My first fic, set after HLV. I own nothing, and all errors are my own.

Chapter 1

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"

The disembodied head taunted Molly from every screen in the lab. Shock slammed her, followed quickly by ice cold, seeping numbness into her every limb. She stumbled back, heading for the office. The only thought in her mind was to grab her things from the locker room and hightail it home to the illusioned safety of her flat, and soak in the tub with a bottle of rosé. Looking up, she froze at the door, her mouth dropping open. Her computer monitor was turned around, facing the outside, replaying the same message. What had brought her very heartbeat to a halt, however, was the dead man sitting at her desk, grinning at her.

Supposed dead man, then.

Not actually dead.

All of the sudden. Molly's heart picked up again, pounding so fiercely that all she could hear was the thunderous roar of blood through her ears. She swayed and had to throw a hand into the door frame to keep herself upright. She opened her mouth before shutting it again, feeling lightheaded.

Moriarty broke his silence. "Oh no, no, no. Can't have you going and fainting on me. Not yet, at least. Got something special saved up for you."

At this, Molly lost it. She turned and fled to a trashcan a few feet away, almost reaching it before he spoke again.

"Aw come on now, Molls. Don't be like that. We have sooo much to discuss!"

She missed the can. She fell to her knees as she finished vomiting, partly hitting the can, and partly splattering the floor. She stared at it, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. They began to spill over when she felt one of his hands wind around the base of her ponytail and begin to drag her toward the exit. The new rush of fear coursing through her caused her to flail, attempting to free herself.

No good. Another hand came down like a vice on her throat and she felt the press of a body on her chest. She looked into his face, seeing the maniacal grin on his face.

"Oh Molls, we're going to have sooo much fun. Just you wait."

The last thought she had before she slipped out of consciousness was if her cat would miss her.

Molly awoke slowly, her eyes heavy and bleary. Slowly, she squinted them open, only to be greeted by the soft, fuzzy outline of Toby nuzzling her. Well, I guess that answers my question, she thought to herself.

Her eyes flew open as she remembered the circumstances surrounding that question. She sat up quickly and wildly looked around, attempting to piece together how she came to be back in her flat, or how she was even still alive. The effort caused her head to spin, and she flopped back onto her bed, watching the ceiling spin.

She shut her eyes, feeling as though the world were turning round and round.

Drugs. It's got to be drugs, that's why I feel as though I've been on a bender. But why?

Moreover, if it's drugs, why do I feel as if I'm in the midst of an awful-

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed, rolling off the bed and running for the toilet. She made it just in time to empty the contents of her stomach into it. She heaved breaths in and out, attempting to regroup. Her head felt ready to explode, and she wished for painkillers. Getting them would require movement, however, which she was afraid to attempt, given the state of her stomach. She collapsed against the tub, resting her cheek on the cool porcelain, trying to recall the chain of events that brought her here. All of the evidence suggested a massive bender resulting in an enormous hangover, but the fear and shock of seeing Moriarty materialize in her office would not be written off as a drunken hallucination. She knew what she saw.

She knew what his hands felt like wrapped in her hair.

Wrapped around her neck.

One of her hands snaked up to touch her throat tenderly. The soreness could be dehydration, she knew. She pulled herself up to the sink and took a look at her reflection. Red, puffy eyes and a bleak complexion greeted her. She leaned in closer, examining her throat, and noting the slight markings lining over her slender neck.

Not just a hangover then.

The gravity of the situation hit her again, and she placed her hands on the sink. They began to shake as she stared at herself, cataloging her body and the aches and pains.

What happened after I lost consciousness?

All she knew was that, for some reason, Moriarty had delivered her home, seemingly drunk. For what purpose, she knew not. It was glaringly obvious that she needed to pay a certain consulting detective a visit.