Rat-a-tat-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap! Molly's fingers raced across her keyboard as she signed into her laptop. What a day! She needed to vent her frustrations – the sooner, the better. She clicked the internet icon and opened her blog, finding the page where she could start a new entry. The pink background was exceedingly cheerful – not at all reflective of her current mood – and cute, fuzzy kittens looked back at her from their place on the screen. Across her lap sprawled the real-life version of those kittens, her cat Toby, who stared up at Molly with wide green eyes and meowed softly, as if questioning his mistress's distressed expression.

Molly absentmindedly scratched Toby's ears as she contemplated the flashing cursor onscreen. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to write. After all, how could she possibly put into words the tumult and turmoil of the past week?

Up until then, everything had been going great. Molly ate with Jim whenever they had the same shift, and they'd been on three amazing dates, the last of which culminated in the two of them watching musicals on telly in Molly's flat, mugs of hot chocolate in hand and Toby curled up between them on the sofa cushion. "Jim really liked you," Molly thought as she stroked Toby. But Toby wouldn't be seeing Jim anymore, and neither would Molly…and it was (mostly) Sherlock's fault.

Last week, Molly had finally been able to make good on her promise to show Jim around the lab and introduce him to Sherlock. Sherlock's mood had greatly improved recently, strings of cases coming to nice conclusions one after another, so Molly figured it was as good a time as any. They entered the lab to find Sherlock busy with the microscope, as usual, and John Watson, his flatmate, watching him work.

"Hello Sherlock, John!" Molly greeted them brightly. She and Jim had just giggled their way through another lunch hour, so she was in a good mood.

"Molly, how are you?" John asked warmly. Molly liked John – he was always nice to her, no matter what.

"Fine, thanks! Just showing Jim around. He's my boyfriend, he works upstairs."

"Jim, from IT," Jim said. "Pleasure to meet you, John."

"Indeed," John responded, shaking Jim's proffered hand.

"Gay," was Sherlock's input.

"Sorry?" Molly asked, hoping she'd heard wrong.

"Hey," Sherlock tried again, but Molly knew he'd changed his earlier thought.

"Wow," Jim breathed, walking over to the microscope, "Sherlock Holmes! So happy to meet you!" Sherlock ignored him and continued working.

"Jim, from IT." Again, nothing. Jim tried several times to engage Sherlock in conversation, but clearly, Sherlock wasn't having any of it. He glanced at Molly, puzzled, and she rolled her eyes and mouthed, I'm sorry! Did Sherlock really have to be so rude?

"Well, I won't keep you then," Jim finally said, turning to go. As he turned, he accidentally hit a beaker with his elbow, and he had to stoop quickly to keep it from crashing to the floor, nearly sending several others down with it in the process. Only his quick reflexes kept anything from spilling.

"Oops!" he said. "Sorry about that!" he grinned, but clearly there was no getting a response from Sherlock Holmes when he was in concentration mode – his "mind palace," Molly said he called it. "I'll call you?" he said to Molly. She nodded, and he backed out of the room. Jim had barely left when Molly rounded on Sherlock.

"What do you mean, gay?" she asked, her tone brusque and her voice raised. "He's my boyfriend!" The detective looked up at her, his favorite, "isn't it obvious?" look on his handsome features.

"Oh please, Molly, isn't it obvious?" he asked, his concentration now on her face, "He only gave it away in so many ways…" And Sherlock proceeded to outline each of those ways in his brutally methodical manner – Jim's clothes, his hairstyle, something about his underwear ("His underwear?" Molly interjected incredulously. "Yes, his underwear," Sherlock said matter-of-factly), the fact that he'd used the "dropping the beaker" trick to slip a piece of paper with his number on it under the microscope's base… "So, there you have it, Molly," Sherlock finished. "Totally gay."

Molly had no response except to turn on her heel and storm from the room. As she left, she caught John's eye, and she was mildly relieved to see that he looked almost as horrified as she felt. Molly heard his indignant "Sherlock!" as the lab's door slammed behind her. Molly had gone home after that shift and pulled her duvet off her bed, dragged it into the living room, and buried herself under it on the sofa, where she'd proceeded to watch several hours of crap telly, accompanied by cheap take-away and Toby (at least he was willing to cuddle).

Molly paused in her thoughts, shuddering as she remembered the scene. She had felt absolutely awful, and she remembered thinking that it couldn't possibly get any worse.

But of course, she was wrong. Barely a week later, here she was, having just found out that Jim, sweet, funny Jim, was actually a dangerous criminal mastermind who, just the other day, had strapped explosives to people for fun and then sent Sherlock cryptic text messages that forced him to solve several cases in a matter of hours if he wanted the potential victims to live. In one instance, Sherlock had solved the case but failed to save the hostage – as Molly understood it, the old woman had gone too far by attempting to describe her captor, and Jim, taking no chances, had pulled the trigger. Boom. Even worse, the lady had been in an apartment complex at the time, and twelve innocent people had died. Twelve people. Dead. Because Jim was playing a game! Jesus. The whole circus chase ended with Jim and Sherlock meeting in a local swimming hall, where Sherlock found John covered in explosives and Jim's cronies pointing lasers at both of their heads. Jim had relented long enough for Sherlock to remove John's explosive vest and toss it across the floor, but then changed his mind and repositioned his snipers, to which Sherlock calmly pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it first at Jim, then at the explosives. For almost an entire minute, no one moved, Jim's brown eyes locked on Sherlock's blue ones, Sherlock's hand steady as he kept his weapon trained on the bomb. Oddly enough, it was Jim's phone that broke the silence, and the tension.

John had told Molly the whole story. Up until this point in his tale, she'd refused to believe they were talking about the same person, but then John mentioned his ringtone.

"'Stayin' Alive,' by the Bee Gees. Kind of an ironic choice, given the circumstances, but we certainly weren't in a position to debate that one," John had said with a wry smile.

Molly groaned. Here was a detail she couldn't question. After all, how many times had she heard that same ringtone issuing from Jim's phone? A fair few.

John continued with his story. For whatever reason, the caller's information had been enough to make Jim – or Moriarty, as Molly knew him now – call off his snipers for good and leave the pool. Yes, Moriarty, the same name that had been connected with several of Sherlock's previous cases. The mysterious name now had a face to go with it, a face which, unfortunately, belonged to Molly's boyfriend. When he finished, John looked at her and said, "I'm sorry, Molly." Molly nodded, feeling numb but appreciating the gesture. John wasn't really her type, but at least he cared.

Molly shuddered again. Was anything ever going to go right for her in the romance department? First she falls for a consulting detective who takes advantage of her at every opportunity, then she finally scores a date with a nice guy…who turns out to be a consulting criminal? Dear God. She stared at her computer screen again, readjusting Toby so she could reach the keyboard properly (he'd fallen asleep on one of her arms). No, this whole mess couldn't be put into words, and even if it could, she didn't care to try – it was too raw and painful. Instead, she settled for something short and (bitter)sweet:

I won't be keeping this diary anymore. It was all a lie. Everything he said.

But, got to stay positive. Nobody wants an unhappy person working in a morgue.

Not that they want a particularly happy one either.

Stay happy everyone xx