A/N: The title had begun from a single idea I had, an idea that involved how one character viewed the other. It was meant to be a simple, nuanced one-shot, but the pair kept growing as their conversations unfolded and so it evolved into this mini-series. I actually had a very hard time trying to complete this but when I finally saw where it was heading, I was so glad I'd persevered with it. I did not expect it to end the way it had, but once the final scene had made its home in my mind, I could not deviate from it. I hope this story isn't too chaotic and that you can feel the complex and yet surprisingly clear feelings between the two. x

I.

It was a foolproof plan. Then again, when had Jim Moriarty ever had a plan that was not foolproof? The world is a circus of fools, was how he often defined the environment he lived in. In this case, he had decided it was best he undertook this particular operation himself.

He had planned it down to the most random of details so as not to be caught off guard; from the title of Molly's favourite musical to the brand of cat food she would buy for her cat, Toby. Jim learnt how the different ways she did her hair could offer him some insight into her mood. The shocking amount of colour she seemed to enjoy formed a stark contrast to his own very stark palette, but he had learnt to appreciate it. Jim had left no stone unturned.

Molly's affection for Sherlock Holmes and their close working relationship had been the reason behind Jim choosing her for his plan. This affection she had for the detective, however, was both a blessing and a curse. It would offer Jim the insidious access to Sherlock he needed, but he knew it would take time. Jim was afraid that her infatuation itself would become an obstacle.

To Jim's surprise, Molly had taken to him far sooner than he had expected. Before he knew it, they were going on small dates; late night coffees after her shifts at the morgue, weekends at the secondhand bookshop and even a rare trip to the cinema. Jim had been pleasantly surprised to discover they shared the same popcorn preference – no popcorn at all.

It had all been very warm and cordial, lots of laughter, shy smiles and free and easy conversation. Jim knew she was going to be easy to talk with but was genuinely surprised to find himself wanting to hear what she had to say. Needless to say, she was also remarkably clever and it earned Jim's genuine admiration.

They were at the tail end of another of these dates. It was a weekday night and it marked their first dinner date. It had only happened because Molly was famished after her shift and had not been in the mood for St. Bart's refectory offerings.

"That was a nice treat, thank you," said Jim to Molly. The night was getting chilly and he used it as an excuse to stand a little closer to her as they took a slow stroll.
"Well, it wasn't the fanciest of restaurants but it was the best I could think of at this hour," Molly replied with a laugh. "Besides, I should thank you for joining me. It's not often I have company at dinner after a shift."
"I happen to like your company," Jim said, throwing a most dashing smile in her direction.
"Yes, I know," Molly responded with a knowing half-smile.

The pair stopped in their tracks, grinning at each other before bursting into chuckles. They had been dancing around the edges of their fascination with each other and it seemed they were about to enter slightly newer territory.

"It goes without saying," said Molly, looping her arm through his, "that I very much enjoy your company too."

Jim smiled at her words, except he was not sure where the smile stemmed from. As they walked on, he considered that perhaps her words indicated his plan was succeeding and thus brought him joy.

No, that's not it , he thought to himself. He knew it was going to succeed, so there was nothing exceptionally successful to smile about. Something was off about his own reaction and it puzzled him. He was interrupted by Molly literally snapping her fingers in front of his distracted face once they had reached the taxi stand where they would normally part after a late night out.

"Fancy a midnight coffee?" asked Molly. She reached out to gently brush a small dried leaf that had fallen on his shoulder.
"You know I'd never say no to coffee with you," he said, reaching for the same hand that brushed the leaf off and kissed it.

Molly's eyes widened in surprise, but a smile grew on her lips.

"That's a first," Molly said with a sly smile.
"Well, we have to start somewhere," replied Jim.
"I suppose," she said with a laugh, "Coffee at my place then?"

It was Jim's turn to be surprised, but he too, smiled in return.

"Now that's a first," he said with a small chuckle.

Molly chuckled along with him as the pair hopped into a taxi and made their way back to her flat.

"Nice place," Jim said, carefully wiping his feet before stepping into her flat.
"You've very well-mannered," Molly said in turn, gesturing to her doormat, causing them both to chuckle. "Sherlock Holmes would just break in, much less wipe his feet."
"My, it's been a long time since I've heard you mention his name," Jim remarked, wondering why his heart gave a nervous thump in his chest.
"It was to give you a point of reference, Jim," Molly said with a wry smile, "A reference of the type of 'manners' I've had to tolerate."
"Well, you did like the man," Jim said, wondering why he could not bring himself to smile at the irony.
"He has his charms," Molly remarked nonchalantly, "But they wear off very quickly."

Molly took Jim's coat and hung it together with hers. She gestured to the sofa for him to take a seat while she went to make the coffee.

"Make yourself at home," she said, "Don't do anything Sherlock Holmes would do."
"I wouldn't dare. Wouldn't want my charm to wear off," Jim said with a cheeky glint in his eyes.
"No, you're too handsome for that," said Molly, her eyes mirroring the light in his eyes.

As Molly disappeared into her kitchen to make their coffee, Jim took a moment to take in his surroundings. It amused him to find a half-knitted scarf attached to a brightly-coloured ball of yarn, both items placed carefully atop the latest issue of an international neurology journal. Eventually, Jim found himself getting up from the sofa and wandering curiously around her living room, studying bits and bobs of what made her who she was. She was impossibly fascinating and it puzzled him as to why Sherlock Holmes had not fallen for her right away, especially once she had made known her affections.

At that thought, Jim froze.

Oh, Jim , you can't have , he chided himself. No, this could not and, more crucially, should not be happening. Is that why her words from earlier had made him smile? I can beat this , he thought. It was just a feeling. Feelings were transient, disposable. He would get rid of it in no time, whatever it was that he was feeling for Molly Hooper.

"Found anything interesting?" came Molly's voice but in a tone he did not comprehend.

He turned to face her, only to realise he was now staring down a barrel of a gun. A gun she was holding.

"Molly?" he said, raising both hands instinctively.
"Take a seat, please," she replied, using the gun to gesture towards the sofa.

With his hands still in the air, Jim made his way to the sofa and sat down carefully. He had not expected a night with Molly Hooper to take the turn it had and made a mental note to engage his snipers at all times in future. Molly sat on the small coffee table right in front of him, the gun still aimed towards his heart.

"James Moriarty," she said, slowly and evenly.

Jim knew to be quiet in situations like these and tried desperately to read her face, except it was now absolutely unreadable. Whatever warmth or delight he always saw in her eyes seemed to have disappeared completely. Even the brown in them seemed to have faded into an icy, steely gaze he simply did not recognise.

"It really is a pity," said Molly with a blank smile, 'I was getting rather fond of you."
"Then put the gun down," Jim asked, "You know I'd never hurt you."
"Of course, you would," Molly said with a laugh, "I know who you are, James Moriarty."
"I couldn't hurt you, Molly. Look at me, I'm just—"
"Jim from IT, I know…" Molly interjected. "The charade's over, Jim."

Jim looked hard at Molly and saw that she was dead serious. The charade was over, both his and hers. The gun remained effortlessly in Molly's hand, poised and ready to put a bullet through his chest at any second.

"My boss has questions," Molly began, "And you are to answer them."
"Your boss?"
"She wants to know what you want with Sherlock Holmes."
"Why would she want to know that?"
"She's the one asking the questions, not you."
"All right, all right," Jim knew not to push at times like these. "He's been meddling, and I wanted to keep an eye on him."

Molly appeared to pause, as though listening to something, and it seemed she was awaiting her next instruction.. It was that split second that presented Jim the opportunity to push her hand away, producing a small knife which he pressed to the side of her neck. They were now interlocked, with Molly's gun quickly repositioned, pressing against his stomach whilst he maintained the pressure of the blade against her skin.

"It seems you're two-timing me, Molly," Jim remarked with a wry smile.
"Well, we'd only just begun dating," replied Molly, smirking in return.
"God, I think I really do like you, Molly Hooper," Jim continued, clicking his tongue.
"I'm still undecided," Molly said, chuckling darkly.
"Still pining for Sherlock Holmes as well?" Jim retorted, wondering why he still could not properly joke about this.
"My boss needed eyes on him too," she said casually, "It was the best ruse."

A ruse . Unknowingly, Jim found himself lightening his pressure of the knife against Molly's neck. He fought the odd rush of relief that entered his mind. This was no time for a feeling , much less newer, complicated ones. As though to remind him to focus, Molly pushed the end of her gun further into him, reminding him she was still in control. The blade on her neck hardly fazed her. Bullets were faster, after all.

"You're very good at your job then," Jim continued, equally unfazed at the gun against him.
"So are you," said Molly, "But I am a little better at it."

The pair of them broke into a quick chuckle, just as they had at the taxi stand about an hour ago, but their gazes never left one another.

"At least I can claim credit for being my own boss," Jim said with teasing in his eyes.
"Now who would give a fuck about that?" Molly answered with a cool, almost gentle smile.
"Tsk . Language, Molly…" Jim tutted, amused.
"Has my charm worn off then?" Molly asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not in the least," he replied coolly.
"Good."

With her gun still held firmly in place, Molly leaned forward and kissed Jim softly on the lips. There was a light clang as the blade he held fell from his fingers onto the coffee table and then bounced onto the floor. When she pulled away from him, Jim stared back at her, wide-eyed and for the first time in his entire criminal career, appeared to be at a loss.

"Told you I was better," she whispered, before kissing him once more.