Sherlock or Molly…

Moriarty was confused. He understood it was all just chemistry, and even he couldn't change that. It wasn't boring, though; in fact, this little weakness of his kept him busy, so he didn't really mind. But he wasn't one to like what he couldn't understand. The whole thing was contradictory.

He was looking down at the unconscious and bound Molly who was slumped on the seat next to him.

"Ten more minutes, Sebastian," Moriarty ordered the driver.

"Yes, sir," Sebastian replied. The car drove past the turn to Moriarty's home and the villain resumed his study of Molly.

He could see everything about her from just a couple of moments of gazing at her.

For some reason, he could hardly stand to look at her anymore after a long minute.

"Nevermind, take me home," he instructed, turning to look out the window, imagining for every person they passed outside a death worthy of a filthy beast, for that was exactly what he thought everyone to be...except for Sherlock...he hadn't decided about Molly yet.

James sat, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees as he stared off into the distance.

Molly began to stir and he flicked his eyes over to the sofa where she lay.

"James…" she sighed, eyes still closed. His eyes widened and he sat up straight, a smile crawling across his face.

"What are you dreaming about, Molly-kins?" he asked softly.

Her eyes slowly began to open and she sat up and stretched before she could see she wasn't in her flat anymore; that the events that had passed were not a dream.

"Moriarty?" her voice was barely audible and she looked at him like a mouse looks at a cat.

"Hello, Molly," he said, still smiling.

"Why did you...where am I?" she practically squeaked, looking around.

"At my place. It's bigger than yours; more comfortable," he replied, leaning back in his seat.

She looked around a little.

"Why am I here?" she asked; she was especially timid in her drowsiness from the drug.

Predictable question after predictable question; Moriarty was getting bored.

He didn't answer and looked away.

"...I can't...feel the way you want me to, Jim," Molly said quietly but with a strange confidence.

Jim looked back at her with a glimmer of wonder in his big brown eyes.

'Little mousey is clever...not quite as ordinary as I thought...' He smiled.

Without answering, Jim stood, walked up to Molly, and placed a kiss on her lips. She almost resisted.

"I can't imagine why…" he finally whispered, sarcastically, and he sat down next to her, pulling out his mobile.

It seemed to him that Molly was so frightened of him she'd resolved not to move, or even to breathe; he was too busy listening for her every possible move that he wasn't paying the slightest amount of attention to the information on his mobile.

After another long minute of silence, he stood again and began to walk about. He was restless now. Why wasn't he taking what he wanted? Why wasn't he doing something?...Why did he care if she was afraid of him or not? It was almost as if he could care.

"Ta...Take me home...please," Molly managed to say. He didn't answer.

"Take me home," she said again with surprising bravery. He looked down at her and saw a very unsettling look of trust in her eyes, as if she knew nothing would happen to her. Was he becoming so predictable that even a simpleton like her could read him, even if it was just a fraction of his persona?

The only thing to ever have made him feel so unsettled was little Carl Powers' cold dead eyes all those years ago...but only for a moment.

"Too late, the game's already started. I just can't let you leave." He grinned to himself. "Besides, I want you to play on my team."

"I don't want to play on your team," she said calmly, staring him straight in the eye. This was getting very interesting and irritating for Jim.

"Because you're on the side of the Angels," he spat out the last word, picking up a book from the shelf to his right. He could see that Molly was trembling now.

"...I don't want to play this game…" she whispered.

"Well, you can't quit now, hon," Jim said mockingly. He really wanted her now, but he didn't want to deal with her resistance.

"I would rather die, Jim," Molly said, trying to look defiant. But there was something that Moriarty could see in the way she held herself, in the way she delivered those words.

He smiled. She was lying.

"You're lying," he said, relishing in the change of expression on her face.

'Why Molly?' he kept wondering to himself. 'Why someone so ordinary and so simple?!'

He clutched the book tight in his hand.

"Why...would you have an interest in someone like me?" Molly ventured to ask.

Moriarty shrugged and all fell silent. The questions in his mind would not stop flooding and his confusion and anger grew.

Suddenly he clutched his head, and glared at Molly before he threw the book at her, watching as its corner made contact with the bridge of her nose. She cried out and covered her face.

"What-"

"SHUT UP!" Moriarty yelled, closing his eyes. "STAY OUT OF MY HEAD!"

For the first time in many long years, he felt out of control. He tore books from their places on the shelves, he threw whatever he could find to the ground while Molly cringed in the corner of his eye.

And then, as if he hadn't been in control of his own actions in the last few moments, he looked around, slightly confused. His brow was furrowed and he slowly looked at Molly and saw a bit of blood trickle down her face. She looked terrified.

Quietly and gently, Jim leaned forward and placed a hand on Molly's cheek, feeling her tremble under his touch.

"Sorry," he mumbled, the word feeling strange in his mouth. He gazed at her for a moment longer before he walked off and out of the room, numbly confused.

On Jim's way to his room, he told Sebastian, a very tall, stoic, man of a scruffy face and dusty blond hair, to show Molly to her room. Jim then closed the door to his room and pulled out a cigarette from the almost never touched box on his end table. He walked out on the balcony and lit the cigarette.

Closing his eyes, he sucked some of the smoke in and slowly let it escape out his mouth. He was shaking. He'd lost his nerve for a moment and it only made him angrier.

Even then, he didn't know what to do about Molly.

Sherlock or Molly...

Moriarty got out of the car, straightening his black tie, and waved Sebastian off to park somewhere. Several days had gone by since he'd kidnapped Molly Hooper. Not much had passed between them, but he made sure he treated her well; he had no desire to hurt her again-physically, that is.

He sort of sauntered into the building before his mobile buzzed in his pocket.

'Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive! Stayin' alive!'

He answered the call.

"What."

"Where are you? This is the time we agreed to meet, right?" the man's voice on the other line came in almost an annoyed whine.

Jim rolled his eyes.

"This is the time you agreed to meet me," Jim retorted. "Shove off, I'm on my way." he continued, hanging up abruptly and turning the corner to where the man who'd just called him was standing.

"Peek-a-boo~" his voice echoed a bit in the nearly empty room. Jim grinned as he watched the man, namely Jordan Ryles, jump in surprise and whip around.

"Fuck!" Jordan cursed under his breath.

"No thanks," Jim said. "You're not my type."

Jordan looked nervous, on edge; he looked as if he was trying to determine whether or not he already regretted this meeting.

Moriarty gave the man a quick once over.

Jordan was a large man, larger in muscle than in fat, and he had wispy brown hair and light brown eyes. Jim could tell by various bits of this and that-like the ink on the lower left of his chin, a pen lid that had obviously been chewed on out of habit that peeked out in his right hand, and the way he squinted as if he was accustomed to reading or writing constantly-on his suit that he was what he had said he was: some insignificant Privy Councilor; anyone could have told you, reader, that this man was only just newly elected but only Jim Moriarty knew that the man had gotten in some sort of irreversible trouble, and only he knew how to get him out.

"Now," Moriarty began. "How naughty have you been?"

Jordan took a deep breath. He explained, much to Moriarty's boredom, a very cliche story of blackmail, scandal, and the like.

Eventually, Jim stopped listening and his mind began to wander. At first he was scheming, imagining the look on Sherlock's face when the game was won...and then Molly popped into his mind. He shook his head and looked around disinterestedly.

"And so-"

"Are you finished?" Moriarty interrupted childishly. "The way I see it...you've slept with several people of considerable power to whom you've pledged your love and when they found out Mr. Right was already married," he summarized. "they decided to use their power to blackmail you and only your job and your livelihood is at stake. That, and you've been selling out the Privy Council's secrets and your angry bed-partners are using that as leverage."

Jordan nodded hesitantly.

"Well, that's terribly boring. But I do agree," James smiled, "powerful people are a lot sexier."

Jordan smiled nervously in return and then immediately frowned, deciding that mimicking this man was probably not the best idea.

"...S-so can you help me?"

"I can help you," Jim saw the man as more and more disgusting every moment. "Sit down." He gestured towards a chair.

He was overwhelmingly bored; dangerously disinterested.

Jordan slowly did as he was told.

Jim walked up to him, his smile widening.

"Oh, and just so y'know," he began, his muscles tensing in preparation. "Your wife's having an affair."

Jordan looked horrified. "What?!" Jim was now standing behind the chair.

"I just thought you might like to know before you die." and with that, Jim placed his hands on the man's head and put all his weight into pushing down until Jordan's head bent back over the back of the chair and his neck snapped.

The next morning, Jim woke at exactly 7 'o clock as usual but instead of dressing in a comfortable Westwood suit, he decided to wander his house shirtless and in gray sweatpants. He grabbed his newly charged mobile from the end table before leaving his room.

Needless to say, he was bored-terribly so. Plans, possibilities, and places ran through his mind as he made his way towards the room Molly was staying in.

Peeking in, he saw Molly sitting up on the bed and facing away from the doorway. Since he'd tapped into her phone, he got every message she sent and received. He leaned away from the crack in the doorway and began going through her messages.

I need things, where are you?-SH

I can't come in today.-Hooper

Why.-SH

A few short moments passed.

Where has he taken you?-SH

Jim grinned. Sherlock was clever, not nearly as boring as before.

I don't know.-Hooper

Look out the window and tell me what you see.-SH

Sorry, I can't. Don't come looking for me.-Hooper

Jim was a bit surprised at this. Things were getting interesting.

Perhaps, she felt that she could handle him on her own, perhaps she was trying her best, however meager it was, to protect her beloved Sherlock; whatever it was that pushed Molly to secrecy, Moriarty did not know, for he wasn't looking at her.

Slowly he opened the door all the way to see Molly facing his direction and looking straight at him. There was a small mark on the bridge of her nose where the corner of the book had hit her.

But by the way she held herself, and from a particular look in her eyes, Jim could see she was confident and could almost even had been said to be content.

"Good morning, Molly-wog~" he practically sang in that surreal Irish tenor of his. He walked up to the bed and fell onto his back against its cushion, next to where she was sitting.

He looked up at Molly quietly and watched a blush run across her face as she beheld the shirtless man on her bed.

Jim slowly looked away and towards the ceiling.

"I'm terribly bored…" he began. When Molly didn't answer, he looked up at her again.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Molly," he spoke quietly, as if he didn't want her to hear him. "I don't want you to be afraid of me."

To his surprise, and before he could say anything else that made him sound human, Molly leaned down and kissed him without a word.

At first, Jim felt like pulling away and laughing at her; he felt disgusted. But a moment later and his heart seemed to soften. He closed his eyes.

'Sherlock or Molly...' he thought absently.

'...why not both.'