Author's Note: Sorry for the slow updates; my computer has issues and I've had to borrow a friend's. Thus, I lost the original chapter 4 and had to rewrite it, and so I lost a lot of muse for a while. This chapter is mostly fluff, and some Moriarty backstory that will be important later. Sorry for any crappiness; I promise chapter 5 will be better and will be up soon 3
Molly awoke at 6:25 the next morning, Jim's arm draped lazily over her shoulders. He snored softly, his black hair in a mess and his shirt askew. She smiled sleepily, and moved slowly so as not to wake him. After checking on a still-sleeping Jane, she padded downstairs and made herself a pot of coffee. Today was going to be a full day, and she was not looking forward to it. Thankfully, with Jim there, she would not have to have her mother watch Jane. She worried a little about leaving him alone with her, but concluded that he actually had more parenting experience than she did and that Janie was probably better off with him, anyways. And so, she pulled on a pair of khaki trousers, a blue button-up blouse, and sensible white shoes and headed out for the day by 8 a.m.
Nine hours later, smelling like death but feeling rather ironically full of life, she returned to the flat, taking off her shoes at the door and dropping her handbag on the couch. Jim came down the stairs, dressed in his usual impeccable suit and tie, his hair gelled and his shoes polished to perfection. Molly immediately noticed that he was missing one tiny detail though: Jane. She panicked. He had murdered people, children even, multiple times, how could she leave him alone with her one-year-old daughter? What had he done, where was sh-
"Relax, Molly. She's taking a nap." He said, that lazy smile on his face again. Molly sighed loudly, her entire body relaxing as it processed the information that she hadn't gotten her daughter killed within 24 hours of gaining custody. That definitely wouldn't have looked good to social services.
"Right. Yeah, napping, of course," She stuttered, feeling a teensy bit light headed. Jim walked over to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.
"Go upstairs. Take a shower; calm down. Dinner will be ready when you come back." He said, and though she smiled, Molly also vaguely wondered how on earth he could be this close to her without dying of the stench. She had gotten used to it, of course, but others usually ran. Nevertheless, she agreed, nodding and walking past him.
The hot shower water felt good on her back, washing away the events of the day. There had been a man butchered under a bridge - that body had been fun to examine. The cause of death, however, had not been the stab wounds, but arsenic in his system. He was already dead when he had been stabbed, making Molly wonder what the person's motive was. Probably one of those new drugs. She took a deep breath. Don't think about all of that, Molly. You're home now. She told herself, trying to relax. Just as she started shampooing her hair, she heard a cry from the other room.
Without a second thought, she jumped out of the shower without turning off the water, pulled a towel over her body, and ran into the nursery. Her hair still full of suds, she picked up a crying Jane and rocked her. She ran through the steps in her head that her mother and had taught her. Her diaper did not feel wet, and she did not smell. She was not running a fever, and she certainly didn't need to be burped, as she had not been fed in a few hours. She was hungry!
Molly felt proud of herself for figuring out the small mystery, but as she turned to go downstairs, Moriarty was already there, holding a warm bottle. He took a look at his soapy companion, and tried his best to not laugh. "You go wash that out, I've got her." He said, and Molly let him take a squirming Jane. She took the bottle, holding it for herself for the most part, and quieted almost immediately.
Ten minutes and one surgeon-style scrubbing down later, Molly brushed her long blonde hair into a ponytail, pulled on a pair blue jeans and her favorite pink shirt, and hopped downstairs, eager to see her daughter. Jane was sitting in her high chair, bouncing and throwing graham cracker bears at Jim, who was busy cooking what looked to be pasta and a white sauce in one pan, and broccoli with cheese in another. He didn't seem to have heard her come down, as he seemed to be happily playing target for Jane's snack.
Molly laughed, walking over to her daughter and leaning down so that they were face-to-face. "Now, Jane, you're not supposed to play with your food." She said, trying to make her voice somewhat stern, even though her heart was melting at the absolutely adorable look of pure joy on Jane's face.
Jane responded by throwing a teddy graham at her nose. "Play!" she squealed, making Molly laugh. She picked up her daughter and swung her in the air, before resting the girl on her hip and turning to her flatmate. Moriarty, who had heard their little conversation, began picking the snacks up off of the floor.
"Feisty one, she is. Took me almost five minutes just to get her into the booster." He said, though he didn't sound the least bit annoyed. If anything, he almost sounded proud of her. After all, he was the man that never let anything keep him down. Not even death, it seemed.
"So, what's for dinner?" She asked, setting Janie back down in her high chair and letting her resume her snack.
Moriarty, looking very pleased with himself, turned off each burner one by one. "Shrimp Farfalle Alfredo, cheesy broccoli, and lightly toasted garlic bread." He opened the oven and the smell of the bread, which Molly guessed was homemade, wafted into the kitchen and living room. Molly sniffed and smiled.
The two sat down to their dinner at the small table, and when Jim asked if the food was good Molly nodded and smiled. Once she had finished her bite and swallowed, she wiped her mouth with her napkin. "So, how does Britain's most notorious psychopath become a master chef?"
she asked. There was much of his life that she did not know - literally the first thirty or so years. Come to think of it, she wasn't even exactly sure of how old he was.
His face became somewhat distant, as he finished his bite. "Well, after my brothers and sister got adopted off, I was left alone at the orphanage. And we didn't get home cooked meals there very often. When we got more than toast and jam, it was a good day." Molly felt very sorry for him, but his face lightened. "So, I started lifting from shops nearby. Some apples here, a loaf of meat there. No one really noticed, and no one suspected any of the orphans would have done it." That mischevious smile returned to his face. "But, I had no idea how to cook. So I improvised. Trial and error, much like most of my life. Eventually, you find out what works. And then, you know, you grow up, become a famous businessman, get loads of money, and hire a personal chef to teach you." He said, smiling wider. Molly smiled, despite still feeling bad for him. But she still had more questions.
"So, what about your pa-" Suddenly, Janie started throwing a tantrum again, kicking and crying. "Oh, alright, alright." Molly sighed, as she got up. She picked up her daughter and rocked her on her hip, but the girl didn't stop crying. Molly tried a pacifier, and a rattle. None of it worked. After a half hour, Jim interjected. "She needs to be burped." He said.
He took the girl and, after putting a towel over his shoulder, patted her back until the girl let out a small burp. He set her down in her playpen, and smiled at Molly. "I know, what would you do without me." He said cheekily.
What troubled Molly was that very was terrible at this mothering thing, and without Jim, she wouldn't have a clue what to do. But she still didn't have a clue what to do with Jim. He was a fugitive, hiding from the law and from Sherlock, who still had yet to make an appearance. She couldn't keep him under the rug forever.