Playthings

Jim didn't think he would pull the trigger. He honestly didn't think that Sherlock Holmes had it in him to put his precious new pet in mortal danger, but he did. The look in his pale eyes was a cold and expressionless as he fired off his gun; the explosion blowing them all backwards and out of each others sight. Lucky for Jim the device that was previously strapped to John Watson held much less power than the ones he used on his other playthings; just in case things didn't go well, he had no intentions of knocking at deaths door. Pity, his Westwood was now in shambles as he pried himself off the pool room floor, brushing off the rubble and soot from his body. Jim winced as he reached up and brushed his fingers against his temple; warm and wet with fresh blood trickling down his face. He couldn't help but smile while he looked down at his blood stained fingertips, smearing it around with his thumb before rubbing it on his trousers.

"Our game has just begun, Sherlock Holmes," Jim playfully shouted over the bits of raining debris and smoke "A game I'm going to enjoy very much."

Jim's pulse was racing; he was all worked up now, the excitement he got from seeing that flash of fear behind the great detective's eyes when he saw his dear, affectionate, Doctor had become a pawn in his fucked up game of chess, proof in itself that Sherlock Holmes did in fact have a heart and he had already given it away. Jim had the urge to reward himself, to indulge himself in a treat of sorts, to release all his built up energy in one simple act. But what would she think? What would she say if he showed up bloodied and covered in soot with that mischievous grin plastered on his face? More than likely she'd be pissed that he drug her into his ploy and then never contacted her after that day at the hospital, but she would let him in. She make sure he was well tended to and let him lie low in the odd comfort of her small apartment. Because deep down Molly Hooper was just as twisted as he was; he only had to find a way to bring the best of her to the surface.

Jim stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he waited for her to answer the door, listening carefully for the chain to unlatch and the welcomed click of the lock releasing. The corner of his mouth turned up when the sound came; revealing the pleasant sight of Molly in her robe, her chestnut brown tresses pulled up into a messy ponytail with few stray pieces falling down into her face.

"So you haven't forgotten me then?" she asked, her arms folded in front of her, looking less than pleased.

"Ahh sweet, sweet, Molly," he crooned. "I couldn't forget you if I tried." He knew she didn't have it in her to be upset with him. It was no secret that he wasn't one for domestics; but that didn't mean he couldn't play.

"Good lord Jim," she said, stepping out of the way so he could come inside, concern seeping into her warm eyes. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing to worry about, my dear. I've still got complete control over the matter."

"I can see that," she murmured half jokingly. "Now go, off to the shower. I'll have a look at that gash when you get out."

"Thank you Molly," Jim smiled, toeing off his shoes so he wouldn't make a mess of her plush cream colored carpet. She chewed her bottom lip and nodded, taking a moment to push a strand of hair out of her face.

"I'll get you some clothes."

He sighed in relief as soon as the hot water hit his aching body; the adrenaline had began to fade and he was now feeling the full effects of the blast. He rubbed the ash and small bits of imbedded tile from his body, watching the red tinted water wash down the drain as the pulsating from the shower head massaged his sore muscles.

Jim was seated on the edge of the tub with a towel wrapped around his waist, trying to dry his head without coming into contact with the wound on his head. There was a light knock on the door before Molly stepped inside; a change of clothes in one hand and a first aid kit in the other.

"Here, let me," she said, putting the clothes on the countertop and taking the towel from his hands, straddling one of his legs, she carefully wiped the clinging drops of water from his brow and gently dried his hair.

"I've been following the papers Jim," she said plainly, wetting a cotton ball with alcohol.

"And?"

"You killed that blind woman, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And you would have killed the others too?"

"If need be yes." Jim hissed as Molly wiped the alcohol across his skin. "Does it bother you Molly? Being in such close proximity to a murderer."

She sealed his wound with a few steri strips, set the kit aside and peered down into his deep mahogany eyes, letting her fingers trail down his jaw line. "Not in the slightest," she said, her breath increasing as his hands too hold of her hips, forcing her to better situate her self over his lap.

"You should be," he whispered, running his fingers up and down her spine. "You never know when I could snap." His hands tightened around her and Molly's breath hitched, her hands now running down his chest, then back up over his shoulders, securing them behind his neck.

"My life is full of death," she replied, toying with his hair. "Murder, suicide, sometimes peaceful, other times a horrid mess," Molly whispered into his ear, allowing her lips to graze his neck. "I thrive in matters of the macabre." She pulled back and locked her darkening eyes onto his, their faces only inches apart. "It excites me Jim, my god does it excite me."

He responded by quickly closing the gap between them, his lips claiming hers, gently nipping her bottom lip as his tongue begged for entrance. His hands found the tie in her robe and promptly slid the dark blue plush material off her shoulders as he explored every square inch of her bare back. Jim moved from Molly's mouth and placed hot open mouthed kisses down her neck and onto her shoulders, she whimpered and her grip tightening around him as he gently bit her soft skin; he loved that noise, and would make sure he would hear it again along with many others before nights end.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her back and stood from the tub, her legs going around him as he lifted her up onto the counter. He kissed her again, his tongue gliding over hers in a sweet slickness, moaning softly into her mouth as she used her legs to pull him closer to her. He worked his way back down her neck, over her breasts and back up again when she pulled she pulled his towel loose and let it fall to the tiled floor. He pushed into her and she let out a soft cry, burrowing her head into his neck, continuing to make those delightful little sounds. He pumped faster and her moans intensified as she bucked against him, her legs tighter still around his hips and her hands pushing into the countertop. Jim himself cried out as he reached his peak, his breathing ragged as he emptied himself inside her, holding her tightly to him.

"I guess you'll be leaving now," Molly whispered against his skin, one hand running through his hair, the other rubbing circles into his back.

"What?" Jim asked, nuzzling her neck.

"That's how it works right? You show up, you get what you need, then you leave." Molly leaned back so she could get a proper look at him. "Right?"

"So smart you are, Molly Hooper," Jim lightly laughed, tucking a few strands of loose hair behind her ear. "Tonight I'll stay, I'm far to tired not to."

"And then what? You disappear?" she asked, her voice firm but he could see the hint of sadness lurking in her eyes, the hurt that would come from the loneliness she would be forced to face.

Alone.

She was always alone. Her only true companions were the dead, and although she lived and breathed her work, Jim could sense the sorrow that was a constant underlying factor in her life.

"I'll be around, watching from the shadows, turning up when you least expect it." Jim leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now, I think it's time we sleep," he whispered bending down and fetching her robe before pulling on the t-shirt and track pants she had brought him.

Molly fell asleep with her head rested in the crook of his arm, her hand over his chest, her breathing soft and steady, completely in sync with his. She was in the same position when he woke in the morning; it was all he could do to bottle up the building guilt inside him as he gently rolled her off and onto her side, pulling the blankets up around her still form. Jim left his gun behind with a simple note beneath it on the coffee table for her to find when she got up later that morning. Gathering up the remains of his poor Westwood, Jim quietly slipped out of the door and into the stillness of the early hours.

Keep safe my dear Molly, I'd hate for anything to happen to my favorite plaything.

-J

Molly couldn't stop the smile from forming on her face as she turned the note over in her hands, studying the weapon that sat on her table top. He may have referred to her as nothing but a toy, but deep down, buried inside that dark exterior of a man; Molly Hooper knew that she had something in common with Jim Moriarty, something that couldn't be ignored for long.

By either of them.

A/N Woohoo my first Sherlock fic. I'm not one for writing slash and with all the fabulous slashy undertones my muse was dead...so I went the Jim/Molly route...cause let's face it, they are terrible twisted and meant to be!

Waiting to be betaed, will update when done. Let me know how you feel!

-Shelly