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Prompt 4: Ad Ignorantiam
by astudyinfangirl (Team Amber)
I’m obviously not in time to submit, but I thought I’d post anyway.
And so, so sorry to Molly. I love her, but this was just way to fun to write.
In the eyes of everyone she knew, Molly Hooper was a sweet, insecure girl. They flinched at the thought of such a kind girl in a morgue, day after day, but her spirits never seemed to suffer from it. Indeed, the morgue’s morbidity never bothered Molly.
She liked it.
Ever since she was a girl, Molly had been cast out by friends and left to her own devices. There were plenty of woods around her house, and she spent her days there. One day, Molly remembered clearly, she found a dying bird. It had been attacked by a cat or something of the like, its guts spilling out. Young Molly had first been repulsed, and then intrigued. She knew the bird would die anyway – so why shouldn’t she investigate?
It became a habit of hers to dissect the dying animals in the woods – and who would know not all their deaths were natural? Molly’s knowledge of biology grew, and with it, her morbid habits. When she got older, she found a job as a mortician – not something most “sweet” girls would go for. She felt like her days in the woods had come to use, solving crimes.
And then she met Jim from IT. Right off, Molly could tell he wasn’t sweet, slightly dopey Jim. He was a lot more. And she was fascinated. It didn’t take long for Molly to realize Jim Moriarty’s existence. By the time Sherlock met Jim, Molly knew – and she was learning. Everyone assumed that Molly felt some sort of guilt, or regret, having dated the world’s most dangerous criminal mastermind. But, oh, no, Molly felt free. She and Jim had so much more in common than she’d thought. Helping Sherlock to survive had been a part of their plan. A plan that was finally coming true.
Sherlock stuttered when he saw her. A black dress was draped over her figure, so unlike the normal dress of Miss Hooper. “Wh - y - I - Molly?” The words stumbled over themselves, fighting for precedence. Only her name rasped out.
“Yes, Sherlock. You see, I’m not quite so innocent. You think I didn’t like keeping company with Moriarty? I enjoyed it, Sherlock, I really did. He was king, and now, I shall be queen.”
“You kept me from dying. Why would you do that?”
“Because, Mr Holmes, Jim’s had his fun – and now, it’s my turn.”
“What do you want? Are you going to kill me, too?”
“Oh, no. We’ll get to all that eventually. For now, this is enough. You will know who I am, but you won’t be able to do a thing.”
“I’ll tell them. All of them.”
“You think they’ll believe you? Undead detective? What evidence do you have? No, they won’t turn on me – they won’t believe a word you say. Eventually we’ll play my games, but that’s a bit later on. Let’s not rush things. The next time you see me, I will be kind, unnoticeable Molly from the morgue, the girl with the silly crush on the famous detective. But don’t be fooled. I’ll just be waiting. See you soon, Sherlock.”
She walked away. The swish of her skirt taunted Sherlock. They’ll never believe you. With a heavy heart, Sherlock knew it was true. There was a new game to play.
