"IT Department, Jim speaking."

"Hi, Jim, was it? This is Molly, Molly Hooper, in the path lab? My computer is doing this, um, weird thing."

"Can you describe it a wee bit better than that?" The voice on the other end of the phone had an Irish lilt to it, and more than a hint of laughter behind it.

Molly blushed as she stammered through a description of the 'weird thing'. Jim offered some suggestions, and when the third one worked she thanked him and hung up. He sounded nice, and she almost wished she'd asked him for coffee. Just to thank him, of course.

As it happened, he was the one to ask her out for coffee, during their fourth - or was it their fifth? - phone conversation. "So Molly, I just was wondering, I mean it's none of my business of course but are you - seeing anyone?"

Her heart gave a tiny flutter at the question, and at the eager hopefulness of his voice. It had been a long time since anyone had been eager to take her out, and she was happy to say yes. More than happy. And if there was a tiny part of her that thought, Take that, Sherlock Holmes!…well, she did her very best to ignore it.

A few days later, having shared coffee and conversation and feeling like they might have actually clicked, Molly couldn't stop thinking about him. Computer upgrades in another department had kept him busy, but he'd promised to call as soon as his schedule freed up. Glancing at her stubbornly-silent mobile, she ate her second packet of crisps for the day. "Better watch it, Molly," she admonished herself. "Next thing you know you'll be putting back on those two-and-a-half pounds you lost!"

Of course the phone would ring when her mouth was full and her hands were greasy. The phone almost went to voicemail before she breathlessly held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Molly! Thought maybe you had your hands full. You know, of guts or something." He giggled, and she giggled right along with him. It was so nice to talk to someone with just as morbid a sense of humor as she did. He didn't exactly find her job fascinating, but at least he didn't find it disgusting, the way her last boyfriend had. "So, coffee was good," he added once they'd stopped giggling.

Molly plopped her elbow on her desk, still grinning. "Yeah, it was. I can't believe I've never been there before. So, um, have you finished the upgrade, then?"

"Yeah, as finished as it can be, those things never seem to end," he replied. "So, uh, are you, y'know, doing anything later? I mean, it doesn't have to be tonight," he interrupted himself to add. "It can be another night. I didn't mean later- later, just…later."

"No, tonight's good, we could go to the Fox after work. Have a few drinks?" She bit her lip, then added, "And afterwards, if you'd like, we could, I dunno, get some take-away and watch a little telly?" Oh, her mother would be mortified, hearing her only daughter inviting a man she'd only known for a week to her flat, but Molly liked Jim. A lot. OK, so maybe he wasn't tall, dark and cheekbones-to-die-for, but he was nice. And Molly liked nice, she really did! Of course she did!

"That sounds great!" Jim's enthusiasm was obvious, but before Molly could backpedal or awkwardly say something about not meaning sex, Jim did it for her. "The drinks and the take-away and telly - that's what I meant. I don't want you to think I was, you know, expecting something more. I mean," he laughed self-consciously, "this is just the second date! So no worries, I don't want…well, I mean of course I want, but - no, that's…Oh God," he suddenly groaned. "I've completely cocked this up, haven't I."

"Not at all," Molly assured him, touched by his sincerity. (Later she would wonder at herself for ever believing that.) "It's fine, I know what you mean. Why don't we just…I'll meet you at the pub around six, is that good?"

"Six, yes, perfect," he replied, sounding very relieved. "See you then."

"See you!" Molly hung up and slipped her mobile into her pocket, humming a bit as she returned to her paperwork. Things were definitely looking up.

oOo

Her mobile was ringing. Her mobile had been ringing, on and off, for at least an hour now. And she knew exactly who it was: Jim from IT, her supposed new boyfriend, calling to ask why she'd never shown up at The Fox as planned.

Molly looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. As Sherlock had said, it was Jim's mobile number, written in Jim's handwriting. So even if she wanted to accuse the Consulting Git of putting her on for some unfathomable reason, she couldn't. No, all she could do was try to figure out the best way to go forward, knowing that Jim had slipped his number to another man...right in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, Molly groped for her mobile. It was sat on the edge of her bedside table, and as her fingers brushed it, it slithered from her grasp and fell to the floor. She opened her eyes and looked at it, shaking her head. "At least you haven't fallen to pieces," she muttered as she picked it up. Before she lost her nerve, she quickly hit Jim's speed dial code, then waited for him to answer.

"Molly! There you are, I was getting worried!" He sounded exactly like a concerned boyfriend should, and she shut her eyes again as she leaned against her padded headboard. "Why weren't you at The Fox? Are you still at work? Are you all right?"

"Jim, I have to ask you something."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, so long that Molly had half-pulled it away from her face to see if they were still connected. Then Jim spoke...and his voice sounded different, no trace of anxiety or any other emotion as he said, "He showed it to you, did he?"

No denial, no repentance, just that same flat, emotionless tone. Molly bit back a sudden sob of disappointment that yet another relationship was coming to an end. "Yeah, he showed it to me."

"Bastard." She was startled by the vehemence in his voice, as if it was Sherlock who was in the wrong here. "He shouldn't have done that. I would have just removed myself from your life and you'd never have known. Sorry, Molls."

"Sorry? You're sorry that you slipped your phone number to another man right in front of me?" Molly was beyond incredulous. "Or are you just sorry that he ratted you out?"

There was another long silence, followed by a sound almost like a sigh. "I'm sorry that he chose to hurt you like that."

"He hurt me?" Molly could barely speak, she was so enraged, so hurt. How could Jim be making this out to be Sherlock's fault? When she was able to talk again, she said, "Jim, I don't think this is working. It's pretty obvious we want different things."

There was a muffled snort - of laughter? - and then, "Yeah, yeah, Molly, I guess we do at that." She could have sworn he sounded wistful as he added, "But we had some fun, didn't we? Never thought I'd have that, fun like a normal-well," he interrupted himself abruptly, "It was fun while it lasted. Ta, luv."

Molly stared at the wall for a long time after he rang off, the phone dangling from her fingers as she tried to puzzle over what he meant by that last cryptic statement. 'Have fun like a normal...a normal what? A normal, not-a-bloody stupid git who was using her to get to someone else? Did he feel that his sexuality wasn't normal, was he ashamed of being who he was, was that why he'd tried to make a go of things with her?

In the end all she could do was drop her mobile back on her bedside table, crawl under the covers and have a good, private cry.

oOo

She was in her small office off the path lab when her mobile rang, an unfamiliar number. Meena had mentioned something about getting a new phone so Molly answered it without thinking. "Hello?"

"Hey, Molls."

She went cold at the sound of that familiar Irish lilt. The one she'd last heard in a post-trial press conference, after he'd successfully convinced a jury that he was someone else entirely - neither 'Jim from I' nor James Moriarty, but an actor named Richard Brook. "Jim," she croaked. "What...why are you…"

"I never did like the way we left things," he continued. "In retrospect, using you to get to Sherlock was...well, it was both lazy and unnecessary. I shouldn't have dragged you into it. Forgive me?"

Molly was utterly flabbergasted. "You killed all those people - you strapped a bomb to John! And don't even try that 'Richard Brook' bullshit on with me! But you want me to forgive you for using me, for pretending you actually liked me and wanted to go out with me…"

He cut off her growing rant. "No no no! You don't get it! I wasn't pretending to like you, Molly. Well, yes, I was, at first. But here's the thing I didn't expect...I actually do like you! Weird, right? Me being, well, ME, and you being you with your gruesome little job and your bratty pet cat and your horrible taste in clothes…"

"And men," she couldn't resist adding.

He laughed, a delighted peal of what sounded like real humor. "Oh yes, of course, there's that. Can't say I disagree."

Her heart had slowed down a bit, her breathing gone back to normal the longer the conversation lasted. It was the strangest, most surreal conversation of her life, but there was something about it that actually rang true to her. Of course, she'd been spectacularly wrong about him before, but why was he bothering with this if he didn't mean it? Unless he thought to try to wheedle her into doing something for him, and she let him know in no uncertain terms that that was absolutely NOT going to happen.

"Nah, nothing like that, luv," he replied. "Just wanted to...well, give us a little closure." He paused. "Unless you'd maybe like to give it another go, now that you know the real me?"

"No, Jim," she said, dimly surprised at her own calm. "Sorry, but I just...no."

"Worth a try. Guess this is it, then. Good-bye, Molly."

"Good-bye, Jim."

She pressed the 'end' button. Instinct told her she'd never hear from him again. With a sigh, she gathered up her belongings and shut off the lights in her office. Time to head home and try to wrap her brain around what had just happened. She supposed she could contact the police, or Sherlock, let them know that she'd heard from Jim and that he'd as good as confirmed his identity to her, but not right now. Later, after she'd fed Toby and made herself a fry-up and a glass of wine.

She walked out into the darkened lab, lost in her thoughts, when a sound of a voice startled her.

"You're wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you."

Sherlock. She stared at him as he continued speaking, as he asked for her help, and realized that this was what the call from Jim had really been about. Not a warning, but a reassurance that he wouldn't involve her in whatever he had planned for Sherlock.

Well, fine. But that didn't mean she would keep herself out of it. Sherlock needed her, and even knowing how dangerous her ex-not-quite-a-boyfriend was would stop her.

She stepped forward and spoke.

"What do you need?"