Jim from I.T

Chapter One

Molly's POV

I started towards the elevator, shrugging off my labcoat and hanging it onto the hook on the door. I checked my watch.

2:45 A.M.

I hadn't realised how long I had been at work. Sherlock had left two hours before, and I got caught up with looking through the files for an autopsy he had insisted had been performed a week earlier.

I Jammed my thumb into the "down" button on the elevator, and tapped my foot impatiently as it slowly lit up. With a quiet ding the doors slid open, and I frowned before stepping into the darkened elevator. The lights weren't working, so I felt around for the slightly raised number one and pressed it, gritting my teeth as the doors closed and I was plunged into darkness.

I never had like the dark.

Suddenly the lights slowly started to flicker on, and I jumped as I felt a warm hand cradle my face. The lights came on entirely, and I nearly screamed.

"Did you miss me?"

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"Y-You're dead... You're dead! You shot yourself in the head! I helped with your bodies cremation!" He chuckled at my panicked expression. I felt slightly hysterical as he brushed my hair away from my face.

"Good to see you, Molly." He said boredly, his irish accent leaking through. He grabbed the back of my coat collar and dragged me out the doors the moment they glided open. I trembled violently as I choked back a scream.

He's dead.

Jim Moriarty was supposed to be dead.

But he wasn't. He was standing right next to me.

That, or I was suffering from ICU psychosis.

But that was very doubtful.

"What do you want?" I asked shakily. He smirked as he continued dragging me out the hospital doors and into the parking lot, where the cool, crisp night air hit me, making me tired but alert. He didn't answer my question.

He roughly shoved me into the passenger seat of a sleek black car. I stared longingly at my old blue car across the parking lot. He climbed into the drivers seat, which was unusual. He must still be in hiding. Otherwise someone would have driven him.

Sherlock needs to quit rubbing off on me so much.

The engine purred to life, and he sped down the highway as I clenched my teeth and dug my nails into the leather seat.

"Got a problem, darlin'?" He asked me teasingly.

"You're speeding." He laughed, reaching over to pat my shoulder.

"Little Molly Hooper. Sweet, innocent Molly Hooper. Ordinary." He trailed off, leaving the rest of the ride in silence. A smart action would be to jump out of the car, to avoid wherever this horrible man was taking me.

But this was Moriarty.

Sherlock or John would be dead before I had the chance to unbuckle.

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I had barely even noticed that we had pulled into a driveway, I was so caught up in my own thoughts. I looked up at a three story victorian house, the worn wooden fence and chimney covered with vines of ivy.

"Out," he commanded, and I immediately obeyed. He once again grabbed my jacket and dragged me along. I stumbled repeatedly on the cobblestone path, and I cringed as I tripped and braced myself for impact with the cold hard ground.