Warnings and content info: Mentions of criminal deeds and sexual acts, neither of which are graphic. Moriarty and his goons engage in period-typical sexist thoughts and opinions. Lots of gangster lingo, which is detailed in the glossary at the end of the fic.
Summary: In 1920s London, Jim Moriarty is the head of one of the most notorious organised crime syndicates around. He's escaped prison countless times due to his utter genius and flair at anticipating everything – but he didn't anticipate Molly Hooper, the dame he's been using to get information regarding a private detective, breaking up with him. Nor did he anticipate becoming drawn to her, a girl so undeniably... ordinary.

Ordinary

Jim knew something was wrong the second Molly walked into the bar. Her lips were pursed and the corner of her mouth was twitching slightly, like it always did when she was anxious. He wondered what on earth could have happened now that had gotten her in such a bad state.

Sebastian, sitting across the table from him, nodded in her direction, as if to alert Jim that she had entered the room. "That's your moll," he said. Jim had, of course, noticed her long before Seb had, but he wasn't going to mention it. Although he had fun mocking normal people's lack of intelligence, Seb was of value to him – a speedy can-opener with the deftest fingers, and excellent at handling and using a gat. The man had perfect aim and was deadly when packing heat. He was a necessity, and Jim knew how to keep the people useful to him – that's precisely why he was keeping Molly.

Jim stood up as Molly approached him. Her steps were slightly hesitant, and Jim watched her progression with gleeful eyes. A bird like her really shouldn't be in a bar as shifty as this one, and she didn't look particularly happy to be here, either. Worried, then, about something serious – nothing else would have prompted her to show up at a place she so hated. Jim gave her a once over – she was dressed in a sleeveless black dress, her long auburn hair pinned with a red rose into a bun at the side of her head. It was the same dress she'd worn yesterday, and looked like it had just been thrown on hurriedly, and her usually neat hair was rather messy and haphazardly done. Left in a rush, clearly. Jim found that he considered this more effortless look far more attractive on her than when she tried to dress up to impress him, which she did quite often. The latter was so pathetic it was almost adorable.

"What's the matter, doll?" Jim smirked, in the way that always cheered her up and made her laugh. Molly's expression didn't change, though, and her eyes didn't light up the way they usually did at Jim's flirting, not did her cheeks get that familiar pretty blush that Jim had learned to anticipate and attempt to create.

"I need to speak with you," she said. "Alone, if possible."

Jim fought not to roll his eyes, then realised he didn't really feel like rolling his eyes anyway. Perhaps he had gotten so used to baring with ordinary humans' imperfections that he'd stopped being able to show his frustration any longer. "Anything for you," he replied sweetly. He turned to the rest of his mob, who were sitting leisurely around the table, and gestured for them to leave. They did so immediately, rising like trained dogs and stepping over to the bar. As Jim watched them walk off, he noticed a lot of men turning their eyes on Molly and felt a sudden surge of annoyance – they were all dewdroppers, the lot of them. He pushed the thought away seconds later, wondering why he felt so suddenly angry towards a bunch of men who were simply admiring a doll, quite a normal activity around here. Maybe he was sick of such mundane, monotonous, predictable reactions to a woman's beauty.

Jim pulled out a chair for Molly and she sat down, not even thanking him, which was a big change considering the fact that she usually got bashful the second he did anything even remotely chivalrous, which was why it had been so easy to win her over. He'd seen her around with that detective, Sherlock Holmes, and had been instantly interested. The gum-shoe had landed several of his men in the can, and Jim didn't like that. He really didn't like that. He'd then decided to befriend Molly and sweet-talk her into feeding him the information he wanted on Detective Holmes. It was all so easy, too easy.

"I can't do this anymore, Jim," Molly said quietly. Her fingers were trembling slightly, and one hand was playing nervously with a lock of loose hair that had fallen out of her bun and onto her shoulders. Her doe-like eyes clearly betrayed her unease, despite the fact that she was obviously forcing herself to remain calm. It had never been easy for her, hiding her emotions. Just like all those other boring people, really. Jim prided himself on the fact that he'd long since trained himself to remain indifferent to human emotion, and found that sometimes he simply didn't feel any of those things at all. They were rather tedious, anyway, and he had no desire to experience any fine feelings and scruples. Emotions were what made humans weak, made them vulnerable. He'd used this fact to his advantage many, many times. It was how he got to be where he was now.

"There's no need to get all dramatic, doll," Jim tried again, intoning the last word in the way that he always knew would get Molly flushing and agreeing to whatever Jim had to say.

"I'm not being dramatic," Molly said, more firmly this time, which took Jim by surprise. He was never surprised. "You've been..." Her voice weakened for a moment, then she started again. "You've been using me."

"A gentleman like myself never would," Jim responded.

Molly glared at him, those brown eyes flashing in a way Jim had never seen before. "You're hardly a gentleman," she said.

"You break my heart, doll," Jim laughed.

Molly shook her head. "Don't laugh at me," she protested feebly. "You always play it off like you're a gentleman, but I know the truth, Jim! You're no better than the rest of them, all your friends. You pretend to be better than them, but I know your secret – you really aren't."

"Come on, Molly, be reasonable," Jim trilled. He had no idea where this was coming from or where this was going, but he was certain he'd be able to avert the crisis easily. She was so easy to appease – this would be a peace of cake.

"You aren't even interested in me," Molly said. "You're interested in Detective Holmes – that's the only reason you tried to get to me in the first place. You know I'm friends with him."

"That no-good gum-shoe?" Jim smirked. He was lying through his teeth, of course, but he'd gotten so used to doing so now that he barely batted an eyelash as he did so. Deceiving was just another way to climb the success ladder, and Jim had leapt several rungs just by being cunning and manipulative. "He's no better than any old copper. You shouldn't be hanging around with that sort."

Molly looked away. "That's rich, coming from you," she said.

Jim stared at her and felt rage beginning to boil through his blood, in the sudden way it usually did. What had the detective been telling her? Who had been peaching on him? "What did you say?" he hissed.

"I know what you do," Molly stated slowly. "I think I always knew. That story you sold on me – a wealthy businessman with a lot of business partners – did you think I didn't know you were lying?"

Jim chuckled, his temper slightly diffusing. It was just her, after all, making wild guesses. "What do you think I do, then?"

"You're a criminal," she said shortly.

Jim raised an eyebrow, then threw his head back and laughed. The movement was practised and exaggerated, perhaps, but he felt honest when he performed it. Molly greatly amused him, even when she hit the nail right on the head. "Now why would a doll like you be suspecting a respectable man of such things?"

Molly flushed at last, but it was definitely more in anger than pleasure. Jim found himself wondering if someone as mild-mannered as herself could erupt in fury the way he often did. He wondered, too, if she would willingly kill when she was in that state. Unlikely, but an entertaining image to consider. "Detective Holmes says you're part of the criminal underworld," she said, and Jim inexplicably felt his blood begin to boil again. He rounded on her, daring her with his eyes to continue, but she wasn't looking at him anymore, but at the floor. She was biting her lip anxiously and playing with her hair again. "He also seems to think you prefer the company of men to women."

"He hasn't got any sense in him," Jim snarled.

"He's extremely intelligent," Molly responded, still pointedly not glancing at him. "His brain works in ways I've never seen before."

Jim struggled to keep himself under control. The girl was infuriating him, and she seemed to be completely unaware of it. He never intended for her to find out about his work, especially since he had been planning to dump her the second he knew everything he wanted to know about Sherlock Holmes. He was furious that she'd found out, somehow. And the fact that she considered him just as bad as a gum-shoe – he knew Holmes' intelligence was well-talked-of, but surely he was better than that. Even worse, the idea that he was homosexual! The nerve of that man...the nerve of this bird! He opened his mouth to shoot something at her, a phrase that would break her or hurt her or send her running and never looking back – now that she knew what he was up to, he didn't need her anymore – but as soon as he managed to speak through his anger, the sentence that came out was, "You fancy him!"

Molly blushed. Jim wondered why of all things, he'd decided to say that.

"I do not," she retorted. "Well, I used to. Until I met you, and then I didn't quite like him as much. Too arrogant. Nothing I ever did was good enough to gain his attention."

Jim settled back into his chair a little. His anger had diffused again at Molly's admission, and he started pondering over why he was being placated so easily. Perhaps it was because he considered her too simple-minded to actually mean any harm by her ill-timed words. She was so ordinary, Jim realised. So like everyone else. Then why...why was he so keen to keep her?

He shook his head. No, he wasn't keen to keep her – he simply needed her to get at Sherlock Holmes. That was all. That was why she was vital, for now. Or had been vital, now that she probably wouldn't give him anything more. But he still wanted to keep her anyway. That was probably just his selfishness. Jim loved having his way. In fact, he had to have things his way, or things would turn ugly for whoever was standing between him and what he wanted.

"But you used me and lied to me, and I don't appreciate that," Molly went on. "I'm sorry, Jim, but this has to stop."

"Aw come on, doll," Jim cooed. "Sure, I ain't no saint, but I never used or lied –"

But Molly had stood up, completely ignoring Jim's flirty coaxing, and was turning away.

"Where you going, doll?" Jim smirked, although his chest suddenly felt a bit tighter than it usually did. He wasn't sure why, but he'd analyze and whine about it later.

"I told you, I can't keep doing this," Molly responded, looking over her shoulder. That loose lock of hair curled around her ear and fell to her back as she did so. "I know you can't change, so I'm leaving you in peace."

"That isn't necessary," Jim said, getting up and sauntering over to her. He searched her eyes for the familiar warmth, shyness or admiration he usually spotted there, especially when he advanced on her like this, but her gaze was bordering on cold now, although there was something there, almost like...defiance. He'd never seen that there before.

"Have a good night, Jim," Molly said, and then she'd grabbed her coat from the rack and walked out the door.

Jim watched her leave and tried to place the ache in his chest. He couldn't be dying already. He didn't want any heart attacks at this age.

"Nice going, boss," Seb said, having come to stand beside him. "You made her think that she was the one breaking up with you."

"She was," Jim replied quietly. "But I don't need her anymore."

"You don't think she'll turn out to be a stool-pigeon, do ya?" Seb asked. "She ain't no dumb dora, ya know."

"Nah," Jim drawled. "She's too devoted to me for that. Ordinary people are so predictable, so boring."

Seb rolled his eyes. "Watch it, boss. Lots of ordinary people in this pub."

Jim smirked at him and resumed his seat. Seb made to join him, then noticed the odd expression on his face and backed away instead. "I'll get us a pint," he offered.

Jim ignored him in favour of thinking about Molly Hooper instead. She was a curious lady – ordinary, but curious. He could see why someone like Sherlock Holmes would be willing to tolerate her. Easy on the eyes, easy to read, slightly needy but quietly strong. She would definitely be a useful asset to the detective in times of need. It was a pity Jim hadn't kept her.

Seb came back bearing mugs of whiskey or some sort of drink and set them down on the table in front of them. Jim barely glanced at his before turning his thought back to the ordinary dame.

Except...she wasn't actually exactly ordinary. Not quite. There was something in her manner and demeanour that was unlike all the other human beings leading their dull existences around the earth, walking through the streets of London as though they had nothing better to do – and they didn't. Molly had a purpose, somehow. She was there for a reason. She was intelligent – nowhere near his level, of course, but normal people rarely were – and had a knowledge of medicine and science that very few able-bodied men could defeat, if they knew about her. Then again Molly's talents would never be recognised in a place like this, by a crowd like this one. She was just slightly ahead of her time. Perhaps one day there'd be just as many women doctors as men doctors. It was an odd thought.

"Hey, boss, you hear about that Kong Lee?" Sulejmani, one of the most mindless dogs of the lot, spoke suddenly, and Jim gritted his teeth in minor annoyance. Wasn't it obvious that he didn't want to be disturbed?

"You mean the safe blower? Done a bit of glomming in his time, ain't he?" someone else chimed in.

"Yeah, that's the one. Goon just got out with a whole haul of ice and a good bit of bent scratch, but some bulls caught him and strapped the bracelets on his wrists when he was doing business with some card sharpers," Sulejmani went on. "He's in stir now."

"What a pity," Oscar Dzundza, a massive, aggressive man of iron strength and one of Jim's most valued assassins, stated. "He could've made lots of cabbage with his talent."

"No better than that Harry Crawford, I say!" Sulejmani added. "Big grifter, that one. Married a woman and clipped her. Turns out he was a bim in disguise the whole time!"

"A woman grifter?" Oscar chuckled. "What's the world comin' to? Broads like that shouldn't be doin' this sort of business."

Jim couldn't stand it anymore. "Oh, shut up, the lot of you!" he said in a sing-song voice. "Daddy's tryna think here. Pop out and get yourselves more drink or sommat before I bump all of you."

There was a brief scuffle as everyone started to leave the table hurriedly.

"Everything alright, boss?" Seb asked as he, too, got up to leave. Jim sometimes considered it a pity that Seb wasn't as scared of him as everyone else was.

Jim turned on him and gave him a maniacal smile. Seb decided it was best to just do as he was told and made his way out from behind the table.

Alone at last, Jim pondered the anomaly that was Molly Hooper.

Once again, for repetition's sake, she was definitely ordinary...wasn't she? Jim could read her like a book, just as he could read everyone else like a book. Her eyes betrayed every single emotion and her expression was too quick to change from eager to disappointed to hopelessly enamoured. But Jim had never seen anyone else's eyes light up quite the same way or any other person blush that exact shade of pink. Jim never knew anyone to laugh quite the same way she did, as though she was always holding back a little part of her when she did so. Her docile, innocent smile was also unlike any that Jim had ever encountered before. There was the same upward curve of the lips and the same slight hint of teeth you would expect from any other person, but there was a naivety in it that he was slightly unused to seeing, and again, something hidden behind that smile, as if there was a treasure inside her that she didn't want no one to see.

The few times Jim had stayed overnight at Molly's, he considered her home quite ordinary. An inexpensive place for a girl like her, decorated with flowers and the kind of pictures you'd expect from any lady. But there was something about the house, too, that held her shy personality, as though it was trying to hide itself from Jim. When Molly made Jim breakfast, she made the predictable food and served it to him, but the way she'd done everything was unique, which was an odd thing for Jim to notice because he'd never cared much for food. There was something different, even, in the way she scrambled eggs. Jim wasn't sure what the difference was, but he knew there was one, and no one else made breakfast quite like Molly Hooper.

Molly was nervous by nature, as many birds were, but not in the way most girls were nervous. She was almost never nervous about herself – in fact, she seemed to care very little of what others thought of her, unless she was trying to impress that certain person (at which time she would try a new shade of lipstick or change her hair a bit). Her nervous ticks were ordinary ones – she twirled her hair around her fingers and twitched her lips a little – but she somehow did them differently. Her fingers trembled slightly when they played with her hair, so delicately, and she had the habit of uncurling her hair as soon as she had twisted a lock as far as it would go. Her lips twitched in a parody of a smile, almost as a deliberate antithesis to happiness, and Jim could make her nervous forever just to watch those symptoms unfold, and he had tried before. She also tended to bite her bottom lip when she was worried, and the movement seemed practised, as though she'd performed it several times over the years. Jim had never seen nervous ticks quite as smooth as hers.

The way she made love was different, too. Jim had a fair amount of experience in this part, and he had to say no woman moved quite like Molly Hooper. He'd originally just gotten into bed with her to make sure she thought what they had was genuine, as he had when he used any other women to his advantage, but he'd become slowly addicted to her. Her shy nature translated to the bedroom and made him feel more powerful in a way no one else had, but sometimes she got this mischievous twinkle in her eye that reminded Jim of one he might find in his own, and those were his favourite times. No woman he'd ever been with had taken the reigns like that before. Molly was very self-conscious, as well, but Jim didn't think she had any reason to be. She was an averagely attractive babe and shouldn't think otherwise. The way her body moved was unlike anything Jim remembered from the past. She did the same things his previous lovers had done, but she didn't do it in quite the same way, or make him feel quite the same way.

Molly thought like any other ordinary lady – she was emotional and vulnerable and the most hopeless romantic Jim had ever met, and she had opened herself up to Jim in the way most dolls usually did, but at the same time, there was a part of her that Jim knew she kept secret from him. Perhaps she wasn't even aware of that part of her, herself. Either way, there was something about her Jim hadn't dug up yet, and that bothered him just a little bit. How was she able to hide something from him, or make him feel like she was hiding something from him? He didn't like it one bit.

On that note, worst of all, she confused Jim, just a little. How could someone who was just like all the other boring human beings he knew not be boring? Surely that defied all rationality. Why was she different to him, when he knew, logically, that she was just the same as everyone else?

That was the problem with Molly Hooper – she was so ordinary, yet in such an extraordinary way.

And such an unusual woman would be more valuable on his side than on Sherlock Holmes', surely. She belonged next to Jim, not next to some gum-shoe.

She's mine.

Jim sprang up from the table and began to skip towards the door. A few members of the bar turned to eye him, but most had long since become used to his movements and didn't care so much.

"Where you going, boss?" Seb called, all concern.

Jim smirked. "I'm going to go reclaim what belongs to me," he sneered, giggling. And with that, offering no other explanation, he was gone.

You better watch out, Molly Hooper. I'm coming for you, and there's nowhere you can hide.

Glossary

Babe/Bim/Broad/Doll/Dame – A woman

Bent – Stolen

Bracelets – Handcuffs

Bulls – Plainclothes police

Bump - To kill

Can – Jail

Can-opener – Safecracker

Card sharpers – Cheating gamblers, usually in poker

Clip – To kill

Copper – Policeman

Dewdropper – Unemployed man who spends his days sleeping

Dumb dora – A stupid woman

Gat – A gun

Glomming – Stealing

Goon – Thug

Grifter – Con man

Gum-shoe – Detective

Ice – Diamonds

In Stir – In jail

Moll – A gangster's girlfriend

Packing Heat – Carrying a gun

Peaching – Informing

Scratch/Cabbage – Money

Stool-pigeon – A person who informs the police