Title: November Chill Pairing: Molly/Moriarty Prompt: Molly/Moriarty; he lends her a jumper. Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood.
She's used to the cold, working in the morgue, the way it gets under your skin, fingertips whitening. The sterile chill of managed death has always been a comfort to her.
Jim's deaths aren't sterile; they are art, not science, and it is her job to make them into something toe-taggable, explainable, clean.
After months of tidying up after him, she asks to be there to see him work. It's only fair, if she has to deconstruct his masterpieces into something the police won't understand and the next of kin can bury.
And so tonight she is on a riverbank. She had forgotten how wet the air is in November, how the cold seeps. The body is a twist of blood and fabric; there is barely anything left for her to fix. After the scene is cleared by the police, someone will sluice the blood away. A few bucketfuls of water and it will be gone
( ... )
*sigh* Why is our Molly so much more interesting than the real one? I would love for her to turn out to be Moriarty's accomplice--hiding behind a mask of bland geniality.
Which is to say: this was perfect, as always! Very evocative and chilling in just a couple hundred words--you always do such a wonderful job of painting a picture. (And 'sluice' is just such a perfect word--I can never read it without getting chills!)
Thanks for taking the time to write this! I know you have a lot going on, so that makes this extra special. :D
I'm glad you like it! Just off the top of my head so it's a little clunky, but the image of the cold came to mind... :) It was a nice distraction anyway!
Pairing: Molly/Moriarty
Prompt: Molly/Moriarty; he lends her a jumper.
Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood.
She's used to the cold, working in the morgue, the way it gets under your skin, fingertips whitening. The sterile chill of managed death has always been a comfort to her.
Jim's deaths aren't sterile; they are art, not science, and it is her job to make them into something toe-taggable, explainable, clean.
After months of tidying up after him, she asks to be there to see him work. It's only fair, if she has to deconstruct his masterpieces into something the police won't understand and the next of kin can bury.
And so tonight she is on a riverbank. She had forgotten how wet the air is in November, how the cold seeps. The body is a twist of blood and fabric; there is barely anything left for her to fix. After the scene is cleared by the police, someone will sluice the blood away. A few bucketfuls of water and it will be gone ( ... )
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Which is to say: this was perfect, as always! Very evocative and chilling in just a couple hundred words--you always do such a wonderful job of painting a picture. (And 'sluice' is just such a perfect word--I can never read it without getting chills!)
Thanks for taking the time to write this! I know you have a lot going on, so that makes this extra special. :D
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