Jim/Molly fic: The Twleve Days of Christmas.
Fic: The Twelve Days of Christmas
Pairings: Jim/Molly (Sherlock)
Author: ShellyStark
Rating: PG13
Summary:What better way to kick off the Holiday season than with a little bit of Holiday Fear...Jim/Molly style of course! Set sometime after Playthings. Looks like Jim has some special plans for this Christmas. Plans that could possibly involve a high body count.
Molly blankly stared at the television screen in front of her; her only movement being the occasional blink. She was vaguely aware that she was looking at some sort of Christmas programme, hell that was all that was bloody on this past week; but in the Christmas spirit, she was not.
He had left her with nothing. Well, that wasn’t quite true; he did leave her a gun, just before he vanished of the face of the earth. Would it have killed him to drop her a line, a letter even, some sort of cryptic Jim-esque message letting her know that at least he was alive and well. Molly was almost positive that if he had begun a new game that it would be something that would be sure make headlines quickly; he loved to put on a show, her Jim. But there was nothing.
No headlines.
No breaking news.
No excitement.
No Jim.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sound of loud, steady knocking roughly woke Molly around three AM. Kicking the blankets on the couch from her feet and onto the floor, she fumbled with the remote control and turned off the telly and shuffled to the door, but not before grabbing her gun. If being with Jim taught her anything, it was that she could never be too careful. Slowly she undid the latch and pulled the door open.
Molly rolled her eyes at the sight of the three men before her.
“Look boys, I’ve told you a thousand times,” Molly sighed, engaging the safety on her gun. “The last place James Moriarty would show up is at my door-step. Besides, what has it been, six months? At best? If Jim wanted to be found, I’m sure you would be the first to know,” she nodded in Sherlock’s direction. Behind him stood his ever faithful doctor and that pain of a man D.I. Lestrade.
“We’re not here for Moriarty,” said Lestrade.
“According to you,” Sherlock mocked, under his breath, pushing his way into Molly’s flat.
“Then why?” she asked, her annoyance growing as the three men were now invading her space, at three in the morning. “Have nothing better to do the night before Christmas? Feel the need to go and bother the mortician rather than---“
“Christmas day, actually,” Sherlock interrupted.
“Never mind.” Molly shook her head. “What do you want?”
John stepped up beside Sherlock and nudged him with his elbow. “Sherlock, perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Nonsense John, I think she needs to know.”
“Know what?” She asked. Her curiosity peaked.
“We have a body.” Lestrade cut in.
“Yes, well, I see a lot of those,” Molly dryly replied.
“You’ll like this one,” Sherlock smirked. “It was meant for you.”
“What do you mean, it was meant for me?”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Lestrade said, “in fact if it wasn’t for your constant nagging I wouldn’t be here right now. I for one, actually have plans for tomorrow.”
“Today, man, Christmas is today,” Sherlock groaned and tugged on his hair. “My god, how hard is the concept of AM as opposed to PM, to understand. Now if the rest of you actually used those little minds of yours, you would see how clear this situation is and wouldn’t doubt me for a second.”
“And what situation would that be?” Molly asked, eyeing the detective.
“The victim was found hanging from a chain around his neck, attached to a tree, at an old abandoned fruit grove.” Lestrade answered.
“What does that have to do with me? Wasn’t some lost relative of mine was it?”
“Go on, Inspector, get to the good part,” Sherlock grinned. Hands stuck in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, giddy as a school boy.
“There was a deep laceration on the right side of his chest,” Lestrade continued. Tucked inside was a baggie with a note.”
“A note?” Molly’s heart skipped a beat and she tried her damnedest not to let it show. “What type of note?”
Sherlock, still wearing that stupid grin stepped up. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a young boy swinging from a pear tree.” Sherlock recited. “Signed, Xxx”
Molly laughed, “And you think this is Jims doing?”
“He’s been way to quiet for way to long,” said John. “We know it’s only a matter of time before he comes around.”
“So some poor bloke gets killed, has a revamped Christmas carol imbedded in his chest and you automatically think of Jim? That’s not Jim. That’s not his style.”
Oh but it so was her Jim, and she knew it. That was her Jim inside and out. The only downfall being that now Sherlock wouldn’t rest until they finished what they started so long ago.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Molly said, opening the door and sweeping her arm out towards the hall.
“I just thought you should know Molly,” Sherlock said as he brushed past her. “I’ll be expecting more bodies; perhaps Moriarty will be one of them by the time this is over.”
“I highly doubt that.” Molly said with a smirk, closing the door behind them.
Sherlock had been right, that body had been left for her. Her very own morbid Christmas gift from her lost beloved. She could only hope that he would come to her soon, but that was unlikely. Jim would know that Sherlock would be waiting for him, he was probably counting on that; it was part of the fun after all. But she would have him back soon, and until then she couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the eleven days would bring.
~~~~~~~~~~~~Okay….so I don’t know if I will continue this depends on how my muse goes I suppose. The idea struck me in the middle of work, and seriously…there is something seriously twisted in my brain. I do love me some Molly and Jim though, especially dark!molly, so I’ll do my best to keep going…if you’d like me to anyway :D Hope you enjoyed; let me know!
-Shelly
Pairings: Jim/Molly (Sherlock)
Author: ShellyStark
Rating: PG13
Summary:What better way to kick off the Holiday season than with a little bit of Holiday Fear...Jim/Molly style of course! Set sometime after Playthings. Looks like Jim has some special plans for this Christmas. Plans that could possibly involve a high body count.
Molly blankly stared at the television screen in front of her; her only movement being the occasional blink. She was vaguely aware that she was looking at some sort of Christmas programme, hell that was all that was bloody on this past week; but in the Christmas spirit, she was not.
He had left her with nothing. Well, that wasn’t quite true; he did leave her a gun, just before he vanished of the face of the earth. Would it have killed him to drop her a line, a letter even, some sort of cryptic Jim-esque message letting her know that at least he was alive and well. Molly was almost positive that if he had begun a new game that it would be something that would be sure make headlines quickly; he loved to put on a show, her Jim. But there was nothing.
No headlines.
No breaking news.
No excitement.
No Jim.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sound of loud, steady knocking roughly woke Molly around three AM. Kicking the blankets on the couch from her feet and onto the floor, she fumbled with the remote control and turned off the telly and shuffled to the door, but not before grabbing her gun. If being with Jim taught her anything, it was that she could never be too careful. Slowly she undid the latch and pulled the door open.
Molly rolled her eyes at the sight of the three men before her.
“Look boys, I’ve told you a thousand times,” Molly sighed, engaging the safety on her gun. “The last place James Moriarty would show up is at my door-step. Besides, what has it been, six months? At best? If Jim wanted to be found, I’m sure you would be the first to know,” she nodded in Sherlock’s direction. Behind him stood his ever faithful doctor and that pain of a man D.I. Lestrade.
“We’re not here for Moriarty,” said Lestrade.
“According to you,” Sherlock mocked, under his breath, pushing his way into Molly’s flat.
“Then why?” she asked, her annoyance growing as the three men were now invading her space, at three in the morning. “Have nothing better to do the night before Christmas? Feel the need to go and bother the mortician rather than---“
“Christmas day, actually,” Sherlock interrupted.
“Never mind.” Molly shook her head. “What do you want?”
John stepped up beside Sherlock and nudged him with his elbow. “Sherlock, perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Nonsense John, I think she needs to know.”
“Know what?” She asked. Her curiosity peaked.
“We have a body.” Lestrade cut in.
“Yes, well, I see a lot of those,” Molly dryly replied.
“You’ll like this one,” Sherlock smirked. “It was meant for you.”
“What do you mean, it was meant for me?”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Lestrade said, “in fact if it wasn’t for your constant nagging I wouldn’t be here right now. I for one, actually have plans for tomorrow.”
“Today, man, Christmas is today,” Sherlock groaned and tugged on his hair. “My god, how hard is the concept of AM as opposed to PM, to understand. Now if the rest of you actually used those little minds of yours, you would see how clear this situation is and wouldn’t doubt me for a second.”
“And what situation would that be?” Molly asked, eyeing the detective.
“The victim was found hanging from a chain around his neck, attached to a tree, at an old abandoned fruit grove.” Lestrade answered.
“What does that have to do with me? Wasn’t some lost relative of mine was it?”
“Go on, Inspector, get to the good part,” Sherlock grinned. Hands stuck in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, giddy as a school boy.
“There was a deep laceration on the right side of his chest,” Lestrade continued. Tucked inside was a baggie with a note.”
“A note?” Molly’s heart skipped a beat and she tried her damnedest not to let it show. “What type of note?”
Sherlock, still wearing that stupid grin stepped up. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a young boy swinging from a pear tree.” Sherlock recited. “Signed, Xxx”
Molly laughed, “And you think this is Jims doing?”
“He’s been way to quiet for way to long,” said John. “We know it’s only a matter of time before he comes around.”
“So some poor bloke gets killed, has a revamped Christmas carol imbedded in his chest and you automatically think of Jim? That’s not Jim. That’s not his style.”
Oh but it so was her Jim, and she knew it. That was her Jim inside and out. The only downfall being that now Sherlock wouldn’t rest until they finished what they started so long ago.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Molly said, opening the door and sweeping her arm out towards the hall.
“I just thought you should know Molly,” Sherlock said as he brushed past her. “I’ll be expecting more bodies; perhaps Moriarty will be one of them by the time this is over.”
“I highly doubt that.” Molly said with a smirk, closing the door behind them.
Sherlock had been right, that body had been left for her. Her very own morbid Christmas gift from her lost beloved. She could only hope that he would come to her soon, but that was unlikely. Jim would know that Sherlock would be waiting for him, he was probably counting on that; it was part of the fun after all. But she would have him back soon, and until then she couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the eleven days would bring.
~~~~~~~~~~~~Okay….so I don’t know if I will continue this depends on how my muse goes I suppose. The idea struck me in the middle of work, and seriously…there is something seriously twisted in my brain. I do love me some Molly and Jim though, especially dark!molly, so I’ll do my best to keep going…if you’d like me to anyway :D Hope you enjoyed; let me know!
-Shelly