The next few weeks went by rather quietly. Though Molly had not forgotten the past, and though she definitely did not stop worrying about the future, she found that she liked the new routine. Wake up to Jim next to her, feed Jane, go to work, come home, shower, have dinner, feed Janie again, then put her to bed and have a glass of wine with Jim. Her aunts had not yet stopped in again, and for that she was grateful.
Moriarty was an incredible flatmate. He cleaned every day, fixed her lunch and cooked dinner, and kept Janie happy and well-fed. If he hadn't terrorized and killed nearly fifty people and indirectly murdered and stolen from so many more, he would be the perfect husband. She had tossed that sentence over in her mind countless times. She should be repulsed by him, horrified by him, turning him into the Scotland Yard and collecting her bounty.
But when she looked at him asleep, his round face smushed into the pillow, and she thought about where he had come from, the pain he had in his life, she couldn't bring herself to be mad at him. When she saw him with her daughter playing patty-cake, her heart melted and she couldn't find a reason to even be annoyed with him. It wasn't that she didn't recognize his crimes - she did. It was that when she met the man behind them, this soft, lovable little plush puppy who cooked gourmet meals and could burp a baby better than any mother, it seemed as though nothing could ever be wrong in the world. And besides, he wasn't currently killing anyone. The past was in the past, and she needed to let it go.
Which was all very nice and fine until one day when, after examining the body of a man who had evidently been strangled to death by his wife in the delivery room after he told her to "just breathe," Molly found one Sherlock Holmes, very much alive, hiding behind her locker door at St. Bart's.
Her heart lept into her throat, and she felt as though she could not breathe. Whether this was from the excitement of seeing Sherlock alive again or the terror of Jim Moriarty still at home on her couch, she could not tell. She didn't have to force the smile that came to her lips, as he pulled her in for a hug. What she did have to force was the conversation after he offered to walk her home. Molly could not tell him no, of course. That would be too rational.
"So, Molly. What have you been doing in my absence?" He asked her, tightening his scarf against the bite of the December cold as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the hospital.
Molly froze nearly as cold as the sidewalk. "I, er. I've mostly just been working, really." She stumbled on her words, and scolded herself. She was going to have to do better than that.
Sherlock, seemingly not noticing, smiled that crooked, devilish smile. "Ah. I bet business has calmed a bit, though. What with Moriarty being gone, and all." He had a triumphant look in his eyes, and Molly cringed, but quickly hid it with another smile.
"Er, somewhat. I mean we still have all of our usual murders and things. Natural deaths, too. Men who eat a few too many greasy hamburgers, mostly." She rambled.
Sherlock kept smiling as they walked, and she marveled at how he managed to only look ahead and never up or down. If a piano ever fell from a window of a high flat, Sherlock would be a pancake. Because she only lived three blocks away from St. Bart's, it did not take them very long to reach her townhouse. When they arrived, Sherlock made to go up the stairs, but Molly grabbed his jacket. "Oh, no, not right now. My house is a bit, well, it's a terrible mess right now." She said, her face turning red with each layer of the lie.
He gave her a strange look, but stepped down. "Well, alright then. Tell me, Molly. You haven't heard from Moriarty, have you?" He asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
Molly put on her most amused face, and laughed. "Sherlock, I don't think that I would be very high on his list of guests to the welcome back party. I mean, he knows I helped you and everything." She replied. He nodded, said his goodbyes, and hailed a cab, presumably back to 221B.
Molly let out a very, very deep breath, ran inside her house, and grabbed her luggage. Jim, obviously startled, followed her up. "What on earth are you doing, Molly?" He asked, looking at her shoving folded clothes into a pink suitcase.
"Moving to a different continent. Sherlock is back." She said. She expected a sort of finality with that sentence; for Jim to finally come to his senses and leave. She expected it would be more dramatic.
Instead, Moriarty simply laughed. "Well of course he is, he's been making dramatic entrances all week. Surely you've heard the whisperings. By God, Anderson hasn't shut up about it, from what I've heard. Started his own club of conspiracy theorists." He said with a chuckle. If looks could kill, Molly's surely would have put an end to Jim Moriarty.
"You knew. You knew all along and never told me? Jim, do you understand that I have a family to think about now? Do you understand what could happen to me if Lestrade ever finds out that you've been living with me? I could go to jail, Jim! I can't go to prison! They don't even use hand sanitizer in prison!" She yelled, her voice getting louder with each revelation. She continued stuffing clothes into her bag, but Moriarty began taking them out and refolding them one-by-one. "What are you doing?" She asked, half out of breath from hyperventilating.
"You're not going anywhere." He said simply. "How on earth do you fold a dress?" He asked.
"Jim, I can't stay here, Jane can't stay here. We're in danger." Molly said, ignoring his question.
Having given up and put the dress on a hanger, Jim grabbed a purple blouse and folded it, as calmly as ever. Molly actually found his calmness unnerving and not at all reassuring. "And if you leave, where will you go? You have no family outside of the country. Molly, you really should think these things through." He replied.
Her nostrils flared. "Oh, and you've got the whole world figured out have you?"
"Well, yes." He shrugged, and turned to face her. "I have more resources than you could ever imagine, Mol. More people in my command than the entire royal forces. Not to brag, but I am also the best strategist this world has ever seen. Don't you think I would have made plans to protect you, and our daughter?" He said, smiling at her.
Just as Molly was going to argue that Jane was not his daughter, the little girl in question started wailing from her playpen downstairs. "This is conversation is not over." She said sternly, before leaving to tend to her daughter as Moriarty continued to refold her clothes.