Well here's chapter two, hope you like it! Thanks for the reviews so far!

Jim Moriarty stood in one of the employee bathrooms at St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

Across from him, staring him intently in the eyes, was a very handsome man with dark brown hair wearing a tight gray v-neck.

Jim from IT.

Despite being only a reflection in the mirror he was indeed a completely different person (but still drop dead gorgeous if Jim did say so himself).

Jim watched himself in the mirror as he put the finishing touches to his outfit.

Resting on the sink ledge were his weapons of choice; tweezers, eyebrow pencil (he had stolen them from Molly's make-up bag) and a cellphone.

It vibrated.

Jim pulled up his underwear almost to his navel and twisted his hips slightly to make sure his pants rode low enough that the green elastic was more than obviously visible.

Then picked up his phone, checking the text he had just received.

Hey, Jim! Sherlock's here if you want to stop by and meet him.

-Molly

Jim Moriarty grinned down at the screen and then up at Jim from IT who grinned back.

This was almost too easy!

Jim from IT couldn't wait to finally meet the great Sherlock Holmes, he was such a big fan.

Jim Moriarty couldn't wait to finally meet the great Sherlock Holmes, he was such a big fan.

Molly quickly shoved her cellphone back into labcoat pocket, hoping Sherlock hadn't seen her texting.

Not that he would care if he did.

She just didn't want Sherlock to deduce that she had purposefully called her boyfriend (yes her boyfriend; what an unusual, surprising word) over to the lab the moment he arrived.

Not that Sherlock would care about that either, he didn't tend to care about much- other than solving cases.

But maybe he would when he saw that Molly had a new boyfriend.

Perhaps because he would no longer be able to flirt with her to get free body parts for his experiments or after hours visits to the morgue.

Or maybe (just maybe) because he would be jealous.

...or not.

Standing in the hallway, Molly sighed and ran her hands through her hair, trying to collect herself.

She couldn't believe she had screamed and stormed out like that.

She didn't like to seem like an angry, upset-able person (she didn't like to show people that they had gotten to her).

But of course there was no point in hiding her… shock? disbelief? disappointment? frustration? (which one was it? all of them probably) from Sherlock anyway.

He knew.

He always knew.

And he was always right.

Of course Jim was gay, it all made sense. All the little details Molly hadn't seen… or had chosen to ignore (which one was it? both of them probably) there was no disputing it.

He had left Sherlock his number for god's sake!

Shaking her head to herself, as she often found herself doing, Molly found that she was laughing.

The betrayal by Jim, learning that she had been played, the feeling stupid…none of it was as bad as Molly thought it should be.

(Well this wasn't the first time she had been fooled.)

She'd go back to be alone, lonely? She was used to it.

Jim from IT was gay. Oh well. The break-up is inevitable; she'd take care of that soon. It wasn't so bad.

In a weird way this revelation was kind of a relief to Molly.

Now she didn't have to navigate the difficult map of actually participating in a relationship…

…and she didn't have to be so confused and indecisive about her feelings for Sherlock.

She liked him. Yes, sadly. She might have even been beginning to fall in love with him. Okay. She'd made her peace with that.

Oh Molly knew she'd never have him, but admiring him from an arm's length away was a comfortable, familiar kind of lonely.

This was easier for her.

She could just keep crushing ( crushing because it was a juvenile and hopeless as a crush at this point)on Sherlock, keep trying to get him to like her, keep failing, and live her normal routine in numb autopilot.

Jim from IT was just one of those temporary distractions life liked to tease her with.

(They were always fun while they lasted.)

Molly stopped herself before her laughter got loud enough for others (Sherlock) to overhear and checked her watch.

It was already afternoon.

Molly knew she had better hurry back down to the morgue and finish up her work for the day before it got too late.

She had to get home early so she could get ready.

After all, she did have a date with Jim tonight.

Passersby were oblivious to the hostage standing rigidly in the middle of a crowded sidewalk in downtown London for at least three hours now, sweating and shivering at the same time.

The look on this man's frightened face should have made it apparent to anyone paying attention that the wire hanging from his coat could not be connected to anything but a bomb (but people weren't paying attention).

He held a mobile phone in one hand and a pager in the other, waiting desperately for either to buzz just because actually carrying out the instructions of the masked men and their employer with indeterminable motives that had captured and strapped explosives to him would be better than just standing there shaking in anticipation.

Would he live? Would he die?

Would this Sherlock Holmes person solve the crime that the person on the other end of the pager wanted him to?

So many questions ran through the hostage's head and that was disregarding the most obvious 'Who is doing this? Why is he doing this? And most importantly why me?' ones that he knew he would probably never receive the answers to.

The hostage watched the Londoners hurry about their lives in cars and in shoes, passing by him so quickly like the little ball on a spinning roulette table. Which ones would land on his number when the circle stopped spinning and get the jackpot?

He knew better than to make eye contact, then to try to warn them.

Any wrong move and there would be no point.

He just stared past the people directly in front of him across the street to a streetlight that had just flickered on.

It was getting dark.

Sherlock Holmes didn't have much time left.

And neither did the hostage.

Leaning against this street light was the figure of a young man, operating what must have been a cellphone in one hand, only occasionally looking up from it and back and forth down the sidewalk he stood on as if he was checking for someone.

Once (and only once) did the young man look up from his phone to stare across the street, instead of to his left and right, directly at the hostage with bombs in his jacket.

The hostage couldn't see the young man's face clearly (he had absentmindedly left his glasses in his car while being kidnapped) but there was no apathy of a stranger's quick glance or even confusion at the hostage's strange actions.

In fact it almost looked to the hostage as if this other man staring at him was smiling…

But just as that thought had crossed the hostage's mind, the young man looked away, straightening up from his recline against the streetlamp, turning towards the approaching young woman, and slipping his phone into his pocket.

It began as a normal greeting and then transitioned into a normal conversation.

But when the young man leaned towards the young woman to kiss her she pulled away, stepping and leaning backwards.

He questioned her confusedly at first about this, shrugging as if he had no idea as to why she would react this way to him, but the young woman was having none of it.

She stood deliberately resolute, willing herself not to falter, lose her composure or stop eye contact.

Upon seeing this, the young man's behavior changed from feigned innocence to anger.

His body language and way of carrying himself shifted from as if he was apologizing for his very existence to as if he knew that the world should be kissing his feet for simply standing on this earth.

He started towards her, pointing his finger appearing to repeat something over and over again until he was finally shouting it.

The young woman startled at his raised voice and inadvertently jumped back.

She attempted to turn and walk away but the young man pulled her back to face him, holding her arm so that she had no choice but to either look up into his eyes or down at his shoes.

She chose the shoes.

The young man found this funny, shaking his head, laughing and using a single finger under her chin to raise her head up so that they were again looking at each other.

He was still laughing, talking and laughing at her.

He reached into his pocket and the hostage thought he was getting his phone but instead he pulled out some sort of white cloth, offering it mockingly to the young woman.

She pushed it away calmly; her former emotions no longer visible on her blank face, as she freed herself from the young man's grasp and turned away from him.

Again, the young woman tried to walk away and the young man was going to let her.

He called something after her that she ignored as she continued to walk down the sidewalk back the way she had come.

Again, the young man shouted something after her and the young woman was going to ignore it.

But she didn't, couldn't.

The young woman stopped in her tracked and turned around to see the young man almost run at her.

They faced each other, only inches apart and the young man told her something that definitely was meant to threaten.

From the look on the young woman's face the hostage could tell she had something she so very much wanted to retort back to the young man, her mouth was even opening in preparation.

But before she could speak, the young man reached into his pocket, pulling out and checking his mobile phone, appearing to enjoy what he was reading.

Without even giving the young woman another look, the young man turned and strode away from her across the sidewalk.

The young woman watched him until he completely disappeared into the crowd.

When he was gone, she let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the streetlight, closing her eyes for just a moment.

And then she walked away as well, her pace steady and calm.

Now that the scene was over the hostage once again had to focus on his own problems instead of the problems of others.

He understood why people might not have noticed him as he stood on the street. However, the whole fight between the young man and woman; the hostage could not believe that passerbys just, well, passed by.

(But then again, just that morning he could not believe that he would be randomly abducted, attached to explosives and planted in the middle of downtown as motivation for some kind of famous police officer or something to solve a crime.)

Thankfully before he could further dwell on his imminent danger the pager in his hand shook and the hostage knew it was time to make another phone call.

"What's wrong, Molly?"

"Jim. I know. I know you're gay."

"….What?"

"It's okay. I'm not mad, really, it's alright."

"Molly what are you talking about?"

"If you're gay it's alright. That's not why I'm mad. I'm not even mad, really. I'm just…I just wish you wouldn't lie to me…"

"I'm not gay! That's crazy! Come on, Molly, last night? Why would you think that?"

"Stop it, just stop. Stop lying. I'm tired of being lied to…"

"I'm not lying and I'm not gay! I swear! Why are you saying this? Who told you I was gay?"

"Why does it matter? I know."

"Who told you?"

"Look, Jim it's over so you—"

"WHO. TOLD. YOU."

"…It was Sherlock! Sherlock Holmes! My god, Jim, you were in the room when he said it! It was the first thing he said when he saw you! You think I wouldn't believe him, you know what he can do! You know he's always right, you said you were a fan! You think I'm stupid, Jim…well, yes you probably do…why else would you have done this to me?…why am I even…?"

"Not so fast. You don't really think you're going to walk away from me, like that, do you?"

"What…! Let go of me! Why are you acting like this? Christ, it was all a lie, wasn't it, you're whole personality even…I really am so stupid…"

"Yes, Molly, yes you really are…"

"At least I didn't lie—"

"Oh no! I lied! I'm a liar! I lied to you…but not nearly as much as you lie to yourself! I mean it was all so obvious, really, me being a queer and all that. I did it on purpose, you know…it was just easier for you if you just pretended not to see. And the way I see it, Molly, you're going to have to either stop lying to yourself and accept the fact that no one's ever going to love you…or get it over with already and kill yourself! You're choice. But you can't go on living like this, dear."

"I—"

"Look at me, Molly. What? Is the little baby going to cry now? Does Molly need a hanky?... You can walk away from me now but you can't walk away from the truth…It's your shadow, Molly darling, it's going to follow you…"

"You don't have to be so dramatic about it. Lies or not, I've been living this way my whole life. It's easy. And I could go on forever like this, too…I probably will."

"….No you won't. No. you. won't. I am going to personally make sure that doesn't happen. I promise you…"

"…-"

"Excuse me…Oooh, finally!...Sorry, Molly, but it looks like I'm going to have to cancel our date tonight…I've got something better to do!"

Obviously lol you know who the 'young man' and 'young woman' were. The dialogue below that section matches up to their conversation unheard by the hostage.

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