AN: Hey there pals! ^_^ Lala here, reporting with doses of Sherlolly. Season 3 has left me in a complete mess and i have been using fanfiction like an addict does with pills. This idea has been itching in my head since the last few minutes of His Last Vow, and yeah. Here's me releasing it. Hope you all enjoy it!
Molly Hooper sat at the staff room, waiting for Sebastian, also known as "Tom", also known as her "ex-boyfriend", to pick up his bloody phone. Out of all the days to decide to be unavailable, it had to be today!
Magnussen is dead! Magnussen is dead and I can't even tell you that because you're God knows where and I'm stuck at the bloody morgue as per bloody usual, waiting for you to make all the bloody-
"Did you miss me?"
It was like a whisper in her ear, arms draped around her, in the empty room devoid of souls. She flinched so hard, her iPhone fell to the floor.
That can't be
"Did you miss me?" it said over and over again; the same, slightly autotuned, voice, repeating the words like a chant.
That voice could only belong to one person. There could only be one. But he's dead. He should be dead.
Dead bodies, cries of desperation, screaming; they all trigger her to sit up, motivate her to seewhat sends her body to hysterics. She could almost faint.
She forced herself to take deep, slow breathes, suddenly feeling a thousand pair of eyes watching her. He's back. He was never gone. The man that took her life never really fled and has probably been keeping a watchful eye on her; on what remains of his web: Sebastian Moran, Molly Hooper, Heidi Günter, Kitty Riley, Tamaki Fujioka and Sniper. Maybe they've kept their fair share… if half of them didn't meet Sherlock Holmes.
She had to get up, she had to get away. If he really is alive, then she knows exactly where he would be. Gingerly, she allows herself to stand, holding on to things, anything to keep her from falling, and sneaks out through the back doors and heads to the, surprisingly, overbearing warmth of London.
"We need to Celebrate!" John chirps with delight, one arm draped around his wife, and the other placed awkwardly on Sherlock's shoulder as they hobble over to Mary's car.
"Celebrate the return of a criminal mastermind? And I'm the alleged psychopath," Sherlock murmured ever so softly, probably in denial over the recent turn of events.
"No!" John frowned. "The return of Sherlock Holmes, you're back and you're not exiled and you probably won't be dead in six months' time. I dunno, I think that's a pretty good reason to celebrate."
"And you were exiled for what, four minutes? I think that's a new record," Mary adds. "And John and all your other friends won't be losing you again," she says softly, aware of the sentiment that comes with it.
"Celebrate when a criminal mastermind is at loose?" Sherlock frowns, stops in place.
"Well… yeah," John nods, also stops, and stares at Sherlock dead in the eyes.
"sounds fun," Sherlock comments before walking off, aware of the look of delight on the Watsons.
"I'll make the calls!" Mary says as she takes a seat.
"And I'll drive us there," John mimics her.
The first thing she sees when she gets home, is her belongings knocked in disarray; the floors a sea of paper and decay. Last time she checked, she certainly didn't leave it that way.
"Sebastian Moran! I know you're in here!" she calls, as she practically swims in the pile of ankle deep paper. All her precious valuables, smashed into pieces.
"I swear to God if you've hurt Toby in the slightest bit I will personally make a coat with your-"
A shrill ring interrupts her session of insults. Staying Alive by the Beegees sing at full blast. She didn't even know she had the song on her phone.
"Hello?" she asked.
"Molly," the familiar voice of Sherlock Holmes relieves her for a slight instant.
"Oh it's just you," she exhales.
"Indeed it is just me," Sherlock stated. "Were you expecting someone else?"
"Would you be disappointed if i were to say yes?"
"Mm, no" he deadpanned
"Oh, Good."
"Is something the matter Molly?" Sherlock asks, almost sounding genuinely worried. I guess developing sentiment happens when you spend two years being dead. Let's just hope it worked for the other one...
"Fine. And you?"
"Peachy. Um… are you perhaps...free right now?"
"Why?"
"We're in the midst of celebrating the return of a criminal mastermind," he jokes; she can almost see that small smile of his.
"Haha, celebrating." She breathes, hopes the guilt in her voice was not too detectable. It's almost impossible for Sherlock Holmes to miss something out of place, but he had always been wrong about her.
"Err," she considers the proposition, until the footsteps from the other side of the apartment wake her to reality.
Moriarty's alive, you're in deep trouble, find Moriarty and make up a grand excuse for the laziness; now is not the time for a picnic!
"Sorry, but I'm really busy right now, is it okay if we do it another time?" she asks.
"Oh, alright." He hangs up without a farewell.Bastard
"Sebastian?" she calls, suddenly feeling very unwelcome in her own home.
"Nope," she hears an Irish reply. "Even better!"
Oh god, that was fast.
She's thankful for his dramatic behaviour, otherwise he probably would have rushed in to see her cringe and wince at every move he made. She has been a bad, bad girl. And who knows how she's going to pay for it.
"To Sherlock's return!" John makes the toast, more than happy that his best friend is alive. They all raise their glasses and drink to their favourite sociopath, laughter, bubbles of chatter the idle banter, good food, practically everything in place.
And yet everything felt so... out of place for Sherlock; and it wasn't just because of his hatred for social gatherings.
"Hmm, why hasn't Molly come yet?" Mary asks Sherlock, a question everyone was probably eager to know as they all hush down to hear his answer.
"I don't know," he asks, bewildered by the sudden silence.
"Have you called her?"
"Yes."
"Oh well, she's just probably busy," john, who was slightly tipsy ("Lightweight," Lestrade sneers).
"Or she probably saw what was on the… you know," Mrs Hudson murmured, probably afraid of the topic herself.
"He dated her didn't he?" Lestrade muses.
"Who?" Mary asks.
"Well, you know," Lestarde gestures.
"Moriarty, not Voldemort," Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"Really?" Mary asks, alarmed with the news.
"Yeah, she dumped him and was left completely unharmed," John nods.
"How did you know that?" Sherlock asks.
"She told me."
Sherlock attempts to conceal his frown, he never knew John and Molly were friends for that long.
"Oh my god, he fancied her, didn't he?" Mary chuckles warmly.
"No, he used her to get to me," Sherlock answers briskly.
"But he left her completely unharmed, he could have just killed her when he was done with her, and thank God he didn't, he could have done so many horrible things to her. But he didn't," Mary tried to explain.
"Psychopaths are incapable of human emotions," Sherlock reminds her.
"He really is back," Lestrade says. He never thought those words would apply to Moriarty; the man that forced Sherlock to jump off a roof or his friends would kill be killed.
"Yeah okay, can we just f-forget about that for a second? We can think about that tomorrow, but for: to Sherlock!" John, clearly wasted, swigs a pint of beer.
(flashback time: august 2011)
"Wh-where am i?" Molly asked wearily, her head beating faster than her heart. Whatever Jim- no- Moriarty slipped in her coffee, it must have been lethal.
He remained silent and kept walking, swinging a black cane in one hand that matched perfectly with his suit.
She fumbled with her words, tried to keep in pace with the man, but it was no use.
"What are you doing Molly, I told you to sit over there," he gestures at the plastic set of chairs and tables with his cane.
"Which seat?" she asked groggily. She took a step; her face nearly smacked the floor, felt herself being pulled by a magnificent force.
"That bastard, always handling with the wrong doses," she heard him.
The force recklessly throws her on a chair, it was Moriarty. For a thin man he has some strength
"How are you feeling?" he asked. Her head with brimmed with noises, loud noises and pain. Her eyes fought to clamp shut, but she couldn't let herself do that. Not now, not now, not when the possibility of never waking up remained so close.
"Falling asleep? Am I really that boring?"
Molly's eyes returned with life, stare right at his.
"Fine," she lied. "Am I gonna die?" she suddenly asked, tried to keep her head up.
"Die, no, quite the contrary actually." He drawled on. "You see, you've piqued my interest," his face was so close to hers, she could smell the gum in his mouth.
"huh."
"I know! how did a mousy, boring, little pathologist manage to catch the interest of me, a well established criminal?" he speculated, leaned back and threw his legs on the table that separated the two of them.
"And i don't think anyone's noticed you've gone anyway, as if they'd care," he scoffed.
"y-you're wrong." She managed to utter, her breath turning sharp.
"Oh no, it's all happening so quick, i can't even tell you the full story. So let's be quick about this too."
He dramatically warmed up his breath.
"Molly Hooper, i would like you to join my criminal network. Work for me and experience the same fun i have."
"Crinimal, me ? y'sure?" she blabbered, her mouth failed to move.
"Yes... i think you'd make an excellent 'crinimal'."
"NO," she barked, her own voice was too loud to comprehend.
"Yes," Moriarty countered, except much calmly. "Or I'll leave you here to, you know, decompose."
"W-what?"
"Oh Molly, Molly, Molly. Did you really think i'd be as dumb as to give you a simple proposition? Let's re-word my request: will you join my network or die?"
She didn't answer, her blood shot eyes gave a glazed look at the criminal, as if she wasn't even listening. And she wasn't exactly listening either; the blood rushing to her ears was deafening enough.
"JOIN OR DIE?!" he shouted so abruptly, Molly flinched.
"Ha... poison," she managed to let out as her whole body slumped to the table, centimetres away from Moriarty's perched feet.
"Yes, poison. Ordered the dosage from my assistant except he gave twice the dosage," he sighed. "So you better hurry because time's-a-ticking."
"Thought you won't kill me," her shoulders shrugged, face covered by her arms. She was probably crying.
"Oh, well- i lied," he said in a sing-song style. "Anyway, according to my fellow workers, you have 3 minutes to make a choice, so do hurry. I'm getting a bit impatient now."
Become a criminal, me? or die in the middle of nowhere and be found ten years later? Or... maybe that could work.
"I don't" she croaked, feeling some form of liquid rise in her stomach.
"I can't," her breath became short gasps. Hot tears were pouring down her.
"Yes?" he pressured.
"I can't die now, i don't," blood, which she thought were tears, streamed down her ghastly pale cheeks, blocked her vision. She started coughing uncontrollable, also released blood out there too.
"Excellent answer and perfect timing," he smiled, she thought, she couldn't see anything anyway. She last thing that registered her mind was a pair of arms encasing her body as her world became black.
AN: ah i really love Jim, except he is such a pain to write because he is so amazing. I know you're probably thinking "you promised us Sherlolly, where is the Sherlolly?!" well it'll come soon i promise! Let me know what you think about this chapter, whether it was interesting, boring, cliché, anything! i', so very excited to continue writing this, and i'm sure i will be writing frequently as i tend to procrastinate on my studies a lot.