EXPLANATION TIME! I saw this prompt on tumblr (it's apparently originally from livejournal), but I couldn't find any fics that seemed to match up with it -and I loved this prompt; it's my preferred relationship for Molly and Jim. So I decided to fill it myself. The prompt is below for you reading pleasure :) Please enjoy my attempt to do it justice.

"I love this pairing. Desperately. But I can't seem to find fic that really…exemplifies what it is I love about it. I want Molly to be sweet and kind and just a bit awkward but most of all good, and I want Moriarty to be evil and maniacal and utterly, inexplicably, devoted to her. I want their relationship to not really have anything to do with their day jobs; Molly loves him and always, always, will be there for him, and he adores her just the way she is and so would never ask her to become involved in his work. And it's difficult, because morality tells her that he's wrong, but devotion keeps her bound to him; because he's wicked and just a touch insane and of course he wants to brag, but he also wants to keep her sheltered from that world." -doodlesinsand on LiveJournal

aut viam inveniam aut faciam - I will either find a way or make one

errare humanum est –to err is human

Jim became interested in Sherlock Holmes because they were alike. He got bored with him because Sherlock tried to be something he wasn't. Jim believed if you were going to do something, commit, and go do it. Sherlock wasn't boring because he chose to side with the angels –he was boring because he was a liar.

It was perfectly acceptable to be enthralling if you were actually an angel.

Upon meeting Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes and most of the world formed the same opinion: awkward, shy, and pliable. Usable, dedicated, and just a bit desperate.

They saw her at her job, doing autopsies and other things that weren't her responsibility without complaint, or at the market buying cat food and frozen dinners to eat alone. They dismissed her as unremarkable and forgot about her; no inclination sparked to delve any deeper into her life. It wasn't because she tried to hide. Most people just didn't care to look.

Stupid, Jim thought, as he drove down the street of flats at 10 o'clock at night. Molly sat in the passenger's seat, clutching her seatbelt and leaning forward anxiously, staring out into the blackness. Stupid, stupid. He was referring to himself.

"It's the one on the corner," Molly said hurriedly, and Jim braked, throwing them both forward.

She quickly unbuckled her seat belt and fumbled for the door, but a figure threw up a window on the second floor of the flat. It shoved something out –a backpack, Jim thought –and then scrambled out of the window to dangle a few seconds before dropping down to the pavement. Molly scrambled out of the car and rushed to the figure that was picking itself up. She checked it for any injuries, hugged it.

Stupid, Jim thought again. He should have found out. He assumed, since she lived alone, that her life was her job. She wasn't seeing anyone. She hadn't been extremely close with her family in recent years… but he still should have gone further back. He should have found out.

It didn't change anything, really, but… she surprised him. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Molly escorted the smaller black shadow to the backseat of Jim-from-IT's small car and got in with it. In the interior light, Jim came face to face with a thin, skinny girl who shared Molly's nose.

"Jim, this is my niece, Kathleen. Kath, this is Jim; I told you about him."

The girl stared at him unhappily.

"Pleased to meet you," Jim-from-IT said, giving her a half smile. "Where to, then?"

"Ah… my flat, I guess. If you don't mind, I mean. Thanks so much for doing this, Jim," Molly said in a rush.

Well, how could a nice guy like Jim-from-IT refuse when the girl he sort of fancies gets a frantic phone call for help? And how could Jim Moriarty refuse without blowing his cover?

"Not a problem," he said, pulling away from the curb.

"Where was Heather when this happened, Kath?" Molly asked.

"Working," the girl said shortly, bitterly. The red mark of a handprint was still visible on her face.

"Did you call the police?"

"No."

Molly dug her phone out of her purse and dialed, pressing her lips together. "Well, I will." Her voice was grim and determined, and she gripped the phone tightly.

Jim inwardly tensed at this change in her behavior. Molly might have been listed as "most likely to be a doormat" under her photo for school, as far as he knew.

"Yes, hello?" she said, clenching her jaw in righteous anger. "I'd like to make a report." She wrapped an arm around Kathleen's shoulders and pulled the smaller girl towards her. The tension in her niece slowly released, and she relaxed against Molly and stared at the road bleakly.

Jim watched her make the call to the police, and knew he had been wrong about Molly. He had thought she was normal –boring, mundane, and ultimately corruptible. But she wasn't. She was good clean though. And he was glad, because this Molly –this pure, selfless Molly –was better than any twisted copy he could make. He didn't even want to try anymore.

His ands clenched on the steering wheel. He'd have to reevaluate his plans, so far as they involved Molly. He would have to rethink a lot.