Title: Post Mortem

Genre: Angst/Drama

Word Count: 810

Rating: K+

Warnings: Character death

"I can't explain.
- JM"

Molly assumed it had to be a wrong number — the first reasoning of which being that she didn't know any 'JM' (at least not to remember) and moving steadily on to the fact that she had absolutely no idea what the text was on about.

She returned her mobile to her pocket and thought nothing of it. She had a lot of work to do, and she didn't want to waste time on something trivial.

Her attention returned to the charts she was filling out, and she lost track of the time. Of course, it wasn't as if there were windows down here to help her know when night fell.
She was often in late.
But she enjoyed her work, and made no extreme efforts to avoid long hours.

However, she didn't expect to be disturbed once she had subconsciously noted that everyone else had probably gone home.
Hence why she dropped her clipboard and jumped when she heard the smooth comment from the door.

"I was beginning to think you were ignoring me."

It was Jim.

But not the Jim she had gone out with. He wasn't nervous or amiable seeming.
His casual clothing had been exchanged for a tailored suit —which she had to admit, somehow suited him better — and his posture was tight and coiled.
He looked dangerous. Sleek and unremorseful.
Panthers came to Molly's mind and she felt strangely afraid of this new man in front of her.

"Jim," she said softly. It occurred to her what the J in her mystery text must stand for, and that he might have seen her blog post.

"Jim, are you reading this? I'm sorry we argued and I don't mind if you're gay or not but where are you? Please, I miss you and I'm worried about you!"

He kept his eyes on the floor as he ambled towards her.

"I'm not gay, you know."

"Why aren't you answering your phone? And why aren't you at work? Your manager's going mental! Please! Just get in touch! Let me know you're okay!"

He passed a tray of medical tools, and his gaze flicked over them approvingly. Molly felt suddenly cold and vulnerable.

"I wouldn't mind if you were," was her shaky response.

He turned and paced back towards the door.
"I didn't think I was anything, not along those lines."

Molly didn't know what to say.

He pivoted on his heel.
"Are you afraid?"

She was unable to answer.

"You should be, Molly Hooper."
He returned along his path towards her.
He was between her and the door, her and anything she could use as a weapon.
She was backed against the lockers with nothing in her hands but a clipboard as a man she realized she didn't know at all approached her.

He stopped mere inches from her and seemed to be considering her features intently.

"I did come for Sherlock. I won't lie about that." He said in a mild, conversational tone and looked up in the direction of the security camera.

His eyes returned to hers.
"But look at you, waiting every day for someone to notice you. Spending time with cadavers of people you never met. Going home to an empty house and writing on the computer in hopes that someone will see you."

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, even amidst the wash of worry over her situation. She would never have imagined Jim from IT to be someone terrifying, but this Jim was. He looked like someone who put the bodies on her table.

"Molly, Molly. Plain, overlooked, ordinary little Molly." He continued in a sing-song tone.
"I almost wish things could have been different for us. But it would never have worked, not in any variation."

Molly managed a few words.
"Who are you?"

He was silent a long while.
"No one for you. You'll understand soon enough, Molly Hooper."

He turned, and walked to the door.

"Jim!"

He stopped.

"Can I do anything to help you?"

His head tilted back and he turned towards her, a cold smile accenting the next words he spoke.

"It's far too late for me, Molly."

He reached into his pants pocket, and began drawing something from it.

Molly screwed her eyes shut. He was going to kill her. She didn't know why, but she was sure that death was imminent.

She was wrong.

The gunshot echoed painfully in the confines of the room, the sounds of debris falling almost imperceptible in its wake.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead in an unexpectedly tender kiss.

When she stopped shaking and opened her eyes, the security camera was shattered, and Jim was gone.

A few weeks passed before the bodies of the two cleverest men she had ever known found their way to her tables.

She wept for both of them.

This pairing will be the death of me.

As always, let me know what you liked, and what I could improve on!

Love to Corscopa, my beta reader 3

- ACG