Molly pulled the covers up to her neck and shut her eyes tight. She took a breath and peeked at the clock with one eye. It was three fifteen in the morning. She had gone to bed at eleven, but she hadn't been able to sleep. She would relax only to wake with her heart racing as she remembered Moriarty's blank face. It was the same sort of face that he had worn during the trial.

She hadn't gone herself, but she had watched all of the coverage. Sherlock had told her that Jim was really James Moriarty, but somehow she couldn't believe that he would go to the trouble to date her just to get to Sherlock. Watching the trial, she could see that it was indeed Jim, but different. He wore bespoke suits and stood with a casual arrogance and thinly veiled malevolence that made her skin crawl. To think that a criminal mastermind had sat on her couch and watched Glee. It was bizarre. It was disturbing beyond belief.

Now that criminal was living a life under an assumed name that she had arranged for him. He didn't know who he was yet, at least she didn't think so, but ... he had insisted that she call him Jim. Maybe he had remembered all of it. Maybe he was toying with her. Games were his style, after all.

No, he couldn't have remembered everything, otherwise he would have left behind that humble flat for some place more grand. He would have called in contacts wouldn't he? He certainly wouldn't be talking about taking her to Paris. Would he?

No, she was certain that his memory had not returned. Then again, his personality might return, and that had been dangerously unstable. She hadn't seen the body of the old woman that he had killed. There hadn't been enough left over to scrape into a casket, but she'd seen some of the other victims of the explosion that Moriarty had caused. One young woman with a crushed skull. A teen with a hole torn through his chest. How could someone who had so viciously killed be trusted?

Why had she believed that she could keep such a secret to herself? If Moriarty remembered who he was, what would he do then? Wouldn't it make everything that Sherlock was attempting come to naught? And where was Sherlock anyway? He had told her something about his friends being in danger, and he had left the country to hunt down the rest of Moriarty's men. But it had been well over a year now, and she hadn't heard a thing from him.

Molly turned on her side and placed the pillow over her head as she tried to go back to sleep. She tried to think of peaceful things. Of rose gardens and toy boats on the serpentine. She imagined herself in the park. The wind blowing through the trees. The leaves casting shadows across her as she sat on a blanket. It was a picnic, yes with China plates and a teapot balanced on a yellow picnic basket. And a man in a wheelchair staring at her with a perfectly emotionless expression. She breathed in sharply and sat up. It was three twenty-five AM.

It had been a risky move saving Jim's life, she had known that from the first, but she couldn't just let him die. She just couldn't. But if he remembered. If he got out of control again. She had no way to stop him. She couldn't keep this from Sherlock. It would be too dangerous. She lay down on her back and looked up at the ceiling weighing the risks in her mind. Then she sat up and walked into the living room to get her phone out of her purse.

She moved Toby off of her chair, and then she dialed the number for Mycroft Holmes. There was a ring, and another ring. It was the fifth ring before a female voice answered. "Hello," she said. "Miss Hooper is it?"

"Yes. It's me."
"How may I help you, Miss Hooper?"
"I need to talk to Mycroft Holmes."
There was a moment of silence and then she spoke. "He's not available at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?"
"When will he be ... available?"
"Mr Holmes might be unavailable for some time."
"How much time?"
"I can't say. He's involved in some very delicate negotiations at the moment. Is is something that I might help you with? Mr Holmes has given you a priority classification."

"Oh, really? That's good... I guess."

"What is worrying you, Miss Hooper?"

"Um, why do you think that I'm worried?"

"Well, it is three thirty in the morning, and you seem to be at home and not under duress. It is only logical."

"Yes, of course. I wasn't thinking."

"So, how may I be of assistance, Miss Hooper."
Molly paused. She might have been able to mention Moriarty to Mycroft Holmes. She still wasn't sure, but she might have done it, however, she absolutely couldn't tell his assistant.

This wasn't the kind of thing to be delegated. Molly was sure that Mycroft had a plan in place should Moriarty be found, but it probably involved putting a bullet in his skull. Despite her fears, she didn't want Jim dead.

"Miss Hooper."

The woman on the other end of the phone was waiting. She had to give her a reason why she had called that wouldn't raise suspicion. What could be so important that she'd call in the middle of the night?

"My boyfriend, Tom," Molly said.

"Yes?"

"I don't know very much about him. Can you tell me? That is... can you do a background check on Tom?"

"Do you have any evidence to suggest that he might not be as he seems?"

"No, it's just given my last boyfriend, I thought that it would be worth investigating."

"I understand your concerns. We will begin checking immediately. You will get a report by the end of the day."

"You don't have to go out of your way."

"Don't worry yourself. It's taken care of. Good Morning, Miss Hooper."

"Good night," Molly said as the phone went dead. She put her phone down on the table and yawned. Then she turned on the telly and put on Glee. She didn't think that she was going to get back to sleep again tonight anyway.

Later that day at work, she looked more dead than the woman getting the autopsy. She wasn't young enough to stay up all night anymore. She dozed off at her desk during her lunch break, and by three, she had to sneak into a spare room to have a nap. She woke guiltily at five thirty and checked over her desk before leaving for the day.

There was a text on her phone from a blocked number telling her to go to an address near Greenwich Park. She contemplated the logic of obeying a direction from an unknown source before realizing that Sherlock wouldn't contact her any other way. She found herself outside a house with a red door. She walked up to the door and went inside. There was a pleasant woman behind a desk. She looked up when she saw her.
"Miss Hooper?"

"Yes, that's me."
"Your party will meet you in practice room number three." She pointed down a hallway. Molly glanced down the hall, and then she walked down it. She was in a place where musicians came to practice. She could hear the sound of music coming out of some of the rooms. She saw the sign for room number three, and she walked inside. It was empty except for two chairs and a small desk. She sat down in the chair and waited. A few minutes later the door opened and the woman from the black car walked in. Molly tried to hide her disappointment that it was not Sherlock, but from the look that the woman gave her, she hadn't succeeded very well.

The woman carried a violin case. She sat it on the other chair and opened it. There was a mp3 player and a speaker inside. She took it out of the box and set in on the desk, pushing a button to make it play.

The room filled with the sound of someone playing scales on the violin. The woman went back to the case and pulled out a file that she handed to Molly. She leaned over and talked quietly in her ear.

"Take as much time as you need to read it. The tape will play for up to four hours. When you are done, wait for a break in the music to stop the tape. Then put both the tape and the file back into the case and close it. Leave it here. Someone will retrieve it."

She rose then, and walked out of the room.

Everything about Tom was in this file. There were copies of his school records, employment reports. Family background, interests, contacts, previous girlfriends, and even an analysis of his psychology by an independent Psychiatrist. She was very interested to see on the bottom of the sheet that he tested negative for Psychopathic Personality Disorder. She sighed in relief. God knows that no one else that she had fancied in the last few years would have passed.

She closed the file and waited for the music to pause before stopping the tape. Then she placed the file and the music player inside, closing the case and leaving to go back to her flat.

She had just opened the door and turned to hang up her coat when arms grabbed her from behind. She threw her elbow back hitting the attacker in the gut only to notice a familiar scarf pass by her shoulder. She turned to see Tom bent over clasping his stomach.

"Remind me never to try to surprise you again," he said with a groan.

"Tom! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. He said standing while giving his stomach one more rub. "I brought you some flowers."

Molly turned toward the table to see a vase of pink flowers tied with a large bow.

Thank you," Molly said. "You are the sweetest!"

She kissed him on the cheek, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up off of her feet before kissing her on the lips.

"I missed you," Tom said holding her tight. Then he kissed her again. As they made their way back to her couch, Molly couldn't keep herself from remembering Jim's mechanical voice saying something similar.

"Did you miss me?"
She shuddered.

Tom saw it and thought she was cold. He threw a blanket over her shoulders and pulled her up close beside him. She lay her head on his chest.

"Not a psychopath," she whispered.

"What was that?" Tom asked.

"Nothing," Molly said snuggling in closer.