Molly came home from work to find her door unlocked. That was strange considering she had locked it that morning. As a precaution, she pulled out the stun gun in her purse and cautiously entered her flat.
"Woah! Woah! Don't shoot! I come in piece! I mean you no harm!"
Jim Moriarty was sitting on her couch clutching his arm.
"What are you doing here?" Molly asked.
"I got myself into a teensy bit of trouble and found myself in need of medical attention. I thought, who do I know that's a doctor? Right, Doctor Hooper. You'll help me right?" Jim asked.
"I could, or I could not and call Scotland Yard." Molly said.
"You would let little old me bleed out on your couch? I could bleed out and die right here."
Molly rolled her eyes. "Please. You aren't going to die from a graze to your arm. What is it with you people and the dramatics?"
She pulled away his shirt and examined it. "You'll need some stitches, but other than that you are fine."
"Are you qualified to do that?" Jim asked.
"I'm a doctor. Part of my job is to neatly suture bodies. If you would sit still, I could do it." Molly snapped.
"Okay. Someone is touchy this evening. What did Sherlock do to you today?" Jim asked.
Molly pulled harder on than normal on the needle.
"Ow! Hit a nerve didn't I?"
"If you aren't careful I'll hit something worse than a nerve." Molly said.
"So, I'm right then. Come on, Molly, tell me what happened. We are the same in that area."
"I do not find us the same in any area."
"Sherlock doesn't respect either of us. He's quite rude is he not?"
"He-he demands I do e-everything for him, and I get no respect." Molly said.
"Poor mouse. You could help me instead. I'd show you heaps of respect and admiration. You would never feel neglected." Jim stroked her hair with his other hand.
Molly let out a bitter laugh. "Like I would work for you."
"Why not? I'd treat you right. Together we could be unstoppable."
"You really think I could get away with it? Sherlock can read my deepest thoughts like a book. He would see through my façade in seconds." Molly said.
"Ah, but, Molly, that's the beauty of it. You deal with death on a daily basis. You must know how to fake a death. Fake yours. Make it look like you were shot by a sniper, and then run away with me. You can do whatever you want out in the big bad world. You'll be the brains and I'll be the beauty of the operation." Jim explained.
"I bet Sherlock wouldn't even care if I was dead. He wouldn't miss me, he'd miss the free body parts and lab access." Molly said bitterly.
"See? You deserve so much better than that."
"What, and you're better for me?" Molly asked.
"Now you're getting it. So, Molly Hooper, what do you say? Stay here and be slave girl to Sherlock Holmes, or come with me and be a queen. One word will determine your fate. "Yes," Jim breathed in her ear. "Or no?"
Molly breathlessly replied. "Yes."