YOU ARE THE REASON
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Today's Document
EXPECTATIONS
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@invisibleregistrar
"Not even pleased that I remembered?"
"Well...yes, but that's...I..."
She's losing the ability to speak, stumbling over her words in a manner that may be endearing if she wasn't so nervous of the implication. She is grateful he remembered, almost as sure as she is that on some deep rooted level, he'd appreciate the fact she has his own ingrained into her memory - but the chill of a stint in the freezer is a little too fresh in her mind to be comfortable. "Thankyou?"
This is Jim. Over in their part of the world, it's actually Jim-mun's birthday right now, and I know you're all lovely, kind, considerate people that would loving nothing more than to squish a freshly frosted cupcake into Mr.Moriarty's face. So naturally, if you could be a dear and send some lovely, potentially sticky affection their way, I'm sure they'd really appreciate it. <3
"Did I miss someone’s birthday?"
"Why do I get the feeling that's a loaded question?"
invisibleregistrar
iamtherealmollyhooper
Moriarty walked into the morgue with a deep sigh. They were supposed to meet hours ago, but of course he’d been busy, and by the time he got to the restaurant, Molly was nowhere to be seen.
It wasn’t difficult for him to guess where she’d be. Either at home - he’d checked that - or at the morgue, to either work or to help Sherlock Holmes.
He did indeed find her, hunched over a microscope. She gave enough signs for him to know she’d been crying, and he couldn’t help but actually feel guilty. Slowly, with careful steps, he made his way over to her, resting a hand on her back and kissing her cheek. “Hello, my love. I am so, so sorry. I had so much work to do and— None of it is good enough an apology, but just know I’m really sorry. I was really looking forward to tonight.”
There was nothing more humiliating that sitting in a restaurant and finding yourself stood up. Molly should know, it had happened countless times before. She was used to the pitying glances by now, when the candles that had once been new were burning into pools of wax, but the fact she had been ferried out because of another reservation immediately following her own, always stung. She felt like an idiot in that dress, with hair perfectly coiffed and wine still on her lips. She really thought he'd have turned up. That even an hour late, he'd still be there, like a white knight to prove to everyone in there that she wasn't just waiting for some fictitious man. In the end, she'd fled with her tail between her legs in search of a respite her home couldn't offer her. Molly always worked when she was upset, because that's what the morgue had always been to her - the perfect manifestation of detachment. She didn't have to empathise with the dead, and in turn they didn't have to pity her. Tugging her labcoat on over her dress, the pathologist tugged her hair back into a loose bun as she wiped at her eyes, trails of running mascara perfectly evident down milky cheeks as she peered into the microscope for something that would always be there. Good ol' dependable bacteria. Never looking up even as Jim approached, her shoulders tensed at his touch, although she leant into that apologetic kiss all the same. "It's fine." She told him flatly, her own disappointment and hurt tangible upon the tip of her tongue. She wanted to tell him to go away, to run back to his work, since it kept him firmly tethered to his desk, but that wasn't fair. She knew as well as anyone that work could be a cruel mistress when it wanted to be. Sighing she drew back from the microscope, tilting her head ever so slightly as she forced out the faintest flicker of a smile. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"
;Date Night
She's still reeling from Sherlock's words when she extends the offer to Jim. Still fretting herself silly over that little comment that only serves to wound her pride more than anything else. He isn't gay. He isn't! She's almost…mostly…50% sure of it! That's why she asks him really, extending that friendly invitation with tight lipped apprehension. "The new Glee episode airs tonight, if you fancy coming over to watch it? I've got wine, and we could order pizza…" She's not the most convincing of saleswomen, but she's sincere in her offer, as she shuffles there on the spot like a schoolgirl, waiting for an answer that will either put her mind at rest or condemn her to another circle of hell entirely. "Sure, I'd love to." That accented lilt is enough to lay waste to her fears, that little voice sending blistering warmth in currents throughout her chest. She's smitten and he knows it, does it on purpose really, to keep picking away at her resolve and in turn, Sherlock's too. She's not terrible company either, he can concede, but she's not his type, she's just a means to an end and a way to pass the time. A pawn in his game on his quest to reclaim the crown and throne so rightfully his, as the crowned prince of criminal ingenuity. Molly of course, the naive little thing, is oblivious to this when she bounces off with a spring in her step. A better man might've felt guilty for stringing her along, but Jim thinks he's paying enough of a price by having to sit through an entire hour of butchered songs for a second time. In actuality, that's why he does what he does, arriving on her doorstep later that evening, with his dear friend Sebastian Moran in tow. The look on the pathologist's face is priceless, that polite but thinly veiled look of anguish and disappointment all rolled into one tense smile. His logic is quite simple, he needs his favourite marksman there should the music become too much. Just so a friendly face can put a bullet between his eyes and spare him the horror of another agonising moment of mind-numbing drivel. If he has to suffer, so should the sniper, - the fact it bothers Molly however, is merely an added bonus. He has to be the only person that's ever brought a plus one to a date night before, or at least the only person ballsy enough to flat out lie and pretend he didn't even know that's what this was. It's wonderful to watch though, when she ushers them both inside with that nervous little twitch he's only ever seen on her in Holmes' company. It's empowering really, watching her squirm and choke down her own protest, to try and hold it together when he's so clearly insulted her. It gets better still, when he settles into that sofa, with Seb at his side, only to pat that little spot between them with the patronising grace of a man who's asking for a smack. To her credit, she refrains, although the way she's getting through that bottle of wine speaks volumes to them both. Settling in between the sandwich of unconventional company, it's at the bottom of her glass that Molly finds solace, the exchange of amused glances escaping her notice as she tries, somewhat harder than usual, to entomb herself in the lyrical fallacy of Glee - while her two dinner guests make themselves a little too at home. This isn't what date nights are supposed to be.
"No, Mum, I don't think my taste in men has any Freudian connotations." The phone is propped between her shoulder and ear as she works, trying to dissuade the idle banter of her mother between filling in an obscene amount of case notes. "If anything, I've always been more fond of Jung anyway." She makes a point of clarifying her stance, peering into her microscope even despite the fact her mother has no idea who Carl Jung is to begin with. Sometimes she wonders if she'd honestly have more luck talking to the cadavers - it's certainly starting to feel that way. There's really only so much talk about Coronation Street she can actually muster before she loses the will to live, after all.
All I've actually done for the past few days is send people walls of text in response to memes rather than threading per se. I'm not sure but is that breaking some kind of unspoken rule if you've never interacted with them before? I feel like I'm making really grand faux-pas' by rambling like a lunatic just because I feel motivated by all these exciting meme prompts. Also on that same vein of thought, how do you actually interact with one and other? You're terrifying! In the nicest way though, it's like I'd need a hit of valium or a couple of shots just to come and ask for threads. I should probably bite the bullet and try to be more proactive this weekend about batting my eyelids and talking plots, but sometimes I just don't want to bother anyone. And this is just a really ridiculous epiphany I'm having at 2 in the morning, but oh well. One step closer to crazy cat lady status at least.
Molly, Molly, Molly. Don’t go putting yourself down. You’re beautiful in your own way. A more shy way, not in your face. [He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. Keeping people sweet is what Sebastian does very well, when he sets his mind to it. He’s charming, he knows exactly what to say and when to say it.] I suppose I can do that. [He chuckles, then, his lips curling at the edges.] I’ll make sure I bring offerings of lunch and coffee the next time I’m in the neighbourhood.
Charming isn't quite the word she'd use for this degree of tactic, manipulative is perhaps more fitting. He's pandering to her insecurities, placating her with kind words and gentle reassurances as if it takes the edge off why he's there. It's a dangerous game to be playing she thinks, when she lets down her guard and allows him the courtesy of idle banter. She has every mind to chase him out of her lab with a broom, but that's too comedically cliche even for her tastes. So she settles for watching him pointedly between scribbles of notation, eyeing the motion of his lips with a disconcerting degree of interest.
"I do actually still have to work at some point too. Even between premeditated picnics with friends of apparently-not-dead-friends." Not everyone could fake their deaths and vanish into obscurity or a life of crime, after all. Molly needed to make a living, and that was rather hard to do when you were living in a permanent state of paranoia that some dashing chap might just swan in and snap your neck between genial pleasantries. "For future reference though: Black, two sugars - and a custard slice."
"Honestly, the nerve of some Kuntz..."
#;a long time ago we used to be friends#Remember that time you were lovely and alive and not a complete and utter morally defunct lunatic?#I miss that.
#that’s because you’re you
#You say that like it's a bad thing.
I’m sure you always look lovely, Molly. [Keeping an eye on her every now and then would be far easier if she doesn’t flip out every time she sees him. Plus, being polite is easier than threaten her— she’s not going to do anything, there’s no one she can tell that Jim can’t deal with, so it’s no bother.] Oh, it’s not stalking. I won’t be following you. Just swinging by to see how you’re doing every now and then, that’s all.
"To a blind man in the dark, maybe." Her track record certainly seemed to prove her point, but it wasn't a matter she was eager to press. It seemed to her like one of the fleeting courtesies you sounded out to try and placate a bad mood, and for whatever it it was worth, she did appreciate it, even if the man in question was perhaps not the one she'd like the reassurance from. "You could just call, you know." She suggests quietly while dropping contrast onto her slide with a steady hand. "Let me know you're coming, pop out and grab some decent coffee, fit you in amidst cracking a chest or prodding through gastric contents." Although that rather defied the point of checking in on her if she knew about it, didn't it? "Something a bit less cloak and dagger than just turning up."
It's late into the evening when Molly makes her way home, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder as she lingers beside the bus stop, waiting for the 172 to arrive and take her back to the sanctuary of warmth and comfort. It's been too long a day for anything else and even despite the open invitation, even a trip to the pub with her colleagues seems heinously like far too much effort. She'd rather just go home and clamber into a bubble bath, to fuss over Toby and watch a ridiculous amount of trashy television. She thinks she's earned that luxury, especially after the day she's had. It had started off well, she thinks - just routine post-mortems after intra-operative complications. Nothing exciting has jumped out at her, no murders or anything untoward having taken place that required her learned hands and skill with a scalpel. It's almost mundane really, and she thinks that perhaps why her mind's been playing tricks on her. She could've sworn she'd seen Jim, while lingering in line in the cafeteria. Could've sworn she'd seen him later on too, in the reflection of that accursed metal slab, and even later still, when she'd been bristling past people in the car park on her way to where she now stood. Fleetingly she'd wondered if she was going mad, or if this was some grand belated manifestation of grief she'd long since repressed, but in truth she just put it down to a lack of sleep and the time of year. She'd done similar things too after her father had died, seen his face in so many innocuous places it had bordered on OCD. The dead didn't just get back up one day and decide to prowl around your place of work, they didn't follow you home and haunt your footsteps like some kind of ethereal spectre - and that's what Moriarty was wasn't it? Dead. D-E-A-D. As in not living. As in incapable of serving as her shadow. Which, madness aside, led to only one explanation - and that was that dear Dr.Hooper had simply not slept nearly enough to be working with the workload she had, and was perhaps missing a dose of normality in her life, amidst doom, gloom and death. Tapping her foot impatiently, Molly glanced to her watch before deciding it was easier to walk home. If anything perhaps the liberating breath of cool air would wake her up and chase her own internalised demons from her. Shaking her head with a small huff, off down the road she headed with weary but methodical steps, the beginnings of a headache setting in behind her temples as she shook off the notion that she was imagining just about everything today. Sanity may well have been over-rated, but she was still rather eager to cling to her own.
“Good.” His lips turn upwards as he tilts his head, keeping his arms crossed over his chest as he crosses an ankle over the other, still leaning his hips back against the counter. “No, you don’t. You look healthier, more happy.” He corrects, eyebrow raising as he looks back up at her face. “Because you’ve met the boss man.” He tells her, turning his lips upwards as he raises both eyebrows, shrugging as though he can’t see why she doesn’t think that’s obvious. “Anyone who has met him in person needs to be checked in on every now and then. Call it a safety precaution.”
This was just…oddly surreal - and despite the initial unsettling feeling it had brought with it, she could almost say this display of civility was actually pleasant. Or as close to it as she could really get given the circumstance. She'd stopped trying to edge towards the door at least, instead returning to the small collection of slides still awaiting processing. "That's only because I've had coffee." He gets a smile, strained but still there, when she fusses over her work amidst this conversation. She doesn't think the answer is that obvious, but it seems rude to correct his expression, so instead she panders to it, shooting him a pointed glance across the top of her microscope before she focuses on the slide below. "Polite society might prefer to call it stalking actually, but that doesn't have the same ring to it."
Surprise beautiful person! Once you get this, you must put it into at least eight peoples asks, (anonymously, or not), who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen but it's nice to know that someone thinks you're beautiful :) you deserve it!
Jim-mun uses secret compliment attack! It’s super effective. Although not effective enough to counter the ensuing sneak cuddle attack that follows. And possibly a bit of tongue, but shhhh.
Absconding to bed again; so much the same as last night, if anyone fancies a starter, I'd be much obliged if they could toss a like on this post. I swear I'm not always catastrophic at writing them, and sometimes they're not actually completely long-winded rambles either! Also, as always the ask box is always open, unless your name is Jim - in which case you should conveniently be absent and enjoying your lack of corpse chic. ;)
Anyway, adieu!
