AN: Can I just say that y'all's reviews make my day? It's so great when you drop a line and say what you think about my story :) I appreciate you guys a ton! Here's another chapter for you.

post tenebras lux -after darkness, I hope for light

Jim got a text at ten 'til nine on a Tuesday night that read, "Molly said she'd be home soon but that was 2hrs ago I'm worried –K."

He scratched the stubble on his chin and texted back, "Don't worry, Poppet; I'll get her home –JM."

She sent him a tongue smiley face in return.

He smirked and stood up, walking away from the desk covered with papers, photos, and blueprints. He changed out of his work clothes to a pair of jeans and t-shirt. He grabbed a leather jacket and his keys. Molly, you work too hard. You're turning into me.

He found Molly in the morgue of St. Bart's, asleep at her desk on a pile of paperwork. He watched her for a moment before gently touching her head. "Wakey-wakey, Moll," he said.

"Mmmhng," she mumbled, pulling her head up and staring at him blearily. "Jim? What…?"

"Kath got worried, Molly," he said. "It's past nine."

That threw her into action. She groaned and searched around for her purse, disoriented. He pulled it out from behind a set of files and handed it to her, frowning. Her eyes were overly bright, and her face looked flushed. He pressed his hand to her forehead, and her skin burned against his before she swatted his hand away.

"Stop it," she said.

"Molly, you're sick."

"I'm fine; I just need to sleep," she mumbled.

He snored. "Isn't that what you were just doing?" he said. "Don't argue, Molly. Come on. I'm giving you a lift." It would be one thing if she was working late into the night and fell asleep, but it was just past nine now.

He managed to get her out of the chair and out of the morgue without her arguing, which made him sure she was sick. She only balked at the door, saying, "I need to lock up."

Jim flipped the light switch and turned the knob on the door. "Locked. Come on."

He was able to send a quick text to Kath to let her know he had Molly before he bundled her into the passenger seat of the car and drove off to her flat. She fell asleep again on the way there, and at every intersection that he had a red light he would turn to look at her, slumped against the window, illuminated by the traffic lights.

He loved her.

Part of it was the challenge. First, the challenge to snatch something right under the nose of Sherlock Holmes –something he didn't even realize was his, and watch his face when he found out it was gone. Then, the challenge presented by Molly herself: prove he was not just Jim Moriarty, the Liar and Criminal.

But somewhere along the way it just became Molly. The way she did her hair on the side and had so many different smiles –some quick, like camera flashes, and other slow, like a sunrise. Or the way she'd bite her lip while thinking. Her precision in her work. Her intelligence when she was given the chance to show it. Her earnest and unlimited love for Kathleen, and her voice –she transformed when she sang.

Why was Sherlock boring, when he was just like Jim but on the side of the angels, and why was Molly fascinating when she really was an angel?

For a while, he mused, pulling up to her flat, he had entertained the idea of peeling back that good exterior and attempting to excavate the blackness that he thought must be there –but he didn't. Even if there was some deep-seated black inside of her goodness, he didn't want to break her. Then she'd be like him.

He loved Molly Hooper just the way she was.

"Up you come, Moll," he said, opening her door and shaking her. "Just a bit further."

She stood up unsteadily, and he picked her up and carried her into the flat.

Kathleen looked up from the novel she was attempting to read in order to stay awake, and the worry in her face left momentarily at their appearance, only to come back stronger. "What's the matter?" she asked, ousting Toby from the sofa.

"I'm fine," Molly said weakly.

"She's sick," Jim corrected her. "A fever or the flu or something. Go on to sleep; I've got her."

"I can make tea," Kathleen offered around a yawn.

"Nah," Jim said. "Get on to bed, Poppet. You've got school."

" 'S not my name," Kathleen mumbled, but apparently seemed too tired to care much. She disappeared behind her bedroom door, and Jim carried Molly to bed.

Jim peeled her outer layers off until he got down to her camisole and slacks –he thought she probably wouldn't appreciate him taking any more off. "Up you get," he said, swinging her legs up onto the bed and pulling the covers over her. "Sleep well," he said, before going back to the living room and slumping onto her brown sagging couch.

He sat there a moment, pondering the domesticity before calling Sebastian. "Yeah, don't expect me," he said. "But still come and pick up Kath for school."

"Oh?" was the only thing the sniper said, but there was a boatload of innuendo in his tone.

"Molly's sick," Jim clarified, rolling his eyes. "I'm staying here 'til she's better."

"Why?" Sebastian asked, like that was something undesirable.

"Who else is gonna do it?" Jim asked. "Just be here at 7:30 like usual and don't argue with me."

"Okay, boss," he said, obviously choosing not to argue any further. "Oh, your shipment of fairytales came."

"Bring them when you come in the morning. I'll kill two birds with one stone."

"Will do." The sniper hung up.

Jim spent at least three hours watching telly before thrashing from Molly's room reached his ears. He got up and poked his head in the door. He stood a moment in the doorway before taking off his jacket and shoes and climbing into bed with her. "Hold still, Moll," he murmured against her hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up to him. He had never been one for getting sick –illnesses always passed him by. She seemed to be going from chills to fever, and she was in the chill stage right now.

He tucked her head under his chin and counted the hours as they passed by. Sometime in the night, his eyes closed and he slipped off to dreams scented with raspberry shampoo.