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An ENTIRE chapter of Jim and Molly? Together?

Your welcome.

Hope you like it.

Valentine's Day.

Humiliation, loneliness, another little reminder of the truth.

Molly had braced herself.

No, more than just 'braced' herself, she was used to this (it had been years since she had had a date for this cruel holiday).

Molly had taken the day off (to avoid awkward questions (or maybe to make it seem like she had something better to do) and barricaded herself inside her apartment, having stockpiled all her necessities the day before so that she would not have to go out and see all the smiling couples holding hands, lost in their own little world.

Molly had created her own 'little world', this Valentine's Day.

It included her and her cat and some popcorn and romance movies (a lonely girl's version of porn) and reading Sherlock's website and John Watson's blog from the laptop next to her on the couch whenever the movies got boring.

She had woken up late, since she didn't have to go in to work, and had even gone back to sleep a couple of times (because sleep was the happiest thing in her life these days and in her dreams things were different).

Waking up at one in the afternoon, Molly's version of 2pm that day was actually 9pm that night.

That was when Toby had heard something and jumped up from her lap, ears twitching and then run towards the front door.

Soon enough, as her pet had predicted, there was a knock.

A visitor….?

…on Valentine's Day?

(The last time that had happened to Molly, it had been a last minute, awkward thing with someone else just as desperate and lonely as she was (who then came to his senses and got back together with his ex-girlfriend (who he had been trying to make jealous) the next day).)

Molly wanted to get up and answer the door….

(Was some gentleman here to sweep her off her feet?)

…but she didn't want to get up and answer the door and be disappointed.

(Was some random person here for some mundane reason?)

Molly doubted either of those possibilities.

She paused the movie with the remote and put the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

She knew exactly who it would be.

(No, it wouldn't be Sherlock, come to his senses…sadly….)

Molly didn't want to get up and answer the door and be disappointed.

(Why? Because it was Jim Moriarty or because it wasn't?)

But she did anyway.

And sure enough, Jim stood there, leaning with one arm against her door frame, holding a bouquet of flowers in the other.

"Good evening." He purred.

And Toby mewed, brushing past Molly's legs to rub up against Jim's.

She was in her pajamas, without make-up and hair a mess. She didn't think she'd see anyone today so she didn't bother to make an effort.

He was in an expensive black suit, clean-shaven, hair slicked back. Handsome and put together, Molly thought, he probably didn't even need to make an effort.

She bent to pull her cat away from his pants. (To protect the cat or to protect the pants?)

"They're too nice." She explained, "Wouldn't want you to ruin them with cat fur."

(She imagined Jim becoming infuriated at his clothes being soiled with animal hair and then forcing her to pay the dry-cleaning bill which would probably cost three months' paychecks…or more.)

"I'd just buy another." He yawned, "Can I come in, or what?"

"Why do you even bother to ask?" Molly asked, holding Toby but looking at Jim.

It had been almost five weeks since she had last seen him that day they had 'just happened' to run into each other when they had 'just happened' to stand in front of Sherlock's house and stare into his window.

"It's polite." Jim answered, still outside.

"…if you came to kill me…" Molly mused, glancing down at her cat's fur ask she pet it (not absentmindedly at all…no, to distract herself from being afraid), "…would you bother to ask?"

"Don't give me any ideas." Jim warned and then smirked, "May I come inside?"

Molly nodded and then turned and walked back into her flat, making room for him to follow her.

"I don't can say 'no', anyway…" she said with her back to him, and then added, "…wouldn't be polite."

"No." she heard him say, "It certainly wouldn't."

And then she heard the door close.

Molly walked all the way into her living room, without looking at him, and plopped Toby back down on the couch.

When she finally turned to face him, Jim was in her kitchenette, running water from the sink into a vase he had found in one of the bottom cabinets and then placing the flowers inside.

There were so many.

Different colors and different kinds, as if he couldn't decide which ones to bring to her.

As if he couldn't make up his mind about her.

Molly didn't know much about flowers, she couldn't recognize the type on sight or what that type was supposed to mean…

(she wasn't used to getting them.)

…but she knew Jim probably did.

She wanted to sneak over to her laptop without him noticing and look up each flower's meaning so that she could, for once, see into his mind.

But Molly knew she couldn't get away with that.

Now the flowers were in the vase, the vase was on the kitchen counter and the paper they had come in floated gently to the floor.

Toby leaped up from the sofa to attack it.

"Do you like them?" Jim inquired, walking around the counter towards her.

"Yes." Molly answered, quietly, "…um, thank you."

"You can thank me by taking those pajamas off..." He smiled.

Molly froze and gaped, eyes and mouth wide in shock.

It was his favorite reaction of hers.

"…and putting on something a little more presentable." He completed, "After all, we are going out tonight. I don't want to be embarrassed to be seen with you."

"Okay." Molly agreed, knowing there was no point in saying 'no', "I'll be right back…"

She hurried into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

As she rifled through her small closet and dresser drawers, she heard the television turn back on and, once in awhile, Jim's laughter.

After about ten minutes she returned to the living room wearing the pink dress she had worn as a bridesmaid in her sister's wedding.

(It was the most expensive, 'classiest', garment she had.)

"No." Jim said, without even turning around from the television (or pausing it) to look at her.

"But—"

"The white one."

Molly nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her, and retreated back to her room.

How he knew what was in the back of her closet, she didn't even want to know.

The dress he was referring to she had never worn.

It had been the plain and practical (just above the knees, not low cut at all) frock that her mother had warn when her parents had gotten sensibly married inside an office of the local courthouse with only there two witnesses as guests and no fuss.

(Although when her father had married Molly's stepmother, three years after her mother had died, there had been a beautiful wedding in a garden.)

Molly, as her mother's (but not her father's) only daughter, she had inherited this dress and hadn't had the heart to donate it like the rest of her mother's clothing.

That didn't mean she had ever expected to wear it.

Somehow, Molly knew, Jim knew all this about Molly and the dress and that was why he had told her to wear it.

That was the only explanation…

He was just trying to mess with her, as usual.

Molly put on the dress.

It fit her more tightly that it did the pretty lady in the old photographs.

(Molly's few memories of her mother were always a frightfully skinny figure that Molly had never been able to attain (even when she was trying her hardest to get boys to ask her out in secondary school.))

She emerged from her bedroom, again, and stood awkwardly behind the sofa, nervously adjusting her dress, waiting for Jim's approval.

He nodded in approval, and tossed the last kernel of her popcorn (which he had finished off in her absence) into his mouth and leaned his head backwards, hanging it over the back of the couch to stare up at her upside down, That'll do…although I will have to take you shopping sometime…"

"Okay, okay good." Molly replied, nodding, "I'll go do my make-up, then…"

She hurriedly retreated again, this time to the bathroom where she only applied light eye-shadow and lipstick.

She had to be so careful not to stain her mother's dress…

As she double-checked herself in the bathroom mirror, she saw Jim standing in the doorway behind her.

He came into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet seat.

Molly began to brush her hair so that her hands had something to do and she had something to concentrate on other than him watching her.

When it was finally untangled and even a bit shiny, due to some product her sister had recommended, Molly pushed it behind her back.

"Put it up." Jim instructed, " I like your neck."

Molly found her hair tie sitting next her make-up bag on the sink counter.

She braided her hair and then wrapped the long braid into a bun in the middle of the back of her head, the way her mother had always done for her every morning before school.

The results were surprisingly nice.

The cloudy winter had darkened her dirty-blonde hair back into its usual copper brown, although it was still light compared to Jim's.

"Good!" Jim grinned, standing up and right behind her, he was all but whispering into her ear, "I knew you had cheekbones someone under there…"

'Cheekbones'.

Oh god.

Don't even mention 'cheekbones'…

And yet, Molly found a pink tinge appearing on her cheeks and she wished she had put on foundation.

"…do I look…'presentable' enough?" Molly asked, suddenly turning all the way around to face him...but still keep her distance so that she would not touch him (couldn't make up her mind).

"Oh yes, Molly, oh yes…" Jim answered, looking her up and down and smirking with his mouth slightly open.

She could see his tongue lick against his teeth and thought shark.

"I'll get my coat." Molly said, smiling weakly and brushing past him.

"Where are we going?" She asked him once they were on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building.

It was dark and the air was frigid, there was still snow on the ground from the storm two weeks ago.

"I owe you a date, Molly, ever since I so impolitely cancelled on you…wow, almost a year ago…" he answered, "…so you tell me."

"I haven't been on a date since, well, almost a year ago…" Molly replied, embarrassedly, "So…um...I don't know…"

"Well, where do normal people normally go on dates?" Jim suggested, "You should know, since you're, you know, normal…"

"I'm glad somebody considers me 'normal'." Molly couldn't help but laugh.

"Normal people are terribly boring." Jim stated, "It wasn't a compliment."

"I know..." She said, putting her gloved hands into her coat pocket and starting down the sidewalk, then muttering "…I don't take compliments from criminals, anyway"

"And yet, you let criminals take you out." He returned, following after her and laughing audibly at her behind her back.

Jim followed Molly all the way to a little bar with brick walls and dim lighting that she said she used to go to during medical school.

"I never figured you the kind to go out drinking." Jim mused, "You seem more the type to stay home studying and then go to bed early."

It was almost ten now and they sat at the booth Molly said she used to sit at with her friends.

(Back before the job at the morgue took over her life. Back when she, you know, had friends.)

"It's not that kind of place." Molly stated, and it was obvious too, the bar wasn't at all crowded and occupied by people she recognized as most likely current medical students, "Besides, I only came here once in a while, anyway. Just when my friends convinced me."

"When you're friends convinced you?" Jim repeated, leaning forward across the table towards Molly, "I thought I was the only one who could get you to go out."

"Yeah, well it's rare, anyway…people asking me out." Molly admitted, "...or me going anywhere at all."

She felt comfortable complaining and pitying herself in front of Jim because she knew she didn't need to pretend, to put on the brave and happy face she did for everyone else. She knew he'd just see right through it, right through her...

...besides, she knew he already thought she was pitiful and desperate. She might as well play along.

"You must have been serious about him then." Jim 'deduced'.

(Who? Jim or…)

"…how did you know? Never mind. Why bother asking, anyway. His name was Robert, by the way. Robby…but we weren't dating."

"That doesn't mean you weren't serious."

"Well, I mean….he was nice, funny, smart…he wasn't interested, though…at least not seriously. He was a med student, like me…we'd come here with everyone…or sometimes just by ourselves, and this was back before that new place opened up down a few block away and everybody normal forgot about this place, back when all sorts used to come here and we'd…well, he'd… he would diagnose people."

"What do you mean 'diagnose' people? You mean like deduce them…?"

"Yes—no. Well, nothing like what Sherlock does, nothing even close to that at all….but he could tell who was could hold their liquor and who was a lightweight. Who was addicted and who was just a casual drinker, stuff like that. He'd tell people what to eat before and after so they didn't get hangovers…"

"What else? I know there's more. Get to to the good part."

"Well..he would sometimes diagnose people's medical problems too. Like old childhood injuries… or like diseases, heart conditions, blood pressure and the like, or skin rashes and even STIs. He'd tell the people what they had too, and even offer to write them prescriptions of paper he stole from the school."

"And what did the people have to say about that?"

Well some people thought it was nosy, rude—"

"But you didn't. You thought it was cool."

"I thought it was funny. Especially when he was wrong. Like when someone would have all the symptoms of having something and Rob was so sure and then it turned out they didn't and he was wrong. Those were my favorite times."

Molly found herself laughing at the memories of a thoroughly frustrated and embarrassed almost-boyfriend making a fool out of himself by approaching somebody as if he knew something about them and finding out that he was completely and utterly wrong about them.

Humiliating...Rob always tried to play it off as a joke with a laugh.

Jim laughed too.

He wondered if this 'Robert' guy was the reason Molly fell so head-over-heels for Sherlock and if she ever wished Sherlock would be more like Robert and be wrong once and a while and take her out to little bars and show off to her by diagnosing (deducing) fellow patrons.

He also thought it was funny (interesting) that what Molly liked to see was smart people be wrong (or rather, angels fall down from the heavens).

"Whatever happened to him?" Jim inquired.

"We lost touch." Molly answered.

So short that there was no way that it was the whole story.

"Why?"

"He went into a different field than I did."

Still too short.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Well you can't have always wanted to work in a morgue."

Molly was quiet at that statement, which was true. She stared down at her glass, which was almost empty.

This whole situation was beginning to remind them both of their old 'coffee dates'.

(Awkward.)

(Boring.)

"There's a reason, Molly, why you can't seem to trust yourself around living people. Why you confine yourself to a morgue and operate only on the dead. That reason…are you going to tell me it?...or should I diagnose?"

Jim stared intently at her forehead, waiting for her to feel his eyes burning through her skull into her brain so that she would look up and meet them.

She did, she always did.

"Robert became a surgeon." Molly answered, "A travelling surgeon. That's why we lost touch. He travels the world for Doctors Without Borders and helps children in poor countries whose families' can't afford medical treatment."

And yes, avoidance of a subject was enough of an answer to Jim for him to know he hadn't been wrong.

"What a saint!" Jim declared, with a snort and then stood up, "Look like you need a refill. I'll go get us some more."

He reached down and picked up both their glasses, one in each hand, and then strolled away.

When he returned, he set down the glasses across from each other, adding "Don't worry. I didn't get them mixed up. No cooties."

He sat down again.

But before either Jim or Molly could drink, a stocky young man who had previously been seated at the bar stomped up to their table.

"Hey, you!" he shouted.

"Who, me?" Jim pointed to himself, feigning a look of surprise and innocence.

"Yeah, you!" the man affirmed, "I saw what you did, you bastard! I saw you put that thing in her drink! What do you think you're doing!"

"What?" Molly exclaimed, glancing instantly at her glass and then back at the man.

"Don't drink that, ma'am." The man warned, "He put something in it. He's trying to drug you! Don't drink it! You should leave. Don't trust him! You really should go."

"Sir, I believe you are mistaken." Jim declared in the most self-righteously posh accent he could fake, "I did nothing of the sort. Apologize to the lady, this instant, for wasting her time and then move along."

Molly looked from the man's face to Jim's face and back and forth and back and forth.

Of course, she knew exactly who to believe.

Jim always lied and the man had no reason to.

But what could she do?

Get up and walk away?

Yeah right.

"Are you sure?" Molly asked the man.

"I know what I saw." The man asserted, "That criminal drugged your drink."

"No I didn't." Jim shook his head and then turned it to Molly, "Taste it for yourself. I didn't drug it."

Molly clutched the glass.

"Don't!" the man yelled.

Molly took a sip.

What was the worst whatever drug Jim slipped into her drink could do to her…?

…Kill her…

That wouldn't be too bad.

She took another sip. No. not a sip. A gulp.

Molly took a gulp.

"Tastes fine to me." She chirped and then smiled up at the man.

"See?" Jim chirped and then smiled up at the man.

"I'm calling the cops." The man insisted, "Ma'am, I really think you should—"

"Stop flirting with my girlfriend!" Jim roared, suddenly jumping up from the booth and lunging towards the man.

This was going to be bad.

What would Jim do to this guy who was really only trying to help?

…Kill him…

Molly took another gulp, but not of her drink.

"Hey, back off!" the man yelled, backing away from Jim.

Jim stalked towards the man, his hands balling into fists.

Then it all happened so quickly that Molly wasn't even sure what did happen exactly.

Jim was on the floor, knocked on to his butt.

"…ow…" he complained, rubbing his cheek where he had just been punched.

"What the …?" Molly squeaked, standing up and going over to him.

She hadn't expected this result.

The man was cracking his knuckles and glaring at Jim.

Everyone else in the bar (only about four other people) was staring.

That's when the bartender (the same bartender that had been working when Molly used to come here) came running up, shouting, "Hey, no fighting in here! Get out, get out! Or I'm calling the police! Get out!"

Hurriedly, Molly helped Jim up from the floor and hurriedly, they exited the bar.

Molly knew she could never come back there again.

"Why did you do that?!" Molly practically screamed at Jim (Moriarty, the dangerous criminal) outside on the street.

She had forgotten herself.

"I wanted to get out of that boring bar." Jim shrugged.

"No, no!" Molly dissolved, "I can't do this! Please, just let me go home. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please just let me go…"

She had remembered.

(Who she was and who he was.)

"I'm not letting you get away that easy." Jim refused, taking her hand before she could even turn to leave and leading (dragging) her down the sidewalk like a frustrated parent would a stubborn child.

It was around eleven and Molly was feeling lightheaded and flushed when she and Jim reached the long line.

The Eye was open this late on winter holidays and in the warm, summer months.

Now it was practically freezing and yet people were lined up in the dark, shivering and huddling together, waiting for their turn to ride the giant observation wheel.

How romantic.

Well, not the line, but why wouldn't it be? Seeing the beautiful London skyline at night from on high?

Boring...

Well that's what normal people normally do on dates.

Bo-ring!

"We could leave, you know…" Molly suggested, "…if the line's taking too long and you're getting bored."

"No, no, I'm fine." Jim asserted, tapping his foot impatiently.

Molly wondered just how he could be.

It was very cold but he didn't even have a coat on and he had been punched in the face thirty minutes ago.

Yet, for some reason, he wasn't goosebumped or beginning to bruise at all, which Molly knew wasn't normal.

As for herself, she could feel the affects of whatever drug he had put in her drink already affecting her.

What if she passed out…?

Molly looked ahead at the masses of people standing in the line.

There was going to be at least a twenty more minute wait.

She didn't know if she could stand the cold or even stand that long.

(She wondered what would happen, in this crowded public space, if she ran screaming away from Jim...)

"I really think I should go home…" Molly mumbled, massaging her forehead, "I'm not feeling well…"

"You can't just leave me here all alone!" Jim reminded, "Just isn't polite."

If it had been anybody else Molly would have believed his sad, desperate, pouting face.

"Then let me just go sit down-" she started towards a park bench.

"No." he grabbed her again, "You can't leave me..."

Molly stopped but his hand was still on her arm.

"…but you can lean against me, if you'd like…" he added.

It wasn't an offer, though, because Jim had already pulled Molly to him.

He wasn't that much taller than her but she was able to rest her head on his shoulder.

"There we go…"

She knew he was grinning as she felt the vibrations of his voice on the side of her head.

A few minutes went by and then Molly's head sprang up when she heard an altercation occurring and a familiar voice.

"I think its way past all your bedtimes, it is…" Sally Donovan told a group of teenagers who were loitering by a tree and sharing a single roll of paper that contained a plant that Molly liked to think was only tobacco.

Instantly, the kids scattered like rats when their den had been discovered.

All they left behind was something small, with a trail of smoke rising from it, that Donovan stamped on a little too harshly.

Clearly, she wasn't happy to be working on Valentine's Day night.

"Oh my god!" Molly panicked, turning her face away from Donovan, "What if she sees me…with you!"

"Oh no!" Jim feigned, "If she does, Molly Hooper's reputation will be irreparably ruined! Forever!"

Molly's eyes widened, taking what he had said seriously although she knew it was a joke.

And then she thought what if Donovan did see her and Jim.

What if she somehow signaled to Donovan, who would come running over and arrest Jim before he could get away.

Case closed.

Sure, some people would question Molly as to why she had been simply standing in line to ride The Eye with Jim Moriarty on Valentine's Day…

…and then Jim would probably tell the police so many stories about her, about him and her, and they wouldn't even have to be false to be questionable.

None of that should matter, of course, as long as Jim was behind bars but…

…what would Sherlock think of her?

If Jim was arrested this way, then Molly wouldn't be the surprisingly brilliant girl nobody believed in that was able to track down and capture Jim Moriarty.

All she would be was the passive, scared little mouse who couldn't say no (too afraid? Too stupid?) and couldn't make up her mind (Sherlock or no Sherlock).

(Jim or no Jim…)

"Shhh…!" Molly hushed, begging Jim to quiet down.

"Stop being such a worry wart!" he chuckled, "She won't see you, Molly, you're invisible!"

Yes, that was true.

"But she'll see you!" Molly hissed, "You'll be arrested!"

"Wouldn't be so bad." Jim shrugged, "I wouldn't mind being handcuffed by the pretty lady-cop."

He winked.

Molly rolled her eyes.

Suddenly, on the other side of the line, as if Molly's night couldn't have gotten any worse (worse? Was it that bad?), Molly saw Anderson and a woman walking through the park.

Great, another person who could potentially recognize her.

Sure, he had only seen her once but if he didn't recognize Molly, he'd definitely recognize Jim.

Luckily, Anderson seemed to be distraction at the moment.

He and the woman (probably his wife) he was with were arguing, voices almost yelling and arms gesticulating wildly.

Normally, Molly would try to overhear an argument because arguments (especially ones important enough to be had in public) were usually pretty interesting…

…but right now she was too busy looking back and forth from Donovan to Anderson, hoping neither would see her or Jim.

"I really think we should, um…go." Molly told Jim, "Now…"

"Whatever for?" Jim asked, as though he had no idea what Molly's reasoning was.

Molly was about to give the obvious explanation when the explanation became even more obvious.

Donovan started away from the tree and towards the line and at the same time Anderson and the woman steadily drew closer.

It felt like dogs were hunting her scent and Jim had planted a trail that led right up to her, caught in a mousetrap.

But he wouldn't just let them get caught like this, would he?

Molly decided not to wait and find out.

"There's someone standing on top of it!" she shouted and pointed towards The Eye, "Somebody's up there! He's going to jump!"

Everyone in the line gazed upwards, squinting through the darkness, trying to see the person Molly was pointing at.

This allowed Molly to grab Jim by his arm, pull him out of the line, and drag him away from the crowd that included Donovan and Anderson.

From a safe distance, Molly was finally able to sit down on a bench to catch her breath.

Jim sat down next to her, snickering.

"Line was getting boring, anyway…" he acquiesced, leaning back in the bench and draping an arm right behind her, for the second time, like it was his new hobby. (Which she was.)

Molly watched the people in line continue to search in vain for the suicidal climber of The Eye.

She saw Donovan look up and then look at the line.

"Oh, everybody just calm down, already!" she snapped, bitterly, "There's no one up there. Probably some sick creep's idea of a joke…"

"You gonna let her talk about you like that?" Jim asked Molly, still laughing.

She was so glad that for once he was laughing with her instead of at her, even though she wasn't laughing at all.

And then she was.

Maybe it was her nerves, maybe it was the drug...

…or maybe it was a bit funny, after all, Molly admitted to herself.

"Hey, 'least she didn't call me a 'freak'." She replied.

She wondered if Jim would get it.

He probably would.

Jim laughed again and then whispered as if he was telling a secret, "You know they're having an affair, right…?"

"Who?" Molly asked.

He couldn't possibly mean Donovan and Sherlock.

"No, no, not her and Sherlock…!" Jim explained, snorting, "Sherlock, at least, has some taste…Detective Sally, not so much…she's screwing Anderson."

"What?" Molly sputtered.

"Yeah, I know." Jim grinned, "Fraternization between fellow officers in the force. And he's married too. Which makes it all the more scandalous."

As 'scandalous' as going on a date with a murderous criminal for Valentine's Day?

"Does anyone know?"

"Everyone knows. Thanks to Sherlock."

Molly watched as Donovan pushed through the line that looked practically disappointed that no guy was up there about to jump to his death from the observation wheel.

Once Donovan reached the other side, however, she looked absolutely shocked to see Anderson, who, in turn, looked equally shocked to see her. And then the wife looked shocked and instantly suspicious.

Molly anticipated another argument.

"Let's go…" she said, standing up from the bench.

Jim stood.

Second half of their date next chapter!

(So you know what to do if you wanna read it...)