Chapter Text
Chapter 1.
A Molly of a different color.
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"We're just interested in the feet." The voice behind the casually phrased statement was low and sensuous.
Sam blinked a little uncertainly. It had been a scant few seconds since he'd leapt in, he didn't know who he was, and to be completely honest his vision had only barely just cleared. Then again, this wasn't the first time that Sam had popped into an unusual situation before. Quickly, Sam took in the scene. There were two men who were clearly expecting a response of some sort from him. "The feet?" Sam managed to stammer, still more than a little unsure of himself for the time being.
Right. Morgue. Two people looking at him, one in professional dress, most likely law enforcement judging from the attitude and the piece tucked under the jacket. Possible murder investigation then. So, what did the other guy want with just the feet?
"Do you mind if we just take a look at them?" The man repeated himself as as he adjusted the purple scarf around his neck.
Now Sam took a second look at this guy who only wanted to see the feet--presumably the feet of the two cadavers currently out and tucked into a set of matching body bags. Tall, lean, with dark hair and bright green eyes. The clothes indicated civilian rather than law enforcement, but the way the first man was regarding him, Sam figured this person had to be a consultant of some sort. Having leapt into his fair share of individuals involved in law enforcement, Sam knew how reluctant most cops were to deal with outside intelligence... so, mister 'just the feet' was most likely fairly impressive, just not well liked.
The closest bag held the body of a man named Lukis.
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It wasn't until about an hour later that Al bothered to show up. A niggling feeling told Sam that one of the main factors behind his friend's delay had to do with forensic reports and dead bodies. Even though he was a hologram, Al never did well when there were bodies present. This was a fact that never failed to amuse Sam, or annoy Al.
By now the previous two visitors were already long gone. The tattoos on the feet of Lukis and VanCoon had piqued Sam's curiosity. Sam gave the bodies another examination, even though he was pretty sure that neither of these men were the reason he was here.
When Al appeared, Sam hissed through gritted teeth at the hologram only he could see and hear. "Al, it's 2011! How can I be in 2011?"
"We're working on figuring that one out." Stogie balanced precariously on deft fingers, Al attempted to wave off the question. "So far what we've got is that you're--"
"Molly Hooper." The work ID around his neck was pointed out. "She works the night shift as a forensic tech at Saint Bartholomew's hospital, colloquially known as Saint Bart's. Lives alone, has a pet cat named Toby." Sam sighed deeply. "Um, Molly has a gentleman caller named Jim, who stopped by a bit ago so we could have some coffee. Oh yeah, and today's date is March 27, 2011."
"Nice." Impressed, Al nodded in assent. "Someone's definitely done their homework. Not gonna ask how you knew about the cat," the hologram teased.
Sam sighed deeply, frustration and near-resignation evident in both his face and body language. "So, what does Ziggy say I'm here for..." his voice trailed off, then paused for a moment before continuing, "...and since we're already past my initial leap date, how bad would it be for me to just jump on a plane and head back to the project? When I first woke up in 1956 as Tom Stratton, that was one of Ziggy's suggestions; to wait it out and then head back to the project site in New Mexico."
Al trailed along behind Sam as his friend went about doing Molly's job and put a few finishing touches on some paperwork before going back to the computer desk. "Well, the what, that's where things get a little difficult. The data that Ziggy had access to, it kind of conflicts...a lot...about the buildup of events in the next couple of days." The hologram stayed on-guard in case Sam made any move towards the large refrigeration units holding the bodies.
"First off, most of this hoopla revolves around this Sherlock guy. He’s supposed to be smart, and I mean crazy, freakishly smart.”
“Al.” The warning in Sam’s tone didn’t need to be made any clearer. Seated at Molly’s computer, Sam poked at the mouse. It was a pleasant surprise to find that desktop computers hadn’t really changed all that much in the past decade or so. Systems were naturally quicker, but at least Molly’s computer ran on a somewhat predictable and plausibly friendly GUI interface that Sam felt comfortable using.
“They say he’s almost as big an egghead as you.” Al paused, and sized up his old friend. “He’s also supposed to be a smug little bastard. I haven’t the foggiest to why a cutie like Molly is so sweet on him.”
“Al, this is all well and good, but give me something I can use.”
“Fine. Sometime in the next couple of days, there's going to be a psychopathic serial bomber. This is where the conflicting information comes in.” Al took a puff of his cigar before continuing. “Next year, all the newspapers start to claim that this is all an elaborate set up by this guy named Sherlock. However, Sherlock’s buddy, a Doctor John Watson, and the Detective Inspector Lestrade both stand by Sherlock’s innocence.” With a pause, Al looked over at the computer monitor where his friend had idly opened an internet browser. "Dr. Watson has an online blog." Impatiently the holographic man punched in some information on his handheld unit. "Uhm, in the address bar, type in John Watson blog...hey, would you look at that, that sucker popped right up."
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As Al started to fill Sam in on what was known about the events of the next couple of weeks, from the hallway Moriarty listened intently to the side of the conversation he could hear. This was not an entirely unwelcome situation. When he’d checked in on Molly earlier, it was a shock to realise...Molly...wasn’t quite Molly.
On his visit earlier in the evening, Molly hadn't moved or sounded like herself, yet there were a few moments when there was a flash of the woman's normal demure demeanor. It wasn’t until Moriarty recalled the Lothoman Project from years back that it came together. The Lothoman Project had been based on plans stolen from a classified American project involving time-travel, a project called Quantum Leap The unlucky few individuals to be subjected to this unique form of time-travel were given the rather unassuming ‘Leaper’ moniker. Unfortunately, the Lothoman Project had failed, and badly. Two people had died as a direct result--the two ‘Leapers’, Alia and Zoe. Interestingly enough, the injuries that the two women had sustained appeared to be from a shotgun blast. At the time, no one had cared enough to investigate the circumstances of their deaths any further and had abandoned the project in its entirety.
All of the hardware, software, data and Lothos computer system associated with the Lothoman Project were now property of one of Moriarty’s dummy corporations. Hidden in the data was the real reason that Lothoman Project went down, the Leaper from Project Quantum Leap; Doctor Sam Beckett, the driving force behind the original project...
If he was correct, Moriarty mused, and he always was, then it stood to reason that Beckett had taken Molly’s place because something was about to go horribly wrong for one of Molly’s little friends. With the fun game that was planned to take place in only a few days time, it didn’t take a quantum physicist to deduce which friend the good doctor was here to assist.
Unfortunately, if there was a Leaper, it also meant that there was an Observer. A person from further down the timeline that only the Leaper could see and hear. That would explain the odd one-sided conversation that Molly was currently having with thin air. It stood to reason that Beckett was now being informed of current events, and about how he was supposed to be behaving if everyone around was to believe that he was Molly Hooper.
A broad smile crept across Moriarty’s features. Both individuals that had been subjected to the quantum accelerators had woken in the past with partial amnesia and required Observers to tell them about the situations, and in some cases, their original names. Only a little coaxing was then needed to get them to perform the desired mission. Separate the Leaper from the Observer, and Sam Beckett would be a man cut off from the only support network he’d known for potentially the past decade.
This could be fun.
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