Summary: I'm no genius, Sherlock Holmes, you are. Sherlock/Molly (of a sort), Sherlock/Moriarty. Pre-S2
Notes: Moriarty!Molly, pre-S2. Implied character death.
Fade to black
"I lose, you win. I just want to know how.
Please."
– The Science of Deduction home page, 3:12am, 1/5/2012
Sherlock woke up with a bump on his head (blow precisely applied; little residual trauma, lasting damage unlikely.) and ropes around his arms (hemp fibres; roughly-woven. More chaffing; kidnapping cliché, except that synthetic fibres are by far more preferred nowadays. Amateur, or traditional?) in a warehouse with a bright light shining above him. "Thanks for avoiding the prefrontal cortex and all, but is all this really necessary? I acknowledged defeat, I just want answers!"
"You make a mistake, Sherlock Holmes, if you think everybody enjoys the Game as much as you do." (low voice, calm, pitched lower, but doubtful to be male. This might not actually be Moriarty.?)
"I know the greats do." He threw back.
"I am not a 'Great', Mr Holmes. I'm no horse, athlete or historical figure."
She (she?) steps out of the shadows. "For another, I'd have to be caught for someone to know about me, and I'm not about to let that happen."
"You're not Moriarty."
"Part of him, at least. The man in Westwood at the swimming pool was an actor, darling."
Here, her fingers moved subtly behind her ear, as if adjusting her hair, only she drew a strand behind her ear to let him see the voice-distorting earpiece. Her smile grew, and her voice turned into an imitation of Jim Morriarty's.
"Not everybody has to be glamorous away from the narrow confines of the spotlight, sweet. I've always found the backstage provides more room to spread out than the stage ever did." Molly remarked offhandedly when suddenly she put her hands to her mouth.
"Oh but I told myself I wouldn't do this..." She spread her arms out, stepped closer, and loosened her coat.
In an eyeblink, he found her holding a bloody knife and him bleeding his guts out. "– this quickly," she finished.
Molly (Moriarty!) actually sat down in a rolling chair facing him and crossed her legs. "Sorry, but if I'm to start monologuing, I have to make sure you are irreversibly liquidated. Nonetheless, you wanted answers. Now, you can ask me any questions you like."
... ...
"Why did you kill Irene?"
"Oh, she had a key investment in one of my companies and she was about to pull out. That's one of my first setups you see, and there's sentiment in that."
"Sentimental? The great Moriarty experiences the same emotions as the common man?"
"And you think sentiment is a weakness, I know."
"Isn't it?"
"I'm being sentimental about you right now and you're bleeding out. You tell me. Next question?"
... ...
A few questions in, she remarked conversationally, "Not that this interview isn't fascinating, but sweetheart, you are asking the wrong questions you know. Always have."
"It doesn't matter how I carry out my kills, or who's carrying out my orders. Villains are far more innovative than the law, and people always have a price. So either you can start asking the right questions and I get to unburden secrets you can take to your grave; or you can bleed out in the macabre tales of my exploits. Not that I'm not proud of them, mind."
He blinked. Whether that's because of her comment or the pain, she's not sure. Probably the pain, she decides.
And focused to their familiar intensity. (Pity he didn't go into modelling. That look could be pretty sexy if used correctly.) "Why?"
"Finally! Now, be specific. You're on the right track."
"Why can you outsmart me?"
"Because you're a genius and I'm not."
"Explain."
At this, Molly smiled and leaned forward, steepling her fingers. Her voice grew lecturing, and Sherlock was reminded of the impersonal tone she adopted in her papers.
"You said so yourself to Dr Waston. The weakness of genius is that it needs an audience, some acknowledgement. You need that flourish, that last touch, a signature. Geniuses know better, but in some ways they are even more emotional than the common man because they should know better since they are so intelligent. They don't know where to stop. You become overperfect."
"My work, however, is mundane; it blends right in. You underestimated the breadth of the human mind, even in the lowest John Doe on the street. Breadth, mind you, not depth. It does take someone clever to set up the spider web, but the individual threads don't matter. All you've got to do is blur the distinctions, plant a few necessary lies, and the rest takes care of itself."
"And as I said earlier, you assume all people of intelligence are in it for the Game. You, that cabbie, Moriarty. I'm just in it for the money." Molly smiled and leaned back, settling into her chair.
"To answer your answer simply, I'm no genius, Sherlock Holmes, you are."
- spotlight narrows and dims. Characters remain silent in repose.
end.-
Extended notes: I actually started writing this before S2, but only polished and posted it now. This snapshot is probably somewhat anti-climactic – Not a lot of action (I don't really know how to write Sherlock or any person in pain), and much dialogue/monologue. It's simply a pondering on the concept of geniuses that grew to include context. The conflict is rather one-sided, but I just wanted to paint one "What if?" scenario. I might get around to adding more backstory but thought I better get this up before S3 comes out.
There are many Moriarty!Molly fics drawn from the scene in S1 when Sherlock told her Jim from IT was gay and she looked pretty murderous. This is inspired by a line from the first episode – "That's the frailty of genius, John. It needs an audience." – and also partly from an Alex Rider crossover "Never Have You".
Anyway, how bad is the monologue-dialogue? Do review.