Hey all! Sooooo sorry for taking so incredibly long to update! School takes a lot outta me :P
So, here's an extra long and interesting chapter (I hope) for you! Think of it as compensation for being so patient :) As always, please comment! Thanks!
It might have been because she had been curious, or that she'd wallowed in her own loneliness too long to think clearly, but what was certain, at least to Molly, was that at last, someone wanted her; she didn't care how dangerous the man who'd bestowed these affections upon her was.
Moriarty never abused her, much to his own surprise; though he was a serial killer, the thought of hurting Molly was something that both enthralled him and inspired abhorrence.
He was gentle and seemed to devote himself to her the way that Sherlock devoted his whole person to an especially puzzling case. That was almost certainly what he thought of her. And if one was to destroy a puzzle before it was finished and figured out, it would instill pure regret that the curiosity for that puzzle would never be satiated.
As long as Moriarty thought her a game, she was safe.
Molly rolled over in the bed and opened her sleep-lined eyes. Moriarty was already awake but had kept his eyes closed while he waited for her to wake.
Jim's work schedule was unpredictable. Only a compelling Email or a sudden phone call would draw him away from his house for a few hours.
Jim rolled onto his side and squinted his eyes at Molly.
"Good Morning." Molly smiled, her voice groggy with sleep. Moriarty smiled back.
"Hello, Molly-wolly." he gazed at her gently. For both of the waking people, Jim's apparent transformation into an affable lover was startling to say the least. When he smiled, it was not cruel or with intent to unsettle; it was purely to show his affection.
But nevertheless, she was still a puzzle, and every moment he neared her ultimate discovery, her life was at risk.
Molly dared to reach out her hand and stroke Jim's cheek. He nuzzled into her touch and closed his eyes again. Molly grinned.
Moments later Jim leaned forward and kissed Molly before attempting to roll over and get out of bed. He made one roll too much and ended up falling off the bed. Molly giggled.
She thought it was adorable that he became distracted when with her and was not always able to focus.
He stood up and threw her a nasty and threatening glare; she knew to stop laughing at that moment and dismiss the smile off her face. Not everything was perfect.
Molly watched silently as he threw on a blue Westwood suit, wearing a vest instead of his jacket. With a last glance at Molly, and a friendly grin, he left the bedroom.
If only Molly had the capacity to see further into Jim's motives, she would have seen that he was only fascinated with the idea of her; but if anyone in the world had the ability to see into the soul of a man, they'd have been able to see that, though Jim didn't know it yet, he clutched onto Molly with an affectionate death grip.
Molly, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, walked out of the bedroom, tying her hair up in a ponytail.
She walked leisurely into the kitchen and ate what she could find for breakfast; Moriarty, like Sherlock, hardly ate and when he did eat, he preferred a restaurant.
Molly bit into a red apple, leaning against the counter and staring out the window above the sink.
A few moments later Jim walked in, grabbed an apple, took a bite, looked at the fruit, and then threw it away; he was restless.
"Bored?" Molly asked curiously; she wanted to help, if she could.
He finished chewing and turned to her.
"Thinking." he said; there was nothing she could do to help. Still, she felt like she should do something.
Molly walked over to him and ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, almost purring like a cat. With that, and feeling confident, Molly kissed his cheek and walked out into the living room.
Moriarty was beginning to realize that he had started to see Molly as less of a pet and more like person; but not completely. It was strange that he almost regarded her near the level of Sherlock but not for her intellect. For once, he didn't know why.
He walked absently out of the kitchen and sat himself down at the grand piano he had in the living room. Molly looked up and she heard a key being struck on the piano.
Like Sherlock, Moriarty could play music when he fell in deep thought and like the detective, the criminal was quite accomplished with his instrument.
A slow melody began and Molly knew better not to interrupt or distract him. Closing her eyes, she listened and relished in the idea that she was permitted to listen quietly to the genius who was playing the piano.
Mindlessly, Moriarty played a tune; the melodic brilliancy of what he was playing came naturally to him. But it was simple sounding, not what he was use to playing. After a moment he began to listen to his own music and glared down at the keys when he realized what was going on.
While playing, he'd subconsciously began composing, and what he was composing, he realized to be an accurate musical representation of Molly Hooper's personality.
Jim stopped playing for a moment and shuddered.
He had been so fascinated with Molly that she had even made it into his subconscious.
Murderous thoughts ran through his mind.
He could cut open her back and bend back her ribs, one-by-one; he could skin her alive and hang her on her own flesh…
Moriarty blinked and thought: 'Not her.'
Suddenly those images that had passed through his mind became, for the first time, distasteful.
He took a deep breath and began to play another melody. He was confused, but most of all bothered.
Molly opened her eyes when he stopped playing. She shot a glance towards him and thought he looked like something was bothering him. So she dared to stand an , albeit timidly, make her way over to him.
She slowly draped her warm arms over his shoulders and nuzzled her face against his neck.
Moriarty was a little surprised, not at Molly but at himself. He, without thought, grasped one of her hands and kissed the palm, the back, each of her fingers, and her wrist, feeling the callouses gained by her profession, and her dedication thereby, discovering a new perspective to the coroner by way of a mere hand.
There was still more to her than he had imagined there could be; he was beginning to discover that, although she was not like him intellectually, she too lived mostly within her own mind; he wanted to see everything about her.
Molly blushed and moved to sit next to him so she would be a little more comfortable. she watched as he took her other hand and did the same to it as he had done to the other one. she wondered what he was thinking.
'Probably analyzing me,' she thought contentedly.
'Molly-Kins works hard,' Moriarty thought with a small grin. 'A few though through her gloves...she work longer than she should. Probably for Sherlock...'
He leaned forward and kissed her. A moment later his phone buzzed to life in his pocket.
Molly heard the buzz of his mobile and felt him pull away. He pulled out the phone, rolled his eyes dramatically, and answered the call, walking out of the room saying, "what," with murderous annoyance.
Molly sighed and set her hands on the keys of the piano. She heard the front door open and close a moment later and she knew Jim could be home anytime within a couple of minutes to a few weeks.
She laid her head on her hands before she felt her phone buzz.
She quickly looked at the text she'd just received:
Two days, Molly-wog.-M
Molly smiled; he'd never given her a time frame of his return before.
Her phone buzzed again.
Where are you?-SH
Molly's smile disappeared. She'd gotten this exact text from Sherlock regularly and each time she'd ignored him, much as it exhausted her willpower to do so. But for some reason, this time Sherlock was using a different number to text her from.
Please.-SH
This startled her her but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was probably trying to manipulate her again.
There were no other attempts for the rest of the day.
Molly laid in bed, trying not to let her mind focus on anything.
Her mobile buzzed beside her and for a while, she didn't move to check it.
Just as she began to doze off she received another message.
Molly rolled her eyes and snatched up the phone checking the messages she'd received.
They were both from John.
I can't blame the way you feel about him, you can't help it. -JW
Molly sighed and read the next one.
How are you doing?-JW
Molly was struck. She was expecting a message about what his opinion was and how he couldn't believe how she could do such a thing. But instead, he wanted to know if she was alright.
She couldn't help but reply.
Fine.-JW
Thank god you're alive!-JW
Molly smiled, at a loss for what to say. Nothing happened for a long minute.
Then the mobile buzzed again. Almost frantically, Molly opened the message; she hadn't realized how much she'd missed John's company.
Sherlock hasn't slept in a couple of days.-JW
What case is he on?-Hooper
'Probably someone Jim's killed...' she thought.
He's looking for you.-JW
Molly almost stopped breathing in surprise.
Why?-Hooper
What do you mean 'why?' You don't understand how much you mean to him.-JW
I don't count.-Hooper
Molly replied bitterly.
Yes you do.-SH
Molly rolled her eyes again and almost found herself laughing in bitter amusement.
Telling John to persuade me?-Hooper
Reading over his shoulder.-SH
"Of course," Molly mumbled.
I've never counted before. What's changed?-Hooper
You have always counted.-SH
Is he texting you?-JW
Yes.-Hooper
She replied to John but she didn't know how to respond to Sherlock.
He's seriously been running himself down looking for you.-JW
Molly set the phone down and she couldn't help a few tears falling down her cheeks. She knew that what she was doing was wrong, utterly and completely.
The mobile buzzed once, was still for a few moments,, then buzzed a second time. Molly wiped her eyes and picked up the phone to see two messages from John.
She opened the one that had been sent first.
Tell us where you are. Please let us take you home.-JW
Quickly she opened the next message.
Got to run, another case.-JW
It was almost as if Molly heart moved her hand for her, having a truth and a want that her mind had not acknowledged yet, typing and sending a message to the number Sherlock had been using:
I'll help.-Hooper
'What am I going to do?' Molly thought, beginning to panic while staring at her phone.
Then she got an idea.
Moriarty leaned against the wall of the old building he stood in, letting out a long sigh.
Because he had dropped his phone earlier, he had to turn it back on; technology made him furious sometimes. He shoved the mobile into his pocket.
"Booooring…" he mumbled.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Sherlock's voice immediately brought a smile to Jim's face.
"Daddy's happy to see you again," he gave the detective a once over. "You look awful. Have you been sticking that awfully long nose of yours in my business?"
"Why lead me here?" Sherlock ignored him. Jim felt his phone buzz in his pocket but he held his hand back from checking his messages.
Sherlock looked exhausted, slightly hunched forward, dark rings under his eyes, and a very slight huskiness of tone in his voice.
Jim noticed the desperation in the detective's aspect and he grinned; something was wearing him down and chances were, he was on a frantic hunt for Miss Hooper.
Jim shrugged. "I wanted to see how far you'd gotten," he smiled widely. "And how far behind you are. Which is," Jim grimaced dramatically. "Quite far back. Disappointingly far, Sherlock. I think you're losing your touch."
The criminal leaned off the wall and slowly walked towards Sherlock.
"There is more motive than just wanting to talk," Sherlock began studying his enemy.
"Don't analyze me, Sherly. It makes me feel so...Ordinary." Jim said sarcastically. "But you're right, I wanted to see your face when I told you how much I enjoy fucking Molly~"
There. He saw Sherlock involuntarily wince slightly. He couldn't help a smile.
"It's not an advantage to care, not about people," Jim continued.
"Oh don't bore me," Sherlock almost spat indignantly. "You sound like Mycroft."
Jim laughed quietly.
"That being true," Sherlock went on. "I'm curious as to how you would justify your relationship with Molly."
"I needed a new toy, I get so terribly bored. I wanted a live one this time," Moriarty felt his mobile buzz again and struggled not to let his curiosity get the best of him. "Besides, she was more than willing and I just love to watch you squirm~" his voice floated into a high tenor for a moment as he spoke, giving his listener more insight to his insanity. "I couldn't have done it without your help...well, I could have but you made it so much easier."
His mobile buzzed exactly fourteen more times, raising Moriarty's annoyance level dangerously high.
Sherlock squinted slightly at the criminal.
"You can get that if you like," he said, sounding a little bit amused.
Jim patted the mobile in his pocket absently as his mind worked fast.
"And you can tell your military dog to stand down," Jim retorted. "I'm not here to hurt anyone yet, least of all you."
Sherlock's brow furrowed and Moriarty rolled his eyes.
"If I hurt you I'll have to give you a handicap. No, I need you healthy for my new game-"
"I don't want to play anymore games," Sherlock interrupted, looking annoyed.
"DON'T INTERRUPT ME!" Moriarty suddenly lashed out in an explosion of anger, his voice echoing in the almost empty room.
There was silence for a moment.
"If you upset daddy, he might have to punish you. What if I was to take away your favorite toy?" Jim said.
At the sound of footsteps, Sherlock looked up at the rafter where John was now standing, holding a gun and bearing a red sniper's dot on his chest.
"Oh did I forget to tell you? I brought my doggy too~" Jim smirked. John nervously looked from the sniper laser to Sherlock, dropping his gun.
"Aldersgate Street, tomorrow, 11 o'clock sharp. If you win, you can have Molly." Jim found himself having to force out his plan, as if it wasn't what he wanted anymore; indignantly he imagined Molly being handed over to his enemy. It made him angry.
"And if he loses?" John asked while Sherlock looked contemplative, steepling his hands under his chin. "What happens then?"
Jim smiled and backed out of the room slowly.
"It's a surprise~" he bowed dramatically. "Adieu."
Moriarty then left, pulling out his mobile, no longer able to wait. He had received 16 messages, some from Molly and some from John.
Getting into his car outside, he read through the messages and noticed that some of Molly's replies were not to John. Someone else was texting her, using a number not recorded in her contacts; therefore, he didn't know who they were.
"She's decided to play the game too," he mumbled quietly. "Fuck."
He slumped over, lying on the back seats on his back. Sebastian began driving off silently.
Inside he couldn't help but feel worry and a bit of anxiety and it annoyed him to no end. Why did Molly give him such troublesome emotions? And why hadn't he killed her and set himself free already? He had a feeling this was how Sherlock felt about John Watson...well, minus the whole killing thing.
His hatred for his growing emotions for Molly was lessening every day and to his surprise he felt stronger for it. What irked him was the possibility that he would be weakened if anything happened to her, that his emotions had begun to overcome him.
If she ever left him, who knows what he would do?
"Sebastian," Jim sighed, throwing his phone on the ground spitefully. "Take me home."
"Sure," Sebastian replied, making a turn and driving in the desired direction.
Jim stared at the ceiling of the car, feeling slightly ridiculous and unprofessional as he realized the question that laid before him: which is more important? Molly or Sherlock?
and for the first time, Moriarty feared the answer to a most interesting question.
Molly's eyes darted towards the door of the bedroom, setting down her book as she heard the front door open and close faintly. Frozen with fear at the sound of an uninvited visitor, Molly sat motionless on the bed, hardly breathing for fear she'd be heard.
The visitor made no sound and a moment later, Molly found herself rolling quietly over and slowly opening her end table drawer and withdrawing the gun that Jim had given her.
With her fingers on the trigger and the safety, she aimed at the door, hearing the visitor's quiet footsteps come nearer and nearer to the bedroom.
The door opened and Molly flipped off the safety and daring to say, "H-Hello?"
There was no answer and the visitor walked in.
It was Jim.
Molly heaved a shaky sigh of relief and watched as Jim walked over to her and gently took the gun, switching the safety back on before setting it on the bed.
'He doesn't look like himself...' Molly thought, studying him cautiously.
His eyes were darker and clouded, his cheeks were flushed from the cold outside, and what unsettled Molly most was that he almost looked kind and gentle.
His vest was undone and he no longer wore his tie, his hair was a bit tousled and his brow was furrowed in deep thought. Then he blinked and in his eyes she could see warmness towards her.
"Jim?" Molly managed to whisper. "What's wrong?"
She gently cupped his warm face with her little hands and Moriarty closed his eyes, grabbing onto one of her wrists.
"Little Miss Hooper…" he sighed with a mix of spite and adoration. "How can I love you so much?" He opened his big and darkened eyes and gave her a look she couldn't understand.
The he leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder.
Molly's eyes widened; this was the most submissive she'd ever seen the psychopath.
She wrapped an arm around him.
"I love you." she breathed.
Jim looked up and pulled her close like a child would to one of his favorite belongings and kissed her.
Passions rose and the two took to lovers' embraces, diving into ecstasy, one heart confused and the other soured with guilt.
Jim stared at the ceiling, light pouring in where it could where the curtains didn't cover the windows.
All that ran through his head was "Molly or Sherlock?" over and over again.
Sighing quietly, he rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Molly, and he walked to the kitchen for water. Taking a glass from the cabinet, he filled it in the sink, But just before his lips touched the glass' edge, a smell, very faint but existent, wafted thinly up.
"Nightshade?" he mumbled quietly, studying the edge confusedly to find a very very faint shade of purple.
The longer he stared at the glass the more purple he saw all over until he discovered the glass was laced with Nightshade.
Setting the glass down on the counter absently, he grabbed glass after glass after glass from the cabinet, finding each one to be laced with the same deadly berry's juice.
Jim's confusion drove him to think on who would have the gall to do something as petty as poisoning him; he didn't fear death but he found the attempt very annoying.
The longer he thought, the closer he got to discovering the culprit until he blinked slowly and yawned.
His brow furrowed and he walked back into the bedroom, to Molly's side of the bed.
Very carefully, he took Molly's hands and looked at her fingertips and fingernails.
Nothing.
Quietly he then walked to every trash can he could find until he found what he was looking for in the dumpster behind the building: purple stained gloves.
Looking closely, there was a little piece of hair stuck onto it; it was, however, too small to identify.
Once again, his mind whirring through possibilities, he made his way back to the bedroom.
He carefully inspected Molly's hair.
Jim sighed when he found some purple streaked strands and sat down, leaning against the wall.
Molly was trying to kill him, or at least sedate him, judging by the amount of Nightshade she'd used. Suddenly the text messages made sense and he felt a little embarrassed that it would take him this long to figure out that Sherlock had been using a new number to persuade the little coroner.
Angrily, Jim stalked out into the kitchen and, grabbing every Nightshade laced object he could, began throwing them to the ground in his fury.
Glass shattered against walls, silverware clanged onto the wooden floor; even the tea kettle wasn't spared.
He roared as he threw a plate on the ground and Molly came running in, looking terrified and confused.
"Jim?! What are you doing?!" Molly cried out.
"Trying to kill me, Molly?" Moriarty smiled sourly. "Poison me with Nightshade?!"
He walked towards her, the thrill of a predator stalking his prey filling his chest as he watched her back frightenedly into the wall behind her.
Molly tried her best to look indignant.
"Sedate you. That what I tried to do." she said very calmly. Jim could almost see relief lift off of her as she let go of her secret; another thing he didn't know about her: lying tried her conscience more than most.
"You can't let go of Sherlock," Jim's voice sang all over the place, sounding discombobulated.
Tears began to fall from his eyes, unwillingly.
"I LOVE YOU AND I HATE YOU SO MUCH!" he set his hands on her shoulders, a crazed look on his tear-stricken face, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.
He suddenly relaxed and rested his forehead on hers.
"Too far," he whispered shakily, closing his eyes, his voice surreal. "You're too far on the side of the Angels…" He opened his eyes and kissed her forehead and saw she was crying, silently.
"I really do love you. Jim." Molly managed to breathe.
A grin twisted its way onto Moriarty's face and his grip on her shoulders tightened; he knew she was telling the truth; that was something he wish he didn't know.
"But a Demon can't love an Angel," he said, shaking his head. "No...he just can't…" he felt her trembling and while his heart screamed to let her go, his mind and emotions wouldn't let him. He was man without a conscience, by the very definition of a psychopath, and that made every decision of his fatal.
"Sherlock's little Angel...so timid and ordinary…" Moriarty kissed her for a moment and then embraced her tightly.
"Ordinary…" he breathed. "Don't worry, I'll save you," he whispered, tears still falling. "I'll take you away from those nasty Angels."
He pulled back and smiled at her, a smile filled with too many emotions all mashed up together.
His hands grabbed her neck and his eyes widened almost in surprise.
The next thing Molly Hooper heard was the snap of her own neck.
If you want the original ending I intended for this story, go to the chapter called "Red, Like Roses." If you want the alternate ending, go to the chapter called "And the Winner is…"
Thanks for being great readers!