Hello Inquirers All,

For if you love Sherlock as much as I did, you definitely love mystery.

I will be frank, I don't really have much of a plan for where this story is going. However, the idea grabbed me by the brain and has not let me have any peace since, so here I am, and here is the story. Aside from that, I would have gone categorically crazy waiting for the third season. The pairing is Sherlock/Molly for the moment, and we will see how that goes, but I believe that to be a strong point in this tale. I know a lot of you are John/Watson shippers, and I am aware or the plot of the books, but please climb aboard mine!

If you have criticism, as long as it is constructive, please feel free to message. I would like a beta, but I'll see about that later. And, just for the record, none of this belongs to me except my own plot. I am merely playing in a large, elaborate sandbox. Now, on with the story, I've bored you enough!

Chapter 1: The Villain

"O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables—meet it is I set it down
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain-"

Hamlet, Shakespeare

"If there is one realm in which it is essential to be sublime,

it is in wickedness. You spit on a petty thief, but you can't

deny a kind of respect for the great criminal."

Denis Dedirot

She had never had her heart broken by anyone but herself. When she had been young, it was because she had cared too much. When she grew older, it was because no one else had cared enough. She always wore her heart on her sleeve. She knew it was reckless, dangerous and that it made her vulnerable. But that was just who she was, and she was never able to change, despite everything. In spite of everything. Although she was intelligent, subterfuge was never a skill for her to lay claim to. She was as easy to read as any picture book, and she would be happy to open her heart to anyone, even when they did not deserve it. But no one ever asked for her heart, and a rare few would accept it, even though it was offered freely. Her longing looks out windows, her lonely tea breaks in cafés, her tears. They were all because she would let herself hope. Hope was like the snowflakes that would glisten in the night in the cold of winter, beautiful but fleeting. She had experienced both, and she could say with confidence that it is never the loss that causes the most pain, it is the hope.

The hope of what could have been. The hope of what might be. The hope that someday, someone… But she knew which someone she would always think of when she had these thoughts. When she listened to the sad songs. It was always him, and it always would be.

But then, the "always", might run a bit short…

"Ohhh Darling, you have been busy while Daddy's been away."

It was an effort. And still, she opened her eyes. Eyes which she thought had been glued shut to her face by now, from the blood and the swelling. Really, she should not have even been cognizant by now, with all of the work that had been done on her. There was pain. Pain that lived with her. Pain that breathed, and choked and cried as she did. Pain that was sharp and keening, and biting at her with all of the subtlety of an attacking hound. She took a mental inventory of herself. Yes, she was still tied by her wrists by that coarse and knotted rope. Her feet were still dangling just above the floor. While she was in pain, she was no longer bleeding. A small consolation. Nothing was broken, except for her right ankle, but she doubted anything was useful to her anymore. Escape was beyond her capabilities, surely. Her eyes were open, but it was still mostly dark, she really had not expected that to change, anyway.

There was one light in front of her; however, it was tempting but she did not want to look. For she knew which demon was in her presence now. She was already in the depths of a fiery hell, and still he was the devil, prodding into her back towards the flame. She was the naïve princess in the fairytale: Sleeping Beauty, who woke from a deep sleep, violated and with children. Snow White, who was hunted and almost consumed. Red Riding Hood, who ventured into the forest, and never returned quite the same. Although they were such grim tales, there still needed to be an instigator, a whisperer, a spider. A villian. He was the epitome of all of them.

He was a man who kissed her dispassionately on the second date. He was a man who fed her cat. He was a man possessing an easy smile, and timid nature. He is the darkness. To say that he merely belongs in the darkness would be a grievous affront to all entities insidious and cruel, for that is where they hide, and he is the one who shelters them. Then he suddenly grabbed her shoulders and shook her body with his sudden mercurial anger, stars exploded in her eyes and pain, her constant companion, blossomed even further.


Without meaning to, because she was so tormented she thought nothing else could pain her so much now, she did.

She gazed right into the blackened eyes of Moriarty, and the abyss gazed right back.

It was her hope, her naïve, and trusting hope that placed her where she was today. And, although it had broken her heart, and it may serve to break many other parts of her in the coming time, she couldn't bring herself to regret it, any of it. Never. Although she was intelligent, she was just Molly Hooper, and she always would be.