a/n: A couple people asked me to continue this, even though it was just a Oneshot, and so here ya go! Just a warning, this will be a very, very, dark story. There will be some language and if you can't handle a lot of blood and some gory violence, then I suggest you do not read this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it as much as you can!

"What?" Molly breathed in confusion. Moriarty grinned.

"Where are you hiding Sherlock Holmes?" he repeated slowly, the purr of his Irish accent bringing a blush to the coroner's cheeks.

"I'm...I'm not hiding Sherlock. He's dead," she almost squeaked. She resembled a mouse who had just been pinned down by a cat. "Awww...you're cute as a button when you're frightened." James poked her nose playfully.

Molly looked positively terrified; she was trembling like a leaf.

"...I believe you, though," Moriarty admitted. He had studied every feature of her face a thousand times over when they had been dating and he could tell when she was lying; he knew her confusion was genuine. However, when dear Molly said Sherlock was dead, her breathing had quickened and she'd looked down for a moment. "Well, mostly. I know you helped Sherlock fake his death," he added, watching her closely, his face still hovering over hers. There: a slight flicker in her eyes, a quickening of that sweet breath…

"I-I-"

"Now, Molly, I can tell when you're lying," he started, digging his fingers slowly into the fabric of the lab coat on her shoulders; oh, he wanted so badly to rip the damn thing off and feel her skin against his, to dig his fingernails into her arms and draw blood, scarlet blood...so red…

"And that makes me VERY ANGRY!" he shouted the last part, earning a squeak from Molly. It tickled his amusement and he resumed his confident and sly grin, loosening his grip on Molly's shoulders and sliding his hands down to hold hers, gently.

He noticed her blush deepen. She liked that.

Moriarty, for reasons half unknown to even himself, leaned forward and closed the gap between Molly's lips and his own.

She tasted faintly of strawberries, just as he remembered she would. Molly seemed to be swept away by the kiss; Jim mused on what or who she must be thinking of.

'Probably Jim from IT...' he thought, smirking through the kiss. After another moment, he pulled away, rather reluctantly, surprising to him, and ran a finger down her cheek to her lips and let it linger there for a moment.

'Now, don't lie to me. Where's Sherlock?" Moriarty questioned softly.

Molly hesitated; Moriarty saw Molly stealthily pick up a scalpel.

"Sherlock is dead," she started, looking determined and defiant. Jim smiled inwardly but cast a nasty glare to inform her that he knew she was still lying.

"And so are you!' Molly exclaimed, attempting to stab James with the scalpel in the heart. Moriarty blocked it expertly, however, and laughed, squeezing her hand until she dropped the tool-gone-weapon.

"I admire your loyalty." He now knew, from observation, that Sherlock was, in fact, alive, but this timid woman knew nothing about his whereabouts. He shrugged.

"Okay, fine. So you don't know where he is. You could have just said so," Jim said, letting go of Molly. He smiled and began to walk away and stopped in front of the doorway. "I'll visit again soon, little Miss Hooper. Don't lie to me again," he said.

"Ciao~." was the last thing Molly heard before she heaved a sigh of relief.

Molly thought it was strange, the way he acted, but she was glad that she really didn't know where the detective consultant was, and that Moriarty believed her.

And yet, though Moriarty was gone, her lips still tingled, she still blushed, and her breath hitched once or twice in her throat in a mixture of nerves and adrenaline.

Shaking her head to dismiss those thoughts, Molly quickly cleaned up, deciding that it would be best to go home and come back refreshed in the morning.

Molly took a cab home and found herself unable to stop thinking about Jim Moriarty, those sweet gestures he used to make…

'Stop it, Molly...that's Jim from IT you're thinking of.' she thought, scolding herself inwardly.

The cab pulled in front of her destination. She paid the Cabbie and started towards her flat.

'Jim Moriarty is different...'

Molly opened the door to her flat and flipped on the lights, letting her eyes adjust to the light as she cleaned her glasses.

Once she set her spectacles on the bridge of her nose again, she was met by the sound of her Television turning on. She turned towards her living room and there she saw a tall, dark-haired man sitting on her sofa.

"What is…" her small voice trailed off. The man turned and peered at her with squinted eyes. Molly gasped.

"Hello, Molly," the deep and calculating voice of Sherlock Holmes greeted.