Disclaimed.
Chapter 19
Molly was awakened to the sound of laughter. A burning, hideous laugh that was far too loud, far too harsh, and far too familiar. She refused to open her eyes, wishing that this was a dream, but knowing it couldn't be. Molly only dreamed in black and white, but even with her eyes closed she could tell that this was in Technicolor.
Technicolor. The word brought back vividly her explosion at the lab earlier, when she had been so upset by Sherlock's excitement at Anna's death. She hadn't been close to the woman who lived in her building, but she had always been very kind and didn't deserve what had happened to her.
The fate, Molly realized with a sick feeling in her stomach, that she was about to share.
She opened her eyes at last, knowing that it wouldn't do her any good to panic. She was handcuffed to a chair in the middle of an empty room. She looked down at the antecubital space of her arm, seeing a few drops of blood pooled there, and confirming what she already knew- the hyper sensitivity drug had already been injected.
Her senses were heightened in every way, to maximize her suffering, but Molly decided she would use this to her advantage. She took note of everything around her and racked her brain to figure everything out. There was the sound of trains in the background, the smell of paint, and the faint scent of phosphorus underneath it. She stowed this knowledge away, praying that she would get a chance to use it somehow.
"Oh good, you're awake." She saw him coming toward her, the man who should be dead. Obviously, that term was starting to mean less and less in her life. Jim Moriarty reached his hand down and caressed her cheek. "Molly, love," he said, "Long time, no see."
He slapped her hard, causing Molly to gasp in pain. "I must admit, I am surprised. Who would've thought that mousy Molly Hooper" he emphasized the last three words each with a hard pinch, "would be the one who holds his heart? Certainly not I. I never took him for a man who would be willing to take my seconds."
He hissed the last word in her ear, his breath causing her to shudder as it inched across her skin.
Just then, his phone rang. He walked a few steps away, lighting a cigarette as he answered. "Hello, dear. Got my message then?... Oh, no I don't think I will do that. We are just having so much fun here."
The look in his eyes made her sick as he came closer again "I'm a bit disappointed in you though. We all know you could have done so much better. Isn't that right, Molly?" He held the phone to her face and pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the skin on the back of her neck, making her scream.
But Molly had been expecting this. She realized what he would do a split second before it happened and decided it would be her only chance to speak to the detective, so she gave him the only clues she could. Her scream came but through her agony she knew she only had one shot. Panting into the cellular she gasped, "Trains. Phosphorus. Paint. Sherlock, help. Please" before it was wrenched away from her.
Moriarty pulled the phone away quickly, surprised by the pathologist's actions. "Well, you've trained your little pet well, haven't you? You'd better hurry, Sherlock. She may not have broken down yet, but she will. And soon there will be nothing left of your dear pathologist but ashes." He hung up quickly, then turned to the woman sitting in front of him.
"Clever little Molly Hooper. That was very brave of you, but you forget who you're dealing with. You never INTERRUPT ME!" He yelled, yanking a handful of her hair and causing her to whimper. He grabbed the fabric of her shirt and ripped it, exposing her back to him. "I think it may be time to teach you some manners." He said it quietly, as he pushed the lit cigarette into her skin again.
to all of you who told me not to hurt her... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But there was a reason for the rating, and this part is it. Trust me on this one.