Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Hooper family was received respectfully but at a distance. The twins, who had moved just outside of the town a year prior, had already made a name for themselves. The oldest, Mark, ventured in occasionally for provisions and to tend to any illness that may have befallen the people.

Although he wasn’t the official physician, many reasoned he would take up the mantle when the work became too cumbersome for the elderly Dr Hodge - which seemed likely to happen at any moment.

He was a quiet gentleman but his hands were tender with his patients. Already the small community of mothers had plenty of potential wives in mind. As far as they saw it, he only needed a lover to open up. His sister, on the other hand, was a far more difficult case. Margaret, when she did the rare trek of coming into town, gave the impression of being a timid but intelligent young lady. It was to the opinion of most, that her appearance was a little plain, perhaps on the verge of being pretty, at a distance - but her age took away from whatever attractive qualities she seemed to possess. And there was her demeanour… She never stayed long in shops to chat, only to gather whatever material she needed to make her mends and then left.

The only person who had a real conversation with her was the bookstore owner and even then, Mr Shaw didn’t know much about Miss Margaret - aside from that she preferred the name Molly and that she held a surprising interest in the sciences. All in all, the Hoopers were considered a sort of local curiosity.

Late November

“Shit!” Molly swiftly reached out, frantically clasping onto a tree’s trunk before she fell over. After she had caught her breath, she straightened, frowning at the wicker basket that she’d dropped.

An assortment of mushrooms that she had stumbled across, Jelly Ear, and Shaggy Ink Caps, lay mockingly at her feet. Sighing, Molly released her hold on the tree and bent down, scooping everything up from the frozen mud. Casting a betrayed glance at the protruding root that she’d tripped over, Molly continued on her way - letting the thought of the soup she was going to make and the warmth of a fire hurry her pace.

Through the twisting maze of the forest and their searching skeleton fingers, she walked along the trail. This place may be her home, and the spirits that inhabited these ancient beings might not mean her any harm but that didn’t mean that there weren’t other things that did. Molly was alone in the world and that made her invisible. And while that could aid her, it was also a double-edged sword. Just as easily, she could go missing and no one would know. No one would care.

The image of a gentleman flashed in her mind, studious, with dark curls and a cold gaze. Molly winced, shaking her head to be rid of the memory. She had left London for a reason and had severed its leash. Those memories weren’t hers to yearn after anymore.

The trees opened up to reveal a clearing. Hidden away and protected in the bosom of the forest was Molly’s cottage. The breath she’d been unknowingly holding escaped in a gush. Her haven, built by a family long since gone, was made up of roughly hewn stones and covered with a thatched roof. However, that moment of serenity didn’t last long. Her heart skidded to a halt as she stared from across the field.

The front door was open.

At first, she didn’t know what that meant, she couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone being in her home. That someone would break in, would tarnish the precious privacy she had. A second later, anger slammed into her, the intensity taking her completely off guard. It breathed hotly through her body, willing her feet to move and to run forward. Shoving the door fully open, Molly paused at the entrance. The light from the rapidly darkening sky slipped past her and spilled into the hallway. Orange and yellow bathed the interior that Molly gingerly walked into.

There weren’t a lot of rooms, only three if she didn’t count the pantry. Which made the task of finding the intruder easy. Warily, she set her basket down and walked into the room on the left.

The kitchen.

Inside, there wasn’t any sign of anyone. She padded over to the large pine table that was placed in the middle of the room. Ears straining for any sound, her breath hitched as she cautiously opened the furniture’s drawer. Glancing between the door frames on either side of the room, she carefully picked up her weapon, a meat cleaver, before she closed the drawer.

Nothing yet, but that didn’t mean her intruder wasn’t crouched in a corner waiting for her. She didn’t think anyone would hide in the cool pantry but just for an equal measure, she tiptoed over to its door. With a deep breath, she yanked it open. Awaiting her, were the usual cabinets and her stocked food.

Sighing with temporary relief, Molly firmly shut the door and turned around.

There were only two more rooms left.

Right. Molly thought as she adjusted her grip on the handle. Let’s get this over with.

Briskly, she walked across the kitchen but hesitated when she stood in front of the closed door. Her hand hovered above the brass knob, plagued with a terrible sense of dread.

Are they in my bedroom?  There wasn’t much they could steal from her, at least, of a material value. The life she led didn’t involve a lot of pretty trinkets. What she did possess, had more of a sentimental significance. Gently loved books and what she kept from that past life in the city, bits and pieces that belonged to her late father, old letters and his clothing.

Nose scrunching with the idea of a faceless thief stealing what meagre things she had to remember her father by, Molly’s hand finally clamped onto the door knob. She listened with a wince at the sharp sound of the tiny gears moving and clicking into place. Pulling it open, she lifted her knife a little higher as she peered inside, hoping that it would scare off this burglar and that's when she saw… Nothing.

Well, not nothing but the same threadbare contents she saw on an average day. It looked just as she left it. So… That just left the parlour room.

Releasing the doorknob, Molly retraced her steps, walking back into the main hallway. This time, however, she opened the door to the room on the right and headed inside.

That’s when she finally saw it - Er, him. It looked like it was a man that was lying face down on her carpet. He was sprawled in a rather awkward position, one that made Molly on the verge of pitying him for the pain he’d suffered from in the morning but that feeling didn’t last long.

Blinking harshly, Molly hissed, “Tobias! ” Of course, her feline companion has stretched out comfortably a few paces away from the motionless body. He gave her a chirp in greeting but made no move of getting up, only purring loudly as she stepped into the room.

Lips pursed, Molly eyed the man before she set the knife on the small table by the entryway. If her territorial cat wasn’t worried then perhaps this unwanted guest posed no threat. And even if he did try to harm her, she was more than confident Tobias would claw him into ribbons, which would give her enough time to arm herself again.

Huffing at how outlandish this situation was, she crept up to the stranger. One of his arms was outstretched, almost as if he… Molly’s brows furrowed. Had he been trying to light the fireplace?  Kneeling to his side, she gripped his shoulders, grunting as she turned him over. Leaning forward, she peered into his face.

“Who are you?” She whispered aloud, squinting in annoyance. She didn’t recognize him, at least, he wasn’t one of her patients. The town’s people knew she lived in the forest, so perhaps he was someone who needed help.

The drained colour from his cheeks was certainly something that alarmed her. She lingered on his expression. She was averse to noting the attractiveness of his dark features but despite everything, Molly was a woman - one who only touched other humans when it was professionally necessary or to exchange coins, and he was… handsome.

There was something simple to his visage individually but when looked at as a whole… Molly shook her head, hastily looking away from his thick eyelashes and inky ruffled hair, and tentatively placed two fingers against the side of his windpipe. After a tense second, she felt his pulse. She stayed there for nine more seconds, counting the number of beats. When she pulled away, she was frowning again.

He was alive but the slowness of his heart and the clamminess of his fevered skin were vexing. Molly tsked. “The nerve,” she mumbled, “getting yourself into such a state and without any consideration to those who would be tasked with restoring your health.” She absently shook her head, shifting her focus to his torso.

Before she undressed him, it was best to be prepared. As swift as she possibly could be, she exited the room and ran into the kitchen. Stopping at the closed range, she fetched some kindling and matches before she unlatched the grate. Soon as she had a fire going, she closed it, grabbed a hanging pot from the wall and set it on the hot plate above the firebox. Thankfully, she’d already gotten a pitcher full of water from the well earlier that morning, so she easily poured the liquid in.

After tossing some strips of cloth in as well, she grabbed gauze, a jar of honey, and a powder from the pantry. Taking it with her, she went back into the parlour room.

For a moment she stood in the door frame, baffled that he was still there. When she was in the other room, a part of her had hoped this wasn’t real, that she had imagined this scene to have a sense of relief from her crippling loneliness. As being stuck in this hellish nightmare with no hope of escaping, was far better than being alone. But no, she wasn’t sleeping and a man was dying on her rug. With a heavy heart, she walked over to him and set her tools on the ground.

It was hard to describe the suit he wore. The style was of a fashionable cut and although it had been years since she’d attended any matter of a ball or even walked the streets of London, she reasoned it could only belong to those with exquisite taste. Perhaps, she was tending to an aristocrat? But that still brought on the question as to why he was here of all places? Not at a manor with a league of servants awaiting on his every wish.

The colour in itself of the suit was strange. It reminded her of rain on a cold night and whispered secrets. But as beautiful as his clothing was, it was currently hiding any wounds her guest might have. Clucking her tongue, Molly quickly climbed to her feet and made her way over to the dresser in the corner. Yanking open the drawer, she had to rummage for a few moments before she found her shears. As soon as she clasped them, she hurried back to his side.

Dropping to her knees, Molly pushed the sopping fabric of his coat back. She paused, mystified by the material. It felt like water gliding through her fingers, weightless, without the same burden of when her attire was soaked through. Roughly, she shook her head. Coat out of her way, she then unbuttoned his vest. There were only four jet glass buttons but the trembling of her fingers made the task harder than it ought to be. Pushing that to the side as well, finally, she could see the dark spot staining his dress shirt.

She slid the scissor blades so the material was between them, careful to not nick any flesh as she was just about to make her first cut. Before she could, a hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

The tight, painful vice made her drop the scissors, stealing a gasp from her lips as her eyes snapped upwards. He was glaring at her. His eyes were glassy but his animosity still rang clear. In the background, she could hear Tobias’ hiss of warning but it was faint. The deep rasp of this man’s voice snatched away all other sounds.

“Don’t,” he seethed, holding an impossible amount of power with such a simple word, “harm a single thread of my suit, mortal...” As soon as he finished the sentence, his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he fell limp onto the floor.

Molly sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Mortal?” She muttered to herself, slowly recovering from her shock. She rubbed at her throbbing wrist, still staring at the inert form.

From behind her, Tobias gave a meow of concern and stalked over to sniff her. After the excitement of everything settled, Molly said aloud, “What an arse!” She was attempting to heal him, even after he had broken into her home and had tracked mud all over the floor, and he still had the nerve to threaten her?! Molly pursed her lips. She had half the mind to toss him outside and let him handle his wounds by himself. Angrily, she dropped her hand to pick up the scissors again.

No…

She couldn’t do that… She swore an oath to help those in need and the fool she was, she was going to keep it. Despite this nameless man’s intimidation, Molly’s spite was stronger than her fear and she ruthlessly cut through the dress shirt. It was sad to see such a pretty thing destroyed but at that point, her anger didn’t let her dawdle on the waste. As soon as it was split down the middle and ripped at the arms, she tossed it over her shoulder.

The ungrateful gentleman before her had a cut to his side, which thankfully didn’t appear too deep to be fatal. And while that was a welcomed sight, it didn’t lessen her worry or the hard work ahead of her.

The first thing she did was go back into the kitchen for the strips of cloth, which she separated into a bowl by forceps. The heated water was poured into its dish, with mild soap flakes added. Carefully, she walked back with the two dishes and set them down with the rest of her equipment.

Slipping out her coat, she tossed it to the side. “Right,” Molly mumbled, “let’s get to work.”

She couldn’t see any debris in the wound but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. With the cloth, she cleaned gingerly so she wouldn’t scrub the skin. After everything was rinsed off and she was satisfied, she used soapy water to clean around it.

Tossing the bloodied cloth into the bowl, she then turned to the jars. The powdered shepherd’s purse was first, a styptic she applied directly - to help with the inflammation. Next, the honey, which she layered evenly for infection. The tricky part, however, came to bandaging the wound.

It was difficult but eventually, she managed to wind the gauze around his physique, eyes stubbornly avoiding the fairness of his skin and the lean firmness of his muscles. Content that she did her best, she did a cursory review of the rest of his body for any remaining injury. Surprisingly, it appeared that aside from bruises and minor cuts, the wound to the torso was the only major one.

Tuckered out and her sunlight nearly all gone, Molly did what little she could do with the darkness descending upon her. She changed into some clean nightclothes and stole the blankets from her bed - which she generously draped over her patient.

Fire in the range banked, she then checked to see that the front door was locked and all the windows were closed. It was only then that she made her bed for tonight in the parlour room. Sleeping on the stiff sofa wasn’t the most comfortable place but it would help her keep an eye on him. Hearth ablaze and noisily crackling, Molly squinted at the man over her toes, trying her hardest to keep her eyes open a little longer. But as prudent as she was about falling asleep, it wasn’t only her body that was exhausted but her soul as well.

“Perhaps,” she mumbled around a yawn, “tomorrow will yield answers.” Slumber snuck up on her then, stealing her away to a realm of fitful dreams.

Chapter Text

Molly awoke to sunshine tickling her cheeks and lightly pressing into her closed eyes. Her nose scrunched at the feeling and she turned her face in response, trying to get away from it. But the nuisance that it was, moving didn’t lessen the sensation. She sighed in annoyance, blindly adjusting the blanket so it covered her more as she listened to the rustling in the kitchen.

Rustling in the kitchen…? Molly’s eyes snapped open and she sat up rod straight, more awake than she’s ever felt before in her life. Her gaze shifted to the ground, her breath quickening as she stared at the crumpled blanket and her missing patient. She turned to the door frame and slowly peeled the blanket away, slipping off of the sofa.

Mindful of any creaking floorboards, she walked across the room, taking the meat cleaver from the top of the dresser before she continued into the hallway. Already she knew where he was. She could hear him beyond the closed door in the kitchen, rummaging around.

Molly paused, terrified as to what she’d find behind the wood. And although he hadn’t killed her in her sleep with the knife, which he could have easily done, that didn’t make him any less of a danger.

With a sharp breath, she quickly twisted the door knob and wrenched it open. From the door frame, she could see the cool pantry door ajar. Hurriedly she crossed the room and shoved it fully open. She found him, crouched by a sack of oats and scarfing down the milk bread she made earlier. There was something entirely animalistic about the sight and accordingly, it rose the hair on the back of her neck.

His head snapped to the side as he stared at her, teeth bared as he ripped away another piece. The air between them was electrified, filled with the sound of his feeding. It was several minutes before Molly could find the strength to talk.

“What,” she started softly, “in God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?” Her companion pointedly didn’t respond. Annoyed, Molly rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she mumbled, “let’s get those dressings changed and a proper meal into you.”

She took a step backwards into the kitchen to toss the knife onto the table before she went back into the pantry. Molly sniffed at his snarl, making it plain she wouldn’t shy away from his animus, not while he was a ward under her roof. It was easy to ignore his attempt at swatting away her hands, as the laceration to his side made his movements sluggish. And further, Molly had become stronger since she started to live alone - she had to be. Had to become stronger in this cruel, cold world. No one would care if sad, lonely Molly perished, least of all…

Molly bit hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing the bubbling melancholy down as she put the stranger’s arm over her shoulder. Together, they limped out of the pantry and into the kitchen. She helped him to the nearest chair, wincing at his grunt of pain as he sat down. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Molly took a step back and placed her hands on her hips.

Scowling up at her, he was still gripping the half-eaten loaf of bread in his one hand. Molly needed to clear her throat before she began, “Right. Before I make you the breakfast you are far from deserving, what is your name?”

“Moriarty,” he spat out.

“...Mor...” She blinked and tried again. “Moriarty.” It was merely a name but when she said it aloud, it made her skin feel as though it’d been pricked. Her grandmother used to say words have energy and power, and at that moment, she knew how right that was. It burned to say it aloud, not unpleasantly but simply because there was a warmth that burrowed into her chest. That feeling intensified when she noticed his stare, particularly the glint of amusement in his eyes. Quickly, she looked away.

She was ashamed by her warming cheeks but after taking a second to collect her wits, she continued as though nothing had happened. “So, Mr Moriarty… Why were you in my home?”

As she turned away to light the range, she heard the snide snort behind her. “I don’t have to explain myself nor my intentions to you, mortal.”

Molly rose a brow, mumbling questioningly to herself, “Mortal?” She had hoped the only injury was to his person but perhaps his mind had been damaged as well. For now, she would accept his fantasy but hopefully, she could break him from it over time. “I take it,” she started softly, “you aren’t a human?”

“Undoubtedly.” He made a show of crossing one leg over another, lazily gesturing to himself. Molly couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, taking in his shirtless bandaged body. Immediately, she turned around and paused before she closed the range’s door. When she faced him again, gratefully, the colour of her cheeks lessened.

“I apologize for my ignorance but if you aren’t a man then what are you?”

“Can’t you tell?” Moriarty left her only half a heartbeat before he continued. “Of course not. I suppose your world has been without my kind for too long.”

As Molly fetched the proper pot and ingredients to make porridge, she quietly listened, allowing his voice to wash over her as she made breakfast. Occasionally, she would give a hum in favour of a reply - quickly concluding that her guest rather admired his own voice and didn’t need a response to continue with his dialogue.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you couldn’t detect the brilliance before you, given the typical intelligence amongst humans. But it is baffling, that you lot haven’t gone extinct yet. What with the wars, and… diseases…”

Molly felt, rather than saw the look of disgust Moriarty gave at his surroundings. She cast an offended glance over her shoulder, setting the pot on the hotplate. She may not have much in the way of belongings but she took pride in the cleanliness of her home.  “And I suppose you can do better?”

He sniffed, disinterested from the contempt dripping from her voice. “Clearly. If I wanted something clean, I simply snap my fingers and voilà!”

Swiftly, Molly was reminded of her theory of Moriarty being a confused aristocrat. She filled a kettle with water and put it on the range as well then set a teapot to warm. “Well, we can’t all have servants, Mr Moriarty.”

“No, indubitably - but with the assistance of magic, none of that matters, mortal.”

Molly was silent for several minutes, grabbing the jar of willow bark from the cupboard and the strainer. “I have a name, Mr Moriarty. And I’d quite like it if you used it. As long as you’re under my roof, you may only refer to me as Miss Molly Hooper.”

There was a chuckle behind her and when she turned around to set the table, he was directing a smirk at her. “Hasn’t anyone told you how dangerous it is, giving your name to a fae?”

She frowned at him. “No,” she admitted, “but I don’t see the harm in introducing myself, it’s my name to give. Besides, it isn’t proper, not to be acquainted.

Moriarty tilted his head, smirk faltering. “You know… You’re rather strange.”

Her head snapped up, a scowl marring her features. “A strange woman who I might remind you, Mr Moriarty, saved your life.”

Any pretense of laughter fell away from his face, as soon Molly’s scowl was mirrored back. “You hardly saved anything, Molly.”

She fought the answering shiver, shoving it aside as the porridge finished cooking. She made up two bowls, sweetening them with sugar before she placed both on the table. Moriarty eyed his own cautiously, making no move to lift his brass spoon as she finished preparing the tea. She spooned the bark into the teapot and then poured the boiling water from the kettle in.

While she waited the five minutes for it to steep, she took out her grandmother’s teacup set. Usually, it was only her but since she had company, she had to clean the other cup. By the time she finished, the tea was ready. Carefully, she held the strainer above his cup and dipped the teapot with her free hand. After both drinks had been poured, finally she joined him.

Setting his cup by his elbow, Molly sat down in her chair with a heavy sigh. Seeing his food had yet to be eaten, she rose a brow. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

Moriarty sniffed, “Indeed I didn’t.” Rolling her eyes heavenwards, Molly was the first to eat. If he didn’t, it was his own choice - by no means would she stop him nor would she wait on his beck and call. She was starving from yesterday and this morning’s hard work, and eagerly, she spooned the porridge into her mouth.

Watching her for a moment, Moriarty warily peered down at his food before he gingerly scooped some up and rose it to his lips. Molly felt only a tad sympathetic for him, as surely, this wasn’t a meal he was used to.

She hid her smile as his hunger, at last, hit him and he quickly gobbled down the food. As soon as he polished off the rest of it, she rested her chin on her knuckles as he picked up the teacup. He took a big mouthful and there was a second of delay before he spat it out.

Immediately, Molly flinched as she leaned away from the spray.

“What!?” Moriarty hissed, angrily wiping his lips clean with the back of his hand. “Is that vile concoction?!”

She lowered her spoon, frowning at the mess he caused and his tone. “Willow bark. I know it isn’t the most palatable beverage but it will help with the fever and the pain.”

“Then why on earth are you drinking it?!”

“Because,” she said flatly, “since your arrival, I find myself being plagued with a headache.”

Moriarty scoffed. “I don’t need to drink tea, much less this one. A fae only needs to call upon his magic for any trivial ailments.”

“By all means, go ahead.” She gestured crossly to the wet floor. “And after you heal yourself, perhaps you could tidy this mess?”

It took a second but then Moriarty appeared to realize something.“You don’t believe me, do you? Mortal?” He glared at Molly’s humourless smile.

“Not particularly, no.”

Moriarty’s own angry smile stretched across his face, mocking as he hissed, “Well, consider yourself honoured. Behold!” With a flourish, Moriarty plucked his half-empty cup from the table and purposely dropped it. As soon as it came into contact with the ground, the delicate fine china shattered into a million pieces.

Molly gasped, chair scraping against the floorboards as she stood suddenly. “That was my grandmother’s!” Fingers gripping the end of the table, she furiously called out, “Why would you do that?!”

Her anger only increased by the pleased smile he was giving her like he shared a secret. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fixed soon enough. Watch.” He snapped his fingers and waited. A tense second passed by, where neither breathed and… Nothing. The teacup was still broken. Dumbfounded, Moriarty frowned and snapped his fingers again - and still, nothing happened.

“I… I don’t understand.” Imploringly, he stared at his fingers.

Molly shook her head, blinking away the bitter tears that threatened to fall. “Of course, you don’t,” she mumbled. She sucked in a deep breath and went around the table, kneeling to pick up the pieces. It was hard to not be upset but she knew it was better to let that frustration go. He wasn’t in the right mind to distinguish reality from fantasy. “It’s my fault,” she muttered, “I shouldn’t have gloated over you.”

“I…”

She gathered the sharp pieces into her hand, stepped over the puddle and carried them to the bin. After they were disposed of, she grabbed a rag and knelt back down and wiped the mess away. She could feel him staring at her but she didn’t let that bother her too much.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, not sure whether she meant that towards her companion or to herself. “Mistakes happen.”

Floor cleaned, she climbed to her feet with a grunt and tossed the rag into the laundry wash tub in the corner. When she turned to her guest, he was staring off into the distance, hand placed on his bandaged side. “C’mon,” Molly eventually said with a sigh, “let’s get you dressed. We don’t want you catching a cold as well.”

The basin and more water had to be fetched but as soon as it was heated, Molly set it before a startled Moriarty. As well as a mild bar of soap, a towel, and a sponge were set on the table. “Relax,” she mumbled when he stiffened, “I won’t violate your person.”

“On the contrary,” Moriarty started, unexpected words making her lift her head as she sat down. There was a peculiar glint to his eyes, a shrewd knowledge that made her heartbeat quicken. “I’d encourage you to act otherwise.”

“You’d…” Molly’s brows drew together in a confused frown. “Mr Moriarty, what are you trying to say?”

“Molly,” he purred and gently placed his hand on hers. “You know quite well what I mean.” There was a moment in delay, in which Molly knew not how to comment nor react. At that time, Moriarty’s thumb rubbed soothing circles onto the back of her hand. His eyes were peering into hers so deeply, that she couldn’t help but admire the colour. The irides were a dark brown, something so familiar that it shocked her how much the sight resonated with her soul.

It took her longer than she would have preferred, to realize why that was. That those eyes reminded her of rich soil and what had been the last time she’d seen such pigment… Her eyelashes fluttered, the association unfurling a purposely forgotten scene before her. A cloudy autumn afternoon that somehow, despite all of these years, twisted her gut with grief.

The memory had happened a little over two decades prior but even while being imbued with youth, she could recall it with such clarity.

How cold the chilled wind had been, how it cut so cleanly through the thick layer of her woollen jacket and distracted her with the dance of fallen leaves as she listened absently to the priest recite his prayer. She knew it was important, that it was to be the final one but her thoughts kept wandering away.

Perhaps she thought the distraction would aid her, that it would shelter poor Margaret Hooper from the reality that her father had died and like the rest of her family, he’d left her alone. But not even all of the leaves in the world could make her forget her change in status, at least for long, not with the closed casket that had yet to be lowered nor the sickly sweet scent of upturned dirt and the bouquet she clutched tightly in between her numb hands.

The prayer rang clearly in her ears. “May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace...”

Something touched her cheek, smearing the path of a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen and ventured to her lips. The unexpected taste of salt snapped her from her trance. And with a jolt, she realized how much closer he was and that it had been his thumb touching her. His presumptuous caress and the enthralled stare at her improper exhibit of weakness scorched her hotter than any fire could.

Sharply Molly pulled her hand away, leaning back in her chair. The muddy scent of the funeral’s incense still burned her nostrils as she struggled to calm her racing heart.

Moriarty sat across from her, hand still hanging in the air. He wore an expression of confusion, which seemed ill-suited for his features. Molly compelled herself to look away and to busy her trembling hands with picking up the bar of soap. Eyes fixed on the steam rising from the basin, she gingerly dipped it into the warmed water. “Mr Moriarty,” she mumbled, straining for a sense of composure, “I’m unsure what first brought you to my home or your intention since you’ve awakened but regardless…” When she turned back to face him, her countenance was that of a harsh determination. “While I’m your protector-” She glared at the slight opening of his mouth, swiftly cutting him off, “and I have been doing precisely that. Protecting you from sickness and whatever it was that wished you bodily harm, I expect nothing  but the respect of an indebted man.”

He dropped his hand to his lap, the sultry appearance he once displayed overtaken with that of insult. “Indebted?” He sputtered, faintness belying the sharp edge underneath. “To you?”  The idea seemed laughable to him.

Molly simply lifted her chin in pride, making it clear that his comments were bouncing off of her. That his words had no effect, that they held no power. In a consciously compassionate tone, she inquired, “Isn’t that what you call it when you’re saved from death?”

“Death and I are old friends, Miss Hooper. The tiny scratch you tended to was simply that, a scratch.” He sneered at her then, confidence at odds with the pallor of his visage. He may still be convinced of his fantasy but to her, she merely saw an injured man who’d worked himself into an unrealistic stupor of imaginary grandeur.

She moved forward, dragging the bar of soap lightly along Moriarty’s skin. Although it had been heated by the water, the slimy trail it left behind made her guest break out into goosebumps. She couldn’t help but be fascinated by the reaction, murmuring under her breath, “That may be so. But it seems that tiny scratch has left you powerless.” Her gaze lifted to his. “Hasn’t it?”

The threat of smirking was real when she watched his fade and while he gave her an aloof appraisal, Molly noted the heat of his gaze. Which didn’t shock her, not the anger, for she took Mr Moriarty as a proud man. No, what confused her was the flicker of satisfaction. That somehow, her jab had pleased him in some way.

“For now,” he eventually admitted, as though it was the truth that was hurting him and not the very real wound to his side. “But you shouldn’t get too comfortable with the idea.”

Molly sniffed, switching to the sponge. “You have my word, Mr Moriarty, that I am far from it.” The rest of his bathing was done in relative silence with little but the crackling fire to fill in the gaps. After the grime was gone from his body and dried off with a towel, Molly unwound the long strips of gauze.

Immediately, she clucked her tongue at the wound. There was a bit of drainage soaking the dressing, but she’d seen far worse. With a shake of her head, Molly climbed to her feet. “Don’t move a muscle,” she firmly commanded. Her patient glaring after her, she left the kitchen to fetch the roll of gauze and scissors from the parlour room before she returned. Plopping down on her chair with an automatic sigh, she began the task of redressing. For the most part, Molly could ignore the nearness of their persons and the warm skin her hands brushed against with each layer she wrapped around his torso. But what was troublesome, was his breath brushing her cheeks when she leaned forward and the weight of his focus.

“What? ” She hissed, annoyance making her hasten to tie the knot. Once secure, she sat back again, resolute to pretend her ears weren’t burning.

He simply a rose a brow, lips tugging into a knowing grin. “I don’t mean to disturb you but I couldn’t help but notice something worrisome.”

“Worrisome?” She mumbled, brows furrowing.

“Yes, this…” Moriarty made a wide gesture to their surroundings, struggling for the word, “Charming home of yours. Do you live in it alone?”

She wanted to appear unaffected by his inquiry, unafraid, but the instinctive tensing of her muscles betrayed her. Reluctantly, she conceded, “I do.”

Mr Moriarty tilted his head, a genuine look of astonishment crossing his face. “And you’re not nervous about other humans who might take advantage of your situation?”

Molly fought the need to roll her eyes heavenwards, she’d heard similar apprehensive questionings from the few friends she left in London. “Of course I am, I would be a fool otherwise.”

“And yet?”

“And yet I live alone.” Irritation getting the better of her, crossly Molly climbed to her feet, dusting off the front of her nightclothes. This time, she did roll her eyes when Moriarty finally took notice of her attire. “Are there any more worries you have, Mr Moriarty, or will that be it?”

Moriarty grinned at her suddenly, teeth bared. “There’s no need to be upset, my dear. I was simply assessing the legitimacy of my... Protector...”

The title left a sour taste on Molly’s tongue but she still swallowed it down. “Well, I hope you are rest assured, Mr Moriarty. While being in the weakened state as you are-” His eyes narrowed. “I am more than capable of preserving your health. The fate that befalls you when you leave my cottage, however, will be your own doing alone. Now, I have some clothing that you can wear for the time being.”

That last statement seemed to send Moriarty into a coughing fit, one he emerged from with a strangled query, “What has happened to mine?!”

Molly, who had been crossing the room, paused by the door frame. She cast a glance over her shoulder, taking no effort to hide her smile. “Why, it had to be destroyed to mend your wounds, sir.”

The choking sound that followed her was a small reward that day for her dealings with Mr Moriarty. She could only hope that the future would supply better exchanges and quickly, her patient would be healed enough to be sent on his way.

Chapter Text

In the early morning, she dressed for her journey into town, toes cold from walking on the cool floorboards by the time she slipped into her boots. She was careful to not wake her sleeping companion, whom she noticed when she peered around the corner was still snoring on her couch - stretched form, half-covered with a crumpled blanket and to her vexation, without a care in the world.

Molly’s lips pursed. At least one of them could be blessed with ignorance. While he lounged in her home, kept from elemental harm, she would be gathering more supplies for the upcoming winter. Hopefully, he’d stay like that until she got back, which would leave her enough time to slip out of her male counterpart's attire. With one last glance at her sleeping guest, she put her woollen cap on and overcoat and ventured outside.

The sunlight had barely settled on the landscape, bathing the path and the walls of the forest in pale gold. She allowed herself a bit of peace then as she trekked along the twisting trail and stepped over its protruding roots and rocks. Even while wary of falling, she was thankful for the quiet the sunrise provided her. Occasionally sniffing into the chilled, crisp dawn air, she thought of the day prior - how things have changed so quickly. For the life of her, she couldn’t tell whether it was for the better or worse.

Whether he would be something good in the end. It’d been a while since she talked to someone other than her cat and while she loved Tobias to bits and pieces, he couldn’t hold a real conversation, at least not the kind she wanted… Needed to have.

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, mind betraying her with the memory of the feeling of his skin under her fingertips. The heat to it and the intensity of his gaze. It was so different from what she was used to, relying on her own touch to feed her desire for physical contact. The only other times she’s had that recently were with her patients in town. Even then, she couldn’t enjoy the pleasure that is social interactions.

Maybe this is what she needed, a stranger throwing her off balance and uprooting her from the safety of isolation. She winced, a heavy sigh caught in her throat when her thoughts directed themselves to London. The people she left behind and the words she was afraid to say.

“Christ! ” She exhaled, raising a hand to scrub the side of her face. If only they could see her now, hiding not only for everyone but for herself as well.

Meanwhile

As soon as the front door closed, Moriarty groaned, turning his head to press it into the cushions. Thankfully, it was quiet once more, a lucky thing to whoever had disturbed his sleep as he was contemplating and quite seriously I might add, stealing their soul to light his main estate’s lanterns.

He was just about to fall back asleep, the sunlight that was filtering through brushing against his cheeks with such a sweet caress when a trill disturbed the atmosphere. His brows furrowed in irritation and unable to help himself, Moriarty reluctantly opened his eyes. There was a second, louder trill this time. A most definite, cross, excuse me. Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to sit up, wincing at the pain digging into his side.

Seated at the side of the sofa was that feline he’d seen lurking in the background, tail lazily swishing as they made eye contact. “What? ” He hissed, flashing his teeth. Given the general authority and power he held, Moriarty was used to people fleeing from him in absolute fear. The passive blinking of amber eyes he received, however, quickly changed matters. At once he pouted, still sulking when the feline gave one last trill before they padded over. And with a little noise, there was a second delay before the creature landed gracefully at the end of the sofa, stepping on his feet. Swiftly, he tried to kick them off but ever so uncaring of his plight, the nasty little thing weaved around the attempt and stood on his pelvis.

Moriarty attempted his best murderous look, voice low as he promised, “I’ll destroy you.” They leaned in slightly, giving him a few sniffs. Pleased with whatever it was that they found, they then proceeded to do their most insulting act yet, the feline laid down.

Dumbfounded, he froze. Minutes passed by as he sat there, the warmth of the feline seeping into him. Gingerly he lifted his hand, fingers slipping through a patch of fur on their back. As soon as he made contact, his companion surprised him further yet. It made this deep rumbling, something so satisfied that he felt his body relax in response. He hated it.

“You,” he began awkwardly, needing a second to clear his throat before he attempted it again. “Are you trying to persuade me into allying?” He gave them a few more pets, an unwanted smile worming its way onto his face. “Hmm, a very intelligent move. Understanding the strength before you.”

He rose a brow, considering the name he’d heard the woman refer to his newfound ally as. “If I’m not mistaken - and I’m never, you’re Tobias.”

Tobias’ eyes narrowed into pleased slits, stretching his legs out so his paws pressed lightly into Moriarty’s stomach. He hated to admit it but Moriarty was spellbound. The only logical reason to why that was - was that the woman that healed him(and he hated the concept) was a witch.

He had his fair share of dealings with humans playing around with ancient power that they didn’t understand and never would but he’d never had one try to help him. It was always the other way around, summoning him and trying to strike up a deal.

But he’d also never been in this situation before, far from his kingdom and cut off from his supernatural powers. To fae, magic was ingrained into their very beings - without it, it was like attempting to breathe without having lungs. And here he was, stranded and lungless with a witch’s familiar laying on his lap.

Her words echoed in his head then, reminding him, “I hope you are rest assured, Mr Moriarty. While being in the weakened state as you are, I am more than capable of preserving your health...”

Perhaps… This familiar was enlisted in ‘protecting’ him. Moriarty’s expression fell into a frown.

“Humans are so droll,” he murmured, “with their sense of generosity.”

When Molly arrived in the market town, her face was flushed and she’d worked up a sweat under her thick clothes from the exercise of her journey.

Her pace slowed down and eased into a stroll. Keeping close to the beginning of a fence made of stones when the road was shared by a carriage speeding past. She returned a nod to the coachman when she was passed. She may seldom trouble herself to be amongst the locals but still, she was welcomed as though she walked these streets daily.

The road led her to the heart of the town, the small Catholic church. And although Molly didn’t practice, she couldn’t deny the comfort she always found when she saw the medieval-styled building. It set her at ease for the rest of her trek, until at last, she entered the recently opened general store.

The rush of cold that entered the store when the door opened, announced her arrival. And at once, the man behind the counter greeted her with a cordial, “Good morning, Dr Hooper.”

“Good morning, Mr Webb,” Mark grumbled, taking his chilled hands from his pockets and rubbing them together to restore some of the sense of sensation in them.

“I trust it, your sister is faring well?”

Mark gave a noncommittal hum, choosing to slowly walk around the store and inspect the stock being offered before he responded. “As well as she can be, sir, with this cold weather.”

To most, this action might have been thought of as rude. But this was not the case, for Mr Webb knew of Dr Hooper’s character and particularly the poor fellow’s habit of keeping to himself. And truthfully, Mr Webb saw a lot of himself in the timid physician. This is why, after the young man had gathered his groceries and set them up on the counter to be paid for, Mr Webb decided to offer an act of kindness. He gave the other man a small discount and a bit of advice. He shook his head when Dr Hooper protested, pushing back the coins away from his hand. “You’ve done a lot of good for this town. I’m simply paying that same goodwill forward.”

“But…” Mark sputtered, flabbergasted as he reluctantly returned his coin to his purse. “I haven’t done anything particularly charitable.”

“You may believe that,” Mr Webb gave him a meaningful look over, “but we all know otherwise. I heard of how you treated Mrs Hart’s burns without taking payment.” Mr Webb firmly nodded. “You’re a good man. We need more like you in the world.”

Mark looked away from the clerk, glancing over his shoulder at the door. “I merely imagine myself in my patient’s situation, sir. And act accordingly. Nothing more.”

“All the same, you have our respect. And we hope that after Dr Hodge retires, you’ll take his place and you and your sister will move into town.” Mr Webb’s words fell short. After a brief consideration, he added, “and settle down.”

Mark’s gaze snapped back to him, forcing down a wave of melancholy. He knew then that the general store’s owner had other intentions than just offering a discount after a good deed was committed - for he had seen a similar purpose from the wives of the town.

The man before him was widowed with only a daughter to surpass him. Mark had only met Miss Alice Webb a few times for medical visits but already, he had formed a strong impression of the young lady. Despite being designed to be rather pale and fragile, Miss Alice possessed a sweet temperament. Whenever Mark came for a checkup, she immediately brightened and would often hold great lengthy conversations with him.

It was clear that Mr Webb wouldn’t live forever, a fact that he was more than aware of. Although he was healthy, the clerk wanted to be prepared as much as he could for the future. He needed someone to care for his dear daughter - Alice wasn’t the prettiest unmarried girl in the town but she was a gentle soul and Dr Hooper had already proved himself to be of the same regard, not to mention the promise of his career.

Molly barely held back a wince. She had an injured man in her home that thought he was a fae, she truly didn’t need another attempt at matchmaking added to her list of worries. Molly coughed into her sleeve, needing a moment to collect herself before she could slip back into her role.

“Perhaps,” Mark grunted, “in due time I will. Thank you, Mr Webb, for your generosity but I must be off.”

“Yes,” the other man unwillingly replied. “I shouldn’t keep you much longer, not with the storm.”

Mark, who had been hastily scooping up his groceries, rose his head in confusion. “Storm?”

“There’s a strong northerly wind blowing in. I reckon we’re going to be getting a heavy snowfall tonight. You better make sure when you return home, that you have enough wood to burn.”

“...I’ll be sure to do that.” After exchanging goodbyes, Mark exited the store with his purchases and grimaced as soon as the door closed behind him. “Lovely,” Molly mumbled under her breath. "Something else to worry about.”

They had come to an agreement. In whispered tones, while lounging on the sofa, they spoke of the fate of their alliance or to be more accurate, Moriarty did all of the talking. Which didn’t bother him, for he knew with every lazy blink of Tobias’ eyes, that the feline was agreeing with his every word. Another testament to the excellent judgement his ally had. 

Jim would occasionally pause, reverent of the small warm body laying on top of him. Giving his protector another scratch under his chin, Jim leaned back, eyes to the ceiling as he painted the image in his mind aloud. That after the small amount of time had passed for him to be fully healed, he’d feel his magic’s powerful energy under his skin once more. Together with his companion, he’d return to his kingdom and be rid of the traitors who attempted to do him harm.

Once the blood of his enemies had watered the dirt under his shoes, he’d take his seat on the throne. “Yes,” Jim mumbled into the quiet, “we’ll be held in wonder.”

As though in response, Tobias’ purrs intensified.

Jim glanced down, grin widening as he cooed, “Of course, you’ll get your own, my dear. The court will marvel at the beauty of your coat and come to shake in fear when in your presence.” So preoccupied he was with the vision that Moriarty was ignorant to the sound of the front door opening. It was the sudden twitching of the feline’s ears that gave him the second notice before his companion jumped off of his stomach and raced out of the room.  

He choked out an "Oof" while the air was knocked out of him. With a wince, he gingerly lifted a hand to rub at the sore spot, glaring from his seat as he listened to the greetings coming from the hallway. The witch was cooing softly, speaking to her familiar in such a way that was strange for Jim to hear - at least when coming from her.

Tobias was trilling loudly, the sound immediately souring Moriarty’s mood. “Turncoat,” Jim mumbled, spitting the word out. He crossed his arms over his chest, sneering as he thought of the companionship he had moments before.

There was a sigh from the hallway as though the witch could tell he was irritated. Heavy boots fell to the ground and there was rustling clothing before they finally entered the parlour.

Both of Jim’s eyebrows shot up and startled, he pulled himself up as the other stood in the door frame, glaring at him. This… Jim glanced down at Tobias, who stepped lightly into the room as well, tail raised high and curled as they meowed for attention. Who were they?

The moustached man before him was attractive, in a demure way. An overcoat was bent over one of his arms and his big brown eyes were currently attempting to stare Moriarty down. Slowly, a grin stretched across Jim’s face. Truly, nothing is as provocative as good old-fashioned contempt.

“Hello,” he purred, gaze raking up the petite gentleman’s figure. They had similar features to his witch so he concluded they were related in some kind of manner.

Perhaps cousins?  He immediately dismissed the idea, happily deciding that before he was the other half of a set of siblings. Twins. “My,” Jim breathlessly laughed, “it’s my lucky day!” His companion didn’t share his enthusiasm and with an annoyed huff, they ripped their moustache off. Jim blinked. Ah...

Chapter Text

Moriarty leaned back, not bothering to hide his grin. "My," he breathed, delighted gaze licking up the other's form. "This has certainly been an unexpected turn of events."

Expression pointedly unimpressed, Molly wordlessly crossed the room to toss her overcoat onto one of the sofa's arms. When she took a step back, she met his eyes with a scowl. "By all means," she snapped, tone dripping with sarcasm, "tell me your opinion." Her eyes narrowed when he scoffed, hands landing on her hips as she silently dared him to speak. 

Unfortunately, it was true to her guest's character that he chose ignorance in the face of danger or perhaps he didn't consider her enough of a threat to become wary. Molly's lips pursed, her fingernails biting into the fabric of her trousers at the thought. For all of her cold aloofness, Molly was terrified. She only hoped as she frowned that Moriarty from the short distance between them, couldn't see the trembling of her hands. That the flimsy mask she wore was crumbling away and beneath it, he'd witness her terror at being discovered. 

Whether he could or not, Jim mercifully didn't comment. Instead, with a pained grunt, he climbed up from his seat to stand before her. He made a show of standing up straight, an act she knew couldn't have been easy - not when she noted the seconds flicker of pain on his brow. And yet, for the slight hunch to his posture and the tentative hand on his injured side, both parties were aware of their differences in height. 

In the deepest part of her heart, Molly knew she was luckier than most. She had freedom, sad as it might be, that most women of her time would love to possess. Under the admittedly tiring circumstances, her education extended far greater than a London lady - and even further that, if she were born into a noble home but for all of the gifts she'd been lucky to receive, at that precise moment, Molly wished she was an inch or two taller.

The heels of her boots couldn't compare to her guest, whom she couldn't help but observe with a tinge of envy, had been born into a different status than her own. And yes, for all she knew, he came from a long line of well-bred gentlemen of towering stature. But that didn't diminish the knowledge of the meals he'd been served throughout his life. That, instead of kneading his own dough and worrying about the contents of his pantry, dishes simply appeared within the hands of a faceless and nameless servant whenever he was peckish. 

It made the craning of her neck and the half-step Molly instinctively took back, all the more frustrating. The majority of that anger was directed at herself. Still, within her own home, the blood of a commoner made her scramble away from Moriarty and cower at the mysticism of his aristocracy.  

After another one-sided bout of satisfying silence, he finally spoke. "Miss Hooper, I said this change was unexpected. Never that it wasn't enjoyable."

"Enjoyable?"  Molly spat, sudden vexation loosening her tongue. "How could anyone think such a thing?"

"Oh." Jim's grin stretched. "I could state several reasons if you'll permit it."

"Undoubtedly I will not." His expression fell into a sour frown. "Why would I ask for something of such little value? It makes no difference to me of your thoughts on my situation, whether you voiced it or not. You'd only be wasting both of our time, Mr Moriarty." In an act far braver than how she truly felt, Molly turned away, leaving her back open as she removed the remaining articles of her disguise. With a sharp intake from the spirit gum being pulled off, she removed the wig and carried it with her moustache to the dresser in the corner. After they were carefully set down, she lingered there for a moment. 

She knew from the heated gaze she felt across the room that he was angry and the thought of that - of dealing with conflict, made her timid. And internally she knew, it was her fault, that it was her own sharp words that were partially to be blamed. However, when she turned around, she couldn't muster enough empathy to care. Because, to be frank, he(without thought to her misgivings) had torn away the veil of security she'd meticulously woven. Without that comfortable facade, Molly was at a loss but what made all of this worse tenfold, was that he didn't understand the depths to which he affected her.

Pretending as though she wasn't a coward, Molly mentioned the storm as a way of an excuse, before she fled. Boots thumping loudly on the floorboards, she told herself as the front door shut firmly behind her, that her pace was sole because she wanted to be ready for a blizzard - NOT because her delirious guest made her emotions declare war on one another. No, never that.

Determined to ignore that it felt very much like she was walking around with her tail in between her legs, she went around the house to the woods. 

When the door came to a close, Jim, with a great huff of annoyance, limped back to the sofa and plopped himself down. As soon as his rear touched the cushions, he shook his head in disbelief. The response he had received made absolutely no sense.

In his realm, he was heralded for his brilliance. Murder was commonplace in the Court, especially if it meant winning such a powerful being's favour, if only for a moment. His choice of suitors was virtually unlimited, so the mortal should have crumpled to her feet and wept with joy for being considered by him!

Indeed, even in his less remarkable younger days, when he had only a handful of titles, he still offered advice to mortal kings and queens - but only if he so chose to. And they had gladly accepted these conditions because with their pitiful kingdoms and sad excuses for armies, they understood how vastly stronger he was. 

Of course, in the beginning, some did attempt to frighten him with the quaint methods of torture they used on the poor. He'd been sickened by it but not because of the mindless pain they caused, but because of how unimaginative they were. And so, feeling particularly charitable, he was generous enough to show them the error of their ways. With the witch, he was only doing the same thing, extending his kindness after their hospitality but instead of following the dead nobility's footsteps and throwing herself at him, she...

Moriarty scowled, snarling as he saw her before him once more. Proud and defiant, staring up at him with such burning eyes. "Why would I ask for something of such little value?"  Never before in all of the centuries he'd been alive had he found himself being so... so... Insulted!  It was almost impressive.

With their conversation still ringing in his ears and a ball of anger in the pit of his stomach, Jim forced himself to climb to his feet. Grumbling, he lumbered over to a set of windows and pushed back the thick curtains to look outside. Squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight, he could just make out the image of the witch dragging a portion of a tree across the length of the yard.

Making himself comfortable by leaning against the window sill, the attention-starved meows by his feet went unnoticed as he watched her take an axe from the shed and set to work chopping wood.

The meaning of time became forgotten as the hours turned into seemingly minutes and all the while, Moriarty was oddly rooted in place. He could tell she was still displeased about earlier by the swing she brought down to split logs into two. And perchance to most, the thought of an armed witch was troubling but to Moriarty, he only felt a sincere stirring of his character. It shocked even him, the intensity of his attraction. Of course, he was no stranger to the play of lust. He had performed before many eager crowds, whether on a stage or behind closed doors but what he wasn't used to, in fact, had nearly forgotten, was the taste of unrequited interest. 

Moriarty shuddered. It is easy to grow bored when you are immortal and right before him, in the form of a small human was an escape from it. Yes, it would only be a fleeting bliss, mankind is indeed a fragile species. However... Moriarty grinned. He could already tell it would be worth it.

It was only when she was illuminated with the rich colours of the evening and the pile was an agreeable size, that Molly stopped. 

Groaning, she straightened with a hand to the small of her back. Her muscles were heavy and aching and she was drenched in sweat but she'd completed the work she set out to do. Lifting her eyes from the chopping block, she rose them to her home. Squinting against the sting of perspiration and the strands of hair that had escaped her braids, she let out a big sigh.

From one of the windows, she could see a vague silhouette peering at her. She gave a tired bark of laughter when realizing they had been caught spying, the curtain had been quickly dropped. Molly rolled her eyes, somehow smiling despite everything.

Anger tempered by her exhaustive chore, she dropped her hand, slowly put her tool away and moved the freshly cut logs to the firewood shed. A few pieces she carried in with her to add to the stack by the parlour's hearth. When she entered her home, she paused by the entrance, pretending that she didn't hear a flurry of movement from the room on the right as she set her armful down and slipped out of her boots. 

Picking it up again, she felt assured that she had given enough time for Mr Moriarty to return to a more natural state before she entered.

When she stepped into the parlour room, she dropped everything at her feet as so great was her surprise at the visage of her guest. The flush to his skin made it seem as though it had been he who had toiled away.

She hurriedly went to his side, worried that the fever had returned. Without thought, she reached to place a hand on his forehead but halted when he flinched away from the contact. Brows furrowed in confusion, she peered down at him, at a loss when she noticed he refused to meet her gaze.

"Mr Moriarty?" She inquired softly, not wanting to upset him any further. "Are you feeling unwell?" For a second, neither said anything. Until her guest, perhaps unable to bear the weight of her attention any further, muttered a reply. 

"I'm quite fine. You already have intimate knowledge of the..." He sniffed haughtily, "wound to my person."

"Then, why are you..." She broke off, bafflement only mounting when Moriarty nervously shifted. It was at that point, when amid her studying, that she naturally lowered her scrutiny from his face and down from his torso, to... The source of Mr Moriarty's... hardship...

Strangled noise wrenched itself from Molly's lips, she jumped a foot backwards, nearly falling to the ground when she stumbled over Tobias. Ignoring the pained yowl from her feline companion, she managed to correct her stance. Even when the fear of tumbling had dissipated, still the beat of her heart was loud and fast.

While it was true that because of her studies and occupation, Molly had a far greater understanding of the male form than an unmarried woman ought to know - still, the cause for such a 'state,' was at a loss on her.

Of course, she knew why his trousers were tented but she couldn't fathom how he'd find arousal in here of all places. Blinking harshly as a thought crept into her mind, immediately she tried to get rid of the notion that she'd been the cause.

That somehow, Mr Moriarty took enjoyment in her angry and casual display of strength outside. With a wince, she glanced down at her dishevelled appearance. Lips pursed with a foreboding sense of dread, she peered upwards at his expression.

The embarrassment had seemingly been forgone for a look of cocky confidence but underneath it all, Molly couldn't help but see the heat in his eyes. She quickly glanced away, "Y-yes," she eventually said, silently praying that he didn't notice how difficult it had been. "Your wound, I still haven't tended to it today. I'll just grab the supplies and get dinner on." With an awkward nod of her head, Molly fled. 

 Later

Not the finest but certainly the easiest way to describe the remainder of that night was that it had been gruesome. Indeed, that evening was remarkable in its terror, that Molly was sure even in the distant future, when she was an old woman on her deathbed, surrounded by sympathetic bystanders and the myriad of stuffed pets she'd collected over the years - still, the memory of it would haunt her. And rightfully so, as at present Molly found herself questioning whether it was possible to die from discomfort.

The muscles in her cheeks had long since begun to hurt but that was the farthest from her focus. What was, was the goal of finishing dinner without having any further incidents occur. At a first glance, that might not seem to be an arduous challenge but ever since that unspeakable episode, Molly was in a strange state. Her hands, which never before troubled her. Never trembled, even when doing the most delicate of work, were now slick with sweat. It made spooning that night's soup into her tense mouth, harder by a tenfold, and her heart! Her blasted heart was racing faster than a horse at the Derby. But worst yet, above all of her pesky ailments, was the calm air that came from the man across from her. 

How unaffected he was, daintily eating his soup and nibbling at his slice of bread. Molly hated him for it. It was not fair, it should be he, who was embarrassed, not her!  What had she done to deserve it? It certainly had not been her person that became arous-

Molly squinted, smile tightening. Her jaw was positively aching but she ignored it. Pushed that pain aside, along with every one of the annoying thoughts that came creeping into her mind. The feeling of her fingers on his skin, gliding across the warm expansion, the bumps and dips from the curious scars on his body. Neither one of them had spoken when she touched those, both pretending that she hadn't lingered after the bandages had been redressed. 

It was funny how often they did that, not talking despite how much was left unsaid between them. The sharp sound of a spoon being placed on the table stole her away from herself, the surprise of which, finally made her smile fall. 

Moriarty was regarding her silently. As far as she could tell, there wasn't anything malicious behind it, only this look of interest and puzzling concern. It made Molly's stomach turn, like snakes that had gotten themselves twisted into knots and were sour about it.

Not sure how to respond, Molly attempted another weak smile but from the frown Moriarty gave her, she knew that was the wrong response. Mouth dry, she let it falter. 

He cleared his throat, resting his weight on his bent elbows and linking his fingers together. "I suppose you have questions."

Out of the many possible things for Moriarty to say, that statement had completely caught Molly off guard. Blinking blandly, she called out, "Excuse me?" 

His prior worry overtaken, her guest rose his eyes heavenwards as though he was pleading to a god that presided over tables and the etiquette that needed to be held at them. After a second of this wordless exchange, Moriarty dropped his gaze back to her once more.

"Questions, Miss Molly. Do you have them?"

Her eyes widened. He had used her name, not Hooper nor the memorable 'mortal' - but Molly. She bowed her head, staring at her cooling food as her cheeks burned. It was odd, she was uncertain whether she disliked the usage or not. In all fairness, she had told him to refer to her as Miss Molly Hooper, however, she hadn't anticipated how it would sound coming from him. How oddly intimate it seemed to be as though they had known each other for longer, that they were more familiar.

"Questions?" She mumbled.

"Yes," he asserted, "questions."

Molly slowly peered upwards, gradual enough to assess whether he was still watching her. He was. She shifted in her chair, tucking her legs underneath. "H-how... How many secrets are you willing to share?"

"As many that are necessary." He sighed when she frowned, parting his fingers to lazily gesture with a hand. "Enough that you will be comfortable in my presence, at least in the sense that you won't hack me to death in the imminent future."

"You think I'm going to do that?" She asked tensely.  

"Perhaps, not at this moment. The wind outside is far too piercing and cold. Tomorrow, when the weather has mollified, the trek to the shed might do you some good."

Molly's eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm dangerous simply because I know how to wield an axe or because I'm a woman?"

Her companion rose a brow. "Is that a genuine inquiry?" She nodded. Moriarty sighed, setting his chin on the knuckles of his curled hand. "I can just see it now, the vision of the oh-so-proud and disobedient, Miss Molly Hooper. You would storm in, dishevelled and brilliant with your murderous rage. You would be magnificent, even until you brought the blade down on my person." He broke off, becoming distant as a grin crawled onto his face, "that would be a welcomed end to my existence. How amusing..."

"Amusing?"  Molly choked out. "It is anything but!" 

It seemed her outburst finally snapped Moriarty out of his strange delighted trance. He shot her a frown, annoyance plain, "Is it not? The mouse felling the raven and not the other way around is not entertaining to you?"

"I have no business 'felling' anything! Especially any manner of ravens."

Moriarty leaned forward, expression making a turn for the worst. He was sly, when he cooed, "Are you quite sure? I suspect you would look most enchanting while aflush with homicidal intent."

"I am confident," she replied flatly. "And you still have yet to answer me."

With an exasperated huff, all pretense of laughter fell away and Moriarty admitted, "If you are wondering whether I am in terror then no. While the idea of dying by your hand is charming, it is not likely, not while I am still immortal."

Molly squinted, irritation wavering as she pressed her lips into a pout. Ah, yes. Sometimes her companion conducted himself in such normalcy, that she had forgotten he imagined himself a supernatural creature. Chest squeezing with compassion, Molly nodded gently, hopefully not to the extent that he perceived it as pity. 

There it was, that peculiar silence again. However this time, Molly didn't mind it as much. It felt not quite pleasant but it was on its way to it. That is until Molly took a chance and asked something that had been bothering her. 

"Do..." She paused, wetting her dry lips as she contemplated whether it was worth it. After a moment, she concluded, yes. Yes, it was. "Do you remember how you became injured?"

Moriarty's brows furrowed. "Yes, I recall it being a friendly case of stabbing." He grinned suddenly, horrifying Molly with the realization that he was teasing her, when he corrected, "I think you meant, do I know why."

"Perhaps!" She snapped, colouring considerably, "perhaps, not." Her scowl worsened when Moriarty's smile grew. It was sweet, unlike his usual sneer. In equal measures, it terrified and excited her.

"Either way, the answer to that would be yes as well."

When her companion made no move to clarify, Molly's expression softened. "Is... Do you find it difficult to talk about?" She set the spoon she had been unknowingly clutching to the side, trying to show that he had her full attention. "If it is," she glanced away to the window in the corner. The curtains were drawn tight but still, she could hear the howl of wind outside. It was a reminder of how separated they were from the town and all life elsewhere, as far as they knew it, they were all alone in the world. "It isn't imperative to talk about."

She turned to him, struck with the notion of what if their roles were reversed. What if it was she who was hurt and by her lonesome? Would anyone care? Her throat tightened. Did he? Even if it was a small little piece in the bottom of his heart, would it give Mr Moriarty pause if she died?

At the time of their first meeting, Molly would have said no but now... 

She pushed her chair back, mumbling, "It has been a long day, we should get ready for bed." She gathered her dishes and carried them over to the counter by the basin to be washed later. When she journeyed over to Moriarty's end of the table, she picked up his and was about to venture back, when a hand snatched her wrist. 

Perplexed, her eyes were wide as she glanced down. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to, not with the gentle and loose hold on her arm. He gave it a small squeeze and then let go, acting as though nothing had happened. 

Limbs feeling rather stiff, Molly wordlessly carried her bundle over to the others. Pretending to busy herself with them, she listened to her companion get up from his chair and lumber off to the parlour room. With the muted sound of the door closing, Molly slumped forward, bringing her arm to her chest. Faintly, she could feel it, the warmth of his skin. With a whispered curse, she brought a hand to her face, covering her closed eyes. 

Chapter Text

She was still groggy with sleep as she changed into her attire for the day, simple trousers and a blouse that went over her knitted undershirt. The humour of her situation wasn't lost on her, that she had the appearance of a child dressing in her father's clothes. But here, in the safety of her home, Molly had come to acknowledge how vastly superior a man's attire was to her own. She could move about as she pleased, without the annoyance of a dress and its many layers getting in the way.

And perhaps like any other British gentleman, her choice in apparel would make her guest uncomfortable but... Molly frowned, hesitating as she fetched a ribbon from her bedroom dresser. Quite suddenly, an inquiry from her inner self, pestered her with a: but would it? 

It annoyed her to no end, how unsure she was. Of course, she knew without a doubt, that it would startle those back in London - even in towns such as these, she knew the response would be awful. They would see her not for the many kind things she had done for them but instead, a wrongness. A sort of disdain for not following the strict social rules that all others were forced to adhere to. But in the case of Mr Moriarty, she couldn't imagine it, not the same look of fury she knew her peers would possess. 

Rather, she could only think of that episode in the parlour room. How although he had seen her in costume, he hadn't been repelled - hadn't scorned her poor attempt at trickery. Once he overcame the anticipated surprise, he had been oddly... elated...

In a daze, Molly tied her hair back, hands only falling limply to her sides when she recalled his expression. She could see it so clearly, it was as though he was before her once more. Her mind raced with the thought of Moriarty's breath, brushing against the shell of her ear. 

How immediately the warm exhale of his chuckle would send an answering shiver down her spine. "I said this change was unexpected..."  His phantom teasingly reminded her, tone on the verge of chiding. Molly audibly gulped, fingernails biting into her palms at the smirk in his voice. "...Never that it wasn't enjoyable."

She could nearly feel him then, this fantastic Moriarty, pressing into her back. She knew, deep down in the depths of her heart, it was ridiculous. The real version was a mere two rooms away but she couldn't bring herself to pull away from this mirage because to do so, would mean facing the truth. That out of everyone, fate had decided she would cross paths with a silly Irish man that thought himself to be a fae and he was the one who had begun to warm her heart. What did that say about her?

"Miss Molly." He murmured, the laughter in his voice making her wince. Heaven forbid but what would Sherlock think about this? She squeezed her eyes closed at the notion, failing miserably to ignore the following conjured scene.

Her conscience leaping at the opportunity to torture her, it tore away the walls of her bedroom to reveal the familiar sight of dark brick. It belonged to a place that many times before had kept her close, that in her time of need, had sheltered her from prying eyes. Now, that former haven lay mockingly and at the helm of this twisted vision, stood Sherlock, illuminated by lantern light. 

He was taller than she remembered, his figure entwined with the shadows until he loomed. The strength behind it made her heart quicken but that didn't startle her. No, not when it came from him. "Hooper," he dryly greeted, sharp gaze fleetingly diverted from the corpse he was appraising. Molly's stomach dropped when his eyes passed over her and she recognized his disappointment. Self-loathing tore into her with abandon, a feeling only increased by her own agreement.

There was no denying it, she was a coward. For all of the effort and sacrifices were given, she had done away with it all. All of the cases, the struggles, were meaningless now that she had run away. 

Molly turned from his gaze, blinking harshly as the watery sight of the morgue dropped to unveil her bedroom. But even with this change, still she was plagued with the question, what would Moriarty do if he knew? Would the small interest he had in her dissipate? In truth, Molly knew she couldn't fault him if he did.  

From beyond the door came a bellowed, "Miss Molly!" The frantic tone to which, immediately stole her away from any further self-deprecating thoughts. Swift was the fear that somehow her home was being invaded and this time, whoever had sought to injure Mr Moriarty would complete their mission. The roar of her frantic heartbeat rattled in her skull, sending a buzz of energy to scurry underneath her skin as she dove to the underneath of her bed. Blindly her fingers searched the cold floor until she brushed against something solid, firmly grasping it, Molly hastily withdrew the blade. It had been her father's, a measly token from the war he had endured and the blood he had spilt. The light bounced off of the metal, ominously glinting in that dim room. Much as she had disliked the idea of holding onto an item that was associated with such grim memories with her father, at that moment she was glad she had heeded his advice and had taken it for extra protection. 

Now armed, Molly sprung to her feet and crossed the room. Shoving the door open, she lifted her arm higher as she prepared to smite the assailant down. Her clenched jaw promptly loosened as instead of meeting an unknown enemy, she locked eyes with an indifferent Moriarty. He studied her prone figure in the entrance, glancing between her and the blade. Equally embarrassed by the situation as well, this time the metal only shyly caught the light in a faint flicker. 

"W-what..." Molly wet her dry lips, feeling her face start to warm. "What is the matter?"

Moriarty rose an eyebrow, face finally cracking out of his mild surprise to reveal an amused expression. "While I appreciate your valiant display, Miss Molly. I doubt that it'll be much use for breakfast."

"Breakfast?" She choked, at last fully taking in the scene. Her once beautiful and clean kitchen was now a mess, looking as though some sort of big lumbering woodland creature had upended her drawers onto the floor and had wreaked havoc on her pantry. Sword lowered by her side, she approached her companion in stunned disbelief while stepping over a handful of cutlery and piles of mysterious powders. "What has happened!?" She gasped, accidentally nudging a potato with a toe and sending it to roll to a corner.

"I," Moriarty haughtily sniffed, "the charitable being that I am, was preparing you a meal as a show of thanks but your primitive human tools have deemed it necessary to hinder the attempt." He pointedly glared at the cold pot on the range, giving it an angry shake with a sticky hand. 

Molly blinked, noting the bits of eggshell still attached to his fingers before she took a peer inside. Her brows furrowed, questioning what exactly she was looking at. There was a lumpy concoction of different textures and a strange hue. She took a step backwards, trying to ignore the queasy roll of her stomach. With a great put-upon sigh, she rubbed at the middle of her forehead with a free hand, not pleased by the idea of how long it would take to straighten this mess.

If any vigorous activity didn't pose a risk to his injured state, she would be telling him to fetch a bucket and broom to clean everything. Even though she was sure that would lead to further annoyance as she guided him through the process. She was suspicious of any labour that Moriarty might have completed in the past, the notion of doing anything beyond opening his mouth to be spoon-fed seemed above his experience.

Unfortunately, she would have to settle with doing it by herself. With a grimace, she glanced at the sword hanging by her side and its silent pitying regard. Squashing down her vexation, she placed it in the corner of the room where it wouldn't be an obstacle and approached Moriarty to gently push him away from the range. "I'll take over for you," she stiffly said, "so why don't you make yourself presentable?" A muscle under her left eye twitched when he squawked at her, swatting at her arm.

"I said I'll be preparing the meal this morning, I just need you to talk some sense into your fire spirit." He shot a glare at it, snarling "It's being most unreasonable."

Molly barely kept another sigh from slipping out. Giving her head a shake, she lightly steered him closer to where the basin and pitcher were kept. "I'll talk to it, in the meantime, you can start on getting yourself washed." 

Moriarty looked over his shoulder as he allowed her to shove him away, fixing her with a smirk as he suddenly came to understand something. She didn't like that look, not at all. "My, Miss Molly," he purred, "if you were that eager to see me exposed then all you had to do was ask."

Face bursting into flames at the suggestion, Molly threateningly rose a balled fist up. Thankfully he accepted it with only a chuckle before he relented and walked over to soak his hands. She watched him for a few seconds, teeth clenched as she wallowed in his words and the vision she had been a part of moments before. If she didn't know that he was just as human as her, she might have been concerned that he had read her thoughts and was mocking her over it.

Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. After she exhaled all of the stress, she opened them and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse to her elbows.

The breakfast that morning was far more simple than what Moriarty had anticipated but after the added chore of correcting the state of her kitchen, she didn't have much energy aside from cooking eggs and buttered slices of bread with some bits of cheese. Molly rolled her eyes as she spied him from his nest in the parlour room, able to tell that he was still sulking over it. She snorted, for all she cared he could continue to act like a child, she wouldn't allow his sour attitude to drag her alongside him. Hunching over to slip her socked feet into her boots, she adjusted the layers so she was properly covered before removing her woollen cap from her coat pocket and putting it on her head.

"And where do you think you're going?" Groused a voice from a pile of blankets. Glancing over at it she noticed that dishevelled dark hair had perked up to reveal his pouting face. Despite herself, the corner of Molly's lips began to twitch.

"Outside. I need to shovel a path for us and perhaps gather a few things from the woods."

Moriarty pushed the bedding further down, glaring at her. "Why would you do that? It is only going to snow again, so why would you go through the effort?"

She exhaled through her nose, patience waning. "Yes, it may snow again later today but I still need to clear it away in case there's an emergency." She held up a mittened hand when he opened his mouth to protest. "What would you rather I do? Waste precious sunlight lounging inside?" She knew what his answer would be as soon as she said it.

"Precisely!" He cried, startling a previously sleeping Tobias by his feet. "There are several things I think of that we can be doing instead." Almost Molly had replied "Such as?" until she had seen the look on his face. Lips pursed as an unwanted heat began to warm her belly, she hurriedly exited the entrance and headed outside, shutting the door with a slam behind her. Pulling her cap lower to cover her ears, she ground her teeth as she stomped away from the laughter echoing from inside. 

From the side of the cottage, she fetched the shovel and carried it to the front. Shooting a glance at the pale grey of the sky, she started to shovel the layers of snow and toss them into a pile. Steam from her laboured breath floated in puffs around her face, occasionally giving a sniffle as she worked to reveal frozen ground. The sunlight spilling into the clearing was warm on her flushed cheeks, an acceptable difference from the cold temperature that surrounded her. It took her a few hours but when she had straightened again to admire her handiwork, she was pleased by the space she now had to walk into the forest. Rubbing a mitted hand along her sweaty face, she nodded. Her arms and shoulders were tired and she was hungry for more food but it was a job well done. 

She strolled down the path and returned the tool to its proper place. Knocking her boots on the base of the cottage wall, she quickly stepped inside. The warmth of her home was an immediate balm to her tired body. Not wanting to track too much snow in, Molly lingered just by the doorframe. "Mr Moriarty?" She called out, waiting until she heard a responding grunt before she continued "I've finished my shovelling, I'll be going into the forest now."

It felt odd saying that aloud, that she was letting another person know of her plans. Trying not to dwell on that curious feeling for too long, she had turned to leave again when she heard him call out. Hand still holding onto the doorknob, she waited for him to lumber into the hallway. Confused, she rose an eyebrow. "Are you feeling well?" Once again she was concerned that the fever would be taking root. When she had done his redressing earlier in the morning, she hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary but the fear that she had missed something nagged at the corners of her mind. Worry mounting, she reached out to check his torso when he said "I want to come."

In a stupor, Molly owlishly blinked at him, her arm falling. "Pardon?" She whispered, eyebrows drawing to a furrow. 

It was Moriarty's turn to sigh. "I want to go out with you, into the forest."

"Absolutely not." She promptly forbade it. 

"Why?" He whined, reminding her once more of a spoiled child.

"Because," she stressed, "you have only started to heal. It would be foolish to go out when you aren't yet recovered."

"You make it seem as if I'm incapable of a short walk around the property."

"What if you fall?" She shot back. "You'll only be hurting yourself."

Moriarty snorted. "A mere fall wouldn't be enough to leave me bedridden."

"What of your powers?" She argued, latching onto the sore topic. Maybe it would be enough to reason with him. "It'll take longer for them to return to you if you become injured again." She frowned when he shot her a look, as though she had said something painfully silly.

"It wouldn't be the same."

"Why not?" She snapped, her patience had long since gone.

"Because," he said slowly, "I was stabbed with a cold iron dagger." Molly frowned at the revelation, not quite understanding the significance behind it. Moriarty sighed heavily. "Forget it. I've made my mind up and unless you plan on tying me to the furniture, I'll be going." He paused, thinking of it further. With a faraway look in his eyes, he deviously smiled, "Not as though that won't be a punishment I won't be willing to accept." His eyes widened as his mouth was covered by a scratchy material. Pouting behind the mitt, he frowned at Molly's scandalized expression.

"Stop. Why don't you go into my bedroom? There should be extra winter clothes put into storage." Gingerly she lowered her arm when she was certain he wasn't going to say anything else. With a loud huff and a "Prude" sent over his shoulder, Moriarty sauntered down the corridor and into the room. It took him several minutes to find what she asked, by the time he emerged Molly was about to slip out of her boots and find it herself. Arms full, he offered them with clear disgust. 

"What kind of tailor would create these garments? Surely, it must have been a cruel joke?" He hissed, pinching the fabric between his fingers. Molly sighed, taking a few of the items and tossing them to the side onto the floor, at a safe distance from the puddle of melted snow under her boots. Taking a coat from the pile, she began helping him into it. "Were they cursed?" He imploringly called out, acting as though the clothes being put on him were fish guts woven together rather than wool.

Molly shook her head, needing to slip her mitts into a pocket before she could close the clasps. "If only that were the case with you," she muttered under her breath. Her heart ached for those poor servants missing their master as she dressed him, tuning out the constant string of grumbles. The outer clothes were admittedly a few sizes too big but that was to be expected when her father was a larger man than Mr Moriaty's lean frame. Still, it was better than facing the frigid temperatures in thin layers.

An annoyed and flushed visage hawkishly watched her as she knelt by his feet, tying the bootlaces into tight knots. Luckily they seemed to be a better fit, so there was less of a risk of him stumbling over his feet. Once they were done, Molly climbed up with a grunt. Giving him one final look over, she nodded her head. Saying goodbye to Tobias, she opened the door and held it for Moriarty to slip past her, after he crossed the threshold, she joined him.

She inhaled the crisp cool air, stuffing her hands into her mitts as she peered at him from the corner of her eye. Stubbornly standing in place, Moriarty was squinting at the forest lining the field. He glanced at her when she lightly patted him on the shoulder. "You can always go in?" She kindly offered.

Sending her a nasty look, he rose his chin and stalked forward. Molly chewed on the inside of her cheek, lips curling with a smile. Feeling almost fond as she watched his stiff back sluggishly grow further away, she hurried to catch up.

It was quiet as they walked, with little noise in the forest other than the sound of crunching snow and the distant chirping of birds. The sunlight spilling through the cracks of empty branches overhead had darkened as the day grew, the gold of it now spun a pale blue that glistened amongst the crystals of ice. Their shimmer brightened their path considerably, making it easier to navigate as Molly searched for her materials. 

While she scanned their location for these things, she could feel his heavy stare on her person. She questioningly hummed, pushing a branch backwards so he could move through without being hit. "Are you scared?" She couldn't help but ask. A shiver ran through her when that look deepened.

"Scared?" Came his soft bewildered voice. 

She let the branch go, listening to the whistle of it swing behind her before saying "If I were hurt, I think I would be." This rationalization didn't seem to ease his offending nerves. 

"What a ridiculous notion, a fae being scared in nature."

Molly sighed, deciding to humour him as they continued their trek. "Is nature sacred to your kind?"

"Sacred? No. What a silly word. Fae, just like the trees, the rivers or the stones you step on are made from magic. We have a bond that has existed far longer than when your ancestors first decided to slither out and will continue to do so when your species' dust has settled." Moriarty shrugged. "For myself, who is far older, they offer praise and gifts to be blessed by my presence. It isn't very often that I venture into this realm, so these young spirits are quite overzealous."

She rose an eyebrow at that. "From your phrasing, these... spirits are talking to you?" Molly frowned when he gave a sympathetic shake of his head.

"You lot never did have much magic to do anything aside from procreating like rabbits but still, it is sad to see how you've forgotten how to speak."

Her face scrunched up, confused. "What do you mean, 'forgotten how to speak?'" 

He turned to Molly, startling her when he gently cupped the side of her jaw. Her eyes widened, blankly staring as he sadly smiled. "Maybe that will be my gift?" He whispered to himself, the place where he touched sending bolts of energy into Molly's wind-nipped skin. "I'll teach you the words." Happy with the notion, a look of determination crossed his features and he pulled away. Molly remained in place, staring after him as her flesh tingled. Hastily swallowing the lump in her throat, she brushed aside the sensation and redirected her focus to the task at hand.

Already she had explored this woodland since making this place her new home and had made notes on several locations of interest, making the journey to a section of oaks and beech an easy one. Amid the monochrome of the winter landscape, the red of the holly berries was vibrant. Approaching the tree, she brushed off the dusting of snow and held onto a branch. 

"You shouldn't eat that."

Not bothering to turn around, Molly rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know." She removed a piece of cloth from her coat pocket, unravelling it so it lay evenly on her palm. With her other hand, she plucked the shiny dark green leaves and put them in. Snow crunched as he joined her side, peering over her shoulder to watch her work. His wordless question hung above the pair, she didn't address it until she had collected a sizable number and placed the folded bundle in a safe place on her person. "While the berries are not safe to eat, I can use the leaves once they've been dried to treat ailments."

Gaze still on her pocket, Moriarty's lip curled in disgust. "Like the willow bark?"

She smiled. "Yes, like the willow bark."

Disturbed by the memory of the tea's taste, he took wide steps away from her. "Please tell me there aren't any more vile ingredients you'll need?"

Molly shook her head. "Not today, I believe that has been enough excitement."

Retracing their steps, they were whisked into that comfortable silence once again. While they walked, there was a question that hadn't left Molly's thoughts since it was first brought up. She chewed on her bottom lip, not sure if she should ask him. Not if it conjured anything painful for her strange companion. Despite her reluctance and consideration over the delicate topic, Moriarty had reached his wit's end with her nervous glances. He startled her with an aggravated sound, yelling "Were you born a timid mouse?! Ask whatever blasted question that is haunting you instead of bothering me about it!"

She floundered as his shouts echoed, shock dissolving into a sense of irritation over the situation. All she had done was give him a couple of looks, he had certainly done more to offend her since he decided to grace her doorstep. Still, a small part of her was relieved by his words, no matter how blunt they were. "Earlier," she gingerly began, "you mentioned being stabbed." Her gaze wandered to the path, not wanting to see his reaction. She took his silence as encouragement. "Do you recall who did it and why?"

"Of course I do."

"Well then..." Molly searched deep within herself for what to say next. "Are you not upset by it?" A wave of anger crashed into her at his dismissive shrug, that he could take something as significant as his life lightly.

"If you are concerned over whether the betrayal has become an affliction on my soul, don't be. It was to be expected." Puzzled by a firm grip at his elbow, Moriarty peered into Molly's stormy eyes. 

"To be expected?" She hissed, tone strange. It took him a few seconds to understand why that was, she was enraged but not for her own benefit. No, she was troubled on his behalf. The knowledge of it made something long since thought to be frozen in his chest begin to unfurl, like stalks from a plant driving through spring dirt. The corners of his mouth began to lift. Without any thought, he reached over and brushed strands of hair from her eyes.

This witch may have lost her voice but still, underneath he could see the sparks of magic warm her skin. "That's a good look on you," he whispered, the power of her fury thrilled him, letting it soak into his own magic. The overhead branches creaked and the whistle of wind carried on their empty limbs encouraging him to lean in. The flush on Molly's cheeks deepened when their faces neared, her expression honest in its surprise, making the attempt at hiding her attraction a poor one.

Her lips were chapped from the cold but the colour of her magic made it sweet, the distinct flavour of cherries and laughter by a bright hearth. It was so simple and human, he should have been repulsed. Moriarty pulled her closer, a groan torn from his throat as he tried to punish her for the tea, soft touches and refusal to yield with biting kisses. The feel of her body against his was too much, the magic defiantly blazing against his own, as though wanting to fight him. He deepened it, drinking in her wet gasps as the current from that power sliced through him. And yet, he needed more. Far more. 

Molly's eyes snapped open, yelping at the rough material digging into her stomach. She pulled away, removing the mitted hand that had dug underneath the layers of coat and blouse to get to her skin. "W-what," she sputtered, voice coming out in a strangled squeak. "W-what do you think you're doing?!" She tried to be cross but his pout lessened the effect as he tried to grab her again. She stopped it with a wide step backwards. 

"Warming you up," he teased.

Molly scoffed, fixing her clothes so they were presentable. "Not anymore you aren't." Pointedly ignoring the heat radiating from her face, Molly spun away and crushed snow as she resumed their journey. Moriarty touched his lips, pressing on the ticklish skin as he imploringly looked to the sky. The trees returned it with a confused sway, flicking bits of snow to remind him of the growing distance between him and the witch. He accepted it with a nod, quick to follow after his flustered mortal.

Things had certainly changed when they arrived at the cottage. Quietly shutting the door behind him, Moriarty studied Molly's stiff back as she undressed. Warily he joined her, unsure of the anxious waves that were soaking into the home. He wanted to voice his worries, if she kept leaking magic everywhere like that then it might affect the house.

Still, he oddly felt like this was because of him. Had it been the kiss? He removed his mittens and unbuttoned his jacket. That in itself was a bizarre concept, he was used to nobility begging for heirs so that their kingdoms would be formidable against their neighbours. Of course, he had never agreed. Not because there hadn't been a few beauties to intrigue him but because the idea of those pesky creatures thinking they controlled him didn't escape his murderous rage. And it wasn't as if the witch didn't find this version agreeable, she had made it clear that it did. No, there was something else here that was standing in the way. Not one to let obstacles stand in front of his ambitions, he decided to free her from this melancholy.

Molly turned around to face him, lowering to her knees so she could undo his boots. Once done, she stood up again, offering a steadying hand as he slipped out of them. The position was awkward and tugged on the wound on his side, making him unconsciously wince from it. Ever observant, Molly took note of this and tenderly ushered him to the sofa to rest. Complicated emotions aside, her duty as a physician took precedence. Her hands lightly touched his side, peeling back the shirt to peer at the bandage. "Are you all right?" She whispered, brow furrowed in worry.

Without thinking he reached out and soothed the crease, deeply staring into her eyes when they darted up. They were bright brown and filled with such kind curiosity for the world, the roaring need to press kisses onto those eyelids flabbergasted Moriarty. Molly must have seen something then as she shot one quick look at his lips before she chewed on her bottom lip. Instead of bridging that distance like Moriarty so hoped, she confused him once more by moving away.

Clearing her throat, she avoided his gaze. "I-I... I should..." With a vague gesture, she dashed to her bedroom, loudly shutting the door behind her. Astonished, Moriarty remained seated with his chest bared. Stiffly he turned to Tobias who had watched this exchange from his spot by the fireplace, his legs tucked underneath him. Catching his gaze, Tobias lazily blinked, offering a comforting purr.

Moriarty sighed and leaned back, glaring up at the ceiling. It seemed like the task set before him was going to be a difficult one.

Chapter Text

Under a sky of gently rolling clouds came the final curtain for the evening, turning it but to a distant memory of laughter and conversation over good food. Afterwards, the shadows grew longer and the noise became quieter to make way for the night. What little of the light that remained from that earlier time was replaced by the flicker of nearby candles and the roar of the fireplace. Molly basked in this warm orange glow now, the ache from a trying day let her momentarily forgo proper societal restraints. What should have occurred after dinner was a peaceful retirement to her bedroom, leaving her company to retreat to his makeshift quarters in the parlour room. That didn't happen for she went against her better judgment and allowed herself to be convinced to stay for a cup of tea. Ignoring that tiny voice in her head that shrilly called out that this wasn't correct for two unmarried people to do, she poured herself another cup.

Nothing about this is correct, she pointed out. I pretend to be two different people and he thinks himself to be a fae, there is nothing sensible about any of this. At this line of reasoning, the voice grew quiet for a long pause then sulkily excused itself. Proud of this achievement, Molly took a big sip of her tea and migrated to the floor in front of the hearth. She rejected Mr Moriarty's offer for the sofa, for once feeling oddly comfortable within herself as she stretched out her legs on the carpet. This whole experience felt to be almost freeing sitting there with the heat of the fire on her cheeks. 

There would be the occasional crackle and pop while she sat, the sound of it making the howl of the wind outside seem more distant, reinforcing the notion that they were safe from the winter storm beyond the cottage's old walls. Absently she thought to thank Mr Webbs for the next time she was in town for his warning about the snow squall.

She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, reaching for the blanket that had slipped from her shoulders and pulled it up again. Truly she ought to leave now to her bed but still, she couldn't be bothered to move from her place. It felt far too nice to leave, even if it might be seen as unladylike to her guest.

As if cued into her thoughts, she could hear feet shuffling on the carpet in the background, giving her a second's notice before she was being joined. She sleepily smiled at the sudden grunt and bit off swearing as he stiffly sat by her side, his long legs knocked into hers on the way down. Molly cracked an eye open at the jostle, peering at her disgruntled companion. "Are you all right?" She mumbled, her sleepiness merging the words into one another.

Somehow managing to understand her, Moriarty hummed, quietly rubbing his hands together. 

Molly immediately picked up on this, having been forced to be accustomed to a man who didn't know the meaning of silence, its sudden appearance was concerning. "Mr Moriarty?" She tried to call out, the yawn that promptly followed turning it into a drawn-out noise of nonsense. Still, she persisted. Forcing herself to sit up straighter, she rubbed the corner of her eyes with a knuckle and then worriedly stared at her guest. He hadn't met her gaze yet, dark eyes creased with a frown as he continued to look at the fireplace. From it, a ribbon of orange and yellow was painted onto his features, highlighting the colour that had been steadily restoring his complexion to its original healthy glow. 

Brows knitting together when this too hadn't gotten a response, Molly reached over and tugged on his sleeve. Finally snapped out of the strange daze he'd been under, Moriarty turned from the flames and offered a comforting pat to the hand that had been holding onto him. Slowly she withdrew, pushing aside the thoughts that wanted to linger on the sensation of his skin and focused on the troubled expression he attempted to hide.

"Is there something the matter?" She pressed.

This seemed to be what finally snapped him out of his daze, encouraging him to reluctantly say "Earlier when I had kissed you, had-" Then just like that, the desire to finish the rest of his conversation was snuffed. In its place was that gloomy expression from before, burdened with trials that others did not know of and having to endure them alone. That was partially correct in Molly's regard, although it was not because of a personal choice of ignorance but rather as soon as the word 'kiss' came clumsy out of Mr Moriarty's mouth, her thoughts evaporated in an instant.

It left no room but for the word 'kiss' to be repeated in a constant loop of flashing lights and loud sounds, drowning out everything else with it.

Frozen in place, she had no choice but to be taken back to the forest. Her cheeks were cold and her lower back was sore from all of the shovelling, which was not the most ideal state to be in while she was being courted - but still, he had warmed her with his presence and greater when he'd leaned in and kissed her. She could feel that spark now in the parlour room, feel the shock from it run along her skin until her nerves tingled. She had felt so alive then, more so than she had ever felt before.

Everything fell away, like snow melting in bright sunlight, and she was left as a puddle. 

"-that been the wrong thing to do? Did you not enjoy me kissing you?"

Her heart lurched out of her chest, falling into a pitiful mess between them as she struggled to breathe. "No!" She choked out, terrified by the route that this conversation was going. She spun to look at him, fingers treading air until they managed to seize his sleeve and force him to do the same and look her in the eyes. "No! That had nothing to do with - erm- I liked it..." Her face burned as she weakly admitted "I liked kissing you... very much."

She couldn't withstand his confused staring for much longer. Retreating to a shy slouch, she stared at the carpet instead but her fingers refused to budge. She tightened her grip on his shirt's fabric, heart thundering as she whispered "too much."

Moriarty tilted his head, reaching with his free hand to place it on top of Molly's. "Why do you make it seem like that's a bad thing?" He didn't understand why he received such a heavy sigh. It was an awful sound to hear, the type that is filled with quiet pain. 

For a moment they sat in silence as the fireplace crackled. Then softly, so much so that he was convinced even a mouse wouldn't be able to hear it, she said "It typically is in my case."

Moriarty's brows furrowed. He didn't like this, not one bit. And as much as his impatience urged him to voice his complaints, he refused to rush her. Even he, with his slim understanding of mortals, knew that patience was a virtue here.

While they sat together, hidden away from the rest of the world, Molly braved her first step. Perhaps it was a comfort that they were so far removed from everyone else, that she felt safe in the quiet warmth of his presence. It allowed her the space to slowly unlatch the locks that had been keeping her heart caged.

She sucked in a deep breath, squeezing her eyes closed. Exhaling it, she began her story.

Years ago in London

Falling in love with Sherlock Holmes had come as a surprise but it hadn't been difficult. Even now, all of these years later she could still remember the time when they had first met. Her father was sick but still alive, and her mother had long since been put to rest. During those early years in her career, she had tried to keep her head down and avoid any scrutiny, but even while keeping to the shadows the rumours of the Yard consulting a genius with their cases had managed to reach her tiny corner. There had been a few instances where her coworkers had been reading the articles printed in the press over this mysterious detective. Admittedly she had been curious but she hadn't given in and joined the others. No, those eye-catching headlines were bad news. She had been happy to return to her lonesome and forget all about it. 

That was until he graced her morgue. 

On a slow day in early April, he had stormed in, droplets from the rain were rolling off of his jacket onto her clean floors in a persistent tap... tap... tap. Annoyed by the forming puddle, when she had looked up a frown had already been marring her features when her gaze fully took him in. His nose and cheeks were a little red from the chilly weather outside and the rainwater had begun to curl the strands that had escaped his perfectly coifed hairstyle by his ears. 

She hadn't yet digested how handsome he was when those beautiful intelligent eyes noticed her. Giving his attire a quick shake to shed more water, he crossed the room to stand in front of her. Startled by this, Molly dropped the pen she had been using and craned her neck to watch him smile at her. It happened in a flash and was meant to be polite but no matter how dashing it was, still, it wasn't enough to ignore that it was painfully disingenuous. All thoughts of this man's beauty were erased as instinctively her hackles were raised. 

Molly hadn't gotten this far from being a fool and she wasn't willing to start now.

Nervous by the weight of his gaze she spat out a snarky comment without thinking, hoping the show of aggression would make him take a step away and leave her alone. Sherlock had been displeased that his cordial act hadn't worked but he didn't retreat as she had so prayed. Instead, he stuck around even when his cajoling for human body parts was also denied. Perhaps, he'd been intrigued by her and how she barely kept her jittery energy hidden with a grouchy persona. 

Whatever the case, Mr Holmes was soon to know that Molly wasn't one to be bossed around in her own morgue. She had worked hard to earn the right to be there and she was proud of her ability and skills. He'd reluctantly agreed with this sentiment after reading her notes on a corpse of interest and giving it a look-over. Afterwards, he'd given a curt nod and then departed without another word. The heavy doors falling to a close behind him, Molly had waited roughly ten minutes before collapsing into a pile at her desk. 

Foolishly she had thought she had scared him off, this idea was cemented when he didn't show up the day after or the next. And she was happy to forget about the whole sordid affair and did precisely that. It was at that moment when Sherlock Holmes decided to ruin everything a second time, however, with a grumbling Mr Lestrade in tow in this instance. The sight of the familiar face solidified Mr Holmes's growing place in her life, that he would be venturing far more often to her tiny morgue. Mr Lestrade had told her as much after Holmes had long since left, words full of pity and kindness as he apologized like his puppy had gotten loose and mucked up her gardens. Embarrassed by the situation but not enough to hide his fondness for the consulting detective. She had unwillingly accepted it then as a favour towards her longtime acquaintance but nothing more. Irked as she was, Molly was strictly a professional and wouldn't allow her emotions to affect her work - or that's what she thought.

She didn't know when it began, just that she had long since fallen into a spiral before she realized she had gone from admiring his work ethic to something softer. At first, she had accepted the longer shifts as wanting to assist Mr Holmes in solving his cases, a desire to see justice served to the dead who graced her slab. Then that had shifted to a precarious friendship, one that neither spoke of but felt in long bouts of silence and exchanging of instruments while they tinkered away at their tasks.

One day she had sat perched at a table, catching up on her reports when she had glanced up. The lanterns had already been lit into the early hours of the night and would continue to go as it was expected to be a couple of hours yet until tonight was resolved. She still remembered that feeling when her aching eyes landed on him, the amber light catching the messy curls of his hair as he threaded his fingers through, ruining the look. She'd been reminded of how attractive the man seated a few paces away from her was, brows furrowed in concentration as he flipped through a booklet. Without her knowledge, a smile had curled the edges of her lips, not aware of its existence until she had pressed her fingers on top of her mouth.

When she had noticed it, she had flinched, bewildered by the expression. Catching the movement from the corner of his eyes, Sherlock had looked away from his reading to stare at her with wide eyes. Molly could only bear this attention for a few seconds before she excused herself, teeth clenched she had stormed out of the morgue, keenly aware that her face was burning as she hailed the nearest carriage to return home. Flabbergasted by this turn of events, she had drawn the curtains closed and had holed herself in her room, buried under a pile of blankets where she was sure to be forgotten about. This was the sorry state her dearest friend, Meena, discovered her in.

Peeling the bedding away from her curled-up form, Meena frowned while Molly blearily blinked at her, fake moustache still attached to her upper lip. Wordlessly she sat on the side of the bed, patiently waiting for her to reveal all of her worries. And she did, taking comfort in her friend's embrace that night as she mulled over what to do. 

While it hadn't been difficult falling in love with Sherlock Holmes, it was to hide it. 

Every time he stepped into the morgue it felt as though he'd stolen the oxygen straight from her lungs, leaving her to breathlessly fret over hiding her trembling fingers as he rambled about the newest case he was on. It made her comments harsher as she sunk deeper, terrified of what would happen if her one-sided love was realized. The rickety friendship they had formed over the years had gone lop-sided, making her withdraw further into herself. It pained her that this happened, that she was starting to become a person she didn't recognize. But it didn't stop there, not only did her relationship with Sherlock suffer but her work as well. 

Sleep didn't come easily in those days and the long shifts she took on gradually made her sloppy. Reports were being filed wrong and worse yet, she had missed details. That dark cloud of emotions worsened on the day that Sherlock cornered her in an empty hallway. He'd come to her concerned, voicing how the improper handling of her personal affairs was now not only affecting herself but his profession as well. In hindsight, she understood where the detective was coming from, that even with his shortcoming with emotions he was trying to tell her that he cared but that rant had been a slap to the face. She'd taken it on the chin with a curt nod, back straight as she walked away but his words haunted her.

She kept everything in until she reached home. The door shut firmly behind her, it took one look from Meena and a soft "How was today?" then she finally broke down into tears. She was angrily scrubbing at her eyes, frustrated at everything and herself when her friend crossed the room and yanked her into her arms. That night they sat curled in front of the fire as Molly eventually calmed to a watery sniffle while Meena petted her hair and whispered words of encouragement. 

Not wanting to hinder anyone, she, at last, agreed on the vacation her employers had been not so subtly hinting at for weeks. She'd left a cursory letter to Sherlock, stating that she was temporarily on leave and that she wished him well but nothing more. As she figured that when she came back to the morgue she would the explanation and apology he deserved or that had been the plan. 

She had mulled over where to go and researched a handful of locations when Meena had mentioned a distant nearly forgotten town and a small property hidden away. It was perfect. Eagerly she had gone thinking this stint would last a couple of weeks at most but before she knew it that time had doubled until months had become years. Meena still came around whenever she could and they frequently exchanged letters but Molly could tell the move had been hard on her, that she missed having her so close by. Often she wondered about going back but every time she did, she couldn't help but imagine how different things must have become. 

Would the people she left still be there? Did they even care that she had gone?

If you forgot the circumstances that led her to this small cottage, Molly had to admit that she had grown happy with this old building and the woods that surrounded it. Even her job as a physician for the locals was one that she treasured, the idea of parting from it now was a hard one. 

She might not be as lofty as she was working in the city but she had found something priceless here.

Molly sighed, letting her final words hang above them as she stared into the flames. While it felt nice to speak about what had happened, she was still concerned that her past would affect how her companion saw her. She always pretended to be so strong that the idea of letting anyone see past that facade was unsettling. Despite her worries, she gauged his reaction from the corner of her eye. 

There was a hardness to his expression that took her aback. She tore her gaze away, gutted that her fears had merit and that he was disappointed by her cowardice. Forcibly she cleared her throat, struggling to say "I understand if this affects the way you think of me, Mr Moriarty, b-"

She didn't get the chance to finish the rest of her sentence, silenced when he kissed her. Her eyes widened, stunned for a second before they fell shut. One of her hands lifted to hold onto one of his arms, twisting the fabric as he hungrily deepened it. Those worries were scattered from her thoughts, disappearing when Moriarty's fingers rubbed along her throat before they wandered up to sink into her hair. His blunt fingernails scratched her scalp, making a shiver race up her spine at the sensation. She sighed into his lips, making a startled but content noise when his other arm wound around her waist and pulled her closer. 

A part of her knew that this wasn't right, that she should be moving away and putting an end to this but frankly, Molly couldn't be bothered to care. Every thought and reason was dashed away while he pressed kiss after kiss into her lips. It felt as though she was boiling over from the inside, the feeling so intense that she needed to tilt her head to the side and take shaky gulps of air in. Biting on her bottom lip when she felt him plant kisses on the side of her mouth and then trail from her jaw to her throat. Squirming on the floor, Molly squeezed her eyes closed at the ticklish sensation.

Her eyes shot open. "M-Moriarty!" She gasped, flinching at something wet and warm dragging along her skin. In shock, she buried a hand into his hair, trying to stop him from further licking at her like some slobbering dog. The scrap of teeth made her yank harder than she initially intended, her face burning as she hissed his name. Instead of being discouraged as she had expected, Molly was flabbergasted to hear a deep groan spill out of him. 

The flames were caught in his stare as he relented, his eyes bright in the darkness as he peered at her. Molly's mouth went dry, barely keeping it from hanging open as he maintained eye contact. "Yes?" He huskily whispered, a smirk creeping upon his face as he drank in her dazed expression. Chuckling, he glanced at her puffy lips, sorely tempted to dive in for another kiss. Being old as he is, Moriarty was well aware of the value that comes from waiting, that denying oneself pleasure makes it taste all the sweeter when it's finally given. Taking solace in that truth now, he leaned in so their noses lightly brushed one another, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek. 

Even the small gesture of affection made his witch's skin sing, sparks flying to buzz at his fingertips. He smiled, knowing that she wasn't conscious of it as her magic bled into his. Now that she was more familiar with his touch, it wasn't as defiant as it was before. Instead, those brilliant embers steadily burst life into his dampened aura, breathing newfound life into what had been dormant. Moriarty shivered, the zap of pleasure that came from it made him moan. Delighting in her reaction to that noise, he permitted himself another kiss on the corner of her lips before deciding to be a little more daring. His sweet little witch didn't stand a chance as he put a hand on both of her shoulders and gave a gentle nudge. 

Falling to the carpet, she was quite the sight. Braided hair spilled around her, framing her glittering eyes and reddened cheeks as she stared up at him. Hovering from above, Moriarty had never been happier that the fool his witch had earlier mentioned never had the chance to see this. If he did then Moriarty would have struck him blind. After all, he'd never been one to share.

"-Moriarty."

Another shiver rolled down his spine. He didn't think his name had ever sounded so wonderful until now. "Yes?" He repeated, openly grinning as he drew closer. Bracing two arms on either side of her face, he moved in until he felt her hot puffs of breath. He cocked his head, humming when her eyebrows furrowed. 

"What do you think you're doing?"

His grin widened. "Correcting another's wrong."

There was that pinched stare he so adored and formidable as it was, it wasn't enough to hide the dancing light in her gaze as she flatly asked "Is that what this is?"

Unable to help himself, he innocently replied "What do you want it to be?" Dodging out of the way with a laugh when she went to lightly hit him upside the head. He caught her arm before she could do it again, holding it against his chest as he darted forward to kiss her grumbling mouth into something softer. She let him for a few moments, arm falling slack as the minutes went by until she pulled away.

"Let me up, it's too cold to sleep on the floor."

Moriarty pouted but withdrew, offering her a hand up so she could climb to her feet. "I could always warm you up?" He offered with a smirk. "Whether it's at mine or yours."

She snorted, brushing off her nightgown. "I'm sure you're willing."

"I most certainly am." He purred, slightly adjusting his stance so he was more on display.

Molly rolled her eyes, beginning to cross the room and head to her chambers. "Perhaps not tonight."

She didn't spare a look behind even when he called out "Does that mean you're free tomorrow?" Giving him a wave over her shoulder, she tried not to be too obvious that her legs were masses of jelly as she stumbled into her room. Shutting the door, she immediately leaned against it to keep upright. Molly's heart was pounding in her ribcage while every fibre of her being screamed at her to head back into her companion's arms. It had been clear to both of them what would have happened if she stayed, the hardness she had felt brush against her had made that certain. The memory still so fresh, Molly covered her bright red face with her hands, not sure how she was going to survive seeing his face over the breakfast table tomorrow morning. 

Dropping her hands with a quiet groan, she sluggishly walked up to the bed and tossed herself on, settling on that it was an issue her future self would deal with.