okay chapter fourteen go go go

also a shout out to Plate Captain can I just say that I love you even though I've already like told you that yeah and I'll post up that Amy/Amy fic even though you've already read it so you can flood me with reviews and stuff because that would be nice

/okay I'll just shut up now

/sorry for the shortness of this chapter

/i'll make the next one longer

/okay i'll just stop now

Jim's reaction was an odd one.

Molly had sat down with him that night and described what had happened when she was having her stroll – he listened in silence with the tip of his fingers pressed together gently. She could imagine the mechanics in his brain, rotating and working complexly.

"So… uh… yeah." She had finished her little account on her meeting with Sherlock Holmes, the aspiring detective, and Jim's eyes did not change; they just stared at her, sharper than ever before. Molly waited patiently, wondering what he was going to say next.

"Where is it?" He finally asked after three minutes of tense silence. Jim's voice was soft, quiet.

"What?"

"Where's the slip of paper?"

Molly took it out of her pocket in silence and pressed it into the hand he had held out. He scanned the numbers thoughtfully, and all of a sudden stood up, walked over to the bin that sat in the corner of the room and threw the paper in.

"What the fu – why did you do that?" Molly exclaimed, feeling slightly crossed that he had just gone and thrown away her efforts. He turned around to face her, smiling just a little.

"I could have got his number anywhere," he said smugly. "No no no, I've known for a while he's been visiting St Bartholomew's hospital, I didn't need you to help." He paused, studying the shock on Molly's face. "Although, thanks for trying." It didn't sound genuine, like he actually appreciated it, however.

She didn't respond, slumping in her seat, a little confused and a little offended by his bitter comments. It wasn't the first time but she would've thought he would have grown up by now.

Molly scoffed at her thoughts. Jim? Grown up? That was a bit too much to expect. He was as childish as a five year old - even with such an intricate and brilliant mind - and that probably wasn't going to change in the years to come.

He did not say anything more, and left the sitting room to go outside on the little balcony they owned, giving them a rather large view of the area they occupied. Sure, it wasn't as pretty as the sights seen in central London, but it was definitely something to be appreciative of. He leant against the barrier casually, his eyes scanning the busy day thoughtfully.

Boring.

Jim was always bored, and there was no antidote. He thought maybe killing off people would help, but it only made him even more entertained. It bothered him a lot, and from time to time he thought about whether he would be the one lying dead one day.

"Get the job."

Molly switched off the hairdryer, unable to hear him over the noise. "Pardon?"

"Get the job?"

For a moment she had literally no idea what he was talking about, and turned to look at him with a blank expression. "Uh… what?"

Jim sighed, getting impatient with her constant ability to not keep up. "Bart's hospital. Job. Apply for it."

Molly put the hairdryer down, folding her arms and staring straight at him. Typically he wasn't paying attention, typing away at his laptop speedily. Probably replying to one of his help me e-mails – consulting criminal, he liked to call himself. Molly never knew what to think of it, but she admired him for it. Sort of.

"And why now?"

"I thought you always wanted to be a doctor," he said, finishing the sentence he was typing and looking up with one of his famous smug grins. Molly scowled.

"That's not my point," she said. "I met with Sherlock Holmes four months ago, Jim. Why now?"

He didn't stir or hesitate to her question, but looked back to his computer screen and answered causally, "I'm not telling you to get the job because of him. I want you to get it for your own benefit. Why are you always depending on me?" His smile grew wider.

She still wasn't convinced. Molly was used to Jim taking control of her life but there were just some things she wasn't happy with – this was one of the moments where she just wasn't satisfied with his superior smiles and snide comments.

I guess I'm paying the price for accepting to be his 'apprentice', she thought.

"Jeez, Molly," she said, resuming to type away at whatever he was doing. "I only want what's best for you."

The patronizing tone he had put on only made her even angrier, but she knew she couldn't do anything about it, bloody Jim. "Fine," she muttered, plugging out the hairdryer she was using – even if her hair still wasn't dry from the shower she had just taken – and walking out of the room in frustration. This was one of the moments she despised him.

Going up to her room in frustration, she flopped onto her bed and shut her eyes, wanting to block out everything that was bothering her. She hated life – hated it, hated it, hated it. The same, constant feeling that kept on rushing into her, that she could never get rid of – hate. Never anything else.

Opening her eyes again, she leaned over and picked up the biology book she had left by her bedside table the previous night, and opened to the page where she had left off. Losing herself in fascination yet again.

Poor Molly Moran and the fate she was going to face.