Hello, again!
Shorter chapter because I'm tired and because I don't have an even number of reviews but still want to post lol...
Btw, today I visited this awesome college I'm gonna go to now and it had these two Sherlock posters in it's Writing House (or whatever it was called) one of "Richard Brooke" and one of "I Believe In Sherlock Holmes".
Today I also went ony my begging spree for reviews, contacting a lot of the people who've favorited/alerted this story and asking for reviews like the desperate person I am.
lol I'm cool.
But anyway, here's the chapter.
It was ironic that it was around Christmastime that the crime rate had its annual spike, with thefts from stores, fights over the latest merchandise and the occasional trampling death by a stampede of shoppers of the weaker gazelle in the herd.
But more crime meant more work for Moriarty, right?
Wrong!
Jim Moriarty did not sully his soft (carefully lotioned against the dry winter air) professionally manicured hands with petty crimes like shoplifting and the petty criminals who committed them, no sir.
And so it was ironic that, despite the Christmas crime spree London celebrated, Jim was without work.
Well not 'work' work. Just interesting work.
Jim sat on his favorite bench by the small balcony (which was now adorned with shiny green and red Christmas decorations) in King's Cross train station (much busier than usual).
He scrolled through his phone, checking the forwarded messages from 'trusted' sources; job offers all just wonderfully holiday-themed.
'Please, Mr. M help me steal this really pretty ring from a museum so I can give it to my girlfriend as a Christmas present.'
(Romance and Christmas cheer? Next! )
'Dear Mr. M, Is Santa real? If he is, can you kill him for me? He didn't bring me what I wanted for Christmas last year and I hate him."
(Spoiled brat. Definitely not helping him. Maybe if he rots for another few years he'll become a school shooter or something. That could be interesting…)
'Mr. M-I'm tired of all this Christmas crap! There is nothing to be all joy to the world about. This world sucks. I think it's time we remind everyone…'
(Alas, the poor man choked to death on a candy cane just before Christmas. The world really does suck. Everyone=reminded. )
'Dear Mr. M, I'll pay you a generous sum of money if you make it so I do not have to attend the Christmas party at my In-laws' place.'
(In-laws' place burned down. Christmas tree caught on fire. Shame, really, no more Christmas party...)
Jim dismissed the petty criminal propositions of the petty people.
He had a few ideas of what clients he'd take on and what he'd do for them but most of that involved hurting the people that were paying him which was decidedly bad for business…
Still some (all) of them were really just asking for it.
Jim chose to fight the temptation, however, and let the petty people wallow in their petty problems instead of teaching them a lesson about how one properly phrases a request so it does not backfire against one.
('tis the season, after all.)
He continued searching through his phone for a worthy task.
'I know someone who knows someone who wants someone to get killed'
How specific.
Jim rolled his eyes, wanting to kill the 'someone' (which one? (all of them)) and moved on to the next message.
Seeing who it was from, he didn't bother to open it and instead put his smartphone into his pocket.
Maybe Jim would take the holidays off...
John and Mrs. Hudson hurried around 221b Baker Street, tidying up in preparation for the party that night.
They were smiling and laughing even, despite the work and their backs aching from bending over to pick things Sherlock had gotten bored with off the floor.
There was a small but intricately decorated Christmas tree towards one corner of the room.
Mrs. Hudson went downstairs to the door when a delivery man knocked. She then returned to her renters' unit after she had signed the man's clipboard and absentmindedly placed the neatly wrapped box on the mantle before returning to cleaning.
Sherlock 'just happened' to be conveniently out of the apartment at the time.
Nothing to see here…
Jim returned his head from how he had been craning his neck to stare into the second floor window back to its normal position and turned away from the home, walking away down the sidewalk.
Scotland Yard was open even on Christmas Eve, probably was on Christmas Day too (those fools never did give up, did they?).
Jim strolled in, hands casually in his (Sherlock-style) longcoat's pocket and Santa-hat (this counted as a disguise, right?), nodding to the security guard by the door and winking at the secretary at the front desk.
He wandered until he found the room Lestrade's office was in.
Not seeing who he was looking for, he was about to leave when he heard his favorite name (which was actually, and most definitely not his own) spoken.
Pretending to check his phone (and seeing more messages from the person he wasn't going to answer), he loitered against the wall just a few feet down the hall from three officers standing around conversing before leaving for the day.
"I can't believe you're actually going to Sherlock Holmes' party!" Anderson scoffed.
He was really ugly. He looked like a frog.
"I can't believe the freak's actually having a party." Sally added.
She wasn't very pretty either but she definitely could do better.
"I'm not going I'm just 'stopping by'." Lestrade clarified, "I'm heading off on holiday with the family, remember? Besides John'll be there and he's reasonable. It's more his get together anyway. I'm sure he'll keep Sherlock under control."
Jim contemplated what it would be liked to keep Sherlock Holmes 'under control'.
He decided that despite undoubtedly being quite difficult, it would be very satisfying if done correctly.
"Are they gay together or something?" Sally scrutinized.
Not yet.
And not if Jim got to Sherlock first...
"That's not any of our business." Lestrade said.
He must have thought they were.
"I heard that Sherlock was still a virgin." Anderson sneered.
Sally laughed.
"I'm not surprised!" she agreed, "Gay and a virgin. That explains so much…"
Perhaps why Sherlock refused Sally's Mollyesque advances towards him when he had first started consulting for the police leaving her offended and scrubbing the floors of a married man (ugly, made less money than her) whenever his wife was away?
No.
That was just because she was an idiot and wasn't worth his time.
"Do you two really just spend all day gossiping about him?" Lestrade snapped, "That is just so...so petty, for god's sake!"
Anderson and Sally were visibly taken a back by their boss's words, especially since he didn't normally use that tone of voice except with his children (adorable, by the way, Jim had checked).
"No—I mean-I was just saying…" Anderson finally replied.
"Well now I see whose side you're on." Sally huffed, trying to make her voice sound and her face look like it was a joke when it was obviously not.
Lestrade's voice couldn't decide between a sigh or a groan and an explanation or a retort.
"I'll see you both in a couple of weeks…" he settled, turning to go, "Merry Christmas…"
"Merry Christmas." Sally and Anderson returned, nodding to Lestrade and then watching him walk away.
Jim figured it was time for him to go as well, since Sherlock wasn't here either.
He followed a few paces behind Lestrade, the detective inspector even holding the door open a jar (without looking back) for him on their way out of the building.
London was a big city.
Just where would Sherlock be….?
Jim had been searching for him all day (not to bother him since he was not allowed to, but just to see him) and was still unable to find him.
(He supposed he could text him but then a certain somebody would immediately find out about that and then there would not be 'good tidings'.)
But Sherlock had to be back at his shared flat in time for the Christmas Eve 'get-together', didn't he?
Well it was almost eight…
Jim was turning the corner back onto Baker Street after his long day of leaving footprints all over the snowy city…
(Sure he could have gotten his hands on a car (legally or otherwise) but he had nothing better to do (other than work) and he knew Sherlock would be walking too (somewhere))
…when he saw Molly stepping out of a taxi in front of 221b.
He paused.
Molly was actually invited to Sherlock's 'get-together'?
This was unexpected.
She was about fifteen minutes early and from the look of her hair and face she had spent at least an hour getting ready for this 'get-together' (that didn't mean she had done a good job of it though, someone should really help her with that…).
She was wearing a nice long coat which covered must what have been too formal a dress for the occasion and in her hands was a large bag of smaller gifts.
(The top, most carefully wrapped must have been for Sherlock.)
Jim, making sure to stay out of sight, watched Molly walk into the café (open late on Christmas Eve, must have been owned by the unholy!(-well, the owner did have one of his wives in Pakistan...)) next to Sherlock's apartment rather than her actual destination.
Molly had arrived early but wanted to appear as if she was fashionably late.
She sat down far enough away from the window as not to be seen by anyone who would be at the party and nursed a coffee (black, a he knew she liked it, without any flavorings and so boring), impatiently checking her phone (presumably for the time) and waiting.
Jim considered texting her or even sitting down across from her at the table she had chosen but decided Sherlock was too nearby to risk it.
Jim had guessed 8:10 but Molly was being brave tonight and waited until almost 8:15 to get up from her seat in the café and go next door to the 'get-together'.
So badly, so very badly, Jim wanted to crash this party but he knew could not.
His phone was buzzing pocket again but he didn't feel like checking it.
He knew who the message would be from.
And Jim wasn't going to let that person ruin his holiday, wasting his time with so many rules…
(Don't go near Sherlock, he already knows too much. Don't disgrace The Name.)
Nothing was going to stop him from watching his favorite show Sherlock.
Molly was crying and then Sherlock calling her by her full name and kissing her on the cheek…
(Lucky bitch (lucky bastard…? (!)) No, lucky bitch, definitely)
…and then he was checking his phone and then picking something up from the mantelpiece (the package Mrs. Hudson had put down there earlier) and then walking out of the room.
What just happened?
Jim didn't know but Sherlock did not come back into the living room while his guests were still there and so after about twenty minutes John said goodbye and happy Christmas to Molly and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson (all of whom asked if they could help and were politely refused) and then went to check on Sherlock.
The café was closed by now but that didn't mean Jim couldn't find a comfortable seat by the window and have himself a nice cup.
Outside, he watched the confused Lestrade and Molly as they exchanged confused glances.
It was cold out and dark and so luckily a cab pulled up pretty quickly.
"Here we go, thank god." Lestrade said, numb hand already on the door handle, "Let's share. I'll pay."
"Oh, no, I couldn't—" Molly started.
"Come on, it's Christmas!" Lestrade insisted, already seated in the taxi and beckoning her inside, "It's the least I can do. Besides, it's cold…"
"No," Molly refused again, standing shivering but firm on the curb, "You've got to get back home to your family, you've got that flight to catch tomorrow morning. I'll just get the next one."
"You sure?" Lestrade tried.
A flash of annoyance on her face threatened to respond but Molly did her best to conceal it.
(It was funny how she got the most annoyed at the person in her life that was the nicest to her.)
"Yes," She assured, "I'll be fine. You go on. Have a great Christmas, you're wife and kids too!"
"Thanks." Lestrade smiled, "You too."
(Oh, silly, Greg, Molly doesn't have any family…)
He shut the cab door and it the car drove away.
Once it was gone, Molly was alone in the dim glow of the streetlights reflecting against the ice and snow.
And it was so cold…
Which wasn't helping her attempt to hold back her tears.
(It was no longer just that she didn't want anyone to see her cry, it was that she didn't want to cry at all.)
(It was no longer that Sherlock had rejected her (again), it was that she had been so stupid (again)…)
Her face was red, her nose was running and so were her eyes ever so slightly.
Molly had a cellphone. She could have easily called a cab.
It was then Jim realized that she was planning to walk home.
It was miles, not blocks and it was dark and icy and snowy and so cold.
And she was all alone.
Christmas time was a time of crime: Burglaries, robberies, shopliftings, muggings…
And as much as Jim loved all the chaos...
...it was not safe for Molly to walk home this late alone.
Jim imagined some of the petty criminals he really would rather avoid accosting poor Molly in some alley.
She would be frozen (even more so than she was now) in fear and would have no idea what to do.
He could just picture the scared, shocked look on her face.
No.
It wasn't shock.
Molly wasn't stupid. She knew what could happen to a woman alone late at night in London (or anywhere, really).
Jim pictured the look again, clearer in his mind this time, it was fear (yes, of course) but not shock.
No, Molly was expecting this…
And she didn't have 'no idea of what to do'.
Molly knew exactly what to do (give the petty criminals what they wanted).
She just wasn't going to do it.
And then the petty criminals would get mad.
And when petty people (especially petty criminals) got mad they took their anger out on someone, usually its source.
Molly.
How many murder victims were killed simply because of robberies gone wrong, simply because of refusing to give robbers what they wanted…?
(Jim didn't know the exact statistic but he knew Molly did. He knew she herself kept a record of how many of those victims she examined. He knew she had just had one the other day…)
The look on Molly's face wasn't shock it was acceptance.
(With a hint of gratefulness, even.)
She wanted this.
(She just couldn't do it to herself and so she needed help.)
Jim was instantly offended.
If Molly wanted to die he, completely understood (he, himself, wanted to die sometimes and his life wasn't half as boring as hers was).
But if she was going to let some petty criminal off her in a botched robbery, that was another matter all together.
He had told her to call him, to call him when she figured out what she wanted, when she wanted to die…
Why hadn't she called?
Jim never thought he'd ever be this bothered by a woman not calling him.
He was so mad wanted to stomp right out of the café he had broken into, grab Molly (the source of his anger) from behind like he was some kind of petty criminal (like she wanted), snap her neck and kill her (like she wanted).
But she was already walking away, small footsteps forming in the snowy sidewalk behind her and Jim didn't want to give her what she wanted after she had done this to him.
No.
Jim downed his coffee (mixed with all the different brands and flavors and additives he could find) and stood up, smacking the empty cup back down onto the table, crushing it.
Stepping out into the winter night alone (so cold) he decided he would follow Molly and make sure no petty criminals gave her what she wanted for Christmas.
Really, Jim had been quite the gentleman, walking Molly all the way home that Christmas Eve.
She didn't know this, of course.
…or maybe she did.
Only once, just before she opened the door to enter her apartment building, did Molly turn around.
When she did, she saw no one.
But next to the footprints she had left in the collecting snow was another pair, following her path home.
Sorry it was short but the next one will definately be longer (especially if you review (this means YOU))!
So, on that note, please review!