A/N: I don't remember the last time I was here. All I know is that I've been gone long enough for all my documents in my doc manager on FFnet to disappear. I'm slowly climbing out from a pit of terrible emotional entanglements and this random piece of writing is a small but sure sign of my health returning. Sorry if this is kind of crap and all over the place. It's just been so long. I've missed being here though. Let's hope I don't disappear again for too long. Hoping you all have been well. x

Intention

It had begun with a trip.

Not the sort where bags were packed and where beach destinations awaited.

No, it was the embarrassing sort – the one where one's shoe would get caught in the office door mat, sending the person crashing forward.

That person was Jim Moriarty.

This, of course, had been a 'planned' trip. He had had every intention of having the front of his shiny black shoe meet the rough edge of the mat so that his knees would buckle and send his mug of coffee almost flying across the room.

Instead of flying across the room, however, he had merely stumbled forward, causing the coffee in his chipped office mug to spill all over the plastic folder of a certain pathologist.

Oh god, I am so, so sorry! He had stammered, smiling nervously and wearing a slight frown as he reached for a handkerchief in his pocket and began frantically wiping away the small pool of coffee.

At first, Molly had looked up with a start for it was so rare that someone (who was not Sherlock Holmes) had come bothering her at her desk. No one really knew where to find her if they could not find her at the morgue so it really did surprise her. When she saw the apologetic expression he wore on his face and the quick, anxious swipes he was making cleaning the last bits of coffee off, she could not help but break into a small smile.

That's okay, she had said calmly as she reached for a tissue on her desk and helped clean up the rest of the coffee spillage.
Could I at least buy you a coffee, by way of apology? Jim had asked when they had finally cleared the mess up.
Oh, no, no, that's okay, Molly had replied with a light chuckle. It's fine. Don't worry about it.
No, please, I insist, Jim persisted, surprised she had declined so immediately.
Why do you insist? She had asked, maintaining a smile. I don't even know who you are.

Jim Moriarty remembered wanting to smack himself repeatedly on the head with a sledgehammer. How foolish of him to have concocted this entire accidental introduction, only to forget the one important thing – his actual introduction.

Oh god. Yeah, sorry! He had chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed.
That's okay, Molly had answered sweetly. I'm Molly. And well, as you can tell from where you're standing now, I'm from pathology.
I see. Well, hello Molly, from pathology, Jim had replied with a nod.

She had stared at him for a few seconds before raising an eyebrow. Jim stared back, a little perplexed that she was staring and worried that the embarrassment from before had not ebbed in the least.

And…you are? She had asked again, the corner of her lips lifting again into that same smile from before that Jim was starting to find particularly pleasant.

The mental sledgehammer was back, ramming into his thick skull. God, what was wrong with him?

It's Jim. I'm Jim, from, uh…IT.

He had almost forgotten his own script. Had any of his peons exhibited such sub-par performance on any of their assignments he would have had them skinned alive. Now, it seemed, skinning himself alive seemed a far more comfortable idea than standing here stammering in front of this rather angelic-looking being who seemed steady as a mountain.

"Jim? Hi! Sorry, I was a little caught up just now," said Molly, interrupting Jim's thoughts as she came running towards where he stood waiting for her at the entrance to Bart's.
"Was it Sherlock again?" he asked, trying hard not to smirk too much.
"Oh, stop it, you." Molly had said, smacking him playfully on the arm. "But yes, he had barged in with a blood sample he wanted me to look at—"
"And you're okay with that?" Jim asked, crossing his arms as he turned to face her squarely.
"Well, it's for a good cause, isn't it?" answered Molly. "Children have died. I shouldn't like to sit idly by when I can do something about it…"
"You sure it's not because he's so utterly dashing?" teased Jim, batting his eyelashes like a besotted schoolgirl.
"Shut up, Jim from IT, or you're having dinner on your own," Molly teased back whilst looping her arm through his.

Whenever Molly touched him, it did shut him up. Jim Moriarty was constantly amazed at the slow but steady growing effect she was starting to have on him. Her smiling brown eyes shone brightly as he gazed at her. God, that smile, he thought to himself. It was a thought he was starting to have far too often these days. Did it worry him? On occasion, but Jim was oddly happy to brush it aside. Besides, this was only temporary, was it not? Beginning this dizzying and oddly satisfying office romance with Molly Hooper was but a stepping stone in his most elaborate plan to take down the greatest detective in London.

"Oh, you're most certainly having dinner with me, Ms Hooper," Jim remarked, planting a swift kiss on her temple. "And you owe me the ten minutes you let Sherlock Holmes steal from me."
"You idiot," said Molly with a laugh, "Sherlock Holmes has stolen nothing from you."
"Believe me, he has," Jim answered a little too seriously than he should have.
"What are you on about?" asked Molly, stopping in her tracks to study Jim's face.
"Hmm? Oh," he laughed nervously, "Just, you know, we IT people joke about him, uh, stealing our resources all the time…"

Molly rolled her eyes and nudged Jim along to continue their walk down the pavement.

"You're a strange man, Jim from IT," said Molly a little wistfully, "But I do like you."

If there was one thing Jim Moriarty was proud of it was the fact that he had a chest that was empty of a heart. It was the reason he was so successful being who he was, doing what he did. Yet, these wistful words Molly had spoken made him realise, to his horror, that he had been mistaken. How loudly it had beat, sending warm blood pulsing to the tips of his ears.

"Why would you?" he asked, again, accidentally too seriously.
"Well, why wouldn't I?" she asked back, stopping their walk again so she could look at him once more.

Jim stared hard at her, the hardness only from a new wave of confusion. For whilst he had expected her reciprocation of his choreographed affections, he had not expected to want it. It also dawned on him that for some time now, his affections had become far less choreographed. Rather, everything he did with and for Molly Hooper, seemed almost extraneous to his grand plans.

He did them because – Oh god, he thought to himself.

"I like you, Molly from pathology," he remarked softly, as he reached to bring Molly's hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently.
"Well, you are taking me to dinner," she said with a gentle smile.
"That was the plan. Always has been," he said with a sly wink.
"Don't be ridiculous," Molly replied chuckling at what she assumed a joke.
"No, really, that was always the plan," Jim continued.

It was his turn to stop their walk, turning to face her.

"This will sound a little mad—"
"You're always a little mad, Jim," she cut in with a knowing chuckle.
"Perhaps," he said, chuckling along with her, "But you know something?"
"Yes?"
"Do you remember our first meeting?"
"I most certainly do," answered Molly with a laugh. "My desk smelled of coffee the whole day."
"Well, it wasn't an accident," said Jim, "I had every intention of tripping in front of your desk."
"You are mad, Jim from IT," Molly remarked, smiling at him. "You could have just said hello…"

It was his turn to laugh. Molly was right.

"I suppose I could have," said Jim, "But you wouldn't have remembered it."
"I most certainly would have," Molly remarked defiantly, "Have you seen how beautiful your eyes are?"

There it was again. That vascular presence that sent blood rushing through his veins.

"They're just…eyes," said Jim, unsure how to respond to her words that caused his head to spin. Molly chuckled when she saw the slight crimson glow on his cheekbones and quickly looked away to avoid sending him into further embarrassment. Although it took a while, Jim eventually gathered his wits about himself and, as naturally as breathing, took her hand in his, continuing their lovely stroll.

Everything was most certainly going to plan. Jim had every intention of getting Molly to fall for him in the hope that she would eventually trust him completely. The way she leaned in to him as they walked, hand in hand as lovers did, was proof that everything was indeed going as he had intended.

What had never been his intention, however, was to want Molly for himself. Not as part of any grand plan or as a stepping stone, but for the sheer fact that the warm skin of her palm against his was worth the painful reminder that, perhaps, he did have a heart after all – and that Molly made it perfectly all right to have one.

END