Hey guys! Thank you to all of you who have favourited, read and reviewed, as ever I really am so grateful.

A special thanks to JJBluebell, I owe an awful lot of this chapter to her as she was the one who shared her thoughts on Jim's past with me, thank you for being so generous and I really hope I have done your ideas justice.

Also Chelliebear4, thank you for always following and supporting the story and also flinging ideas around with me, you're awesome.

As with the last chapter, abuse and some fairly dubious manipulation features heavily in this chapter, if that bothers you then this really isn't going to be a good read for you.

Hope you like it!

Chapter 7

"I'm untouchable, yes I am
But if you wanna touch me, you can
I'm a bastard, you know that I am
But that's just what you like in a man"

-Unlovable by Babybird

When was that she had begun to love her cage? Molly thought back and tried to pinpoint that exact moment. Maybe it was after their rather disastrous first and last date.

"Being as you've proven yourself to be such a faithful pet, and being as I have a brand new pair of Jeff Wests that I, quite frankly, look amazing in, we're going to the theatre." Jim had announced one afternoon, throwing his keys on the counter top and whirling through the kitchen like some kind of natural disaster. "Put this on…" he ordered, throwing a D&G bag at her feet,"…it was very expensive and looked scandalous on the mannequin. Don't bother trying to wear underwear with it."

His parting shot before going off to shower was, "Wear your hair down, look gorgeous, you know Daddy likes to show off!"

Butterflies filled her stomach; surprisingly it wasn't the thought of being James Moriarty's accessory for the evening that was bothering her but the thought of going outside. She should have been giddy at the prospect, excited and thrilled, but she wasn't. Instead she cowered at the thought of being let out, away from the securityof the four walls that she had been kept in for so long.

That evening, it was only the self-satisfied realisation that he had so thoroughly and effectively clipped her wings that stopped Jim from snapping at Molly's ungrateful display of insecurity.

The poor creature jumped out of her skin anytime someone brushed past her or spoke a little too loudly. Her fraught eyes darted to the door anytime a stranger entered the bar, after a while this began to grate on Jim, "Looking for someone Moll?" he enquired, both of them knowing which someone he was referring too. Even now, Sherlock was the one adversary that offered Jim any real competition.

Her wondering eyes returned to Jim, with not nearly as much fear in them as he had hoped, "No, I just…I think…can we go home? Please?" Her words hung in the air for a moment; was that what that place was now? Home?

"You're a crap date Molly Hooper." was all the response she got before he held out his arm for her to take and lead her out of the foyer to the car.

It took Molly a good fifteen minutes to peel herself out of the ridiculous dress that Jim had requested that she pour herself into. Although she had to admit, she had looked quite pretty in it, maybe even sexy. She had never before thought of herself in those terms, taking one last look at herself in the mirror she noted the slender curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips and bit down on a satisfied smile.

Returning to the living room she found Jim asleep on the sofa, actually asleep. Napping in front of News Night like a normal person, it seemed absurd.

She stared intently at his sleeping form, he was just a man like this. Not an indestructible monster, just flesh and blood like everyone else, just as fragile, just as mortal. It occurred to her that she ought to seize this rare opportunity, put a pillow over his face, stab him, take his gun out of his jacket pocket and end it all. But she didn't. She couldn't.

The cottage was always cold before the fire really got going; nothing seemed to heat the old 200 year old structure adequately. She picked up a mink throw from the back of the sofa and rested it over him.

In a flash his startling brown eyes flickered open, regarding her with suspicion, "What are you up to?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

Somewhat insulted Molly pulled her hands back from the blanket as though it had burnt her, "I'm covering you up; it's bloody cold in here."

Jim spent his life at least ten steps ahead of everyone else and yet he seemed genuinely taken aback by her kind gesture, "Oh…I see…" There was still a sleepiness to his voice, perhaps if he had been more alert he would have come up with a clever way to discount his overreaction and make her look stupid but instead he just watched her. Quietly she placed herself on the floor resting her back against the sofa, facing away from him, knees pulled up to her chest like a little girl watching cartoons on a Saturday morning.

She may not have been aware of Jim's appraising eyes taking her in, recalling how she used to flinch at his very presence, scream whenever he touched her, attempt suicide just to get away from him. Reaching out his hand he stroked a finger over the shell of her ear and she instinctively leaned into his touch, momentarily trapping his hand between her head and her shoulder.

"I'm bored Moll's…entertain me!" he whined quietly in drowsy tones.

Turning around to face him with a vaguely amused smile Molly rested her arms on the edge of the sofa, "Ok…" for once she seemed game, maybe it was the wine they had been drinking, Molly had been so nervous while they were out that she practically slung the whole bottle down her neck.

"…tell me about your first…" she paused considering how much Jim would enjoy this, he'd be in his element,"…murder."

To Molly's great disappointment Jim didn't seem half as pleased at her enquiry as she had expected, he merely exhaled sharply and smoothed the blanket over his legs, "It was my father."

Trying her best not to sound alarmed Molly nodded, "I see."

"No, no you don't see. You think I'm bad? At least I'm clever, at least there's a bit of finesse to what I do! He was…he was just an angry little parasite." Jim spat the words out like they were poison, as though the memory of his father was enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. "You've seen the scars on my back, the older ones?"

Truth was Molly had seen the lighter marks here and there on his back, but there again she'd always assumed that scars were an occupational hazard in Jim's line of work.

"From a belt…mostly…or whatever was at hand at the time. Terribly shoddy when you think about it, no attention to detail. Bloody amateur!" Jim denounced. "It was a terribly messy business killing him. People do the most undignified things when faced with imminent death. That's why I don't like getting my hands dirty these days. I'm the brains, you might say, not so much the brawn."

Treading carefully, very carefully indeed Molly dared to ask another question, "What about your Mum? What about her? What was she like?"

Jim's mouth twisted, that bad taste clearly back again, "She was…she was pathetic, weak, stupid…" he paused a look of utter contempt on his face as he recalled his mother,"…kind, warm, gentle…a lot like you really."

Molly knew she was in dangerous territory now, were she a little less brave, or perhaps a little less stupid she would have retreated there and then, "What happened to her?"

Jim refused to look at her as he answered, adopting a very matter of fact tone, "One day, when I was eleven my father caved her skull in with an ashtray. That's what happened to her." He topped off his revelation with a whimsical shrug.

Molly had no words. She merely stared back, processing the information, her mouth agape and useless.

"It was her own fault, she always went back to him, stupid bitch! Thought that she could fix him!" Jim laughed; it was a cruel, hollow, bitter sound.

Lowering his gaze his eyes settled on Molly's face, her glassy eyes rimmed with tears, in an instant he had both of her wrists firmly in his grip, shaking her from her pity, "Don't you fucking dare! One tear falls and I'll gouge your eyes out, I swear it." Jim elongated the word gouge in the most sickeningly drawling way.

Still held tight in Jim's grasp Molly daren't even blink, knowing his threats to be sincere.

"YOU CAN'T FIX ME! AND I WOULD FLAY THE SKIN OFF YOU IF YOU EVER EVEN TRIED!"

Maybe it was the wine again but Molly scoffed, she actually scoffed. It was possibly the most reckless thing she'd ever done in her life. Jim's grip tightened to the point that there would be new bruises to add to her already extensive collection in the morning.

"Fix you? Fix you…are you kidding? Jim, you're so broken I wouldn't know where to start!"

Jim pulled her closer to him, buying himself some time to come up with a suitably chilling response, her observation of him hitting slightly too close to home. Molly Hooper was never meant to see him like this.

Once again breaking his concentration Molly spoke up again, her voice so sincere it stung, "And still I would take you, as broken as you are, over anyone else."

It didn't pass Molly by that he was in fact taking her pulse as she spoke, making sure that it didn't quicken and expose her dishonestly. But she remained unperturbed, her pulse wouldn't tell on her, she didn't know where those words had come from but they were the truth.

The slow smirk that emerged over Jim's features was victorious and smug, but at least it was honest for once, "I'd say you were pretty broken yourself pet."