My first attempt at a Sherlock fan-fic, so I'm not quite sure if I've got the voices quite right. This was just a pairing I really wanted to explore a little further. Please let me know what you think and give me any constructive criticism you feel would help me make this better!
Molly Hooper was not the kind of girl who went out with criminal masterminds. She was the kind of girl whose books and DVDs were organised to alphabetical order but could never find her keys. She was the kind of girl who would eat a whole tub of ice cream in front of the TV one night and compensate the next day by eating only celery. She was the kind of girl who could develop a crush on any guy who smiled at her on the Tube and spend all day having harmless fantasies about what their life together could be like, but the only man she could really imagine herself with was a rude, condescending detective who had never shown evidence that he had any sexual preferences at all.
Molly got home and dumped her bag on the sofa just inside her front door. She wandered the few steps across her living room to the door of her bedroom and threw her jacket onto her bed. She hadn't had a good day. The first corpse she'd had to examine had born a vague likeness to someone who had subsequently been on her brain all day. Although she was trying desperately to forget him, her mind couldn't help but wander to Jim. He'd been so lovely to her, so sweet…she'd only ended it because Sherlock had told her that he was gay. Turns out he hadn't been gay at all, but he had been one of the most dangerous men in the world. Some would say she'd had a lucky escape. She would even say she'd had a lucky escape, but at times she couldn't help but wonder what might have happened. When would he have told her that he wasn't an IT worker but in fact a consulting criminal? Would he have let her know that he was only with her to get closer to Sherlock? Molly sighed. I guess I'll never know, she thought as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She undressed and then stood in front of her full length mirror as the shower warmed up – her plumbing was a bit dodgy and she didn't have the spare cash to get it fixed any time soon. She remembered one of the last times she'd seen Jim. It was the day he and Sherlock had met at the hospital. When she texted him asking to come over to her flat that evening, she'd intended to confront him about Sherlock's accusation but she hadn't plucked up the courage. They'd watched TV, they'd eaten a cheap take away, and then she'd timidly suggested they go into the bedroom. They'd kissed all the way from the sofa to the bed, giggling as he accidentally knocked her into the doorframe on the way past. The sex had been fumbling and awkward, and he'd left almost straight after it. It hadn't been mind-blowing and she had a feeling that he'd been holding something back a bit, but she'd had worse. After he'd left, she'd stood in front of this same mirror naked and thought, Well that's solves that one. Not so gay anymore, is he, Sherlock?The next day, however, the doubt had crept back into her mind, so she casually brought it up in conversation with Jim…just to be sure. That had been a mistake. He'd been embarrassed and offended, understandably, but as he turned away from Molly telling her not to contact him again, she could've sworn she saw the flicker of a smirk playing around his lips. And the next thing she'd heard of him was that he was blowing people up all over the country. Not ideal.
She stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over her tired body. She was such an idiot. Why couldn't she, for once, have stopped Sherlock from getting inside her head? She knew her relationship, if that's what it could be called, with Jim could never have lasted…but it could have lasted a little longer. Squeezing shampoo into her hands and lathering it through her hair, she began to drift off thinking about what she would do if she saw Jim now. Not Jim from IT. Jim Moriarty. Evil Jim. She wouldn't let him walk all over her, she wouldn't be intimidated, she'd show him exactly what he could have had if he hadn't used her as a pawn in his twisted game. The thought made her tingle with excitement. She knew she'd probably never see him so it wasn't realistic, but whatever. Molly liked to live in a bit of a fantasy world...not exactly surprising considering her days consisting of corpses and dry cereal in front of the telly. She was always a much more confident person in these fantasies; a little taller maybe, with a more glamorous wardrobe and a glance that had the power to seduce any man she chose and wither anyone who tried to belittle her. She smiled as she rinsed the bubbles from her hair. In her flat, on her own, she could live inside her head. Even on quiet days at the morgue she felt herself becoming Dream Molly. As soon as someone else was around however, she reverted to her usual self.
Stepping from the shower and wrapping herself in a towel, she started to think about what she was going to have for dinner. There was some leftover lasagne her mum had forced on her when she'd gone to her parents' the night before. That would do. She had no energy to cook anything and no money to buy anything. She was still musing on this as she walked from the bathroom into her bedroom…where she stopped dead. Standing at the foot of her bed, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, stood Jim Moriarty. Her immediate reaction was to emit a little shriek and clap a hand over her mouth. The smirk on his face widened into a little smile. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit with a white shirt and black tie. The only splash of colour was a tie pin with a blood red jewel. "Surprise!" His eyes widened with mock excitement. Molly didn't know what to do. She was very conscious of her nakedness and the potential danger she was in.
"Wh…what are you doing here? How did you get in?" She had meant her voice to be confident and feisty. It came out little more than a terrified whisper. Jim pulled a face of mock confusion and cupped a hand behind his ear. "What was that? You're going to need speak up darling."
"Why are you here?" Molly said with a little more conviction. She felt a sudden need to turn around and lock herself in the bathroom or dash out of the flat in search of help, but she knew this would make the situation infinitely worse. Also, she wasn't sure that her legs would actually carry her anywhere…she felt rooted to the ground, with her eyes fixed on Jim. It was almost as though he had a cast a spell on her. For the briefest of seconds, she actually entertained that possibility before discarding it. Don't be stupid, Molly. He's not magic, he's just a very dangerous man. Just do what he tells you and maybe he'll leave you alone.But at the same time, the little thrill of excitement, the adrenaline coursing through her body…these things were undeniable.
"Why am I here? I'm here because I missed you of course. How could I stay away from you?" he almost purred. His voice both sent a shiver of nausea through her body and a tingle of what she hated to say was arousal up her spine. He took a step towards her, his expensive shoes looking impossibly shiny against her threadbare carpet. She flinched. "Oh come on, you're not scared of me, are you? Little old me?" He walked slowly up to her – prowling, like a lion stalking its prey, she noticed – stopping just behind her and murmured in her ear, "You weren't scared of Jim from IT, were you? Oh no, you were very keen on him. Or was that just keen to prove to yourself that he wasn't gay? That was a particularly nice touch, if I do say so myself. But I promise you, I am the furthest thing from gay you can possibly…imagine…" He breathed the last two words in her ear, causing an involuntary shudder to pass through her body. Her eyelids had closed without her noticing and her head was tilted slightly back. She shook herself. She should not under any circumstances be enjoying this. A good eighty percent of her was the most terrified she'd ever been, while the rest of her…
Jim chuckled. "Oh, little Molly Hooper…Sherlock Holmes' loyal pet. Are your loyalties beginning to sway?"
"Ex-…excuse me?" she stammered, willing herself not to give anything away or to start crying; two very real possibilities. "Jim, please…I'll…please…" He laughed again and walked around her until he was standing once again at the foot of the bed. His eyes flicked down to her bare feet with the chipped pink nail polish and travelled slowly, languorously, up her pale shaking legs, taking in the towel and the white-knuckled hands clutching it in place. She tried to maintain eye contact with him but found herself trembling. What was he going to do to her?
"You'll what, Molly? You'll do anything? Anything, to keep your precious Sherlock safe? Do you really think that that will make him notice you? He hasn't noticed you yet, has he? All the special privileges with the morgue equipment, the cups of coffee, the new dresses…why not take an interest in someone who can really…appreciate you?" He lowered himself onto the bed, hitching up the legs of his trousers as he did so. He ran a hand over the pink flowered duvet cover and smiled. "I remember this bed…we had fun, didn't we?"
Molly was speechless. She could feel tears welling up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She refused to let him see how close to the nerve his comments had hit her.
"Well, I certainly had fun at any rate. You were so eager to please, bless you. So desperate to prove the great Sherlock Holmes wrong…to prove your own suspicions wrong." He cocked his head to one side and looked up at her, his stare piercing straight into her eyes. Without shifting his gaze or even blinking, he patted the space on the bed next to him. Molly didn't move. She didn't dare, not even a muscle's twitch. The thing that scared her even more than this situation she'd found herself in was the fact that she actually wantedto go and take a seat next to him. She wanted to do a whole lot more than just that. Although her mind was screaming, shrieking at her not to…something was drawing her in. So she stayed rooted to the floor, determined not to give in. "Come on…" His voice sounded like he was beckoning a frightened animal. "I'm not going to hurt you...yet." Molly gulped, her eyes fixed on his hand which was still resting in the spot he wanted her to sit. "I haven't got all day…Daddy's getting impatient. Be a good girl and come here…" His coaxing tone was soft, lilting…terrifying. Still she didn't move.
Suddenly he sprang across the room, hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. His face was millimetres from her own, his eyes wild and his nostrils flaring. "I don't like to be kept waiting" he hissed violently, punctuating each word by flexing his fingers around her neck. Molly gasped and spluttered, trying to speak with what little breath she could muster. "I…I'm…please…I'll….anything…"
He held her there a little longer, glaring into her eyes, almost daring her to break his gaze. Eventually, he let go and turned his back on her, sauntering back to the bed as she collapsed to the floor, her legs unable to hold her up any longer. As she sat crumpled, trying to get her breath back, he turned and looked down at her reproachfully like a disappointed teacher.
"Now, now, Miss Hooper…there really is no need for all this. You need to learn and you need to learn quickly: your life will be much easier and much longer if you just do exactly what I say and when I say for you to do it…is that clear?"
She nodded shakily. Despite her quivering muscles, her rapid uneven breathing and her inability to utter any kind of sound…something about him sauntering back over to her bed and lounging on it was affecting her in a way she sort of wished it wasn't. Something inside her was awakening, something she'd never known was there. The danger she was in was beginning to scare her less and less…and excite her more. She focussed on this. Dream Molly wouldn't be huddled on the floor like a terrified animal. Dream Molly would use this situation to her advantage. Jim was watching her, smirking. It was a gargantuan effort for her to move, but she struggled to her feet, determined that her legs wouldn't fail her now. She moved slowly, tentatively across the room until she was standing directly in front of Jim, her towel held a little looser now. Inside, she was screaming in fear but outwardly she murmured, "What do you want me to do?" as seductively as she could. His eyes flicked up and down her half-dressed body and one eyebrow raised ominously…