Sorry it took so long!

I always know I'm having a problem when I can't bring myself to write...

...I need to work on that...lol...

Hope you like it!

…And as Molly scrubbed the floors, she remembered what her father had said, always said, but told her for the first time when she was six years old and crying because she had broken her mother's antique hand-mirror (and probably, she had thought, her mother's heart along with it).

"When you mess up, Molly, don't feel ashamed. There's no point in feeling ashamed. It's senseless. What you do when you mess up is you fix it. Simple as that. You just fix it…"

Molly, of course, couldn't take the dangerous shards of broken glass and piece them back together… and even if she had it wouldn't have been the same as before but that was true of everything, wasn't it?

'Fix it' didn't mean that everything had to go back to the way it was. It just meant that things were no longer broken.

Molly, sniffing back in her tears, was escorted by her father right up to her mother whom she sincerely apologized and gave a big hug to.

And then, afterwards, it didn't matter that the mirror was broken or that Molly had been the one to break it because all was reconciled and that was all that mattered.

She was going to fix this.

"Let me see it!"

"Give that back! It's mine!"

Lestrade heard a scuffle, a scream and then a crash.

Was his job what had grayed his hair…or this?

How his wife dealt with this on a daily basis, Lestrade did not know.

Where his wife was at this moment in time, Lestrade also did now know.

( And so, he was left to stay home from work and take care of the kids.)

He looked up from the paperwork he was trying to finishing at the dinning room table and jump out of his seat, running into the messy (toy-decorated) living room where his two children were supposed to be playing 'nicely'.

This had happened so many times (each time shaving away a little more of his patience) this morning that Lestrade had lost count.

"I'm trying to get my work done in peace!" He shouted "So for once can you two just quiet down!"

And instantly regretted it.

He had vowed never to get too angry at or beat his children but he had just yelled at them at the top of his lungs and was a (shaven) hair (of patience) away from spanking the nine and seven year old.

And now the boy and girl were staring at him, wide-eyed and frozen on the floor where they had just been playing tug-of-war with a toy.

"…uh oh…" George, seven, whispered, "…daddy's mad…"

"Oh no, Georgie!" Katherine squeaked, exaggeratedly, "What if he shoots us!"

That little trouble maker!

She knew her brother would believe everything that she told him.

"No, daddy, we're sorry!" George exclaimed, "We're so sorry! Don't shoot us! We'll be quiet! Don't shoot us! Please!"

George was trying to hold back his tears and Catherine, her giggles.

"I am not going to shoot you." Lestrade declared, sighing and massaging his forehead (underneath a splitting headache was already developing), "I'd never hurt you, I love you both! Your sister was joking, Georgie…. Kay stop putting silly ideas like that in your brother's head, he doesn't know you're joking…"

"But he stole my doll…!" Katherine whined.

"Why can't you ever just share?" Lestrade groaned, "It's just a—"

Lestrade was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

"I'll get it!"

"No I'll get it!"

His two children both hopped up, the doll and the fight both forgotten on the floor, and rushed over to the front door to answer.

"I'll get it." Lestrade countered, "Both of you, sit down."

Lestrade passed his children, who did not sit down but followed behind him as he went over to the door and pulled it partially open.

Katherine and George peered around their father's legs to see just who had come to the door.

It was a lady in a white labcoat so probably not somebody from the police.

"…Molly?....How can I help you...?"

From the look on her face (more nervous than usual) and the fact that she had taken the trouble to find out his address and then go all the way to his suburban townhouse Lestrade knew that whatever Molly wanted to talk to him about was important.

"Um…well…"

Molly was about to explain but then saw Lestrade's two young children looking past their father up at her.

"Come in." Lestrade told her and then turned to George and Katherine, "I have important work stuff to take care of now. Go to your rooms and play…quietly this time."

"…fine…" Katherine complained, rolling her eyes which she had only recently learned to do (teenager already. Great…).

She and George stomped slowly up the stairs and when Lestrade heard their bedroom doors closed, he allowed Molly inside.

It was then, standing at the window of the house for sale across the street and holding binoculars up to his eyes, that Sebastian Moran was glad he had bothered to bug the Lestrade residence.

Sure, his employer already had all of Scotland Yard on twenty-four hour surveillance (in fact, they had had the cameras installed themselves) but Moran had suggested that they might as well put Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade's home under surveillance as well- since they already did have Molly Hooper's residence bugged too.

And Molly Hooper was the reason Moran was here.

He had been instructed by his employer to follow her and so far Moran had watched her…

-clean her house in the dark

-do some kind of a blood-test on herself

-clean the hospital floor in the dark

-go to Scotland Yard and get told by Detective Inspector Dimmock that Lestrade was not there

-make some kind of excuse to explain why she needed Lestrade's address to a woman at a desk

-and take a taxi all the way to the address she had finally been given.

Now Moran was watching from the empty townhouse across the street from Lestrade's into Lestrade's window where Lestrade and Molly sat at the dinning room table discussing something with serious faces and hushed voices.

With his binoculars, Moran could see the family portrait hanging on the wall under which he had put the listening-device that was now providing him with the dialogue to the conversation he was witnessing.

"I know Moriarty was the one who killed those three men and that teenage boy."

Molly's voice.

"How do you know this? How can you be sure?"

Lestrade's voice.

"I did the examinations I—"

"You said you found no evidence linking anyone to those murders."

"I know. I didn't. I just—"

"Then how can you possibly know it was Moriarty?"

"I just know, alright!"

Molly had shouted.

That meant she was beyond frustrated and it took something particularly important to pull her out of her timid persona.

"I feel like you're not telling me the whole story, Molly. How do you know—"

"I told you I just do. I don't have proof but I just do. I know it was him."

"But—"

"You don't believe me. Nobody ever believes me…they think I don't know what I'm talking—"

"No, no it's not that! It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that without evidence, or an eyewitness…or a confession…my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do. And even if you did have any of those things, why would it matter? We've already got Moriarty for the bombings and for the attempted murder of Sherlock and John…it's just that we haven't got him. We've been looking for him for almost a year now. We just can't find him."

"I can."

"…What?"

"I can find him…or, well, I could get him meet me somewhere and you could...you know, like, arrest him…or something…"

"You can get him to meet you? Why would you think that you could do that?"

"…no one ever thinks I can do anything…"

"That's not what I meant, I just meant…I meant how can you, um, contact him?"

"I have his number. He's been…texting me."

"What? Why didn't you say something! You could be in danger! You are in danger-if it's really Moriarty texting you! He could be planning to hurt you—"

"He's not. He's just bored."

"You need police protection—"

"No. That would tip him off."

"It would save your life."

"It 'scared' him off before…when he was pulling those 'pranks' on me. You can't keep doing that or you'll never catch him…"

"It's not worth your life, Molly! Is that why you haven't told anyone about the texts yet? So police could catch him? It's not worth catching him if you get killed in the process. You're just a civilian, for god's sake, not a police officer! You're innocent in all of this. It's not worth catching Moriarty if any more innocent lives are lost…"

"More innocent lives will be lost if you don't capture Jim Moriarty. Many more lives than mine…more innocent than mine. It's not worth saving my life if they all get killed. It's not."

"….well…I still can't just put a civilian in danger like th—"

"It's okay. It's okay, I'm not in danger and even if I was it wouldn't matter anyway..."

"Maybe we should ask Sherlock about—"

"No!...um… that wouldn't work. Moriarty can't—I mean if Sherlock got involved then Moriarty wouldn't go. He wouldn't meet me anywhere if he thought Sherlock would know about it."

"And you really think you can get Moriarty to meet you somewhere…?"

"Yes…probably."

"...But what if he…what if he knows it's a trap? It's just too risky. He'll know it's a trap."

"That doesn't mean he won't come."

The plan was simple.

The plan was simple because the simpler it was, the less likely Moriarty would figure it out.

The plan was meet Moriarty, text Lestrade, Lestrade arrives and arrests Moriarty.

Simple.

Taking deep breaths, Molly went over it step by step again and again in her head as she walked towards the coffee shop where she and 'Jim from IT' used to go on 'dates' at.

Of course, it was simple. Of course, she had it memorized.

Going over it step by step again and again was really just to distract her mind from wandering.

Molly didn't want to remember what had happened two nights ago.

It didn't matter because she was going to fix it.

Molly didn't want to wonder if the people she passed on the street were paying more attention to her than usual and if they knew.

It didn't matter because she was going to fix it.

Still winter, windy and cold, Molly pulled her coat tighter around herself.

She saw the coffee shop just down the block ahead of her.

Although it was only a few minutes away from the hospital, Molly hadn't been there in almost a year, since 'Jim from IT' had taken her.

She wondered if the employees would remember her? She wondered if they would look at her and know…

No.

Don't wander, mind.

The plan was simple.

Meet Moriarty, text Lestrade, Lestrade comes and catches Moriarty.

Simple.

Molly's pocket vibrated and she reached in, pulling out her phone.

There was a text.

From Moriarty?

No.

From Lestrade.

Your meeting with him is set for 1:30.

If you don't text me within 30 minutes, I'm coming in.

Molly sent 'ok' as her response to Lestrade's text and put her phone away.

She pushed the door to the coffee shop open and entered, the warm air and aroma greeting her.

Not Moriarty.

Molly snagged 'their' table by placing her coat against the back of one of the wooden chairs and then went up to the counter to stand in line.

It was the same barista running the shop and of course it was because Molly had come at the same time she had always come with 'Jim from IT' (her lunch break).

Would the girl recognize her? Would the girl know…?

No. That didn't matter. That didn't matter.

Besides, how could the barista or anyone know anyway?

…unless Moriarty was going around telling people.

Men were known brag about their 'conquests' and for all Molly knew Moriarty came to this coffee shop everyday, chatted with fellow customers and the employees and had casually mentioned how he had 'gotten lucky' Valentine's Day with that girl from the hospital he used to bring in here before.

No. That's silly.

And that didn't matter. It didn't matter. Didn't matter…

Molly was going to fix this.

She ordered, (the barista took her order and didn't seem to recognize her), she got her coffee, (the barista handed it to her and didn't seem to recognize her), and she took her seat (table by the window, the window recognized her showing her the nervous reflection she had been avoiding the past two days).

And Molly waited.

The wait for Moriarty was just as agonizing as the wait for the results of her blood-test.

Molly never before wished that Moriarty was here with her.

(…no. that's not true.)

Would he even show up?

Molly's fingers had been shaking yesterday as she had texted him:

Need to taalk about last nigjt.

Coffee?

-Molly

But he had responded:

The usual place. 130.

-Jim

So why wasn't he here?

Did he know…?

How could he? He did. He just did.

But did that mean he wouldn't come?

Molly took a short sip of coffee out of the styrofoam cup (she didn't want to drink it all before he got here but she didn't want it to get cold).

Molly watched the window, looking past her reflection at the crowds passing outside for a glimpse of Moriarty, and the other tables in the coffee shop, wondering if the other patrons knew…

There was an analog clock on the wall, behind the counter and Molly kept an eye on that and on her phone but no matter how many minutes passed by Moriarty did not arrive.

It was 1:50pm when Molly decided that he wasn't going to.

She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

This meant she wouldn't have to see him again (which would have been scary and awkward…) but it also meant that he wouldn't be arrested and continue to go around doing whatever it was he did (crimes, for profit, for fun…) and that meant that Molly hadn't fixed this and that this was her fault.

The barista was definitely looking at her now. Did she know? Molly couldn't tell but what Molly could tell was that the barista recognized that Molly was waiting for someone who wasn't going to come.

(Always embarrassing.)

But less so for Molly since she was used to it. This wasn't the first time she had been stood up.

Moriarty had obviously gotten what he wanted from her and then went on with his life. Men were known to 'hit and run' and for all Molly knew Moriarty was just like those men in that regard.

Molly had just been a game Moriarty had just been playing and now that he had won there was no point in continuing it.

Molly decided that once again, she had been stupid enough to believe that she could actually do something to help, that she could fix her mistake…

(stupid enough to believe that Moriarty had actually been interested in her. that he would actually want to see her again)

…or maybe Moriarty had known it was a trap (of course, he did). And maybe, for once, Moriarty hadn't been bored (stupid) enough to 'tempt fate' and walk right into danger for the fun of it.

Maybe that was why he had stood her up.

(Maybe he still…No. Mind, please don't wander.)

It was 1:58pm when Molly saw the glint and turned to the window.

Lestrade was on the sidewalk outside, gun and badge drawn, preparing to burst into the coffee shop and arrest consulting criminal Jim Moriarty who had obviously been preventing Molly from texting.

Molly tapped lightly on the glass, patting her reflection like she was slapping her own face, and Lestrade saw her, through the window, sitting at the table alone.

He entered the shop and sat down across from her in 'Jim from IT's' (Jim's) seat.

"What happened?"

Well it was obvious, wasn't it? Moriarty didn't show up. Why was he asking?

"He didn't come…" Molly mumbled into her mug, "…I'm sorry…"

"It's alright." Lestrade replied, nodded and glancing around the coffee shop as if he didn't believe Molly…

…no. Not that he didn't believe her. Not that he thought she was lying about Moriarty not being there…

…no, it was more like he thought she was mistaken. Like Moriarty was actually in the room right then and Molly had just been too stupid to notice.

"He probably knew it was a trap." Molly added.

"Yeah." Lestrade agreed, once he was satisfied that Moriarty truly wasn't there, "He must have."

He didn't believe that either.

(Well, he believed that Molly believed it but he didn't believe that Moriarty had not come because he knew it was a trap he believed that Moriarty had not come because he had had 'better things' to do and didn't have time to mess around with somebody (some nobody) Molly Hooper…

…However, it made Lestrade feel better to believe that it made Molly feel better to believe that Moriarty simply not come because he didn't want to be arrested.)

"I should have known this was a bad idea..." Molly said and swallowed her cold coffee in one gulp.

"No." Lestrade stated, shaking his head, "I should have known this was a bad idea. I should have never let you do this. And now Moriarty probably knows you tried to set him up. I'm going to put police protection—"

"Don't!" Molly exclaimed, jumping up and then quieting herself and sitting back down, "I mean…um, I don't think that's necessary. I don't want to be a bother. Besides, I think J—Moriarty is done with me. I don't think he'll try to do anything to me anymore… I don't think I'll ever see him again…"

"…And you're sure that it was even him that was texting you?" Lestrade asked as though a possibility had just occurred to him and when it did it had seemed very likely, "You sure it wasn't…you know, somebody else…?"

"Of course I am!" Molly declared.

Did Lestrade really think she was that stupid?

"….may I see the texts, please?"

Molly couldn't show him.

Lestrade was a detective, after all, if he saw the texts he would know.

"I deleted them."

"…alright, then…okay…."

Oh, and now he thought she was crazy!

Molly took a deep breath and calmed herself. Even if he thought she was stupid, even if he thought she was crazy…

…at least Lestrade didn't know.

"I'm sorry." Molly apologized, again, "I know it was him. I know but it's over now. I'm sorry I wasted your time, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help…"

"No, Molly, it's fine, it's fine," Lestrade consoled, "You did help—"

"No I didn't." Molly countered, "I made it worse."

She was talking about trying and failing to set up Jim Moriarty.

She was thinking about sleeping with him.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself…" Lestrade told her, "I can see why you'd want to help catch Moriarty…but just because we didn't this time doesn't mean you should feel bad. I mean, all of Scotland Yard tried to catch him and failed. …Sherlock Holmes tried to catch him and failed…you can't blame yourself. It's not your fault…"

What was this?

…pity?

Didn't matter. Lestrade was right.

And Molly was wrong.

How could she have been so stupid to think that she could accomplish what Scotland Yard and Sherlock Holmes could not?

Molly looked away from Lestrade at the window. Now there was a black truck (parked illegally) almost up on the curb right outside the coffee shop, making her reflection even more visible.

Molly quickly looked away, back down at her empty coffee cup. Even her own reflection had been ashamed of her…

"I think I'm going to have to give that truck a ticket." Lestrade laughed, forcedly, a joke in attempt to lighten the mood and break the awkward silence threatening to develop.

Molly glanced up at him, and then at the truck outside and so herself.

She forced herself to smile.

Should I take the shot, sir?

-1

####

Yes.

-0

Sebastian Moran replaced his phone back into his pants pocket and repositioned himself in front of the sniper rifle, a finger on the trigger and an eye up to the scope.

Across the street and down several stories, Molly Hooper sat in a little coffee shop, at the table by the window.

Suddenly she looked up.

Had she seen the glint?

No. It was just Detective Inspector Lestrade, badge and gun out, blocking Moran's shot.

Soon enough, however, Lestrade moved out of the way and went into the shop, sitting down across from Molly.

Great.

A police officer would be witness to the sniper murder of Molly Hooper.

That would prove complicated to clean up…

Moran returned to his phone.

Lestrade is there.

Continue or wait until later?

-1

####

Do what you must.

-0

####

Yes, sir.

-1

Once again, Moran put away his phone and returned to his gun.

But this time, in his scope there was a large black truck parked in front of where the clear view of Molly and Lestrade sitting in the coffee shop should have been.

A figure emerged from the vehicle, street side, slamming the door behind him and walking through quickly-moving, heavy traffic towards the building Moran was stationed in.

Jim Moriarty.

Moran stood up from his sniper rifle, turned around to face the door and wait for Jim.

After a few minutes, Jim arrived on the empty 16th floor (undergoing renovation) and entered the room occupied only by Moran, his equipment and a few stray boards.

"What did I tell you about crashing my dates…?" he began, more malice in his joking tone than usual.

This wouldn't go very smoothly.

And that was saying something, considering that, with Jim Moriarty, things never just went 'smoothly'.

"You didn't even go, sir." Moran stated, "You knew she was trying to set you up. You knew she brought that detective with her."

"I would have gone, regardless of whether she brought along a 'friend' or not…" Jim countered, "…except you decided to show up and spoil the fun. Might I ask why?... Is it because you're jealous?"

"It's because you would have been arrested, sir." Moran said evenly, although knowing that Jim already knew this, "As you know, sir, my employer doesn't—"

"I TOLD YOU AND YOUR EMPLOYER TO STAY OUT OF THIS!" Jim shouted louder than Moran had heard anyone shout before (except in Afghanistan when shouting out orders or in pain over bullets and bombs).

Moran realized he had underestimated Jim's level of annoyance at this situation.

Hopefully what his employer had told him to do if Jim 'got a little testy' would work…

"Sir, you're anger is misplaced." He replied, making sure to show no surprise, or fear, or frustration, "What you really are angry at is Miss Hooper for her betrayal, not at me or my employer for protecting you from it."

…it didn't.

In fact, it only made it worse.

"Oh so you're some kind of shrink, now too, aren't you?" Jim snorted, "You're employer teach you that? Bet he did. He is such a good teacher…"

"Sir—"

"Knows, everything, he does…knows what's best for everyone…especially me. And me, I don't know anything. I'm just a stupid punk kid who—"

This was bad.

This was very bad.

Moran's employer had recounted the last time Jim had had an 'outburst' like this…

…it was back when he was fourteen and he really wanted to come out and play with a boy named Sherlock Holmes who was the only one to notice the significance of a dead kid's missing shoes.

Things had certainly not gone 'smoothly' then.

So what was Moran going to do to calm Jim down so that the same incident wouldn't happen again…?

Moran felt his phone buzz.

For the third time, he retrieved it.

He's faking it.

It's almost word for word what he said the last time.

He knows I'm watching.

-0

Sighing inwardly, but making no expression as usual, Moran looked up from the text message over to Jim.

Jim was glaring past him, over at a white security camera stuck to the top corner of the concrete room.

Jim saw Moran looking at him and grinned (again, more malice than usual).

"He's just looking out for you, you know..." Moran sighed, "Really, sir, he is."

"I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself…" Jim declared, still grinning sinisterly, "So the two of you've got one more warning…and I mean 'warning' because if either you get into my business again, with Molly Hooper or Sherlock Holmes, there will be a 'war'…"

Moran stared at Jim.

Not gone smoothly, not gone smoothly at all…

But before Moran could respond, he watched Jim dissolve into snickering, bending forewords, clutching his stomach and closing his eyes.

(Maniacal) laughter echoed off the walls of the empty floor.

"Get it?" Jim chuckled, looking up at Moran from his bent position and wiping a tear from his eyes, "… 'warning' 'war'-'ning'… 'war'? Get it?"

Moran stopped himself from raising an eyebrow.

Was Jim just joking?

"Sir—"

"GET IT?"

He wasn't.

Suddenly, Jim was upright again and directing his glare at Moran.

"I said 'get it'!" He repeated for the third time.

And he wasn't talking about his play on words; he was talking about his threat of war.

"Yes, sir." Moran nodded, "I get it. And I'll pass it on to my employer."

"Good." Jim breathed, and then he was laughing again, as he was walking away, "I am just too funny, aren't I…"

When Molly got home that evening, disappointed and relieved, Toby was waiting for her, curled up at the door.

He purred as she bent down and pet him, rubbing up against her arms and legs.

But when she went to scratch under the cat's chin, she found something attached to his collar…

…a note.

Molly closed the door behind her by leaning back against as she unfolded the tiny white paper.

Molly,

Sorry I missed you today.

I didn't mean to stand you up but there were too many guests, uninvited or otherwise.

I could kill you for that, you know, or could have let you get killed…

…but instead I'm giving you a choice.

I'm never going to contact you again.

No more showing up at your work or at your flat and 'forcing' you out on dates with me. I won't bother you anymore.

And you can forget any of this ever happened if you never want to see me again…

…But if you do want to see me again… YOU have to contact ME. (And you can, whenever you want, you can.)

I'll never stand you up again if you do. Ask for me and I'll be there…

…on one condition.

You see me for you and me.

Not for what Sherlock Holmes or Lestrade or anybody thinks of you...not for your conscience to absolve yourself of some imaginary 'sin' or restore the delicate balance between good and evil and right and wrong in this world or any bullshit like that…

…no.

You see me for you, because you want to and it makes you happy…

… and for me, because I'm amazing and you just can't stay away.

You see, Molly, if you want to see me again you have to come to me and you have to take responsibility for it.

No more excuses.

-Jim

Molly read the letter over a few times and then re-folded it, placing it into her labcoat pocket.

She walked into her apartment, Toby trotting after her.

On the counter of her kitchenette was the vase of flowers. Somebody had watered them.

Molly reached past them and flipped on the lights.

Hope it wasn't filler-ish again...

And next chapter the 'Game' begins, lol!