Work Text:
Endless lives.
That was easy.
To reborn every time in a family bound to die.
It has its beauty.
To balance a normal life with the duty of been a Reaper.
That was really all the fun in it.
Even to have to harvest the lives of those she loved the most, she got used to. It would open in her the hope to find new ones.
But humans.
They still could surprise her after all this time.
Yesterday, Sherlock was so afraid of his own mortality, he asked for her help and of course she would do anything humanly possible for him.
Her arm tickled with a new mission. For a second, she got the thrill that he would in fact die, that she would have to collect him. That, in short time, he would discover her true nature only to never see her again.
When he explained the whole plan to her she was truly excited.
She had never, ever, faked a death before. She knew the flying of a soul to the void, the molecular level of every decomposing tissue, all the ways that one’s death could affect those left behind. But the thrill to perform it in almost every way knowing that he would be well secured, facing his dragons in somewhere in this world, it was a precious little feeling. One that she knew she would treasure for at least two centuries ahead.
What didn’t distracted her from the fact that she had to look to the mission in her arm at all.
When Sherlock called his brother to arrange the fake corpse for her, she looked to her arm.
It was the same engraving that always have been. A number and the next name. When she had worked on wars the numbers came in the hundreds, the single name changing as soon as she harvested the last one.
1.
And no name.
Or Sherlock or Jim.
It’s morning already and her arm is this way still. She looks to Sherlock in the lab putting his coat to go to the rooftop.
“Wait.”
“What was it Molly? Common, at least you got to see me again, that’s for sure.”
“No Sherlock, look at me, please.” and he really does, he is completely immerse in the game, but she feels that, this one time, he sees her.
“One way or another, we will see each other. Are we clear?” She wants so much that he understands but he smiles a sweet smile to her.
He gives her optimistic, naive, irrational. When in fact she is resourceful, supernatural and immortal.
When he’s up and all is sorted out, Mycroft gives her the sign that they should prepare for phase three of the plan. That’s when her arm tickles again with the name.
She stops time and conjures her scythe, transporting herself to the rooftop.
“The Reaper at your service.” Oh that will be a good one. “Hi”.
Jim takes the gun from his mouth and laughs and laughs. He is so delicious this way. What a beautiful smile he has.
Until now, she only got the fake ones, well, mostly. There was that time when she broke up with him and he couldn’t just argue.
She really liked to date, to slowly reveal a person. Jim from IT was lovely. She didn’t mind the gay acting, or that he used her to get to Sherlock, neither the bunch of deaths and the conspiracy that he had woven. How could her?
But her heart remained old-fashioned in matters of fidelity. Jim, her boyfriend, had not only flirted but left his number to Sherlock right in front of her. The humiliation he has made her pass through was too much.
He was smiling when he asked how many years she had.
No, Jim Moriarty wasn’t limited to mere reason, no Sr. He was the first one to question her mortality. Well, since the Inquisition, but that didn't count.
“Molls dear, you came for me ? I knew we got something special.” He enters her personal space, daring to touch her scythe with a finger.
“Oh, please don’t you say that you did this to see me, or I would send you your way right now.” She swirls her scythe in the air and he steps back, irish baggage finally getting him.
The move makes him contemplate the surroundings and he admires the genuine ‘surprise face’ of Sherlock. Freezed by her powers.
“I don’t want to delay you, my dear, since you’re soooo busy today”. He has a devious smile saying that and turns to mirror Sherlock’s shocked expression.
Molly goes there too and passes a finger in one of Sherlock's lock, wild from the abrupt move.
“I have nothing to do after this, we have all the time, as you can see.” She lets him deduce that she wouldn't need her powers to fake Sherlock's death. Realisation dawns in Jim’s features.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Dare what Jim?”
“You can not.”
She crosses her scythe to her chest and give the best doe eyes she could.
“Please, all mighty consulting criminal, enlighten me of what I can and what I can not to do.”
Jim looks down, pondering what she said. Consulting himself. He darts a finger to her and warns.
“This isn’t the end, this isn’t the final problem.”
“Now, now, I'll keep him busy, don't worry. You played well. Off we go.”
Jim sits in the edge and says nothing. It's an odd thing to a suicidal. Generally they are too excited or to what's next or from the angst they've come from. Cleopatra was like him too in her chambers. They both used their deaths as a tool - but even so it was strange to see a client that already accepted it so fast.
“So how it will be? Am I allowed one last wish?” She turns the tip of her scythe to behind her, inviting him. She soothes him with a hand in his cheek.
“It’s very boring, really.” He steps closer.
“First I stop time and then, I had to clarify the current condition to the newlydead.”
“Yes…” It’s like he isn’t paying attention to her. He caress the lapel of her lab coat. She puts her hands around his neck.
“And then, really softly, I will say your true name.” Jim lay his hands in her waist. “Not the baptism one, not those in documents. The name you define yourself with. And that’s it.” He is unphased by this and leans into her, alining their faces.
“And my last wish?” Ah, if he isn’t extraordinary. No doubts, no desperation, not a pleading for one left behind, not a single request to know what’s next.
For once, a client that is fully immerse in her. She still remembers his touches. How nice he treated her. Jim’s tongue slides across his mouth when she stops an inch off his face.
“Maybe if you didn’t have let your number to Sherlock, Little James .”
He becomes a point of light in front of her and she pushes him into a little portal by her other hand. When the portal closes, time gets back to its track.
James Moriarty saw her.
She looks to Jim’s empty vessel in the floor and to Sherlock in desperation before she goes back.
In the morgue, she receives Mycroft’s message.
- Lazarus.
Molly smiles, some of them were really unforgettable. She retrieves the fake Sherlock from the drawer.
“Well, at least with that one, I didn’t needed two bodies.”