~.~
Molly had gotten over Sherlock. Really, she had. She had a boyfriend, a nice one, named Jim from IT. Jim was lovely, he was perfect. He was shy sometimes, but funny and kind and he always treated her like she was special. He remembered what she liked to eat, what she liked to do, even had a little interest in her work though he confessed that the idea of dead bodies gave him the jeebies. He was honestly sweet. He was nice.
So Molly felt bad about the way she sometimes used him. Oh, it was never intentional mind. It was just occasionally, in the midst of passion, when Jim was above her and they were both breathing heavily, she didn't quite see things clearly.
Jim's hips grew narrower, his skin paler, where he touched her. His hair darkened, lengthened, and curled. And maybe, just maybe, in those quick moments Molly saw a different man entirely. One who wasn't so sweet, wasn't so nice. One who demanded coffee instead of inviting her out to a cafe, one who regularly cajoled her into letting him borrow a severed head from the mortuary, never mind the fact that it could cost Molly her job. Maybe, she saw that man instead. But it was only for a few seconds. So it was okay, right?
~.~
Being Jim from IT really was amusing. Manipulating the morgue attendant was adorable, rather like a simple bug running into a wall, backing up a step, and walking right back up to the obstacle. She was so blind, it was funny. Funny, ha-ha, laugh, see?
Things did get interesting occasionally. When it came time to DO THE DEED and he needed a normal man's libido, his own mind intervened to save what was left of his sanity. He could overlap two bodies, see one and feel another, it worked rather well. As such, the night in the attendant's flat after dinner and drinks, it was his beloved detective who he led to the bed, who he undressed, and kissed, and caressed.
It was all rather moving. Especially when dear Sherlock whispered in his ear, "harder, please," and Jim could say, "of course, love." Mmm, yes rather emotional, not particularly memorable though he did think the real thing would have demonstrated a little more…grace? Class? Ah, no matter.
The attendant is babbling about a (she hesitates) friend she wanted to introduce him to tomorrow. How excellent, at last, he could meet his darling detective in the flesh. Now he shant have to settle for glossy photographs or boring reports. Face to face, wonderful, glorious. But how to make it special? Perhaps he should go buy some underwear, maybe some product, and give Sherlock something to look at, hmmm? He had always wanted to play a gay, technologically savvy boy hopelessly in love. Oh wait…
~.~
A/N: Molly & Moriarty (in reality Molly & Sherlock and Sherlock & Moriarty) cause people are funny that way…I – I really don't know what happened here. –sigh–