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Title is random, don't pay much attention to it. I'm listening to that song (by A Fine Frenzy) so it may end up being irrelevant.

On another note; I don't think I'm finishing my Princess Bride/Homestuck crossover. Not any time soon, at least. Feel free to pick it up or post it somewhere asking someone else to pick it up-- I'm fine with whatever people want to do. Change characters and start it over, finish it however they please, change how it's being told, whatever. All fair game. Give credit for what I've written if you use it, if not then don't as it's not my idea anyway.

Back to what this post is about!

I sort of love Mollyarty. A lot. (Also Moriarty/Moran, so expect that in here too, if this becomes A Thing. Which I hope it will.)

warnings; Moriarty. I think that about covers it.

It was at a coffee house-- of course it was at a coffee house. Like some sort of cliched movie; all she'd needed to have done was drop something, only to turn and find him helping to pick it up to make it any more cheesy. Moriarty thought it was perfect. Too fake so it had to be true. People wouldn't accept things like that so easily in fiction, and yet in reality they ate it up, claiming you can't make this up as they told the story to their friends. Which made it the perfect thing to make up. Staged and set, perfectly set up and played out. The barista mixed up their drinks, giving Moriarty's his first so he could notice, watch the barista continue their plan and give Molly the wrong drink. Just as she noticed he walked over, taking his cue.

He stopped at her table, smiling before letting out a small sort of nervous laugh. "Hi, uh, I think I have your drink." He said, setting his cup on the table in front of her. She glanced at it, surprised.

"Yes, you do. Do you work here?" She asked uncertainly. She'd been about to mention that the drink in her hand was a mistake when he smiles as if he's remembered a funny joke with an old friend.

"No, I just saw that was mine." He replied, nodding toward the drink still in her hand.

She almost apologizes, but his smile is contagious and instead she laughs at herself a bit, handing it out to him. "Right, you're not even in uniform." She shakes her head, wondering what she'd been thinking.

He laughs with her, nodding. "You're sharp. Thanks." He takes the drink from her, his pinky grazing her thumb and she subconsciously takes note of it, noticing his touch and looking at his face a little more than she was before. Moriarty can only marvel at how sickeningly easy this all is. He pauses a moment for effect before stepping away, stopping after only a few steps and turning back to face her. She looks down, embarrassed at being caught watching him walking away. Far, far too easy.

"Do you, mind if I join you?" He asked, awkward and unsure enough to not make her intimidated of him. He makes sure of that, because it wouldn't do to have her intimidated of him, and he knows how natural it is for him to intimidate people. It's good he's such a fantastic actor.

"Yeah." She says, a touch breathy as she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Bit of a nervous tick, wants to look put together and pretty for him. He's already won, really.

He lets his nervous facade fall away, pulling out he chair and sitting across from her. "My name's Jim." He says, sincere smile gracing his face. Molly feels pretty, Moriarty just feels amused. No wonder Sherlock hasn't taken notice of her like she wants; she's predictable and the utter definition of a wallflower.

"I'm Molly." She tells him, eyes raking over his face and taking in his details. Focus on the eyes and mouth, obvious signs of interest and attraction. Too obvious, really, but Moriarty does the same; looking into her eyes as he responds.

"It's nice to meet you, Molly." And it's just a hint playful, just enough to be more than filler, more than a polite way to fill the silence. She seemed pleased by it, not that it was any surprise to him.

So he's also not surprised that after only a simple conversation over cups of coffee he has her number written on a napkin and promises to call. ("Okay, it's a date then." She said, almost too fast, as if she's not usually one to make the first move like that. "Yes, I'll be sure to call." Moriarty said, grinning pleasantly.) She leaves, needing to get back to work and when he offers her a ride, but she declines saying work is close enough to walk; doesn't want to bother him. Moriarty doesn't miss the way her face gets ever so slightly redder. Enjoys it, even. So he insists, assuring her she's not a bother.

They leave, and he thinks about holding her hand. Not about doing it then, but just about it. What sort of way he'll hold it on their date. Meaningless little things like that in the short ride to St. Barts. She thanks him for the ride, he assures her the pleasure was all his, and they go their own ways.


Moran is pleasantly surprised that Moriarty does, in fact, come back to the coffee house for him. He opens the passenger side door, only for Moriarty to get out, making a face. "You drive, I'm tired of it; too boring." Moran knew that also meant too tempting to get into an accident to see what air I could get but doesn't bother to bring it up. He'd rather drive anyway.

He rounds the car, throwing off his apron and tossing it into the back seat. Moriarty was already sat, slightly slumped, in the seat. It wasn't like him, this sort of thing was usually reserved for sulking.

"It's so dull, being normal." He said once Moran was in the car and his door shut. "I don't know how you lot live that way." He added as Moran started the car and drove.

"I'm not sure I'd call myself normal." He countered, and Moriarty replied by resting his foot on the dashboard, crossing it with his other with a small, petulant plunk. Moran bat at his feet, rolling his eyes. He didn't want to deal with this side of Moriarty when Molly got the overly nice one. "Stop that, you'll get scuff marks all over it-- keep the car looking nice for your date." He said, before Moriarty could complain at him.

He huffed a bit, keeping his feel firmly on the floor of the car though. "Forget Sherlock, she'll be the death of me." Moriarty said sarcastically, looking at the subtle scuff marks his sneakers had left on the dash.

Moran let out a bark of a laugh, gladly taking insult the dull over throwing a tantrum any day. "Just think of killing him, that'll get you in a chipper mood." He said, earning a grin from Moriarty. She really was the best way to get to Sherlock. The rest of the Yard didn't seem to like him, from what sources told him, and getting the man who worked with him aside was too difficult and too risky. No telling if he'd be swayed or not. Molly though-- Molly was perfect. Smitten by Sherlock, had to be to always get his way at the morgue, and yet he showed no signs of even seeing her. Pity, that. For Sherlock at least.


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Vodka Mutini

March 2012

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