A/N: Quite a lengthy one here because I ramble/wanted to make it up to you for waiting so long! Just a shout-out to FallinApart - (MY GOD THAT PIECE OF ART WAS RIDICULOUSLY GOOD. Thanks so much, I'm so flattered; it cheered up my days significantly. Thank you.) Um. Brief new character is introduced here; more of him in Chapter two.

Thanks for reading, as always.

credits; titanium - david guetta ft. sia

Section III:

Titanium

"i'm bulletproof nothing to lose, fire away, fire away

you shoot me down but i won't fall"

Chapter One

An unfamiliar sense of quiet hung in the air as the first flecks of snow sprinkled over Dublin.

The scene was exhilarating; to think, in a few hours' time, the pavement would fade behind a veil of white. The trees. The grass. It was all going to look different – changed. It only took one heavy period of snowfall – and suddenly, everything around appeared and felt transformed. Some people found the concept of everything smothered in snow to be utterly blad. To Molly, it was the entire opposite. For her, the snow provided the scene with an unsurpassable amount of purity. It looked like a blank canvas; nature being stripped bare. It was beautiful.

"It's Christmas in three days." Molly murmured as she pulled her gaze away from the window.

"Oh," Sebastian's eyes flicked up from the computer tablet in his hands, "thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome," she countered back, disregarding the resentment. She sat up and motioned towards the window again, large hazel eyes honing onto a lamppost at the edge of the street. It stood there lit and proud – amber light providing for the December grey. "I don't think I've ever witnessed a white Christmas," Molly continued, "I'm sure it would be nice."

A sigh slipped through her lips. This one gentle gesture coaxed a memory to crawl out of her head. It was the animated picture of two young girls dressed in their school uniform making their way home.

'Emmie, why won't it snow this Christmas?'

'Because it's England, Molls. There's no such thing as white Christmases… you only get them in other places…'

'Where?'

'I dunno… where Santa lives, of course. North Pole or summat like that.'

The sound of Sebastian's shrilly ringtone unpicked her daydream.

She turned and watched as he sat up, face fixed wholly onto the mobile phone screen in front of him. A crease formed across his forehead – thoughtful and somewhat aggravated at the same time.

"Busy?" Molly smiled.

"Naturally," Sebastian expressed a breath, "Have you ever noticed that I am nearly always busy?" A smirk appeared broadly across his face as he stretched, refraining from yawning. He had a lot more work to get done. "Got anything to do in the afternoon, Hooper?" he then asked, looking at her.

"No, not really," she flexed her hands, "was there anything you needed doing?"

"Yes," Sebastian nodded, "I'm going somewhere for the afternoon. Meeting. Check on Jim, will you?"

Molly nodded, passing him a faint smile.

"Yeah, sure."

Thoughtfully, Sebastian bowed his head and expressed a deep breath. "It's just that the boss gets awfully bored around this time of year," a light smirk played on his lips as he caught Molly's eyes, "—not enough clients, work… dead bodies… that sort of stuff. I put the whole of December as a sort of Code black."

Code Black – the highest code for an emergency.

Molly listened to him, eyes lowering a little as a thought stream entered her head. Sounds like someone I know, Her mind drawled gently as a flash of dark curls and a blue scarf swept over her eyes. She quickly shook the thought off, faint smile fading as her eyes turned back to the window.

'Alright then, I'll go to that place and see a white Christmas!'

The taller of the girls grinned wickedly as she gave the younger a shove, "Don't be shhhtuuuupid Moll. You'll never get to that place!'

'Why not?' the other puckered.

'Because you don't go to places like that,' she explained, voice soft, 'Places like that don't really exist and if they did, people like us can't go there!'

"Hooper, can you buy some milk while you're out?"

Molly blinked. "You're going out too." She told him.

"Yeah," Sebastian shrugged, "—but isn't shopping…a woman's thing? Plus, I think it's your turn to do it. I've done it for two months, Hooper."

It would be fair to point out that his comment was as wrong as it was sexist - Molly had done the majority of shopping for them. But then, Sebastian was not sexist as far as she observed and he had barely slept a wink the past two days. Some slack had to be cut. "I will," she assured him, "is there anything else -?"

"No, I think that's it."

"Okay. Be careful… the snowfall's getting heavy."

Molly's attention swivelled back to the sight beyond the glass window. As she did, the final wisps of the memory reformed in her head.

'What do you mean?' the girl demanded, 'why can't I go there?'

'Cause, Moleeeey,' her sister sighed, 'we're normal. Ordinary. Normal people don't go to places like that… normal people don't ever get anywhere.'

Recalling her sister's words, a flimsy frown materialized across Molly's face.

It had become ordinary for Molly to visit Jim's flat. A month had passed by since Turin. Since then, she had done a few more things for Jim that involved far less blood and more simple mechanisms of meeting people and forgetting them. Molly now owned a different identity, her hair was shorter - it was all different in a way.

But she was still Molly Hooper. She still called up Charlie's grandmother in Kent every week pretending to be his roommate to ask about his recovery. She still tripped over things. She still annoyed Sebastian because she did things wrong. She still amused Adelaide to no end because she could not master an accent with all the practice in the world. She was still asnervous, anxious and clumsy as ever.

And as she walked down the road, flecks of snow fluttering around her, Molly knew that she was still herself because of how Jim made her. He still confused her. Aggravated her. Mortified her. But by this time, almost three months since her abduction – everything about him had transformed as well. He was still as unstable as she primarily remembered – like an isotope, he told her once. Still sadistic. Grim. However, there were other things about him that she had grasped - His love for academics; his sick -bordering on obsessive – adoration for work; his occasional snap into normality.

Yes. Jim Moriarty was normal sometimes. Of course, by 'normal' Molly meant 'normal' for him. He was still the same man – but the way he spoke changed and what he spoke about changed with it. The brief spells emerged when he was engaged in something that did not involve work. Science. Philosophy. Literature. Maths. Music. But more commonly, Molly sensed the biggest change in Jim when they talked about her. He loved hearing about Molly's day – food – work - just anything. There was something about the monotony of her life that engaged him on occasion.

She was like a distraction.

"Like it?"

Jim's hand gestured towards the slick and particularly new-looking pale-grey suit, "It's not normally my colour; grey is so bland. But I thought why not," His mumbles fell a moment as he tilted his head at her, "You're looking so crestfallen today, Molly. Am I such bad company?"

"Of course not," She answered him, somewhat accustomed to his listless banter, "—where are you off to?"

It was odd. About a month ago, she wouldn't be asking him anything. She would be eyeing the door – praying for someone to hear her innate screaming and save her. Molly wasn't sure what had changed since that shift in time. It could be her mind finally becoming attuned to the life she was now living; alternatively, she could have simply lost all hope of ever escaping. It could even be both. As far as Molly knew, she still cringed at Jim. She still found him eerie and still kept her guard. However, she wasn't scared of him anymore.

Not so much anyway.

"Meeting," he answered in his usual abrupt manner as a smirk flitted across his lips, "Guess where I got the suit from?"

Molly ran through the list in her mind. She couldn't quite think of many designer labels as she was not an avid shopper. This said, one name always seemed to crop up whenever she talked to Sebastian about clothes and Jim's ridiculously-expensive wardrobe. "Westwood?" she posed.

A brightness glazed Jim's eyes. "No, shockingly," He responded with a faint sigh, "It was Topman actually… parting from the shoes." He stuck out the shiny, black footwear for her inspection, "—these are Versace. They were having a sale." By then, his tone had thinned. Molly was still completely bemused as to why the man seemed so uncharacteristically attached to labelled clothes. It didn't seem right for someone who worked like him. He genuinely loved designer labels.

It was the extravagance of it all; the joy of showing off.

"So, what brings you to my abode?" Jim's tone had levelled to a more serious quantity now as he turned away from her and adjusted his tie, "—I don't believe I was expecting you." Of course Molly knew that he was aware of exactly why she was here. He always knew. Not that there was any degree of mystery to it considering she normally visited for the principle reason that Sebastian worried too much and did not possess enough hours in the day to watch him. Sebastian trusted her with Jim; there was always a sense of authenticity in the way that he asked for her to check on him. He did it often. Molly thought it was rather sweet that the sniper seemed perpetually on edge with his boss.

But she understood why he would be. Jim was a handful. "No reason," she lied.

"Hm… well. It's quite a tricky thing – lying. You should work on it. It becomes a very adaptable life skill once you master the art," Jim retorted in her direction, head tilted as he smoothed the front of his blazer, "I'm still pleased you came. I do like getting opinions on my clothes. It's very important to look good… I just hate it when people turn up and don't even make a damn effort. I mean, look –" He turned and signalled to his outfit with a brush of two hands, "—that's effort right there. Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother when I get locusts who turn up in denim…"

His brown eyes dwelled on her for a moment. Particularly on the denim trousers she wore. She blushed deeply.

"Oh," he began, "I didn't mean you."

"Thanks." Molly muttered, nipping the bottom of her lip.

"Hm," Jim grinned at her, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets, "you can come with me if you like. Since, Baz – " This was a nickname that Sebastian absolutely detested whenever Jim brought it up, "—asked for you to babysit me. Bring a gun with you. I do have one but I'd much rather keep it for myself if you don't mind…"

"I have one." She assured him.

Jim turned to her at that point, eyes narrowed, smirk twitching just a little. "Oh, do you now?" Molly stiffened as he approached. She concentrated his clothes - suit neatly pressed and ironed – every little square of fabric delicately perfect. A lump formed in her throat as he inched ever closer. He walked until he was stood right by her, shoulder-to-shoulder. "Good girl," He breathed eventually, lips pressing together as he motioned towards the doorway.

They were at a restaurant. It was empty. And Molly wasn't at the restaurant. No. She was positioned three floors above, watching two monitors focused on Jim as he sat fiddling with his mobile phone. She had no clue where she was. She had been separated from Jim at the car ride and estimated that they had travelled for a good hour and a quarter. The driver did not speak a word to her until he propelled her to her post and she finally had a good look at him.

He was short. Well, significantly shorter than Sebastian. He had scruffy blonde hair that flimsily drooped over his forehead. He was probably in his mid-thirties, bearded and stood with a posture that probably didn't do wonders for his height. "Ah, they did tell me you like to stare," he mused at her, accent most definitely from Manchester, "Stay here and watch the monitors. I don't really know what else you could do… put this in your ear," The man handed her a Bluetooth earpiece as his eyes watched the screens cautiously, "—best get a move on… shouldn't have too much trouble… you have a gun right?"

Molly nodded. The nameless man smiled.

"Good," he continued, "See you."

He exited through the doorway and left Molly by herself.

Her eyes turned towards the screen. Jim was not alone anymore. A figure had joined his table at the restaurant. It was a man. They were talking and looking somewhat tense as they shook hands in greeting.

"Can you hear me?" A voice told her over the ear piece.

Molly was so surprised that she found herself twitching in response. "Uh… uh yes," she managed, "I can hear you."

"Good," The Mancunian accent was unbelievably smooth over the connection, "Just keep an eye in case I need to –"

The sentence never finished. Molly didn't notice. Her eyes were transfixed on the monitor where the calm atmosphere seemed to have dissipated for the worst. The other man was over the table, a hand grasped tightly around Jim's throat. A spike of panic fell into Molly as she found herself slapping a hand over the ear piece, "H…Hello?" she called out, hand thrusting towards the monitor, "Are you seeing this – w—what do I do? What…" Jim was being battered. In a haze of fists and punches, the man had pushed Jim onto the table and was hammering him. The stranger was shouting something; Jim said nothing. He barely moved. In fact, the Irish man posed no defence. It was bewildering.

Each swing towards Jim made Molly's eye twitch. Need to do something. His body fell to the floor. The stranger lifted himself up and walked away disappearing from Molly's monitor.

She sat, dumbfounded. Eventually after a few seconds, Jim straightened up into a sitting position. He brushed his sleeves off in a painfully casual manner and exercised his neck.

"Shit," said her earpiece, "The bastard didn't let me shoot."

He was bruised.

The next time she saw him, they were in front of the flat. His face had crusts of dried blood. Stains. The effort he had invested in his outfit was completely wasted; his sleeves and tie had marks. Molly watched him as he opened the door of the flat. His eyes turned towards her as he pushed it open. A smile spread across his cut lip. "Do you get white Christmases in Bedford?" He asked, gesturing towards the gently-falling snow beyond them, "—it's quite nice."

Jim sniffed a little. Molly shook her head, "No, we don't get snow much," she shared as she stepped into the flat with him.

The next few moments were spent in silence. Jim strolled around the living room, shedding off his blazer and eyeing his reflection in the mirror hung over his fireplace. He caressed the side of his neck as he tilted his head, one hand stroking the slightly bashed left cheek. "I told him not to touch the nose," he muttered, wrinkling the feature, "But the Greeks. What can you do? They just can't control themselves. Why else would they be stuck in economic hell? But who am I to critique; I am Irish…" The man chuckled gently, humouring himself as the smile died and a grimace appeared.

"Who was he?" Molly asked, absently stepping towards him, "and… why did he beat you up?"

Another solemn chuckle slipped through Jim's lips. "A rather bad-tempered client," he answered, "I was expecting a scuffle… that's why I wore my Topman."

"You don't meet clients." Molly murmured, echoing something Sebastian had told her.

"No," he responded, "not normally. But I needed something from him. He was a rather difficult person for soliciting; and returning to your previous question… he beat me up because I informed him that his sister gave me a rather good time when I visited her in Amsterdam last September." Jim pivoted and faced her, eyes flickering, "I believe he took it as a double entendre. She really did give me a good time. But most definitely not in that way." He began to disentangle his blemished tie as he continued, "—well. If it had been that way, then good would not be a very accurate word to describe it."

Jim expressed another chuckle. Molly managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. She could only imagine what she'd end up telling Sebastian: 'No, Jim didn't do much. Just got beaten up by a very scary Greek man because he said that he did the man's sister.'

"Do you want me to help you clean up?" Molly asked, meeting his eyes.

"What?" Jim inquired, "The flat?"

"No, you." A lump formed in her throat, "You're in a bad way, Jim."

An expression took over his face. It was difficult to tell with the blood and bruises; she labelled it as bemused. "It's nothing," he dismissed, "Barely a scratch…" He stopped and allowed his tone to trail as he narrowed his gaze at her. "Oh, Molly," Jim murmured, tone light, "Is that concern I detect?"

The word made Molly's gaze fall. "Of course not," she mumbled. It's not.

"Good."

She looked back up. "Why didn't you get someone to shoot him?"

It was a good enough question to distract her from the 'concern' comment. Jim considered it as he glanced down at his shirt - spotted and marked as the rest of his wardrobe. "There was no need, he was only angry," Jim soothed, lips pursing, "I don't really like shooting when I'm around. It's dirty. Dirty…dirty… and I don't like cleaning it up. You know? I could have dealt with him. Left with my Topman. But that would have made the meeting so deliciously boring…"

He dug a hand into his right trouser pocket. When he pulled it out, he was holding a mobile phone. Molly knew exactly that it was not his own.

"I needed the man alive. And I needed this. Two and two makes…" Jim shrugged, "it doesn't really matter does it? It shouldn't really matter to you."

His eyes swivelled towards the large windows by him.

"It's almost Christmas, isn't it?" he mused.

Molly nodded weakly, "Three days."

"Hm," Jim glanced away, "How time passes. It must feel awfully odd how everything just passes without you even noticing the change…"

His eyes were on her. There was a silent swap of thoughts between them as Molly looked safely towards the snow.

When she looked back, Jim was inspecting his face. As he did, momentary flashes of pain crossed his features. They didn't stay but Molly noticed them. She knew that he was annoyed by it. He was annoyed by pain. He was the man of control; biological reactions were something that was beyond his skills.

And it annoyed him.

"I'll make tea if you like," she murmured as his attention averted towards her. His expression was unmoving for a moment before he gently nodded.

After Molly arranged Jim's tea set - a teapot, green tea, biscuits etc. - she left.

She came home to Sebastian smoking by the patio. "Jim got beaten up," she told him, rather uncertain as he turned his head towards her.

A grimace was on his lips."Was it bloody?" He asked.

"A little bit."

There was a pause as Sebastian crushed his cigarette beneath the slush of snow. Molly eyed her feet as a request bubbled from the pit of her throat. It took a few seconds for her to blurt it out, "Should you go check on him?" she pressed, "It's…quite nasty."

The tall man chuckled loudly. "Don't be stupid Hooper," he voiced, "With stuff like this. He fixes it up himself."

"But he…can't." Molly interposed, rubbing the side of her head, "Not properly."

Sebastian was staring at her now, exploring the overtones in her words. "You be careful, Hooper. Alright?" he told her, eyes swaying over her shoulder, "Don't fuss yourself with stuff like this. He is a proper piece of good shit sometimes. But don't get…attached."

Attached. She could feel the sniper's stare digging into her. It was clear that he was implying something; goading. Molly wasn't sure whether she should be irritated, mortified or embarrassed. "I'm not," she told him firmly, eyes on the floor, "I'm not."

Sebastian pursed his lips as he lit another cigarette.

"If you say so." He remarked, glancing at her balled fists.

Humming an airy section of Mozart's Requiem, Sebastian strolled into his kitchen. The first thing he saw was her on the floor. Aha. It was only seven in the morning and already his day was fucking made.

"The food's in the fridge Hooper. No need to steal from my dog." He retorted with just a hint of amusement.

Crouched on the floor, holding Shakespeare's dog bowl, Molly groaned as Sebastian entered with a wide smirk on his face. "I know," she sighed, "I'm just putting this in a different place. Shelley keeps stealing Shakespeare's food. It's… bizarre. I didn't even know cats liked dog food… anyway, your poor dog keeps missing meals so I have to move it…"

Molly glanced towards Shelley who was circling Sebastian like a hawk. Another bizarre fact – the cat appeared to have an unexplainable attachment to the sniper. It was difficult not to feel unloved when it was clear that Shelley liked the man more.

Standing up, Molly brushed down her sleeves as she passed the tall man a bright smile.

"Happy Christmas, Sebastian."

As he normally did, the sniper returned the kind gesture with an unfeeling and mildly-sarcastic physical response.

This time it was a thumbs-up.

"Do you think I should…see Jim?" Molly mumbled, knowing how he'd been absent from all conversations since the events of two days ago, "It is…still Code Black."

"Yeah…sure," he replied, "just make sure you get some milk when you get back this time."

His face was recovering.

Molly had taken Sebastian's post in checking-on-Jim-for-Christmas to allow the sniper a few hours of peace. She had entered quietly and spotted the owner of the flat, sat on the couch with a newspaper on his lap. He didn't look up to greet her until she had sat across him. When he raised his face, she examined him - his bruises had lingered but the scratches had mostly faded. His body had not done a bad job. She looked down at what he was scribbling on and thought that it was a crossword. However, it eventually became clear to her that it was a Sudoku puzzle.

"It's cold, today isn't it?" Jim told her, tapping his pencil against the paper.

"Yes." Molly nodded.

"I thought so."

His eyes were murky as he settled back into his work.

Molly watched him, unable to move. She found herself insatiably comforted by the warm fire and the scratching of his pencil. Leaning forwards, she grabbed a copy of the Lancet from the surface of the coffee table and began to read. Jim was an avid subscriber of journals; there were lots piled on top of each other in various places in the flat. Naturally, they were all scientific.

Reading through an article about CHD, Molly began to absently hum – a habit that seemed to transpire in the worst of situations. She was humming the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' and got to the fourth day before she realized. Once she lowered her journal, her face was bright pink and Jim was staring at her blankly.

She was frozen. And then he laughed.

He laughed. It was the first time she heard him laugh and believe he was laughing because it was funny. Not, because he was sarcastic. Lying. Or doing it to wound. The sound was awkward, goofy and different to even Jim-from-IT's laugh. He couldn't compose himself and continued laughing for another few seconds. Molly was entirely trumped and just sat, watching him.

"Oh, Molly," he uttered, breathless, "Please don't make me ever want to kill you."

In Jim's dictionary, that probably translated to something less ominous. It did cause a slight rise in her heart rate – but the peak of it had come when he laughed. There was something satisfying about pleasing him. He's alright when he isn't crazy. No. Definite no. Molly knew that she was treading on very dangerous borders when she thought about Jim and how he was when he wasn't crazy. Why? Because there was a fine line between things and the line between her and Jim had to stay. It couldn't ever blur.

Otherwise, she would be drawn into his laugh, the accent and the fact that he thought that pi was the "sexiest" value in Mathematics.

Eyes peering through the distance between them, Molly expressed a deep sigh.

He heard it. "Cheer up, buttercup." He chimed, eyes examining her closely, "That's what they used to say to me. When I looked unhappy…"

A smile formed on Molly's lips. "That's nice," she nodded.

"Don't look so unhappy," He murmured.

"Oh, but I'm always a little unhappy," she shrugged.

Jim pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I know," he responded, "I watched you. The girl with the cat and the nose and the two-left feet." His gaze lowered a little, "I don't think you provided yourself with much of a life out there. So pathetic on the outside…so drearily normal…but you aren't. That's why I took you." Jim paused again, face still, "You understand that, don't you?"

She blinked at him, "No… I didn't understand that."

"Well…now you do." He tilted his head at her as he leaned forwards and lifted his wine glass up for a toast, "Merry Christmas Mollybear."

'Don't fuss yourself with stuff like this. He is a proper piece of good shit sometimes. But don't get…attached.' Sebastian's voice told her as she stared at him, breaths receding slowly. She told herself to remember the line between them. Don't blur your line. But as the wine glass beckoned, Molly found the voices inside her mind slipping away into oblivion.

"Merry Christmas," she smiled softly, "Jim-from-IT."

And just like that, she knew she had scrubbed their line clean.

A/N: Again, thanks for reading. Just a summary of what to expect for III - the first few chapters are going to be unrelated snippets of life. If you have a burning prompt, just PM and I'll look over it :) I haven't finalized how long this section is going to be anyway. I'm fascinated by the concept of seeing the characters in a "normal" environment, so yes. Take care guys!

According to the Earth Calendar - It is Waffle Day in Sweden! So, happy Waffle Day everyone!*

*yes this is Lou shamelessly attempting to make up for the holiday wishes she had missed to give from her previous updates.