A/N: Once upon a time there was a tumblr post where the OP posited a Sherlock series where Ben and Martin played Moriarty and Moran to Andrew Scott's Sherlock Holmes. That sparked this little ficlet, which is technically Molliarty since it's Molly and Moriarty buuuuut since Moriarty is played by Ben C., it's also kinda-sort Sherlolly.

Confused? Yeah, me too, and I wrote the darn thing! Anyhoo, enjoy some T rated swaplock featuring Molly as Molly, Moriarty as Sherlock and Sherlock as Moriarty.

Molly turned on Sherlock with a steely glint in her eyes, one he'd never seen before and was rather impressed she could manage so well. Then again, considering the stakes, now wasn't the time to admire her sudden backbone. "Sherlock, what the hell was all that? Why were you calling yourself 'Will Scott from IT' - and why pretend to be my boyfriend?"

The steely glint vanished behind a sudden sheen of moisture as tears threatened. "Why are you doing this to me, Sherlock? Why are you making fun of me? And in front of my colleagues?"

Sherlock frowned, shifted from foot to foot, but kept his gaze steady on hers, brown eyes meeting brown eyes. Why had he never realized they were nearly of a height? Because she always makes herself smaller around you, an inner voice whispered, and his frown deepened.

"I wasn't making fun of you, Molly," he said, dropping the affected Irish accent with which he'd been speaking while the two men calling themselves 'Dr. Richard Brook' and 'Dr. John Watson' had been in the lab with them. "And those two men are not your colleagues."

"Yes they are!" she insisted, her voice rising in what he judged to be a combination of anger and frustration. "I've been working with them on some research, you know I have, I told you all about it, more than once over the past couple of months." Her lips thinned as she folded her arms across her chest defensively. "Or were you not actually listening? I thought you at least listened when I talked about professional matters!"

"I do listen," he insisted, running agitated hands through his short dark hair, causing it to stand on end. He smoothed it back down automatically as he continued to speak. "But I promise you, Molly, those two men are not who they're representing themselves to be." He took a step forward, reaching out to grip her by the arm, willing her to understand the urgency of the situation. "The one calling himself Richard Brook? All tall, dark curls and deep voice? He's actually Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal I've been searching for. And the other man, he's his lieutenant, an ex-army colonel named Sebastian Moran, the second deadliest man in England."

Molly gave a short, disbelieving laugh, shook her head, and jerked her arm away. At least tears were no longer threatening; now she looked ready to murder - him, because she refused to believe him? Or them, for using her to get to him? Only her next words would tell.

She blinked. Blinked again. Gave him the saddest smile he'd ever seen on her or anyone else's lips. "Oh Sherlock," she sighed, one hand buried in her lab coat pocket, the other reaching out to gently take him by the arm. "I'm so sorry you found out, but I have my orders, so..."

His last conscious thought was one of disbelief, even as the drug Molly had injected him with dragged him down into darkness.

Two Weeks Later

Molly grimaced in discomfort, reaching up to rub at her shoulder as she entered the locker room. Today's last autopsy (of four!) had been a literal pain as she'd had to roll a twenty-stone corpse onto its side all by herself - and that on top of a double shift due to her relief calling out. A hot bath and some wine were the least she owed herself when she got home.

As she opened her locker door and looked automatically at the mirror she'd placed there, her eyes widened and mouth dropped open at the sight of an unexpected reflection behind her own.

Gasping in alarm she spun around, but before she could do more, he was there. Standing alarmingly close to her. Blocking her ability to run - and, as his hand swiftly moved to cover her mouth, to scream.

"Surprised to see me, Molly Hooper?" That voice - rich and deep, velvety smooth and warm as melted chocolate - sent a shiver up her nodded dumb response to the question, taking in a shuddering breath as 'Richard Brook' removed his large hand from her face, allowing those long, elegant fingers to trail their way down her neck before withdrawing completely.

"I, I heard you were dead," she squeaked out. "Sherlock said…"

"Now Molly," he tutted, "let's not play that game, shall we? We both know that the only thing Sherlock said before he jumped off the roof of this very building was a warning to you. A warning his dear brother Mycroft had already given you before Seb and I ever set foot in your lab." He smiled, a slow, dangerous smile that had Molly's pulse thudding in her throat in a heady combination of terror and arousal. "That's why you drugged him, isn't it? On Mycroft's orders?"

"He didn't want him g-going after you," Molly replied, a tacit confession. "He was trying to protect him but he was too damn stubborn, he met you up on the roof anyway…"

"And now he's pretending to be dead, just like me," Moriarty finished for her. Deducing the truth, or simply telling her what he already knew?

She started to shake her head; he reached out with lightning speed and grasped her chin in his hand, tilting her head up so that she was forced to meet his cold gaze. "Don't bother lying, Molly, you're not very good at it unless you've had time to prepare." His grasp eased, fingertips turning caressing again, raising gooseflesh on her arms. "You were quite good that day Seb and I came to the lab to 'meet our collaborator in person', I'll give you that." The trailing fingers ended up behind her ear, his other hand resting casually against her throat. "But…" He allowed the word to trail out then fell silent. Watching her through those quicksilver eyes that had always mesmerized her.

"But?" she prompted in a whisper, feeling his hands settle loosely around her throat.

"But now I have a dead man to find before he can finish dismantling my entire criminal empire," he finished, leaning down so that his forehead nearly rested against hers. "The game has changed, Molly Hooper, and I have you to thank for that."

She closed her eyes, expecting to feel his hands tightening on her throat, stealing her breath and life in punishment for her interference with his plans.

Instead, she felt his mouth covering hers in a rough, demanding kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs. Instinct caused her to reach up, to grasp his arms and steady herself, but it wasn't instinct alone that caused her to part her lips beneath his, to allow him to plunder her mouth with his tongue.

No, it was pure, carnal desire that made her return the kiss with equal passion. She'd thought herself in love with Sherlock Holmes, once upon a time, but now she realized that had been nothing but a passing infatuation. Oh, she would still do anything to help him, she'd already proven that by allowing Mycroft to bring her in on his own plans to save his brother from the very man now pressing his body so fervently against her own that her back would bear marks from the locker door against which she now rested.

Yes, she would do anything to save Sherlock, because in love with him or not, she knew he was a man well worth saving. He might be prickly and rude and self-destructive to a fault, but he was a good man doing good work.

A pity, she thought distantly as she as and Moriarty sank to the floor together, their clothing tumbling from their bodies in their mutual frenzy of lust, that she had always had a thing for the bad boy.

End note: Thanks for reading, and thanks as always to all my readers and reviewers. You guys rock!