Um, yes, Molly/Jim again because really, this is the couple for me, no matter what I try to write.
The title refers to the fact that both Jim and Molly have a "bad" in each other, no matter how "good" a side they might have as well (Jim, the IT guy/meek Molly). Molly moreso because she tries to make herself think she's got valid reasons for trying to arrange his murder.
So I hope you enjoy :)
Molly Hooper hesitated yet again. She wasn't quite sure whether to push the SEND button or not. Actually, she wasn't sure at all.
This was wrong and stupid and silly and just plain wrong.
What would her mum think? What would Helen, her extremely judgemental and highly successful sister, say?
What about her friend, Evie, from the ER?
Oh, God. John and Sherlock would just kill her. And Mrs. Hudson would bury her.
She wanted to go hide under the covers in shame.
For the first time in her life, Molly Hooper wanted to hurt someone. On purpose. It was pathetic. It wasn't going to work. The idea of revenge, as righteous and well-deserved as it might have been, and Molly Hooper, the meek and tidy mortician, did not and would never mix well.
She was the kind of girl who believed it took love and peace and puppies and pancake syrup to defeat violence. Not just more violence.
And yet, here she was, emailing an obscure agency that dealt with providing such extreme services for weak individuals like herself, despite the fact that she knew so little about it.
It was a very hush-hush thing. Kind of like an underground band that had an audience because it catered to a specific taste.
It was safe to say very few ordinary chums like herself knew about this secret operation, which made it all the more appealing and frightening.
They didn't tell you outright that they were going to stab someone in the jugular for you, but this type of service and many others that she didn't want to think about were included in a kind of "package" that would be more cost-effective for the customer.
She'd learnt about this agency four years ago through a dead man. Literally a corpse.
She'd discovered a crumpled piece of paper inside the ear of one of the victims of a bank heist.
It had boggled her mind at first that someone would hide a piece of information there, but when she had seen it was a plain email address written on a sheet of paper and underlined several times in red ink she had thought it couldn't hurt to jot it down herself, just in case it was really important. After that she'd passed it on to the police, of course, but she'd kept the email just the same, because she had a bad habit of keeping souvenirs from her "visitors".
The police were extremely grateful for her lucky finding and when she asked them later on to tell her if the email meant anything to their case, DI Lestrade was polite enough to inform her that it was the email of an illegal agency that did several other illegal jobs, much like the organized heist.
She had been strangely disappointed at the time, because her wild imagination had come up with all sorts of whacky possibilities like a cloning factory. But as time went by, her curiosity did not dwindle. The idea still managed to inspire fear and mystery, just a different kind of fear and mystery than she had hoped for.
She still felt she was in the possession of something very important and dangerous that she needed to keep secret, but at the same time she was aware she was never going to actually...use it.
She knew what she would say if she were to be arrested and taken into custody. She had the perfect little speech about love. Love had driven her to help the man she secretly, or well, not so secretly adored, and it was that "love" that had pushed her to do this. Sherlock couldn't fight him off on his own. That and, the target was a psychotic criminal who really deserved to be taken out. Also, he had been her miserable, lying boyfriend at one point. She felt responsible in a way for what had happened post-break-up; the way things had escalated to the point where both John and Sherlock had ended up in mortal peril. It had been a wake-up call for someone to whom nothing ever happened. Quite frankly, she was really tired of being nothing more than a crummy lab assistant for the brave, but misguided detectives. She wanted to actually do something to help them for a change.
That last part might've counted a lot more in the equation than she'd originally thought, but the biggest part, the part that she was trying to focus on, was Sherlock.
She'd have Jim Moriarty removed, for Sherlock's sake.
A couple of days later she received an ominous text at work.
Go home and open Requestdoc.
Sure enough, there was such a document in an encrypted folder on her desktop. She tried not to question how it had got there in the first place.
Another text on her phone:
She opened the folder and the document and her eyes fell upon a rather long list of items she would have to check in order for the agency to get her in touch with their Consulting Criminal.
She frowned, confused.
She had not demanded a "consulting criminal" specifically, whatever that was. Why were they making her jump through hoops for a person she did not even want? Was it just a marketing scheme to get her to pay through the nose? She knew she shouldn't have emailed them.
But then, as she read further, they kindly explained in brackets that her case was so delicate and the person in question so dangerous and famous on the criminal scene that they would have to resort to their top man for the job.
Oddly enough, she thought it would probably cost a small fortune to get their "top man" on it, but it turned out that said consulting criminal was ready to do it for a large, but decent fee.
She supposed that killing Jim Moriarty was considered a challenge and a victory for anyone who managed to do it and everyone in the world would be willing to take a shot, no pun intended.
So far, so good.
It seemed perversely easy that she would get their best man to do it, but then again, she wasn't about to complain about it or demand someone less skilled.
"For Sherlock. And for the world. And for me," she would tell herself whenever she got cold feet.
She managed to send back their list with the attached documents in two weeks.
Around the beginning of April, she received a very promising email from someone called CC (consulting criminal).
She imagined this must be the guy. She was corresponding to a lesser known version of James Bond.
Her heart was caught in her throat when she saw her name at the beginning of his letter. She had certainly not given any names and she had used a different email address.
But then again he was the CC and he was the best and this agency was not fooling around.
I am quite honoured to be able to do this favour for you. I consider it a favour on my part too. I have been meaning to catch this reckless idiot who has been soiling the name of crime for a long time now and you've given me enough motivation to finally go after him properly.
You might be wondering why it's taken a while for me to want to kill this man. It's simple; he wasn't truly inconveniencing me this far. He wasn't bothersome or tedious. He was just a shadow on the wall; conspicuous, but harmless enough.
However, he has reached a point, a rather boring point, where he is nothing but a carefully orchestrated show, meant to shock and awe without any real threat or substance. It's shameful, really. You seem to be afraid of him and think he will harm your loved ones, but let me assure you, I have dealt with this buffoon before and he never exposes himself, he never gets his hands dirty. There is always a middle man to carry out his delusional and rather self-destructive plans for him.
Speaking of which, have you noticed, Miss Hooper? Most of his so-called puzzles and games end up damaging him more than anyone else.
He is not a masochist. It's only the thrill he's looking for. Not a pleasant thrill, mind you, only something strong and potent to shake him out of his trance. Whatever foil or trap he conjures he does it so he can stay alive. He drags it on, this life of his, one day at a time. I wonder he hasn't committed suicide yet.
He is a sad spectacle, isn't he? Not someone you would wish to see living anymore. Not after what he's been reduced to.
The problem is, Jim Moriarty's death will still affect your loved ones, most likely. I cannot surmise exactly how, but this man has been known to "work in mysterious ways".
It would seem odd that I just compared him to God when not a moment ago I called him a sad spectacle, but I have no respect for God, or any other god, so it really makes no difference to me; he is yet another self-preaching, self-idolizing fool, believing himself immortal and all-powerful.
But we'll prove him wrong, won't we, Molly Hooper? You and I will tear him down, limb for limb.
I admire your courage. You went ahead and took action when others were happy to just rely on authorities. You knew the risks involved and yet you decided to contact us anyways, fully exposing yourself to a world that is far beyond your reach. You aim high, Molly Hooper. I am impressed.
Consider the job done.
P.S. Now, normally, I usually just give my clients advice and guide them on their own mission. I rarely get involved directly, but I know you would not be able to do it on your own. I know my clients. Some are like you. They need a middle man. Just like Mr. Moriarty.
She stared at her screen for several hours, reading and rereading until she knew the thing by heart, until the letters jumbled together and it made no sense anymore.
Safe to say, Molly was more than impressed with this mysterious consulting criminal. He was such a class-act! Not only was his writing witty and refreshing, but his attitude was very encouraging and his manners very attentive.
It was almost as if he weren't real.
She still had her doubts whether this wasn't all a great big scheme to embarrass her in front of a live-camera audience, but so far, this man seemed to know exactly what he had to do and how to do it.
He oozed confidence and charm. Or so she thought.
She had nothing to lose just by talking with him.
She hastily wrote back a thank you note, adding how grateful she was for his help and that she hoped he would understand that she was mainly doing this to rid the world of a man who could easily destroy it, and not just for her loved ones, few as they were, or any personal vendetta.
She did not mention her feelings for a certain detective or her wounded ego, but his next email showed he was more aware than she gave him credit for, and that he had a real instinct for these things:
There is no need to explain yourself. Truly, I never judge people's reasons and motivations. There is something decidedly idiotic about passing judgement, isn't there? There is no point asking why? when the how? is much more valuable and worth noting. The whys will only slow you down and confuse you. Ethics are simple if you follow actions, rather than ideas.
But I must admit, it is rather noble of you to do this for the good of mankind. Not many of our clients think much about others when making a request. Usually it's a cheating spouse, a colleague at work or an ex-lover, but you bring forth an actual moral dilemma that could easily become worldwide concern, if it hasn't already.
Isn't it strange how so many know and yet so few do really? Our man seems to be a specialist that only other specialists know.
But enough about him.
I only wanted to enforce that, while I believe in your humanitarian gesture, I would never judge you for any other reasons you might have. I would not even consider them. I shut my mind at anything remotely personal.
You see, I myself never have reasons for doing anything. I just do. It's easy, isn't it? Just doing. Which is not exactly "doing just", if you get what I mean.
You might think it's impossible, but more people around you do it every day. The movies are right; you only need to live in the moment.
Your present situation, you present mindset, are the only things that interest me. The past or the future bears no meaning as long as you only think of now and here.
It is all up to you, Molly Hooper. Your cause is in your hands. I am only making sure you don't waver.
Because we are not allowed to look back and regret. We must move forwards if we are ever to move at all.
Molly was very intrigued by his choice of words and his personal philosophy, however impersonal he attempted to appear. She really wanted to talk to this man, whoever he was. He seemed like a fascinating individual.
She replied that, while she could never really live in the present and not look back or not regret and just do, like he did, she was grateful for his insight. She added, also, that she herself didn't have time to deal with the whys in her field of work:
The hows always seem to matter more because they tell a story with a bigger impact. There's always a vested interest. Always. I wish the hows didn't matter so much sometimes, frankly. I'd like the whys to be more important, because they're beyond our control. I think of them all the time. I can't help it.
A third email arrived some days later, with another piece of wisdom.
I never expected you to suddenly change your life view because I hold an opposing view point. I only argued my two cents. I knew you would be a willing listener. I do not want you to subscribe to my thinking just because it piqued your interest. That would be very dull. I would have nothing to write back.
But I know why (!) you care more about the whys; they never provide you with an answer.
It is much safer to dwell on an eternal question than an irrevocable fact.
You care more about the possibility of redemption than the certainty of punishment.
And if this seems like an open statement, you need only look back and see that I stated I know why you care about the whys and therefore my answer will always be an eternal question.
For a while after this confusing and rather ambiguous note, Molly did not receive any more emails for an entire month, although she wrote several back.
I understood what you meant by possibility of redemption; there is no eternal question there...
I wish I could help in any way to make this man pay for his crimes without having him killed, but I don't have any means to stop him. I can't think of any he would respond to. I need someone like you to stop him for me...
Sometimes I think it's all a mistake. Who am I to punish anyone? ...What sort of madness is this? Here I am, talking to you about murder. I think it's only a phase of mine. I expect the police to start interrogating me any day now. Though I know it won't happen. I almost want them to, so I can be responsible for something...
This is sort of personal, actually. I feel very stupid for suddenly mentioning this now especially since you've made it clear it's no business of yours. But I knew this man too. And we were somewhat close, I think. He has a very sinister side, a horrible, horrible side he can switch to in seconds. He can be nice and kind and charming and very much normal. It frightens me that he is somewhere out there, fooling yet another naive young girl...
I don't usually talk or write this much. I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I'm concerned. Maybe I don't even want him dead after all, because I can't even bring myself to hate him...
Still, there was no reply.
She was once again at a point in her life where she wondered whether it hadn't all been a ruse. It made sense. It had all been an exercise in tomfoolery.
But just when she was about to lose all hope, a new email arrived one Friday evening.
It was quite short and...bittersweet.
In three days' time, the man who has hurt you will be dead. Say goodbye to him now, because he will be no more, come Monday.
I am sure this must be the news you were expecting. I am glad to deliver.
Rejoice and be happy.
And Molly indeed was happy, but not because Jim would be dead come Monday, but because she had received an email from CC.
But the Consulting Criminal (the only one of his kind) always delivers.
Once he makes a commitment and takes on a job, he never backs down; he goes through with it no matter the difficulties, no matter the danger.
After all, he's said it himself. It's what he lives for; the thrill.
And if this thrill requires him to kill himself, he'll do it gladly.
Anything to make sure Molly Hooper won't be disappointed with his services.
Jim puts the gun in his mouth and grins happily.