I was in a dark mood so out came a dark story... As you can guess, I like Molly and Jim. Triggers may be included; Domestic violence and physical abuse featured in this particular one. Might get worse, depending on how I feel. Sorry for the mistakes in English and Gaelic. A little rusty. I still don't own any of the characters and never will probably. Please leave a comment. Thanks for reading!

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He glances at the clock: 12:01 AM. Welcome, new year.

It doesn't really matter. What is a new year anyway? Just more days of boredom or planning. With some rest when it came to the thrill of the entire thing coming together, a job done absolutely flawlessly that nobody knew it was him at all. Well, apart from a couple of people. They can be dealt with one way or the other. For others, the new year might mark a new beginning. But not for James Moriarty. For him, it's just another morning.

What was the problem then? It was a little colder and he wasn't the answer hits him so hard. His heart is suddenly beating against his ribcage like a caged animal wanting out. His stomach is rolling, his breath is ragged.

He misses her.

His little game, the toy, the little diversion to get to Sherlock. Everything is special about her, really. Above average IQ, absolutely beautiful in his eyes and her utter brilliance. Everything he wanted to himself but had to share in order to get rid of him. He remembers her eyes, the way her whole face lit up to see him. Her laugh, or maybe it's the way she made him laugh. What they did as children. The little games that she would ultimately win; not because he let her, she was clever like that. He always though that he won in the end, having found her. The only person that understood.

It was after his parents died, he didn't like to tell anybody the real story of why he was sent to one of his uncles in England. Apart from her. She found out. She saw his scars. His father was abusive. He would hit him if he did the slightest thing wrong. Whip him with his belt if he didn't say his prayers. Use him as an ashtray. Even pushing him down the stairs for repeating a blasphemous phrase that his teacher said. He realised later on his mother had it worse. He would hear her scream and cry at night.

"Cuir James, Tá brón orm!" (Please James, I'm Sorry!)

Her only comfort would be the brief time that she and Jim had in the afternoon after he finished school for the day and when they went to her parents house for Christmas. That was the only time they felt protected, having three of his four uncles around.

That night was like most of them, she was crying and he was shouting just outside Jim's room. Right until her muffled scream, multiple thuds of something hitting the stairs and his father slamming the door as he left. He opened the door and was faced with his mother's body, her head bleeding. That was not the first time he cried because of him. He ran, as fast as he could, straight past the pub his father was in, and into the police station. The only time he would ever go in one until the Reichenbach fall.

He wouldn't believe a couple of days later, a young Molly would be sitting next to him. Swinging her legs about and offering him a muffin.

"My Mum always said to make people welcome. What better then to give them a chocolate muffin? Well, unless you don't like chocolate, or muffins..."

12:05. He rolls over, letting his face sink into the other side of the pillow. Smiling at the memory of it. For a seven year old, how could she be so wise and gracious as she is now. That's something he loved about her, she never changes for anyone. He just wants to hear her voice. So before he can change his mind, he picks up his phone from the nightstand. Unlocks it and for the first time in a long time, dials her number and makes a call.

"Hello you."

"Hey, Happy new year. What's it like over there?"

"You too. The usual. Toby's trying to sleep on my head again. Seb keeping you awake with his snoring again?"

"Something like that. I miss you..."

"I miss you too."

"Is breá liom tú ró, Molly." (I love you too, Molly.)

"I love you Jim. Being careful?"

"Aren't I always?"

...