A/N: …I have no idea where this came from. I don't own the characters and all that jazz.
Molly Hooper was propped on the couch in the sitting room of her flat, her cat on her lap and the TV displaying a soap that she knew was horrible, but couldn't stop watching. She had always been a rather simple woman. She was not outgoing in any way, and had always been shot down when she tried to be. She really was one of the most ordinary women you could meet.
That was what confused Jim the most. She was so boring- there was absolutely nothing special about her. And yet here he was, standing concealed in her hallway and watching her intently. At first he had thought maybe it would be fun to just come and mess with her, or scare her a little bit. Say something ominous and then leave- just to vex her. He had always been one who delighted in watching others scramble, with him being the one holding the whisk. However as he stood in the hall, waiting to make his dramatic entrance- he found himself becoming more distracted by the woman.
He noticed how a few strands of hair were sticking out of her ponytail. He saw the way her throat moved as she drank the glass of milk by her side. He took note of the way she kept petting the cat in the same spot- and that the cat kept purring. She wanted to keep it happy. What had its name been? Something along the lines of "Sir Truffles?" Jim shook his head. The cat wasn't really important. Although, he did note that when he saw Molly petting the cat, he felt an unfamiliar tug in his stomach. It was very unpleasant, and it took him several moments to remember when he had ever felt something like it. He had been seven, and had seen a little boy walking down the street with the toy rocket he had wanted.
So then this could only be… jealousy? He contorted his face with confusion. He was jealous of a… cat? Why the hell would he be jealous of a cat?
A few memories were resurfaced out of the confines of his mind-memories of when he had pretended to date Molly. She had tried to make him happy. She brought him coffee on her break every day. And when she thought he looked tense, she would look at him sympathetically, and rub his shoulders. They had been small things, but Jim supposed that he actually sort of liked it, if only for the (positive) attention.
He had come here with the intention of getting a laugh, screwing around with Molly's emotions a bit. But now he realized… he did not want to. For the first time in many years, he did not want to hurt someone- emotionally, or physically.
He remembered when she broke up with him.
The relationship had not really meant anything in the end. His intention had never been to win her affections. His main goal had always been Sherlock. And yet, when he returned to where he had been staying after she had done it- uttered those words that were so brave for a woman like her: "I'm ending it- us. I like you… a lot. But I see now that we're not suited for each other. I'm sorry." he had broken every single object he could get his hands on. He could see she had been trying very hard not to cry, but she held herself high, which was something he had not been expecting of her.
And now, as he watched her sitting there by herself, he wondered what it would be like to really date Molly Hooper. Molly Hooper, the woman with the low self-confidence, awkward demeanor, and crippling loneliness. As much as he hated to admit it, he was somewhat lonely as well. What would life be like with another lonely soul? Would they even be considered lonely anymore? What would Jim Moriarty be, if not for his loneliness, which he buried deep underneath his psychopathic plans and ideas, but was still obviously there.
He rolled his eyes at himself. He just had to, didn't he? He had to go and feel. He had to go and feel for the most simple, and ordinarily boring woman he had ever met. And what made it worse, was that she had felt for him once, but he was so wrapped up in the Game, that he didn't even take the time to notice that he had felt something for her. He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair.
He looked up at the sound of a gunshot coming from the direction of Molly. He started to run out of his hiding place to come to Molly's aid, when he realized it had been on the telly. Relief washed through him. Some woman had shot her lover for some unknown reason, and the screen had cut to commercial. Molly sat up heatedly, startling her cat.
"What the hell? That doesn't make any sense! She loved him- she would never have hurt him!"
Jim inched his way back into his hiding place and smirked a bit at Molly's reaction to the soap. One thing he had always liked about her was how innocent she seemed. She was a hopeless romantic, and he recalled conversation he had only half-listened to, that had involved talk of miracles, and hope. He sighed again, and couldn't help but chuckle a bit as Molly's tirade about love and poor continuity continued. Yes, that's what Molly was in the end, wasn't it? Hope.
And he was the Devil. A monster. Evil. Not someone who could ever have a woman like Molly Hooper. They say opposites attract, but Jim was sure that now that she knew who he was, she hated him. And he could live with that, he supposed. He had lived with people hating him for a long time. Granted, he usually didn't have any fondness for them either, but having her hate him shouldn't be too hard to live with. He would simply tuck her away, deep within his mind, along with the loneliness.
Molly had been quiet for some time now, and Jim realized that she had fallen asleep when the show ended. He approached her now, and his cold eyes of a psychopath softened for a split second. Her ponytail was somewhat mussed, and her clothes were rumpled, but he found himself feeling a strikingly unfamiliar compassion for her, rather than superior amusement or disgust. Feelings were so alien to him, that he shocked himself for a moment when he found himself walking around the couch, and picking up her sleeping form. She stirred slightly, but he knew she would not waken. He had stayed over a few times when they were together, and although he had not slept with her per se, he knew that nothing but her own internal clock could wake her.
He carried her into her room, which was decorated with soft pastels and earthy tones. When they were together, it had had a calming effect on him, which was quite a novelty feeling. It was… comfortable. He leaned over and deposited the sleeping woman onto her bed, tucking the pink comforter over her. He noticed a slight smile- just a tiny curve at the edge of her lips, which he took special care to photograph with his mind. When he was sure that he would never forget the image, he tucked it away in his mind for safekeeping, along with the loneliness, and the feelings for her, and put them away even deeper than before.
He left the flat, and he couldn't help but be annoyed with himself. He had allowed himself to care. It was one of those many human things he had stopped doing long ago, and never thought he would again.
'Yes,' He admitted to himself. 'I care about Molly Hooper.' But that was not something he could ever truly do, because he was Jim Moriarty- the villain. And villains don't get the girl.