lupus in fabula- the wolf in the story

"So where've you been, boss?" Sebastian said from his place on the couch, watching a rerun of White Christmas on the telly.

Jim shut the door behind him and cracked his neck. "Spreading Christmas joy, of course," he said sarcastically. He had actually been driving aimlessly around London. "Did your sister like her gift?"

"Loved it," Sebastian said. He had an older sister in Bristol, and for Christmas, he had gotten her two Persian rugs and an apple corer-peeler-slicer. She had an eclectic personality and even more eclectic interests.

Jim watched the telly idly for a few moments before going upstairs without a word. The sniper on the sofa didn't move.

This was their Base of Operations. Jim and Seb stayed there permanently, and others came and went as the business needed. It wasn't a home, or even a flat. It was a place where he sometimes slept.
Sometimes being the key word.

He left his suit in a wad on the floor and climbed into bed, but could not fall asleep.

Instead, he thought about Molly. Molly, whom he hadn't found at home earlier in the evening, but had spotted leaving 221B Bakers Street later. Looking quite pretty in a new black dress that did wonders for her. Even if the only one who noticed her wonder was Jim and that police inspector who helped her to the cab.

Naughty, Jim thought. You haven't even divorced your wife yet and you're moving in on my girl.

His girl? He stared up at the gray ceiling and nodded to himself after a bit. Yes, his girl.

He didn't bother to puzzle out the 'why's. They usually sorted themselves on their own as he did whatever he had decided to do.

How to inform her of this new change would be the tricky bit.

He made a mental note to figure out when school started up again before sleep rose up to claim him. Since this was becoming a rare occurrence, he acquiesced.

Molly carefully covered up the nameless woman's bashed-in face and pushed her body back into its slot. She rubbed her eyes and thought of the paperwork she'd have to fill out because of Sherlock and Mycroft's visit. It was nearly midnight –almost December twenty sixth.

She and Kathleen had done Christmas in the morning, and it had been lovely, even meeting Heather and their mother for dinner. Heather had not talked about any new men in her life, and her mother had only made two probing comments about Molly's love life, or the lack thereof. She'd count that a victory.

Molly rubbed her hands on her Christmas jumper from her mother. She sat down at her desk to make out her reports and recover from the fact that she now knew that Sherlock did not care for her, and probably never would.

It's no great loss, she told herself, shuffling papers. He may seem intriguing and wonderful, but what if we did start –and I had to deal with him day in and day out. Goodness knows John always looks supremely irritated with him. And you know it makes you uncomfortable, the things he says. And…

She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath. If she kept on like this, she felt like she might fly off… whatever she was anchored to.

"That bad, hmm?"

The light, slightly amused voice didn't quite register at first, but as she peeked between her fingers, Jim Moriarty was the last person she expected to see.

He slowly sauntered into her mortuary with his hands in his suit pockets. "Look at you, Molly Hooper. Working on Christmas, naughty." He smiled.

"Um," was all she managed to say, watching him grow closer and closer to her desk. She had known Jim from IT was a lie, but not to what extent. She saw no comparison between the construct and the man before her.

"Did you like your present?" he asked, reaching for her neck. His fingers brushed the skin around her collarbone, and she flinched. He pulled on the silver chain, and the silver heart emerged from under her Christmas jumper.

"Why –why did you give it to me?" she asked, biting her lip. She didn't like him standing over her. But she wasn't sure if she could stand to face him.

"Oh, you know me, Moll." He flashed her a lopsided grin. "I'm just a nice guy."

Molly shook her head slowly. "I don't know you at all."

He made a mock-injured face. "No? Not after coffee at ungodly hours and Glee and rescuing your niece from an abuser?"

"That was all a lie," Molly snapped, frowning hard. "And don't you ever get near Kathleen. I don't know what you want with me; I don't care. But Kathleen has nothing to do with it and you aren't going to hurt her."

"Wasn't planning on it," Jim said, and his lip curled. "See, that's what I don't understand about you, Molly. You're docile as a mouse, and you probably couldn't speak up to save your life, but when it comes to her…" he trailed off. "You change. And I missed it. It's vexing."

"Some people bring out the best in others," she whispered. "She deserves it. She needs it. She hasn't got anybody else."

"Ah," he whispered, eyes dropping to the silver heart that he still held. "Ab imo pectore." He let go, and it thumped softly against her jumper. "Come on, Molly, get your bag," he said. "I'll give you a ride back to your flat."

"Why?" Molly said.

"Christmas," he shrugged. "Kathleen's gonna be waiting up for you. I'm bored. I dunno."

"Why should I believe you?" she asked, staring up at him. "All you did was lie and use me."

He did not deny it. " 'Jim from IT' was the lie," he said. "I lied to everybody. And I used everybody."

"But me in particular," Molly pointed out.

He shrugged violently, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, okay, I did. But you were the only one who could actually stand Sherlock Holmes." He smiled. "Jim Moriarty will never lie to you, Molly Hooper."

"And who is Jim Moriarty?" she asked. She stood up and grabbed her bag.

"Let's find out," he said, opening the door for her. And she walked through it.

**Ab imo pectore –from the deepest chest. Or, from the bottom of my heart.