A/N: Welp, here it is, the Phantomlock fic I proposed to the Sherlolly community on Tumblr. I never expected to get the ardent show of support for the idea that I did. Thank you. You're all wonderful people. I really hope you enjoy this. Also, shoutout to alittleoblivion and onceinabluemoon13 on Tumblr for being awesome betas.

Chapter 1: Overture/The Curtain Rises

By the age of twenty, Molly Hooper was a very accomplished young woman, which was more than could be said for most orphans. She was second chair in the 1st Violin section of the resident orchestra in Hudson Hall, a remarkable thing for someone of her gender. She could also read, write, play piano, sing, and had a rapidly developing knowledge of everything she also deemed important, from biology to sewing. Though she was quite accomplished, she was not at all boastful. In fact, she was quite the modest girl. Whenever her friends spoke of her abilities, she would blush and silently shrink away. Her caretaker, Mrs. Hudson (wife of the late Mr. Hudson whom the hall was named after), frequently vouched for her talent because she would not speak up for herself. Once, such an occasion drastically changed the course of her life.

It began during a rehearsal a day before an important concert. The concertmaster, Mr. Anderson, was attempting the solo with his usual mediocrity. Molly felt rather neutral about the man. While few would argue that he was a great violinist or a humble person, she bore no ill will towards him. He, on the other hand, was not so charitable to anyone, least of all her. The moment she'd made second chair, he'd begun treating her both as a threat and an insignificant underling. He was a bit of a prima donna (although calling him that would always end badly for the sayer) and was constantly having technical difficulties that sometimes caused him to threaten to walk out.

Among this day's issues were his strings breaking. Both his D and A strings had snapped in the course of the rehearsal so far, resulting in the whole group having to stop and wait while Anderson's poor assistant hastily replaced the broken string. Then there were all the times either he or someone else would completely foul up a section of the piece. Molly was beginning to lose track of the number of times they'd started over when they were interrupted yet again just after Anderson's A string had been replaced by three men entering the hall. They all approached the conductor, wearing big smiles.

"May I present Hudson Hall's new managers: Misters Sebastian Wilkes and Edward Van Coon." The stockiest of the men announced. "Sirs, may I present our conductor, Mr. Gregory Lestrade." Lestrade shook hands with both Wilkes and Van Coon, sending them a tight smile each.

"You're really leaving, then, Stamford?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh yes. I'm leaving everything in the hands of these capable gentleman and retiring." Stamford answered with a conviction that wasn't well hidden. Anderson stood and went to shake hands with the new managers, making Stamford nervous. "Ah, and this is Mr. Philip Anderson, our concertmaster." The violinist beamed at the managers who shook his hand and gave him overly enthusiastic smiles in return. Clearly they had picked up on Anderson's ego already. Stamford was about to tell the orchestra to carry on when another man entered.

This man was much better dressed than the others and he carried himself with an air of nobility and high intelligence that was notably intimidating.

"Ah, Lord James Moriarty, Hudson Hall's noble patron. Welcome, sir. I presume you are here to meet the new managers." Stamford greeted, looking as if he was making an effort to seem pleased by this nobleman's appearance.

"Indeed." Moriarty replied simply with a devilish grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Molly noticed how empty the man's large brown eyes seemed to be. It sent a horrible shiver down the young woman's spine. Already she did not like the patron. She observed him closely as he shook hands with the new managers and scanned the orchestra with his dead eyes. She prayed that his gaze would not linger on her. Fortunately, he seemed relatively uninterested in all of them. "Do carry on. I only wished to briefly assess my family's investment. We shall see what you are truly made of tomorrow night, I think."

"Quite right, quite right." Wilkes responded, though he himself had little idea of the quality of the orchestra. With that, Moriarty was gone as quickly as he had come and Lestrade was left to start the group again from the top while the managers watched. They'd gotten two minutes in when Anderson's violin made a horrid breathy scratching noise. Everyone stopped playing and stared.

"My bow does not have enough rosin. Why does it not have enough rosin? Boy! Rosin my bow!" the man snapped and the poor kid was forced once again to hastily change something that Anderson found lacking.

"Mr. Stamford, why exactly are you retiring, again?" Van Coon asked as they all gazed at the scene before them.

"For my health. I require fresh air and relaxation."

"Ah."

"And I shall be going now. Good luck. If you have any questions, write to me." Without saying anything further, Stamford hurried out of the hall, leaving Mrs. Hudson, who had been watching from the wings, to be their informant. As the orchestra began playing again, she came to sit with the gentlemen in the house.

"You have women in the orchestra." Van Coon commented with a leer.

"Oh yes, they're quite talented young ladies." Mrs. Hudson replied cheerily.

"Who's the pretty one next to Mr. Anderson?"

"That'd be Miss Molly Hooper."

"Ah, I see. Hooper...any relation to the late opera singer, Roderick Hooper?"

"His daughter. She's been living with me since his death." At this, both men immediately seemed to lose interest and turned their attention to Anderson's solo. He was using far too much vibrato and while he was quite able to hit the notes, his tone was tinny and grated on everyone's ears. Just as they were all beginning to fear that it would never end, there was a sharp snapping noise accompanied by a high-pitched twang, which was promptly followed by a cry of anguish. Suddenly, Anderson was curled up on the floor, his violin lying beside him in pieces, smashed as it was by its owners sudden fall. The concertmaster clutched his cheek and shrieked in pain before getting up to glare at the managers and Mrs. Hudson. He'd been cut by his snapped E string.

"That's it! I've had it!" The men were quick to rush to the concertmaster's side to implore him to stay. Molly paid little attention to Anderson's tantrum and the commotion of the other musicians around her. She was too busy thinking of the shadow she'd just seen move beyond the stage. John Watson, a clarinetist and her dear friend came over to whisper her thoughts aloud.

"It's the Shade. He's watching us." Molly only nodded absent-mindedly in response. She tuned back in at the sound of Mrs. Hudson saying her name.

"Perhaps you can give the solo to Molly Hooper." The old woman suggested. Apparently Anderson had finally followed through on his threats this time and the orchestra was without a concertmaster or soloist. Mr. Lestrade seemed relieved by Mrs. Hudson's suggestion, but Wilkes and Van Coon were not so easily put at ease.

"First you tell us there's a Hall Ghost making demands and now you suggest the orchestra be led by a little known woman." Wilkes scoffed in outrage.

"She's been taught by a master. At least let her play for you." Mrs. Hudson pleaded while Molly tried to hide her blush.

"Very well." Van Coon agreed rather reluctantly. Molly gave both men shy smiles and looked to Mr. Lestrade, who beamed at her.

"From the top, then, Miss Hooper." He instructed and she placed her violin in position on her shoulder. Lestrade counted off and she began, softly and first, but then her volume began to build until her once sweet melody transformed into a soaring beauty of a sound. She swayed with the music despite her nervousness and the people around gazed in awe, mesmerized until even moments after the last note rang out and faded. Her peers applauded her enthusiastically and the managers grinned at her as if they'd just struck gold.

"It appears we have our new soloist." Wilkes announced animatedly.

Molly went to bed that night with the biggest of smiles on her face. She had only ever dreamed of becoming concertmistress. She had never thought it to be actually possible, and yet here she was. It had her heart all aflutter and that made it difficult for her to get to sleep, but she did eventually calm down enough to drift off.

Molly's dreams were strange. A dark figure, a man, called her name in his deep voice and beckoned to her before vanishing. A violin softly began to play in the distance and she found her legs guiding her towards its source, her heart yearning to hear the music more clearly and see the one whose hand led the bow.

The young woman awoke rather suddenly to discover that she was standing in the middle of the room Mrs. Hudson had given her as her study, candle in hand and feet chilled by the stone floor. Clearly she'd been sleepwalking. Just as she was about to sigh at herself and go back to bed, she felt a presence in the dark, cold room and heard that familiar, rich baritone whisper to her.

"Molly..." She looked about frantically, trying to seeing what direction it had come from. Where was he guiding her? Then she caught sight of a new object upon her worn oak desk. Looking more closely, she realized that it was a book with a slip of parchment atop it, bearing a note written in the elegant black scrawl of her master. 'For my concertmistress,' it read and Molly felt her heart skip a beat.

"Teacher..." she murmured reverently, knowing this was his way of saying that he was proud of her. The book, new and bound in smooth black leather, was a collection of sensational literature, as the cover told her with its gold stamped lettering. This was something she could read purely for pleasure, which amounted to quite the reward coming from her dear tutor. "Thank you." She knew he had heard her, for she still felt his presence there with her in the study. Then that warm feeling was suddenly gone and a minute later, a blond man appeared in the doorway.

"Molly?" It was John. He seemed quite confused by her late night appearance in her study. "I saw your candlelight pass down the corridor. Pray tell me why you are up. Can you not sleep?" He then noticed the book in her hands and raised his eyebrows. Molly followed his eyes and smiled.

"My master is pleased with my promotion." She told her friend. The man took her mentions of this teacher pretty much in stride now, though he thought it strange because no one had ever even seen this great violinist, not even Molly herself.

"Is he, now? Well, why has he shown it with a book? Why not flowers?"

"Flowers are lovely, yes, but they wilt and die. Books are forever. The pages may rip and crumble, but the knowledge they have imparted upon me remains. My shadow knows this." It was the expression on Molly's face when she said this that finally solidified the suspicions John had had for as long as he'd heard speak of her teacher. He was now certain that she was smitten with this man she'd never seen. It greatly concerned him. She was like a sister to him and he did not wish to see any harm come to her.

"Molly, how can you so completely trust this ghost man you are always hearing?"

"Because, John, father told me of him." Molly replied earnestly.

"He what?"

"When I was a little girl, a year before my father died, he sat by my bed and told me that one day, out of the darkness, my guide and guardian would come, always watching over me and granting me his knowledge." The young woman explained and John mulled it over for a minute in his mind. If what she said was true and her late father's premonition had been real, then this man who taught her was an angel of shadow and would always be there to protect her, meaning that John had nothing to fear, but he had to be sure. He took her aside, setting their candles upon her weathered desk, and sat her in her chair, pulling up another for himself.

"How did this creature come to you? You never told me how it happened. One day, you just began talking about a teacher you could not see."

"On my thirteenth birthday- you will remember it well. That was the year Mrs. Hudson granted me this room- I decided that I would spend the night in here, practicing on my violin. The later it grew, the more frustrated I became with the piece I was trying to learn. I was brought nearly to tears, for while I could easily play the notes and rhythms, I could not bring the expression the music required. I set my instrument aside and sat myself in the corner, telling myself I was a failure and a disgrace to my father. Then a deep voice spoke to me out of the darkness, saying soothingly 'Calm yourself, child. All is not lost.' I was so shocked by this that the sob that had been threatening to surface from within me was banished. 'Who's there?' I called out and he answered 'Take up your violin again, Molly Hooper, and you shall learn.' I did as the voice commanded, fearing consequences should I disobey. 'Play again, but this time as you do so, imagine you are fighting off Mr. Hudson and winning,' he said to me. I was startled by his knowledge of me and the people in my life and then I realized that he had to have been watching over me. That reminded me of father's words and all of my fears were dispelled. I played again, imagining just as I had been instructed, and suddenly the music flowing from under my bow was beautiful. 'You are no failure or disgrace, Molly Hooper. You are simply in need of guidance. Continue to heed my words when I speak them and both your mind and your music will gain a beauty which few have known.' my teacher told me when I had finished. From then on, I would often hear him whispering to me out of the shadows, sharing his wisdom with me." Molly divulged. She had never spoken of this with anyone before in the seven years that her dear tutor had been with her, but she trusted John, having grown up with him and thus knowing that he would keep her secrets.

"You do indeed play as if you have been given some heavenly boon. There can be no denying that he has taught you well. But still I wonder why he has not shown himself to you."

"Perhaps there is no form to see." Molly suggested, but John shook his head knowingly.

"You know he has a form. We have both seen his silhouette many a time." The young woman instantly caught on to what he was implying and gaped at him.

"You mean-"

"Yes."

"But how-"

"What else happened seven years ago?"

"The Shade of the Hall appeared and exposed Mr. Hudson's violence to the public." There was a pause in which Molly fully processed and accepted the implicit connection in her mind. "My God, you're right! My teacher must be that apparition of justice. But then that means...that means he was responsible for driving Mr. Anderson out! He assured my ascension to first chair! Oh!" Molly gasped, a variety of emotions flooding her mind. She was shocked that the Shade had gone so far for her, disappointed in herself for never seeing the obvious link between her teacher and the Shade, and strangely exhilarated that the two beings were one and the same.

"Are you still certain in your trust of him?" John asked, making sure his tone was gentle and not at all accusatory.

"Absolutely. He may be a harsh sometimes when he is frustrated with me and strict about my discipline, but he would never do anything to hurt me." John wished for her sake that her tutor was who she professed him to be and he trusted her judgement, so his mind was put at ease.

"You're fortunate to have him, Molly." John told her with a small smile.

"I suppose I am, aren't I?" she giggled. "Maybe there's a clarinetist spirit out there watching over you." John laughed at this.

"If there is, she's been not nearly as attentive of me as your guardian angel has been of you. Now come, you had better return to bed." The blond put an arm around Molly and led her back down the corridor to her bedroom. In the distance, she swore she could hear that sweet melody from her dreams once more and a sudden contentment came over her. As she lay once again in her bed, she hoped one day to see the face behind such beautiful music and know the man whose voice she'd fallen in love with.

This was arguably one of the most important nights of Molly Hooper's life and she felt almost like she was viewing it as another person. Here she stood upon the stage at Hudson Hall in a luxurious black gown, her wooden companion perched on her shoulder, allowing the music to flow from within her for hundreds of people to see. She could feel the notes reverberating through not just the hall, but her entire body. It was an otherworldly experience that presented itself to the many wealthy attendees as a particularly moving and breathtaking performance. Even after her last note rang out, she could still feel that exhilarating energy in her small, agile fingers and the pounding of her heart was so loud she thought everyone could hear it.

Slowly, Molly turned to face the standing ovation she was receiving, a grin gracing her delicate lips. Out of the corner of her eye, the brunette could see a dark figure sitting in an unlit Box 2, applauding her. Something about that made her heart beat even faster, causing her to feel a little faint, but still, she kept on beaming at the crowd, hardly able to believe this was happening to her.

Up in Box 5, Lord Moriarty gazed down at this young violinist with his cold, calculating eyes which were now alight with the flame of developing plans. He immediately left the house, intending to head off her new throng of adoring fans. He followed her to a door elsewhere in Hudson Hall and waited for a moment before knocking, putting on a warm smile just before she opened up.

"Good evening, Miss Hooper." Moriarty greeted, presenting Molly with a large bouquet of hyacinths. "For my lovely concertmistress." He gave her a small bow as she took the flowers. "You play like a goddess, my dear."

"Th-Thank you, my lord. I'm flattered." The woman responded with a curtsy and his smile broadened at her stutter.

"I wonder if such beauty would grant me the honor of dining with me tonight." Molly was struck by the noble's charming demeanor, so unlike the chilling man she had feared before. Had her music changed him? For a moment she honestly considered going with him, after all, what sensible girl would turn away a lord, particularly one so charming as he? But then she remembered her teacher and opened her mouth to decline. "I shall send for my carriage and return for you momentarily." With that, the man rushed off, leaving her to retreat into her study in a confused haze, her objection unvoiced. What was she to do? Setting the hyacinths on the table by the window, Molly sat down in her chair and closed her eyes to think. The sounds of chatting guests grew louder as they moved into the lavish corridor containing the door to this room. As exciting as it was to be a soloist, she had not desire for limelight or obligatory socializing. This right now was her only sanctuary from that.

"Lock the door," the familiar voice of her teacher commanded abruptly. Molly's eyes snapped open and searched for the source of the sound, but as usual, she could not locate it. After only another moment's hesitation, she did as he requested, taking up her key to go over and turn it in the aesthetically extravagant golden lock. "You did well tonight, Molly. Do not allow those leeches to spoil your triumph. You do not need them or the things they offer...nor do you want them, if your behaviour is any indication."

"I have earned your praise. I'm grateful. And you're right of course...but what of Lord Moriarty? I cannot simply refuse one such as he."

"You must. Do not be taken in by the twinkle in his eye. You were right to fear him before." The voice insisted. Molly was rather stricken by the severe tone. Her teacher rarely spoke of others and even then, he seemed bored by them, but Moriarty seemed to have grabbed his attention and that worried her. Perhaps the lord was far more sinister than she would ever have thought.

"I understand, master." She answered softly and suddenly the doorknob shook violently, causing the young woman to let out a terrified gasp.

"Miss Hooper, why have you locked me out?" Moriarty's lilting voice came, muffled by the door. The pleasantness in his tone was not reflected by the force with which he rattled the doorknob. "Let me in, Molly." Those words shook the violinist to her core and she let out a tiny whimper, trying in all her horror to think clearly of a way to escape. Still feeling the warm presence of her tutor, she called out to him in a whisper.

"Teacher, I'm frightened. This man will surely bust in the door and take me away. I must flee, but I know not how. Guide me." Wrapping her arms around herself, Molly backed away from the trembling door, only to bump into something quite warm and solid. She gasped and turned around to nearly pass out at the sight of a tall, darkly clad man. The top half of his face was covered by a black mask and the moment she saw it, she knew who he must be: The Shade of Hudson Hall.

Without a word, he took her hand and pushed aside her bookshelf to reveal the entrance to a dark passage which he pulled her into and sealed back up behind her.

A/N: ...and there you have it. I hope it was to your satisfaction. After this, the plot line will contain a lot more deviations from the Phantom of the Opera. I don't want this to just be a retelling of that story with Sherlock characters. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Other than that, just thank you for reading. ~T.Z.