Hey guys! I'm back! This time with a new fandom! BBC Sherlock! Yes, I've entered the realm of crazy. Just check my Tumblr. This is my first Sherlock fanfic so please be kind!
Disclaimer: Trollers Moffat and Gatiss own all the characters you recognise! I WISH I owned Sherlock but alas, I don't. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT OR ANYTHING INTENDED.
Chapter one: The Return.
Molly Hooper was late at work. Again. Sherlock had left around an hour ago after studying one slide under the microscope, but leaving such a mess you'd think he had studied a hundred. All the bodies were safely packed away and all Sherlock's chemicals he'd left lying around were cleaned up and put into their respective cases.
The dim light cast a grey hue over everything leaving Molly in a rather exhausted mood. Usually she liked the quiet solitude of the morgue but today she just wanted to get home, have a shower and curl under some blankets with Toby and Season 2 of Glee.
Molly shook her and head and concentrated on her work. She was just finishing organising the paperwork that explained to the medical board that Sherlock was allowed to perform mad experiments on their cadavers and use their equipment. She sighed. However hard the work was, it was nice to have him around; Molly could see that he was a scarred person beneath the act and anything to keep him distracted was good. Even if it meant allowing him to occasionally beat corpses with riding crops.
After one final 'Yes it is safe and yes he is with the police', Molly dragged her cheap, brown, side-bag onto her shoulder and pushed the morgue door open, her heavily lidded gaze on the floor.
Molly's nose brushed fabric and she took an impulsive step back, an apology forming in her mouth. But then she noticed the suit. For a desperate, hopeful second, she thought it was Sherlock and her heart stupidly fluttered.
But it wasn't Sherlock.
Molly's gaze travelled hesitantly from his shiny, black, pointed shoes, up his flawless Westwood suit, to his charming face. Jim. No, Molly corrected herself, James Moriarty. Killer. Murderer. Untrustworthy. But the only noise that escaped her mouth was a meek "Oh!"
Molly recovered from her shock and darted vainly around him. But Jim was too quick for her. He grabbed her wrist and mercilessly spun her around, crushing her left arm helplessly between the wall and her body, while gripping her right wrist tightly behind her back. All Molly could see now was the faded grey of the wall and part of her cheek where it squashed against it.
Molly could feel the hiss of Jim's breath on the back of her neck and felt a thrill of fear tingle up her spine. She sensed him lean towards her and shuddered at the voice in her ear.
"You miss me, Molls?" he chuckled.
Molly didn't say anything; wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Jim sighed as though disappointed, and cruelly twisted her right arm until the pain was too much. Molly gasped and screamed "Yes!"
It was true. Jim had been nice. He had noticed her. He was the person that Molly turned to in the face of Sherlock's cruelty. When Sherlock had told her that Jim was gay, she had ended the relationship to stop her heart from being broken by somebody else. But even after that she'd thought of him.
So when John and the nice D.I. Lestrade had kindly explained that Jim from IT was James Moriarty, consulting criminal, she felt ashamed to have thought about him like that.
Molly's brooding thoughts were wiped from her brain when the grip on her wrist relaxed slightly. Molly used this opportunity to turn her head around and saw that Jim was leaning back and peering down the corridor.
Molly realised that someone, maybe that snide new receptionist Lynda, must have heard her scream. She opened her mouth to scream again but Jim was one step ahead of her. He produced a hypodermic needle seemingly out of nowhere and stabbed it smoothly into the side of her neck. The pain from the needle was nothing compared the fear of what he was going to do to her.
Molly could feel the cold of the liquid slide down her veins and could almost see the particles attacking her nerves. She'd seen many a corpse with liquid like this inside their system.
Molly shook her head to clear her thoughts which were already becoming hazy. She tried to move away from Jim. He had released her wrist. There was no need to restrain her in the state she was in. Molly's eyes closed and she slumped unwillingly against Jim.
Just before she drifted off, she heard Jim say: "I don't like doing the dirty work; my suits are Westwood, hello? But for you, Molls, I made an exception. Don't you feel lucky?"
Jim's grin leered down at her and stamped itself onto her dark mind. It hovered there for a few seconds, before everything was gone.
What did you think? Please give me constructive criticism! I have a longer second chapter already written. Should I continue? Thank you for reading! If you review I'll be happy but you don't have to :) I'm just happy people are reading it!
Thanks!
~Molly~
P.S. My Tumblr is Johns-been-sherlocked :)