A/N: My first foray into the world of Molliarty! I've pondered this pairing quite a lot actually, I just never talk about it and I've obviously never done anything about it. Recently though, somehow, I've been thinking about them a lot. Could be because Loo Brealey & Andrew Scott pictures on her instagram...who knows? In any case, this is a first attempt for a ship I've not really explored. Don't think I've even read any Molliarty either. Yikes. Anyway, I thank anyone who's dared come read this first attempt. I also apologise if it was terrible, and I thank you if you managed to not hate it. For you to have taken time to read this nobody's work, I thank you from the bottom of my fandom-obsessed heart! xx

Rated T for some strong language

(Re)kindle

He had been in so many trysts before, weaving in and out of them as he saw fit or as they fit his plan du jour but this one, this particular one, he could not comprehend.

It was his tryst with Molly Hooper, the quiet but intriguing pathologist who spent half her time in the belly of Bart's hospital, that Jim Moriarty could not forget. It was rare that someone saw more corpses than he did in a day. Rarer still was it that someone should seem so at ease among so much death. He recalled the first time he had heard of her, the preferred pathologist of that insufferable Sherlock Holmes. She must be quite a character, he remembered thinking to himself.

What a character she had been. Tough as nails, yet sweet as sugar. Being with Molly was like sneaking vodka into your morning coffee. Whilst she had been enamoured with him, she had left a far deeper impression on the criminal mastermind than he had anticipated.

When she had abruptly broken up with him, earlier than he had planned on breaking up with her, Jim was curious, almost amused at how devastating it felt. At first, he had been able to shrug it off. It was going to happen anyway, he had told himself. Slowly, however, he found himself distracted by her absence. He missed their conversations, their late night wine binges and their intimate mornings. So when Jim woke up one morning in his own palatial but Molly-less dwelling, he went off-piste and found himself standing outside a florists' window.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the little old lady who ran the shop.
"I'm looking for, uh…" Jim paused to laugh to himself, "Flowers…"
"Well, you're certainly at the right place, love," chuckled the lady.
"It's for someone…I need to see again. Have you any flowers for something like that?" he asked, drumming his fingers nervously against his legs.
"It's got to be roses, love," she answered, "Everybody loves a good red rose…"
"Then ten for me it is," he said confidently.

Notes were exchanged and Jim was handed a bouquet of ten deep red roses. He took a whiff and coughed a bit. He never knew why people sniffed flowers. It certainly held no appeal for him. Nevertheless, with the flowers in hand, Jim made his way to Molly. He had hoped to surprise her at Bart's, for it was there that they had first 'met'. Having asked around for her, Jim found himself en route to one of the labs she frequented.

As he hopped into lifts and strode along corridors to where she was, he found his footsteps lightening somewhat. Jim caught himself wanting to whistle but held it back with a smile to himself. This was a refreshing emotion to experience. His eyes lit up when he saw the door to the lab she was in. Striding up to it, he peeked through the perspex circles in the doors and when he did so, quite nearly dropped the beautiful flowers.

There she was, smiling and relaxed, obviously cheerful, and talking to none other than Sherlock Holmes. As usual, Sherlock seemed to be ignoring her, studying scans of an object on a computer screen. Jim frowned as he tried to identify the object Sherlock was studying.

"For fuck's sake…" he muttered to himself, "It's Adler's phone."

Jim's recent bouts of distraction had made him forget momentarily that the detective and the Woman were currently engaged in their own bout of crossfire.

Why is she here with him? He asked himself. Jim did his best to lip-read their conversations in the lab but it only served to infuriate him. Molly seemed to be trying to initiate conversation with Sherlock, prying into the matter about the phone and the woman to whom it belonged. Jim could not tell what infuriated him more - the fact that Molly was trying so hard to get Sherlock's attention, or the fact that the detective was ignoring what was clearly a piece of sunshine.

A rustling sound caused him to stir, only for him to realise it was the sound of him crushing the bouquet in his hands from grabbing it so tightly. Any tighter and Jim would probably have had his palms pricked by those thorny stems. As he continued to watch the woman he could not forget and the man he wanted destroyed, Jim dropped his gaze suddenly and shook his head, laughing silently to himself.

How unexpected, he thought, as he slowly backed away from the door. That the man he had promised to burn had inadvertently burnt him first.

"Well, Sherlock, I'm impressed, but just you wait," Jim whispered, clicking his tongue, "I'll have the heart burnt out of you yet…"

END