Fanfic: Becoming Jim Part 1
Title: Becoming Jim Part 1
Author: harlequinehands
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing/Characters: Molly Hooper/Jim Moriarty
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2,500+
Spoilers: Whole of the Season 1
Warnings: Un-beta’d, Not Brit-picked, character death, morbid fantasies
Disclaimer: Don’t own any of these lovely characters, they are property of BBC and Moffat ect.
Summary: Molly Hooper is bored. But that is nothing new. She had watched the whole world spin deliriously around her for most of her life not daring to participate simply willing herself to observe. And through her quiet watching she has learned some things. These are things that have enabled her to play the Game and play it better than even Jim himself.
It was so easy to slip in to his head. Like wearing a soft familiar pair of terry clothe slippers. She had spent most her life shamming. She was so artful at it she sometimes forgot she wasn't some sweet, mild-mannered, girl working in the morgue at St. Barts in London.
Well she was but she was also much more. So very much more now that he was dead.
It had been easy enough to arrange. He had wanted to play in the open so badly. But even she, as new to playing in the Game as could possibly be, knew that it was unwise to frolick in open fields with no cover. Sherlock had thought it was Mycroft's doing and that was just as well. After all she wasn't like Jim. Her methods were subtler because she didn't want the attention. Unlike the men who were just as brilliant as she.
Jim had thought her a rather special piece, carved of rosewood and ivory, crumbling in a far off garden. Sherlock had seen her as nothing but a mundane pawn and both of them were laughably wrong.
Molly Hooper was finally playing the Game and she was winning effortlessly.
Now it was because all that he was he had left to her. To do with as she saw fit. His world was now at her fingertips, his connections, influence, and power were now hers. Oh certainly he hadn't bequeathed this to her on purpose because he wasn't expecting to die. The lovely look of surprise on his face was better than any biscuit or sweet. It made her sigh in pleasure just thinking about it.
She had fired off one last text before the shot and he had been gracious enough to read it. He had looked puzzled at first but then the realization stuck and he looked up to see her waving triumphantly from behind the two top-most snipers. Because like every one else in her life he had been a disappointment. She had hoped he could truly observe her but just like Sherlock he had glazed over the parts of her that were real in favour of what he wanted to see.
But she had his empire now and she was very interested to see what she could do with it. Because if she had arranged the death of Moriarty with a few hushed words, some misplaced kisses, and a laugh. Well imagine what was possible when she had everything.
Even though she was sure she didn't need it to crush Sherlock Holmes she could most certainly use the clout to play farther abroad, to bring her Game to the international level. Moriarty had always been a name, not just a man. She was not the man but she was Moriarty now nonetheless. She was about to step things up to a whole new plain. And she knew just where to start.
Molly was bored. Oh so very bored. But she was almost always that way any more. The only thing that brought any sort of animation to her world were corpses and one Sherlock Holmes. But only one of those readily acknowledged her presence and oddly enough it was the corpses.
Oh sure he would ask her for things; compliment her absently to ply her in to doing his bidding faster. She hated herself for bending to it but she did. He was the only thing that shone in the steel and rot of her life. She appeared to be all pink, kittens, side pony-tail, bright and cheery. But it was a faded jumper she wore most days. There was a large brain in a jar underneath the faded rose and vine wallpaper. But even he couldn't see it.
Sometimes he was a completely daft.
Oh he was clever and observant and brilliant to be sure. But when it came to seeing he was just like any other man, sometimes he let his own judgments get in the way. He was mortal after all it seemed. For as much as he fancied himself a God; unfeeling, analytical, omniscient, he could be just a blind as the whole rest of the world. Especially when it came to others who were cleverer than he.
Oh yes there were a few of those people about. You know what they say, you may be good but there is always some one better.
Just because she wasn't playing the Game certainly didn't mean she didn't know how. On the contrary. Some would say her decision not to move, to simply observe, was the smartest strategy of them all. But from her small vantage point the only player she had to directly observe was Sherlock.
She occasionally came across the aftermath of some other players; one in particular was very good. So very good in fact even he didn't put the pieces together. Not until this player announced his presence to his face. But Molly had seen his handiwork in the unsolved cases, the little nuances of bruised flesh, and the quiet things that lurked under nails and behind teeth. She didn't know his name but she knew him.
And so she simply waited. Because a player so prolific and multifaceted as him would find her. He would come seeking Sherlock no doubt but he would find her waiting there as well. And maybe just maybe he would see her. But until then she would wait, completely bored out of her head, toying with the torn radial ligaments in a severed hand. It was better than daytime telly at least.
He was waiting for her in the Bart's cafeteria. Sure enough he was sitting at a table by himself, fiddling with some particularly soggy looking mash. But she took in his posture, the tilt of his chin, and the squint of his eyes in her direction instantly. She knew him.
He was wearing street clothes, simple; an unrefined shirt and khakis. But he wouldn't look out of place in a suit either. Just out of place here and he was playing a part. A part that he obviously didn't know he didn't have to play. She wondered dully if even this particular man wouldn't be able to see past her shamming.
She wondered for the first time in years if she should join the Game. She had deeply considered once and only once. But now it seemed like things were picking up again. Like maybe she could join in without being noticed for what she truly was. Even though a part of her clawed and gnashed its teeth at being continuously dismissed.
Oh don't mind Molly she's just some lonely little thing with a bunch of cats. Quite pitiful really. Maybe if we invite her out of a pint every once and awhile we won't feel so guilty about her silly kicked-puppy looks.
But when she thought about that it seemed so easy to dismember them, take them apart piece by piece with her words or scalpel. Sherlock used words to rip people asunder and this man used the scalpel. But she had no idea what tool would be best for her to use. Because if she was going to join in she was going to make sure she didn't loose. At least not more than a little. She grabbed her peas, meat, and mash from the line and sat down cheerily next to him,
"Hullo! I saw you sitting here and I, well I thought you might like a bit of company."
He looked up at her and smiled lopsidedly with those bright brown eyes,
"Know what it feels like to sit alone here yeah?"
She let her face flinch and still hold that affable smile. All of the possible responses scrolled mutely behind her eyes. Some of them were quite nasty and she surprisingly liked the sound of those the best. But instead she coughed a bit and said,
"Well everyone's new sometimes. It's nice to meet you. Molly Hooper, I'm a lab tech in the morgue."
She extended her hand still smiling. He took it and shook it firmly saying,
"Jim Mills from IT. Good to meet you too."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
He was good but not as good as her. She had learned to make her eyes smile when she was a child.
It terrified her mum when they didn't. She could pretend Molly was a lovely normal little girl if she had smiling eyes.
She wondered how much longer she would have to keep shamming with him. How easy would it be for her to turn it off? She hadn't turned it off in front of any one since she was twelve. When it was just her and her thoughts certainly the smile was gone but what if other people ever saw the dead in her eyes? Well they didn't. She wouldn't let them in that close.
But he would be delighted to see it. She knew he would be. And then maybe the smile would crinkle the corners of those deep brown eyes.
She found she liked the prospect. So she would try. She would try and peel back the second sappy skin she had worn for most her life and show him the dark and sharp glass smile that roiled beneath it.
She had attempted to do this with Sherlock when they had first met but he had lost interest. If she ever had his in the first place she no longer did. He had a new obsession that was okay if you liked reflective glass. The only reason Sherlock loved John Watson so was because he took his brilliance and amplified it back at him. He made him seem to shine brighter. And Sherlock, no matter how ardently he denied it, wanted to bask in the sun.
Molly had been content to toe the shadows all her life. After all what else was there for her to do? But neither Sherlock nor this Jim seemed content just to drift through this mundane world watching.
Always watching like she did.
They wanted the flux, to either act or react. They forgot the third option more often than not. They forgot that sometimes neither side wins. That the winner was the one not playing in the first place. And so she smoothes down her skirt nervously and bites her lip a bit before saying,
"Really? That must be interesting. I don't know much about computers. At least not about programming. Turn it off and then on fixes most problems right?"
Jim snorts a bit of high light laughter,
"Ah you'd be surprised how many people don't even know that much! So what do you do in the lab then?"
"Mostly collecting evidence, examining and cataloging injuries, trying to recommend a cause of death. Just leg work and such."
He nods and eats a spoonful of peas,
"That sounds fascinating. If you don't mind me saying though you don't seem like the type to work down there."
She tried not to narrow her eyes too much, to keep them wide and watery like a doe's. But it was hard as she suddenly found her self searching beneath his quirked lips and still hands.
Looking for any tell tale signs of something more, a deeper meaning to his words. But as far as she could observe there were none. This was quickly getting boring.
She briefly considered telling him exactly why she worked down there and letting a truly terrifying smile grace her features. She wondered how delicious the look of shock and awe would be on his face. She licked her lips but held out a little longer.
"Well for a bit I wanted to be a doctor but was too terrified I'd accidentally kill someone to actually go through with it. So this seemed like the next best option. I still get to help people I just can't hurt them in the process."
He nodded thoughtfully but she saw his eyes glaze over.
She had completely fooled him. He was just as easy to misdirect and sham as she had feared. Would no one ever see her, truly see her? She was gifted at hiding to be sure but she couldn't possibly be so gifted as to fool every single person alive, even the brilliant ones? Maybe she could.
But would it be entertaining? No. She knew that much for certain. So there was only one other option. She would have to try and make them see. She wouldn't play the Game like they did. She couldn't really.
It was too showy, fast, and if she was critical, sloppy. Both men blundered through it, Sherlock with a little more elegance and Jim with more flair. But both pieces were jagged where she would be smooth. She had spent so much more time waiting and observing that she knew a few tricks and rules they had yet to stumble up on. She would play the Game with both of them as her pieces and it would be fun.
"I remember there was this girl when I volunteered at a clinic while still at University, she was suicidal, and I asked her why she wanted to die and she said, 'Doesn't every one? Isn't that why we're all here? I have no meaning like the rest of you lot, but I'm a bit ahead of the curve in figuring things out.' That was something that stuck with me even after I decided to switch fields."
She wondered if he could sense the lie in her words. That the girl was her when she was twelve. Such a very long time ago. But instead he turned back towards her his eyes once again keen. Like she had changed from a worm into a butterfly.
"Yes I imagine that would be something that you would remember. What happened to her?"
She had to be careful when answering this. She might give too much of herself away or not enough. It was precarious balance.
"I dunno. I never saw her again after that but I often think about what she said when I do autopsies because in way she was absolutely right. Every one lives to die."
She had said the absolutely right thing because when he smiled at her every single one of his tiny white teeth shown and the smile crinkled his eyes with mirth.
"Molly I have a feeling we're going to get on splendidly. Would you like to go out for a bite later?"
She wasn't expecting the invitation so the surprise on her mask was real, but it only took her a breath to answer,
"Sure. What time do you think?"
He folded his hands under his chin and appeared to be thinking but then said animatedly,
"How about eight? I know this really good place down the street."
She smiled as genuinely as she was capable of and then said excitedly,
"Oh that sounds perfect, er great! Yes let's meet then."
He returned her enthusiasm two fold,
"Excellent! I'll come down to the morgue to get you then!"
He sprang up and she was sure to watch him go with a look a bright joy on her face just in case he looked back.
Because although he might not think her completely daft he still didn't see even a fraction of her. She was like a certain fictional police box. Bigger on the inside than the out.
Part 2
Author: harlequinehands
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing/Characters: Molly Hooper/Jim Moriarty
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2,500+
Spoilers: Whole of the Season 1
Warnings: Un-beta’d, Not Brit-picked, character death, morbid fantasies
Disclaimer: Don’t own any of these lovely characters, they are property of BBC and Moffat ect.
Summary: Molly Hooper is bored. But that is nothing new. She had watched the whole world spin deliriously around her for most of her life not daring to participate simply willing herself to observe. And through her quiet watching she has learned some things. These are things that have enabled her to play the Game and play it better than even Jim himself.
It was so easy to slip in to his head. Like wearing a soft familiar pair of terry clothe slippers. She had spent most her life shamming. She was so artful at it she sometimes forgot she wasn't some sweet, mild-mannered, girl working in the morgue at St. Barts in London.
Well she was but she was also much more. So very much more now that he was dead.
It had been easy enough to arrange. He had wanted to play in the open so badly. But even she, as new to playing in the Game as could possibly be, knew that it was unwise to frolick in open fields with no cover. Sherlock had thought it was Mycroft's doing and that was just as well. After all she wasn't like Jim. Her methods were subtler because she didn't want the attention. Unlike the men who were just as brilliant as she.
Jim had thought her a rather special piece, carved of rosewood and ivory, crumbling in a far off garden. Sherlock had seen her as nothing but a mundane pawn and both of them were laughably wrong.
Molly Hooper was finally playing the Game and she was winning effortlessly.
Now it was because all that he was he had left to her. To do with as she saw fit. His world was now at her fingertips, his connections, influence, and power were now hers. Oh certainly he hadn't bequeathed this to her on purpose because he wasn't expecting to die. The lovely look of surprise on his face was better than any biscuit or sweet. It made her sigh in pleasure just thinking about it.
She had fired off one last text before the shot and he had been gracious enough to read it. He had looked puzzled at first but then the realization stuck and he looked up to see her waving triumphantly from behind the two top-most snipers. Because like every one else in her life he had been a disappointment. She had hoped he could truly observe her but just like Sherlock he had glazed over the parts of her that were real in favour of what he wanted to see.
But she had his empire now and she was very interested to see what she could do with it. Because if she had arranged the death of Moriarty with a few hushed words, some misplaced kisses, and a laugh. Well imagine what was possible when she had everything.
Even though she was sure she didn't need it to crush Sherlock Holmes she could most certainly use the clout to play farther abroad, to bring her Game to the international level. Moriarty had always been a name, not just a man. She was not the man but she was Moriarty now nonetheless. She was about to step things up to a whole new plain. And she knew just where to start.
Molly was bored. Oh so very bored. But she was almost always that way any more. The only thing that brought any sort of animation to her world were corpses and one Sherlock Holmes. But only one of those readily acknowledged her presence and oddly enough it was the corpses.
Oh sure he would ask her for things; compliment her absently to ply her in to doing his bidding faster. She hated herself for bending to it but she did. He was the only thing that shone in the steel and rot of her life. She appeared to be all pink, kittens, side pony-tail, bright and cheery. But it was a faded jumper she wore most days. There was a large brain in a jar underneath the faded rose and vine wallpaper. But even he couldn't see it.
Sometimes he was a completely daft.
Oh he was clever and observant and brilliant to be sure. But when it came to seeing he was just like any other man, sometimes he let his own judgments get in the way. He was mortal after all it seemed. For as much as he fancied himself a God; unfeeling, analytical, omniscient, he could be just a blind as the whole rest of the world. Especially when it came to others who were cleverer than he.
Oh yes there were a few of those people about. You know what they say, you may be good but there is always some one better.
Just because she wasn't playing the Game certainly didn't mean she didn't know how. On the contrary. Some would say her decision not to move, to simply observe, was the smartest strategy of them all. But from her small vantage point the only player she had to directly observe was Sherlock.
She occasionally came across the aftermath of some other players; one in particular was very good. So very good in fact even he didn't put the pieces together. Not until this player announced his presence to his face. But Molly had seen his handiwork in the unsolved cases, the little nuances of bruised flesh, and the quiet things that lurked under nails and behind teeth. She didn't know his name but she knew him.
And so she simply waited. Because a player so prolific and multifaceted as him would find her. He would come seeking Sherlock no doubt but he would find her waiting there as well. And maybe just maybe he would see her. But until then she would wait, completely bored out of her head, toying with the torn radial ligaments in a severed hand. It was better than daytime telly at least.
He was waiting for her in the Bart's cafeteria. Sure enough he was sitting at a table by himself, fiddling with some particularly soggy looking mash. But she took in his posture, the tilt of his chin, and the squint of his eyes in her direction instantly. She knew him.
He was wearing street clothes, simple; an unrefined shirt and khakis. But he wouldn't look out of place in a suit either. Just out of place here and he was playing a part. A part that he obviously didn't know he didn't have to play. She wondered dully if even this particular man wouldn't be able to see past her shamming.
She wondered for the first time in years if she should join the Game. She had deeply considered once and only once. But now it seemed like things were picking up again. Like maybe she could join in without being noticed for what she truly was. Even though a part of her clawed and gnashed its teeth at being continuously dismissed.
Oh don't mind Molly she's just some lonely little thing with a bunch of cats. Quite pitiful really. Maybe if we invite her out of a pint every once and awhile we won't feel so guilty about her silly kicked-puppy looks.
But when she thought about that it seemed so easy to dismember them, take them apart piece by piece with her words or scalpel. Sherlock used words to rip people asunder and this man used the scalpel. But she had no idea what tool would be best for her to use. Because if she was going to join in she was going to make sure she didn't loose. At least not more than a little. She grabbed her peas, meat, and mash from the line and sat down cheerily next to him,
"Hullo! I saw you sitting here and I, well I thought you might like a bit of company."
He looked up at her and smiled lopsidedly with those bright brown eyes,
"Know what it feels like to sit alone here yeah?"
She let her face flinch and still hold that affable smile. All of the possible responses scrolled mutely behind her eyes. Some of them were quite nasty and she surprisingly liked the sound of those the best. But instead she coughed a bit and said,
"Well everyone's new sometimes. It's nice to meet you. Molly Hooper, I'm a lab tech in the morgue."
She extended her hand still smiling. He took it and shook it firmly saying,
"Jim Mills from IT. Good to meet you too."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
He was good but not as good as her. She had learned to make her eyes smile when she was a child.
It terrified her mum when they didn't. She could pretend Molly was a lovely normal little girl if she had smiling eyes.
She wondered how much longer she would have to keep shamming with him. How easy would it be for her to turn it off? She hadn't turned it off in front of any one since she was twelve. When it was just her and her thoughts certainly the smile was gone but what if other people ever saw the dead in her eyes? Well they didn't. She wouldn't let them in that close.
But he would be delighted to see it. She knew he would be. And then maybe the smile would crinkle the corners of those deep brown eyes.
She found she liked the prospect. So she would try. She would try and peel back the second sappy skin she had worn for most her life and show him the dark and sharp glass smile that roiled beneath it.
She had attempted to do this with Sherlock when they had first met but he had lost interest. If she ever had his in the first place she no longer did. He had a new obsession that was okay if you liked reflective glass. The only reason Sherlock loved John Watson so was because he took his brilliance and amplified it back at him. He made him seem to shine brighter. And Sherlock, no matter how ardently he denied it, wanted to bask in the sun.
Molly had been content to toe the shadows all her life. After all what else was there for her to do? But neither Sherlock nor this Jim seemed content just to drift through this mundane world watching.
Always watching like she did.
They wanted the flux, to either act or react. They forgot the third option more often than not. They forgot that sometimes neither side wins. That the winner was the one not playing in the first place. And so she smoothes down her skirt nervously and bites her lip a bit before saying,
"Really? That must be interesting. I don't know much about computers. At least not about programming. Turn it off and then on fixes most problems right?"
Jim snorts a bit of high light laughter,
"Ah you'd be surprised how many people don't even know that much! So what do you do in the lab then?"
"Mostly collecting evidence, examining and cataloging injuries, trying to recommend a cause of death. Just leg work and such."
He nods and eats a spoonful of peas,
"That sounds fascinating. If you don't mind me saying though you don't seem like the type to work down there."
She tried not to narrow her eyes too much, to keep them wide and watery like a doe's. But it was hard as she suddenly found her self searching beneath his quirked lips and still hands.
Looking for any tell tale signs of something more, a deeper meaning to his words. But as far as she could observe there were none. This was quickly getting boring.
She briefly considered telling him exactly why she worked down there and letting a truly terrifying smile grace her features. She wondered how delicious the look of shock and awe would be on his face. She licked her lips but held out a little longer.
"Well for a bit I wanted to be a doctor but was too terrified I'd accidentally kill someone to actually go through with it. So this seemed like the next best option. I still get to help people I just can't hurt them in the process."
He nodded thoughtfully but she saw his eyes glaze over.
She had completely fooled him. He was just as easy to misdirect and sham as she had feared. Would no one ever see her, truly see her? She was gifted at hiding to be sure but she couldn't possibly be so gifted as to fool every single person alive, even the brilliant ones? Maybe she could.
But would it be entertaining? No. She knew that much for certain. So there was only one other option. She would have to try and make them see. She wouldn't play the Game like they did. She couldn't really.
It was too showy, fast, and if she was critical, sloppy. Both men blundered through it, Sherlock with a little more elegance and Jim with more flair. But both pieces were jagged where she would be smooth. She had spent so much more time waiting and observing that she knew a few tricks and rules they had yet to stumble up on. She would play the Game with both of them as her pieces and it would be fun.
"I remember there was this girl when I volunteered at a clinic while still at University, she was suicidal, and I asked her why she wanted to die and she said, 'Doesn't every one? Isn't that why we're all here? I have no meaning like the rest of you lot, but I'm a bit ahead of the curve in figuring things out.' That was something that stuck with me even after I decided to switch fields."
She wondered if he could sense the lie in her words. That the girl was her when she was twelve. Such a very long time ago. But instead he turned back towards her his eyes once again keen. Like she had changed from a worm into a butterfly.
"Yes I imagine that would be something that you would remember. What happened to her?"
She had to be careful when answering this. She might give too much of herself away or not enough. It was precarious balance.
"I dunno. I never saw her again after that but I often think about what she said when I do autopsies because in way she was absolutely right. Every one lives to die."
She had said the absolutely right thing because when he smiled at her every single one of his tiny white teeth shown and the smile crinkled his eyes with mirth.
"Molly I have a feeling we're going to get on splendidly. Would you like to go out for a bite later?"
She wasn't expecting the invitation so the surprise on her mask was real, but it only took her a breath to answer,
"Sure. What time do you think?"
He folded his hands under his chin and appeared to be thinking but then said animatedly,
"How about eight? I know this really good place down the street."
She smiled as genuinely as she was capable of and then said excitedly,
"Oh that sounds perfect, er great! Yes let's meet then."
He returned her enthusiasm two fold,
"Excellent! I'll come down to the morgue to get you then!"
He sprang up and she was sure to watch him go with a look a bright joy on her face just in case he looked back.
Because although he might not think her completely daft he still didn't see even a fraction of her. She was like a certain fictional police box. Bigger on the inside than the out.
Part 2