Chapter Text
October 2, 2010
JIM: Sorry. Wrong day to die.
SHERLOCK: Oh. Did you get a better offer?
JIM: You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.
JIM (into phone): So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.
JOHN: What happened there?
SHERLOCK: Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?
Sherlock started, “Molly!” He pulled out his phone and sent a rapid text, then started towards the pool door.
John grabbed his sleeve and said, “What about Molly? What has she got to do with all this?”
Sherlock spun and hissed, “Moriarty and Molly are dating! He’s a psychotic bomber! Don't you see she’s in danger!”
John nodded wearily, “Yes, of course, we need to go check on her. Where are we heading first, is she at home or at Barts or...”
Just then Sherlock's phone pinged and he eagerly checked it. “She says she just got home. A bit drunk from the looks of her overuse of exclamation points. I’ll head there now.”
John pressed his hand to his forehead. “It sounds like she’s safely home, and Moriarty was going to deal with whoever called him, which didn’t seem to be Molly.”
Sherlock waved his hand, “I need to ensure she is safe. Also, I need to speak with her in depth about her relationship with Moriarty. I didn’t put much thought into it before, when I thought he was just an IT yokel. But there is a high probability that he told her something that might be of relevance.”
John yawned, “Mate, I’ve been up and on the go ever since this mad bomber thing began almost two days ago. Plus I’ve just had a vest of explosives strapped to my chest and sniper rifles aimed at my head. All I want to do is go home and collapse on my bed. If Molly is in imminent danger, of course I’ll come. But if just going to be you badgering her about Moriarty’s favourite flavour of ice cream, I’ll give it a pass.”
*****
Molly had just changed into her favourite UCL Medical School tee shirt from her old student days, and put on her loose plaid joggers. She walked to her mantle and picked up the framed photo of an orange cat and gave it a kiss, then she fiddled with her phone and set it up so that her music came from the speaker on the coffee table in the lounge. She was just starting to drunkenly sway as she sang to the new Beyonce song ‘I Miss You’ when she heard the front door rattle. She fearfully went and grabbed the cricket bat that she kept by the front door and held it unsteadily over her head. When the door burst open, she brought it down at an awkward angle and it impacted Sherlock's shoulder. In an instant, she was pushed up against the wall, her hand pinned over her head and her wrist squeezed so that she dropped the bat.
She yelled, “Owweee! Quit it Sherlock, you’re hurting me!”
He snarled and put his face close to hers, not lessening the pressure on her wrist. “You attacked me with a cricket bat! You could have done serious damage if your aim weren’t compromised due to your alcohol intake and if my shoulder weren’t well-padded due to my expensive coat.”
She was a little tongue tied, he was closer to her than he’d ever been, his face a mere few inches from hers. She kept getting distracted by those striking pale eyes, but she managed to say, “You broke into my flat! If you don’t want to get brained by a bat, you need to learn to knock!”
He released her and stepped back. “I didn’t knock because I wanted to test the security of your front door’s lock. It’s completely insufficient. It would barely keep out a slightly determined toddler.”
Molly swayed towards him and asked, “Why would a slightly determined toddler try to break into my flat? What are you doing here anyway?”
He motioned for her to accompany him to the lounge, but once they arrived he spun her around and grabbed her chin in his hand. He looked into her eyes in the light and said, “From the manner of your walk, your slurred speech, and the redness of your eyes, I’d estimate your blood alcohol level to be approximately .05 to .06%. Certainly inebriated, but still functional. I wouldn’t recommend you drive a car, but it will do for you to answer my questions.”
Molly was confused, “Answer questions? Do I need to contact my barrister?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I am not the police and there are no legal implications for you in answering these questions.”
She asked, “Can I at least get a glass of water?”
He brought her a glass of tap water and put it on the coffee table. He switched off the music, then sat on the sofa, facing her.
She saw from his face that whatever he had come over for, it was serious. She said, “I’m sorry I got drunk! I didn’t know something serious would happen. I went out with my friends from the Cat Protection Charity Shop where I volunteer. We raised a glass in honor of my cat Toby. He died last week and a lot of people don’t understand how sad you can feel at the loss of a pet. But the others at the charity shop are all animal lovers, and they understand. I guess we raised more than one glass, but Toby was a special cat.”
He ignored the information about her cat, or at least filed it away somewhere in his mind, and started by asking, “Are you still in a relationship with Jim Moriarty?”
She shook her head, “That is not what I was expecting you to ask. Umm... no, I broke up with him last week. Why? He’s not a psychotic murderer or anything, is he?” She lightly joked.
Sherlock gave her a stern look.
She said, “Oh God, he is, isn’t he!”
He said, “In the last 48 hours he has directed the murders of at least 12 people in a faked gas leak, additionally he had 4 people strapped with explosives. Not to mention that he assisted insurance fraud, art theft and several miscellaneous misdemeanors.”
Molly reached forward and took a large gulp of water. Then she leaned forward with her head in her hands. “Did he try to kill you too?”
“Not directly, although you could certainly make a case for the attempted murder of John.”
She paled, “Is John okay?”
“He’s uninjured, went home to sleep.”
She asked, “What is Jim doing now?”
He answered, “No idea, but mayhem is almost certainly involved.”
Her mind was swirling. Jim could have murdered John. He did murder others. How was this possible? She said, “So what have I to with all of this? Obviously he was only dating me to get close to you.”
Sherlock shook his head. “No, not at all. If he wanted to get close to me he could have pretended to be a client or just walked up to me on the street. I’m no Hollywood celebrity with body guards. I’m not difficult to get hold of. Anyone can make an appointment off a link from John’s blog.”
She frowned, “Then why? Why would a vicious criminal pretend to be my boyfriend, if not to get to you?”
He said, “Good question, it’s one of the things I came here to try to figure out.”
She leaned back, “What do you want from me? I had no idea about any of this. He didn’t disclose any plans or intentions whilst we were eating ice cream and watching Glee.”
She then had a sudden horrible thought, “Toby got sick the night we broke up, he died the next day. Oh my God! I never thought to put the two events together, do you think Jim did something to my cat?”
He steepled his fingers below his chin, “Fascinating. It’s certainly possible, I have 7 ideas why he might do so, but without further data, I cannot draw any conclusions.” He paused, met her eyes and asked, “Did you have sexual intercourse with him?”
Molly choked on her water, coughing. “What!?! What business is that of yours? How is that relevant?”
“Everything about him is relevant to me. Tell me.”
Molly was indignant. “You’re very demanding. You have no boundaries when it comes to the personal business of others, yet are very protective of your own personal boundaries.” This was something she had been thinking for a while, but it was the lowered inhibition from the alcohol that made her bold enough to say it.
He frowned, “What are you talking about? How is my personal business germane to your romantic interactions with Moriarty?”
Molly had an idea and she was very pleased with how clever she was being. She poked her index finger into his chest and said in a slurred voice, “For every personal question you ask me, you have to answer one about yourself. And it has to be truthful! Not one of those...” She waved her hands vaguely in the air, “... confusing suberterfugey thingies.”
Sherlock threw up his hands, “We don’t have time for this! Last I saw he’d received a call from someone with important enough information to postpone murdering me.”
Molly crossed her arms over her chest. “Then let’s get on with it. I’ll start: what is the name of the last person you had sex with.” She was pleased with herself about this question. His answer could tell her several interesting things at once.
He sighed. “Ramon Quijada. Now, answer my question: Did you have sexual intercourse with Moriarty?”
She blurted out, “Does that mean you’re gay?” Of course she’d heard the rumors, and she was disappointed to find out they were probably true.
He looked stern, “That’s a second question and you still haven’t answered mine: Did you have sexual intercourse with Moriarty?”
She said, “No, I did not. Now: are you gay?”
He gave her a patented you’re being stupid look, “Imbecilic notion. As if my attraction to someone would be limited to the few square inches of their genitalia. Tell me, did Moriarty speak of me? Tell me every word he said regarding me, in as exact detail as you can manage.”
Molly’s mind was still boggling from what he’d said. His attraction not limited to someone’s genitalia, did that mean he was bisexual? She put that to the side and tried to focus on what he’d asked.
“Um, he mentioned reading John’s blog and asked if I knew who you were. He asked if you were really as brilliant and as obtuse as his stories made you seem. He acted like you were some kind of minor celebrity, and asked if you were truly as obnoxious in real life. He really wanted to meet you. Now, my turn: what drugs were you addicted to?”
He waved his hand, “Opiates, cocaine was my first choice, but heroin would do. But you didn’t tell me everything. What did he say about me after meeting me?”
She closed her eyes to remember back what they’d talked about after meeting Sherlock at Barts. “He asked if you were always that much of an arsehole, and I said yes. He commented on how beautiful you are, which I thought was odd, especially after you said he was gay.”
He asked, “Is that why you broke up?”
She wagged her finger at him, “Unh-uh. My turn. How did you get clean from the drugs?”
He ruffled his hands through his curls. “In a boringly typical way. I hit rock bottom, like everyone else. I was living in an abandoned Croyden warehouse with a group of other addicts. Selling myself for my next hit, nothing lay ahead of me. One morning when I woke up, I’d been robbed in my sleep. There were dozens of clues: footprints, the timing, what exactly had been stolen. But I couldn’t figure out who had done it. There were only maybe 8 others, and the answer was staring me in the face, but my mind was so addled that it was completely nonfunctional. My mind has always been my greatest friend and my worst enemy, but now it was a complete stranger to me. I called my brother Mycroft and he took me to Castle Craig, the most expensive drug facility in the UK. I’d been to rehab twice before, but this time it stuck, I haven’t used for 29 months.”
Molly was stunned into silence. She’d learned more about Sherlock in the last few minutes than in the 2 years they’d known each other. She tried to imagine him as a homeless junkie, turning tricks for a fix. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Castle Craig rehab facility.
She was so caught up in her imaginings, she missed that he’d been talking to her. He snapped his fingers in front of her nose and said, “Focus! Why did you break up with him?”
She shook her head to clear it. “I reckoned you were probably onto something when you said he was gay. You’re pretty clever about things like that. But it was also that he never seemed sincere. He was affectionate and said nice things, but I never felt like I could really trust him, and for me, trust is everything. You know?”
Sherlock nodded gravely. “Yes, that... makes sense.”
They sat for a minute, each in their own thoughts. Molly took another big swig of water and realized she was definitely more sober than when this conversation had begun. She had one more question she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ask.
“Sherlock, you and John, are you...?”
He answered, “John is the most heterosexual man I’ve ever met. Nothing of that sort ever occurred between us, and never will occur.”
Molly thought that was an interesting way to phrase it, but then she heard him ask, “This is my final question, and I want to think about it carefully. Is there anything Moriarty said or did that seemed... unusual? Anything, no matter how minor, that made you think, ‘That is odd.’ Take your time.”
Molly considered. For the most part Jim had been a fairly ordinary guy. She realized now that it was an act, but at the time he didn’t seem exceptional for good or bad. But there was that one thing he’d said...
“There was one thing he said that was unusual. On several occasions he said something like I was good marriage material. He even said it on our first date! And I remember thinking at the time, just like you said, ‘That is odd.’ It was the last thing he said to me too. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, and he very gentlemanly got up and walked to my front door. He kissed me on the cheek and said, ‘You’d make a wonderful wife’ before walking out. That's odd, don’t you think?”