"I-is that...?" Recovering from her surprise, immediately Molly corrected herself, lowering her pitch a few octaves. "My journal?" Mark swallowed, watching as a slow grin crawled across his proprietor's face. A chill rushed down Mark's spine, causing him to shudder.

"It is." Thoughtfully Jim eyed the book's cover, "I haven't changed the bindings." His dark eyes met Mark's, raising a brow as he said, "I would have thought you'd recognize what belonged to you." Harshly his companion bit his bottom lip, irritation tempered by confusion and an instilled polite nature. Deciding it was perhaps better not to curse at the man leasing Mark's current housing, he pointedly resolved to change tactics.

"Sir, may I?" Quietly he held out a hand, hoping his expression looked placid. Jim contemplated it for a second, taking the time to open the journal and flip through a couple of pages. Brows furrowing, Mark gradually dropped his hand into his lap.

"You know," Jim drawled as he inspected a particular sketch of Mr. Spence. A favourite at the mortuary, the corpse of a late tosher - who had lost his life and head when the tunnel he'd been working in collapsed. The drawing was one of Molly's, something she had pride in. Staring at this man, she wondered whether all of those meticulous details and hours spent were lost. "This has been very informative."

"I'm glad I could impart some education, w-was... were you fond of a particular entry?" Apparently pleased with the question, Jim crossed a leg over another, thumbing a messily jotted note.

"I'll tell you," he started, closing the journal after a moment, "how I got so much... pleasure from this piece of literature." Mark's eyes darted to the book, not willing to directly look at the smirk being given. The emotion behind it was far too discerning, as if this complete stranger could see into Molly's soul, and wanted to devour what he saw. She had never been the most pious woman, never attended religious rituals asides from the occasional holiday mass. However in this insistence, Molly wished she had a rosary to hold onto. She feared this devil, and the forbidden temptations it dangled before her. "If you give me something in exchange."

"Sir I.." Mark took a second to breathe, "I don't have much. I'm sure what little coin I hav-" Jim cut him off with a dismissive wave.

"Don't be obvious. What I want to know is," he abruptly bent forward, whispering "who you enjoyed most" as if they were long time conspirators.

Mark blankly blinked before catching on, "What corpse did I find the most likable...? I um..." After giving it a thought, he answered honestly. "Mr. Spence is a close second, but I'm fond of Mrs. Clarke, page twenty-two." Jim naturally opened the journal again, moving to the aforementioned page. Pasted to it was a photograph of an elderly woman, visage appearing to be sleeping. "Wolfsbane" Mark explained, incapable of meeting the other's gaze.

"And this one holds a special place in your heart?"

"I'm not sure of the best way to phrase this, but I find it reassuring. How even with the miraculous advancement of the world around us, how terrifying it all is, that simply touching a plant with an open wound can end your life. Mrs. Clarke reminds me of that... she'd be turning sixty-five this year." When Mark finally found the courage, he became breathless from the smile awaiting him. Back home in London, it was hard to find someone who was interested in what he had to say. The common gent found Mark's topics too dismal, and Meena - wonderful Meena had enough grey in her life. The only plausible person to share his interests with was Sherlock, but they were never in the same room long enough before wanting to cut the other's throat. That left only the corpses, who Molly would defensively add if ever asked, were immensely good listeners. The dead couldn't comment on her being a spinster wearing a silly moustache.

"Incredible." It was startling to see that this man earnestly meant it, and in fact held a forthright attentiveness in Mark's words. It was refreshing. "It's very disappointing."

"Sir?"

Jim shook his head, gaze off to the side in thought. "How I've met such a delightful person only now, it's off putting." His attention snapped back to Mark, "It doesn't matter. Now that we've met, I want to" he broke into another gut-wrenching grin, "gobble up every thought in that curious head of yours." Mark then became alarmed when Jim stood up, crossing the space between them and balanced precariously on the armrest of the chair. Before Mark could question this man's logic, he was stunned by a warm hand being placed on his thigh. Instinctively Mark gulped, mouth dry. The touch was nothing if not gentle, but in Mark's mind it weighed a ton, pinning him in place like a butterfly for observation.

Jim casually drummed his fingers, breath blowing onto Mark's neck when he sighed. Molly wanted to squirm, unsure what to do now with this strange energy. It had been manageable moments ago, at least then there had been some space in between them. But now she feared that if she moved the slightest, those fingers would slide further up her leg. And to her shame, she found a desire to do so. It was a small idea, sincerely she hadn't the faintest clue where it came from - maybe she'd been without the company of another for far too long, but she immediately crushed it.

As if sensing her inner debate, Jim's vexing digits crept along Molly's leg to her inner thigh. Dark eyes studying her reaction, and more accurately her lack of breathing, he stopped to rub his thumb along the clothed flesh. Teasingly he offered a promise with his stare, and sooner than Molly could expect he gave her a squeeze before he moved away. "As much as I've enjoyed this conversation, it's been rather one-sided." He sat down on his own seat once more, resting his head on his hand, "Aren't you curious?"

"I..." Mol- Mark, needed a second to compose himself before he could even think of responding. This man was clearly a devil, sent from the deepest pits of hell to personally torment Mark. He was sure of it.

And although the option to distract himself with an inquiry was wholly welcomed, it was a bit perplexing as to where to start. The questions he had, the ones that came promptly to mind, were intrusive. He didn't imagine finding much success in properly phrasing them, much less bringing the poor topic up. The best he could aspire to was:

Sir, when I ought to have been working on medical articles, I instead took the time to pilfer through your familial belongings. During one of these excursions, I came upon a series of letters in which I discovered that your late mother was having a torrid affair with another man. If you do in fact have knowledge of this, I would be inclined to learn more of the individual I know as, Hugh. Also, do you mind if I continue to read them? No, that didn't sound good. He then decided to step into safer grounds, although still mystifying.

"Sir, how did you come across my journal?" Yes, that was far better.

"That's it?" Jim frowned, "Of all the inquiries, that is the one you choose to ask?"

"Yes." Mark tried to not let the other's disappointment affect him too much, he had to be firm.

"Very well. It was given to me."

"I don't mean to suppose anything about your statement, sir, but is that it?" Mark's brows knitted together, "If that is the case, then do you mind me asking who gave it to you?"

"It was one of my servants, he'd come across it in a young woman's possession. You see, Dr. Hooper, things that enter Rose Point have a habit of coming back."

Young w- Mark perked up, "Sir, was that woman named Charlotte? A Ms. Charlotte Welter?" Indifferent, the man across from Mark shrugged.

"I don't hold any knowledge of a name, I didn't find it striking, so it wasn't necessary to learn."

"H-how... it wasn't important to you?" The thought was irksome, but it became pointless when Mark realized he wouldn't be getting much more out of the subject. "Mr. Moriarty, I understand that I hardly know you, but perhaps if I became educated on your character I could fully accept this situation."

"You want to appreciate more of my nature?" Mutely, Mark nodded, unsure how this response would develop. Jim's nose crinkled, which Mark was thankful to notice wasn't directed at him, but at the surrounding room. There had been care into making it up, but it was of last year's fashion - Molly found it handsome, but chose not to say such. Disdain obvious, Jim returned his attention to Mark with a chagrin pout. "I'll tell, but not in this hideous study. We'll talk again at a later date," he climbed to his feet, movement having Mark hastily doing the same. Sauntering to where the apprehensive pathologist stood, he continued with, "then you can fully dissect me." His gaze dropped to Mark's lips, smirk spreading across his face. "I expect to witness the entirety of your skills, Dr. Hooper." Mark found himself incapable of making any comment. Satisfied Jim stepped away, saying "It was a pleasure to meet you, I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening's festivities." He gave a slight nod, and Mark took the cue.

Feet unsteady, Molly left without a backwards glance. She knew even then that he stared after her, image having her ears roaring with her heartbeat. A curious Mr. Lancret held his position by the door, opening his mouth to comment on her expression, but she hurried past him. This building's atmosphere was suffocating, but more importantly she needed some distance to think. She wasn't certain where she was, taking random turns in the hallways until she finally took the right door and made it outside.

The chill of the night was heavy, causing Molly to break out into a series of shivers. Still, she gulped down the dry air, praying it would ease the panic. She had only met one other man of that intensity, Sherlock, but he never looked as closely as Mr. Moriarty did. Never wanted to feed on her like Jim. Absently she rubbed at her arms, blaming the goosebumps underneath the jacket on the cold. It was worse because a small horrid part of her wanted that, to be consumed.

"That was no man," she whispered staring into the nothingness of the sky, "he was a beast in human clothing."

"He often has that response." Words of terror caught in her throat, Molly spun around to face the person she hadn't noticed in her daze. He was tall, reasonably the same height as Sherlock. Leaning against the brick of the wall, he casually inhaled from his cigarette.

"Pardon me?"

"Moriarty" the stranger exhaled, smoke slithering from his parted lips. "He tends to get reactions like that" he nodded to Mark, "from people. Especially at a first meeting." Wetting his lips, he peered at Mark, turning a notion over in his head. Coming to a conclusion, he offered his cigarette. Now Molly wasn't the keenest on smoking, it tended to give her an awful headache. But she needed to be rid of the edge. She took it, inspecting it before she rose the cigarette to her chapped lips. A first time of sorts, she inhaled far too eagerly and hence broke out into a ghastly coughing fit. Her company accordingly patted her back, solid smacks that had her reeling. He plucked his cigarette out of her hand, returning it to his mouth. After a few straying coughs, Molly peered up, eyes hazy with tears.

She had to admit that he was charming, form strong and sturdy with years of physical work. The manner in which he acted reminded her of a solider, a man who had experienced untold tragedy in battle and was calm in it's presence. The rest of his features were neat, blonde hair slicked back and his stubble cut short. The greatest hint of his status was his clothes, a suit that although well-made was plain. It didn't allude high class like the rest of the other guest's outfits, and it wasn't of a servant's quality.

"I'm sorry, I've lost my sensibility. My name is Mark Hooper." Molly held her hand out, smiling softly.

"I know." He took one last drag before he flicked his cigarette onto the ground.

"...you know?" Her stranger rolled his neck, heedlessly cracking it.

"Yes, and I'd head in shortly if I were you. Mr. Lancret is a handful when upset." He offered no other comment, just patiently waited until Molly reluctantly headed inside. She couldn't help but feel that he'd been sent to watch over her, like a guard dog making sure she didn't venture too far.

The sooner she could find Mr. Lancret the better, only then would Molly be able to leave. The thought of returning to her quiet bedroom the motivator to her pace, eyes rapidly scanning the rooms for the familiar form. Playing the quite real part of a fool, helplessly she made her way through the building. What persons she asked about her missing butler, had either apologized for a lack of acquaintance, or took in Molly's appearance with disregard. She tried to not let it get to her, she was a strange outsider from London. And what interest they could possibly have, mainly the latest fashion and drama that came from the city life, would never been fulfilled by her; she was boring.

"Mark!" At least to some. It wasn't at all a surprise to see Lollie, standing shyly with a crystal sherry glass to her chest. From the colour of the contents, and the flush to the young woman's cheeks, Molly was certain it was wine. "How unexpected to meet like this." She hooked an arm around Mark's, stealing him away to a dark corner. Gaze drifting down his body, she smiled, "You're dressed handsomely tonight." The nearby candles flickered, shadows dancing across her face.

"Thank you" Mark mumbled, still looking for the caretaker. The sound of Lollie sighing had him redirecting his attention. "Are you alright?" He received a pout in response.

"Hardly. Aren't you going to return the favour?"

"Oh, um" Not wishing to insult his company any further, Mark examined the other's attire. Her hair was knotted into a chignon, held in place with an ivory clip. While her pale daffodil gown was elegant, sleeves long and ruffled at the ends. With a white sash tied around the waist, the pattern of oak leaves were adorned. It was beautiful. "Y-you're splendid this evening."

Lollie giggled lightly, taking the other's expression as admiration instead of jealousy; Molly could never hope to own such pretty things, not with her allowance. "Mr. Hooper you are a flirt." She glanced over shoulder, elated when the hall was filled with the beginning strung of a song. Two lines of guests had started to form, signalling the start of a dance. "Do you mind?"

"I'm..." Injured foot or not, Molly had never been graceful. Often she tripped over thin air; "I'm afraid I'm not in my best condition." Lollie's face fell. Feeling awful at the sight, Mark grasped Lollie's gloved hand, reassuringly giving it a pat. "There's no need to fret, it won't be hard finding another partner."

"Are you sure you can't manage one waltz?" Mark shook his head. "Right, well I expect you to at least watch." She took a step back, "To see what you'll miss out on."

Warily Mark watched as Lollie glided across the floor, joining a line with an impish countenance. He let out a sigh, taking to leaning against a wall. His release seemed nowhere in sight, "Mr. Lancret, where are you..?"

Resting a hand on the mantle, Jim continued to stare into the fireplace as the door behind him closed. "Well?" He broke out into a frown at the lack of response, hearing only someone roughly sitting onto the sofa.

"Well?" A voice eventually said, parroting the word in a gruff tone. Exasperated, Jim spun on his heel.

"Come now, dear Sebastian. What did you think?"

The man in question leaned heavily on his seat, impassivity it's fullest as he wiped some soot from his trousers. "He can't smoke for shite."

Jim rolled his eyes, "And is that all you noticed?"

"And..." Sebastian paused, "he's a short thing, soft. Seemed in a fit over you." He crossed his arms, "Nothing unusual with that."

"No... no, right you are." He reached a hand out to the mantle, drumming his fingers on the marble. Tonight had been refreshing, Mark Hooper was far more interesting then he let on. A smirk pulled on Jim's lips, recalling the pathologist's mixed emotions. But he wasn't here for that, Hooper had been a dessert - one he had yet to properly savor. And he planned on doing exactly that, but work had to be completed first. "And our guest, how is he?"

"Paid his debts off, but not his sins. Which reminds me, your bloke said a comment."

Jim's brows knitted together, "Who?"

"Hooper." The drumming stopped. Sebastian took the interlude to say, "He considers you a beast rather than a man." Jim broke out into a dark chuckle, stuffing his hands into his trousers.

"...He isn't wrong."

Grumbling Mark climbed into a carriage, thankful to be at last leaving for the manor. Mr. Lancret followed him in, silent as he closed the door. He hadn't made any inquiries about Mark's meeting, or had given an explanation as to where he went, only stiff apologizes. It led Mark to the conclusion to let it go, that maybe the mystery of the ball would be staying with the building. It was wishful thinking, as he would learn in the coming days.

Tired with the irrational events, Mark stared out of the carriage's window, looking after the town hall as they moved down the road. The wind howled in the distance, shrieks lulling Mark into a fevered sleep.

Notes:

Tosher: a person who would sift through raw sewage for any valuables that would have fallen down a drain. Highly dangerous - tunnels crumbled, fumes, rats, etc., it became illegal after 1840 for people to access the sewers without permission. Toshers typically got past this by working late at night and through the early morning.