Title: "It's All in the Mind"
Pairing: Molly/Moriarty
TV Show: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: ~1,200
Rating: T

A/N: This chapter was a pain in the ass.

Also start thinking.

BUM BUM BUMMM.

Um, not much to talk about. Like I said, it was a pain in the ass to write. The next few chapters will be all about visits and how he treats her and junk. Fun, fun stuff. This should end around chapter 10, but hey, who knows.

Enjoy!

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He'd be there soon. It was what she kept telling herself: he'd be there soon. At some point in the day, he'd be there to visit her, tell her how much he missed her, bring her a little gift to ease the pain of being there, then tell her a story. Yes, he'd be there soon.

When would he be there, though? She didn't know. Time was not important in her life. Time made no sense. Nothing made sense. Who were some of the henchmen that came into her room? Why couldn't she remember certain days? Was she still being drugged? What had she eaten in the last two days? How did she get there? Why did she feel stuck?

She looked down at her wrists. She used to be chained to the wall. After the first visit, she tried to escape on numerous occasions. Once was with one of his henchmen. They opened the door, walked inside, and she slid right out. For two seconds, she was a free woman, staring down a long, pale blue hallway. There was not a soul in the place, but more rooms to fill. How many others had he captured? But her hand was occupied by his hand. He pulled her back into the darkness. "Molly, dear, you need to stay inside. We'll keep you safe." Thrown to the ground, she was punished by the henchmen for leaving the room.

The next time was when he visited. It was just him and her. It must've been the sixth or seventh visit—or many more, she lost count after eighteen. She was sitting in a corner—which one, it didn't really matter—and heard the door open. No one was there, it just swung open. She stared at the outside world for a moment, wondering if she could make it out of there.

"H-H-Hello?" Her voice cracked. No answer.

She rose from her spot and stood in the corner. For a second, she didn't want to run. But that second vanished, and she was running for her life.

But he was there.

His arms wrapped around her petite body. "No! Stop!" She cried out. The henchmen down the hall just stared, chains in their hands. "L-Let me go, Jim! Please!" She was clawing at the concrete walls, the tables, the chairs, everything. Why were there chairs?

"Molly, stop," he growled, throwing her back into her dungeon. She heard the rattling of the chains come closer and closer. All she felt, though, were the arms dragging her through the air and against the wall next to a latch. Her body crashed into the wall, pinned between it and him, and she did whatever she could to be free. But he would bite down on her freedom. "Or I will force you to stop!"

She froze. What would he do to her? He never liked to get his hands dirty. The chains behind her echoed inside. "Oh, Molly," his nails dug into her arms, "you are quite the nuisance." His leg slammed into the back of her knee, making her fall to the ground in pain. He held her until she hit the ground. She didn't look up, but she knew he was looking. Those eyes never left her. "Now stay there."

She had never been so afraid of him in her life.

The chains stayed wrapped around her wrists until he saw her behave well, when she didn't try to escape or tear the chains out of the wall (trust her, she tried). They wrapped around her body, suffocating her night and day. She couldn't grab anything, couldn't touch any surfaces with her hands—every time he came, she tried to claw his eyes out. But he would just laugh.

"Come now, you don't really hate me, do you?"

Soon after, she started to calm down with each visit. These visits were short, maybe ten to twenty minutes, if she had to guess—that's all she had left, guessing. She was living life without time. Did people know she was missing? Maybe they thought she was on vacation. Where else would she be?

His visits, yes, she thought. It was hard to concentrate when she only stared at the same door day in and day out, waiting. She hardly remembered what he talked about. It was all gibberish. She only cared when the chains were broken, when she could move her arms again. She was on the floor, sitting next to the wall when the door opened. He was standing there, his shadow hiding her. She didn't look at him as he walked closer and closer to her, those annoying clicks and clacks bouncing on the walls.

"Molly dear," he whispered. She saw him bend down in front of her, a little worry in his eyes. He reached out and traced her arm, sighing all the while. "You're too good to me, Molly." She felt her lips tremble.

"…a-am I?" She whispered to him.

He just smiled. "Of course," he grasped the lock near her neck (it choked the life out of her) and brought a key to it. With one turn, she could breathe again. Her arms were free. She let the chains hang from her as she leapt from the ground to hold him.

And she cried.

She didn't remember if he held her back, but she was sure. He had to have, or else he really was a monster. But that was a long time ago, she thought. Maybe he didn't hold her. Did she hate him for that? Where were those chains? What happened to them? She thought the henchmen came and took them, praising her for how she accepted her stay, but she didn't understand. Maybe Jim took them.

Yes, maybe. He must've walked out with them in his hands. "Promise you'll be a good girl when I come tomorrow." And every day, she would see him come back, find herself visited by the monster that put her there in the first place. But she could not hate him.

He freed her.

She suddenly heard the locks on the door clicking open. One by one, they were unlocking. He was there. Finally. She lied on the floor, watching the light trickle into the darkness as he stood in the doorway, a smile on his face and a few flowers in his hands. He still looked as sharp as ever, still with the charm she was tortured to see.

Then, he frowned. "Molly dear, did you sleep on the ground again?" She pushed her hands into her chest. Was she in trouble? What did she do? What could she do? She couldn't break the promise she made with him. Moriarty closed the door behind him. "You know it upsets me when you don't take proper care of yourself, darling."

In a hushed voice, she whispered: "I'm sorry."

But where else was she supposed to sleep?

Moriarty sat down next to her, holding the few roses in his hands. "It's of no trouble," he told her. She felt at ease again, feeling his hand grab one of hers. Let go, she thought. But she held back. Why? He didn't deserve any affection. He deserved to die. "Come now, I have so many stories to tell you! Let's get to bed."

Molly felt her body being lifted off the ground as Moriarty stood up. Her eyes followed his, glancing at the bed against the wall.

When did that get there?