotta keep Sherlock on his toes now, don't we?"
Sherlock quickly enters their sitting room, reaching for his black trench coat and blue scarf, hastily hanging on the doorposts.
"Where you going?" John casually asks him as he keeps his eyes focused on his netbook.
"Lestrade called", Sherlock mutters in his confined giddy voice. "Someone was murdered near Russell Square."
John's eyes flicker to the clock at the bottom of the netbook's screen. "It's after midnight, Sherlock."
"Spot-on deduction, John. I'd say you're almost on par with me", he ties the scarf around his neck.
John pointedly rolls his eyes. "Sherlock...you've been up for almost a week chasing after Moriarty. Congratulations—you solved his puzzles and, now, you need sleep." Concern was edging into John's tired voice. Not only had Sherlock been up for a week, but he was too. His to-do list was to finish typing up the case then some well-deserved sleepy-time.
"I think I'll do just a touch of murder tonight." Sherlock's eyes flashed with mischievousness and an upward curve appeared on his lips.
"A...touch of murder?" John lets out warily and turns off his netbook. He knows exactly where this is going and he knows that he is going to go along with it with little to no resistance.
"Mmmyes. Just a bit. Helps me sleep, you know." He exits the flat and takes a few steps down the stairs before shouting over his shoulder, "Coming along?"