molly...arty.

[anatomist]

You, um- you really don't do canon much, do you? Just...looking around. Bit of a funny brain you've got here, actually, and I've, um. I've seen a few!

[Sharply--]

--don't tell me to cut the crap, this is me. If you're looking for hard lines between poor um-ing, ah-ing Molly Hooper and M- Mo- Mor-

[She stops herself, and gives a very quick, naughty grin before returning to sobriety and seeming gentle, almost sympathetic.]

Just don't bother. It's okay-- not to. That's okay. You're never going to work it out so don't...don't worry, because I'm in your head and you're, um, making me feel a bit seasick, actually, with all the indecision. I'm me. It's just that I'm not just me.

I think that's a bit...reductive, is all.

Comments

[bosewicht]

[ (unsure) ]

Sweet girl. Good stepping stone. Regular doormat. Sorry, but no -- you'd like that, though.

Fun, yes, maybe, could be fun, but then you'd get in my way. Inevitably. I only like people underfoot when I'm walking all over them.

[anatomist]

You're so bad at listening.

For a start, you've got it the wrong way 'round.

[bosewicht]

I am all ears, sweetness. Tell Jim how it is, then.

[anatomist]

Well- you shot yourself, Jim.

Sorry, was that...insensitive?

[bosewicht]

I shot myself. You'll forgive me if all that comes after is a touch bit murky.

[anatomist]

Oh- that's okay.

He jumped- I don't know if you know- I helped him fake his death- I don't know if you know that either. It was funny, I wish you'd seen it- Sherlock Holmes accidentally consulting Moriarty.

As much as I miss us all being together, it's all worked out really nicely for me. You're out of my hair and Sherlock's simmering in the background while I get on with other things.

[bosewicht]

[ Of course he jumped; Moriarty barely bats an eye at that news, it was the most immediate predictable projectory, he'd thought of everything.

Everything.

He is very still at this next part, briefly lifeless in his processing. Then; ]

You ruined it. He was meant to jump, and you made him fly. He [ abruptly really loud; ] flew!

[anatomist]

[She doesn't jump. That's always been the hardest bit of playing herself down- remembering to always act surprised by things that are so obviously coming.

Very quietly:]

Oh, calm down.

[bosewicht]

Oh, don't ask me to be calm, you wouldn't like me when I'm calm.

[ Hands smooth over his hair, grip the back of his neck to release it of tension and leave behind fingernail marks, as if taking her instruction anyway. ]

[anatomist]

[Mock meekly, or maybe just softly--] It's alright. He's falling, Jim. Just a bit slower than you thought he would. Slow enough to appreciate it.

[bosewicht]

[ Elaborate eyeroll, but at least a benefit of being dead is that he doesn't have to suffer through the boredom of it all. He's gone from the verge of psychopathic rage to 12-year-old's sulk in the span of a few seconds. ]

Appreciate the splatter, then, but it won't be half as messy.

[anatomist]

[She rolls her eyes too, but it looks more like fond exasperation than sulkiness. (Looks like because the jury is out on whether Molly can really be fond of people besides her cat, though she would argue that she certainly can be).]

You really meant it when you said you'd pout. You don't have to, it's- oh, it's going to be brilliant, I promise. But I couldn't let you have him. Sorry. Good business first and foremost, and then...pride. My sense of humour. My horrible taste in men. Don't take it too personally?