Chapter 1: Explosions and explanations
Author's note: So obviously I own nothing Sherlock. I mean I bear no resemblance to Mark Gatiss or Steven Moffat (believe me I double checked.) Any way this is supposed to take place after the events of Season One and will most likely be completely AU after that because not only had I started before Season Two, but I haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing it yet. (I know I'm a horrible person but I swear there are extenuating circumstances.)
Normally it was the silence Molly Hooper loved best about her job. It both soothed and calmed her to be in the morgue with those who had passed. They never demanded anything from her or made her feel like she was less than what she was. No they stayed peaceful and quiet and left her with her thoughts. Unfortunately ever since the night the pool blew up the silence had been driving Molly nuts and her thoughts had been anything but calm. It seemed as if lately every spare part of her brain had been screaming at her about what a fool she was to fall for Jim's lies. Jim from IT, sweet little Jim, who was really James Moriarty mad bomber and consulting criminal extraordinaire. How had she managed to be so pathetic, and desperate to get over her silly little crush on Sherlock Holmes that she had fallen for the first thing that had come along and shown an interest in her? How had she not seen some clue, some hint, to warn her what he was really like? Granted Sherlock himself had been fooled by him but he had only spent five minutes with Jim she had spent hours. Dear god she had slept with the man! She should have seen something before he had shown up in her flat and revealed the truth that night. That horrible awful night that would forever be etched on her memory.
That night she had been messaging Dr. Watson's girlfriend Sarah back and forth because John and Sherlock were no where to be found. At the time Molly had thought it was merely a coincidence that she hadn't been able to get a hold of Jim either. In those moments she never would have imagined that sweet, shy, and yes, though she was loathe to admit it, quite probably gay Jim would show up on her doorstep in a singed Westwood suit giggling maniacally. She had been shocked to she him like that and had quickly dragged him in the flat. Molly had been making him a cup of his favorite tea when he had finally started talking. She had listened in horror as Jim explained everything that had been happening recently and his part in all of it. Worse yet was when he had oh so calmly told her that he couldn't have done it without her. He had told he how easy it had been to use her to get closer to Sherlock and stay informed of his progress. Tears of pain and horror had coursed freely down her cheeks as he had thanked her for being such an simple target really and that she shouldn't feel to upset with him because really how had his behavior been any different from how Sherlock treated her. He pointed out that they both manipulated her emotions to get what they wanted from her. Heck he had even told her that he could make an argument about having treated her better than Sherlock had because at least Jim had given the illusion of a relationship and really wasn't that all Molly had wanted. Then he had finished his tea while she had sat in stunned silence try to process everything he had said. Molly had barely even registered when he had gotten up, kissed her cheek, and told her what a pleasure it had been to work with her.
She wasn't even sure how long she had sat there after he had gone before his talk about an explosion finally processed in her brain and she had been up and out the door in seconds. Molly had made it to St. Bart's in record time and had been relieved to discover that aside from some broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, one concussion and numerous scrapes and bruises between the two of them both Sherlock and John were both alive and relatively well. After making sure they would be okay she had turned herself over to Lestrade for questioning. Molly had spent the rest of that night and a good portion of the next morning answering questions and apologizing profusely for all that had happened, while a team of investigators had torn her flat apart top to bottom in the hopes of finding some clues about Jim and where he might have gone. When she had finally been released the sight of her normally tidy flat ripped to shreds had been enough to send her running for the welcome distraction of work. She had been throwing herself into her work ever since.