Hullo, everyone! First, I want to thank all of the lovely, lovely people who reviewed, favourited, and alerted this story. Thank you so, so much; you have no idea how much it means to me. So again, thank you. Secondly, I want to point out that I am not British, and this is not "Brit-picked", so I'll probably have some things a bit off. Please, if you catch something like this, let me know about it in a review! Lastly, I want to clarify that in his, Reichenbach never happened. So, now that all the mushy and informative stuff is over, I present to you chapter two. Also, I apologise in advance for any crappiness in this story; I'm sure there is, and will be, plenty.


Molly Hooper woke up alone. She felt a sharp pang of disappointment, along with a small sense of panic. She was certain Jim had been there when she had fallen asleep; wasn't she? Wasn't he the one that had comforted her, held her as she cried, whispered soothing words? Hadn't he held her as she dozed off, one hand still tracing small circles on her back? Or perhaps she had been so bloody tired, and so emotionally strained that her mind had conjured up her psychopathic, criminal mastermind ex-boyfriend in order to succour her until she finally slept? Was it all just an extremely vivid, detailed hallucination? Fear gripped her heart as she toyed with the idea that she may truly be going insane, that the events of the past few weeks had actually sent her into a psychotic break. That couldn't be right, though, because now that some of the grogginess has left her mind, she catches a whiff of sandalwood and something muskier, headier. Jim. She also smells something different, something…burnt. Her nose wrinkles as she grimaces. Though it was rather nice to lie about all day, she did have work to do, and it wouldn't hurt to go see Jim, just to be certain he was real, and hadn't done any serious damage to her flat.

She stripped off her clothes, replacing them with a blue T-shirt and hip-hugging trousers, threw on a dab of perfume, combed her hair out with her fingers, and then padded down the hallway towards the living room. Of all the things she expected to find, Jim curled up on the couch with Toby and a large bowl of popcorn, watching re-runs of Eastenders, was not one of them. He looked up when she entered the room, and she gave him a meek wave.

He grinned. "Molly! Finally awake, are we? You seemed so tired and I hated to wake you. I texted your work and told them you'd be taking a few days off. That's alright, of course?" The words were light and almost playful, but they held a darker undertone, and his eyes dared her to contradict him. Oddly, this sent a small thrill through her.

"Of course," she replied with a smile, moving to sit by him on the couch. "I take it you burned the first bowl of popcorn, then?"

Jim looked delighted. "Very good! Yes, I did burn the first bowl. I had forgotten how hard it is to do domestic things."

Molly beamed at the compliment, reaching over to steal a few pieces. "Domesticity is not too bad. A bit boring sometimes, but you get used to it."

He shuddered. "Why would anyone want to?"

She considered this for a moment. "Routine," she said finally. "People are always rushing round, going about their busy, everyday lives where the only constant is change. I suppose it's nice to have something to come back to that rarely changes. It calms the mind, helps you to relax. Kind of like a safe haven." She frowned as she noticed Jim looking at her oddly. "What?"

A small, peculiar smile twisted his lips. "I just can't comprehend why Sherlock thinks you're so…"

"Stupid? Inadequate? Daft?" She supplied bitterly.

He nodded. "That. Obviously, he hasn't held a decent conversation with you, or he'd realise just how wrong he is."

Molly felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks. "He's probably right," she muttered.

Jim's eyes flashed, and his voice took on a chilling quality. "Oh yes, because he's always right, because he's Sherlock Holmes."

She shook her head quickly. "No, no, that's not it. It's just…compared to you and him, I'm really nothing special. I'm certainly no genius, I'm not very pretty, my lips are too small, I'm too small, I-"

He held up a hand to stop her, his voice softening. "I think you're very pretty, and very intelligent." A mischievous look passed over his features. "As for your lips…" He ducked down to press a quick kiss to them. "I think they're perfect, as are you."

A shy look passed over her features. "You really think so?" she asked quietly.

"Molly Elizabeth Hooper," he murmured, fingers grasping her chin and turning her face to look at him, "I think you are absolutely perfect, and you needn't ever doubt that."

"Thank you," she whispered with a grin as he once again pulled her to his chest.

She felt another small kiss pressed to her head as she turned her attention to the programme. She had already seen this particular episode, and she took small joy in softly speaking the lines along with the characters. After a while, she felt rather than heard Jim begin to do the same. The lulling motion of his chest as it rose and fell with his breathing, coupled with the faint murmur of his soft, lilting voice put her at peace and made her somewhat drowsy. Her eyelids slid closed after a few moments, and she felt herself drifting off again


"Molly," a voice sing-songed. "Molly, dear, wake up."

She groaned as her shoulder was shaken insistently, and opened her eyes, blinking blearily up at the form above her. A form that was grinning far too widely. A form with dark hair and equally dark eyes.

"Whuddizzit?" she mumbled.

"You have to wake up, darling. We have planning to do!"

This certainly got her attention, and she sat up, rubbing the girt out of her eyes. "Planning?"

"Yes, Molly. Planning!"

"For what?"

"Our revenge, of course!"

This threw her for a moment. "Revenge? On whom and for what?"

Jim sighed, rolling his eyes. "On Sherlock, and John, and that silly Detective Inspector, and all the other people who have hurt you. They need to be taught a lesson." Again, his features seemed to morph into something more sinister. "You're mine now, Molly, and they need to learn that nobody hurts what's mine."

A small shiver danced down her spine at the dark, possessive tone. Molly Hooper quite liked the idea of belonging to Jim Moriarty. Liked it far more than she - or anyone else- should, really. Still, doubt niggled at the back of her mind.

"Jim," she said slowly, "I don't think it'd be right to do that. I'm not very comfortable with the idea of hurting them. They're my friends."

"Friends?" he repeated softly. "They're your friends?"

"Y-yes," she whispered. "They're my friends."

"Tell me, Molly, where were your friends when you were hurt? Where were they when you were left an emotional mess? Where were they when you were being ignored and scorned for your 'involvement'? Where were these friends when you were breaking down? Oh, yes, I forgot! They were there, taking part in it, causing you to fall apart! Precious Sherlock with his cruel, biting words. Sweet John with his compliments and lies. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who couldn't even make eye contact, much less offer any support. Tell me, Molly, why would your friends do that? Answer me!" His words had grown steadily louder until he ended with a yell.

Molly cowered, looking up at him in fear as he glared at her, breathing heavily, rage shining in his eyes, his face.

"I-I don't know!" she whimpered, biting back a sob.

He instantly looked contrite, almost horrified. "Oh, Molly," he murmured, reaching out to gently stroke her face. "I'm sorry, love. Jimmy has a bad temper." He gathered her trembling frame in his arms, making small shushing noises. "They aren't your friends, Molly. They don't care about you. I've kept a watch on your phone. Not one of your so-called friends has called to check up on you. They don't care, Molly. They use you, can't you see? Sherlock uses you for body parts and lab access, John uses you for Sherlock access, and the others use you for their own purposes. They don't care about you, Molly. But I do. I care about you, and I won't let them hurt you. They need to learn, Molly. They need to see that hurting you is wrong, as is using you. They have to learn. Will you help me teach them?"

Molly pulled back, looking up at him with a new determination in her eyes. "Yes."

Jim smiled and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "That's my girl.

"She beamed, and they began to plan.


Well, that was worse than expected! I have a bad feeling that, due to my nocturnal writing habits, this is going to be another "oh-it-looks-lovely-now-at-two-in-the-morning-but-when-I-read-it-later-this-will-be-the-biggest-pile-of-bullcrap-ever-written" sort of thing. Again, if you've made it to the bottom, kudos to you! Thank you so much for reading, and if you have the time, please drop me a review!