________
John blinked, "Wh-"
"Why am I here?" Irene interrupted, "Funny you should ask. Sherlock texted me the second it happened." Without another word, she led the group upstairs, her glossy red heels clicking with each careful step she took.
________
"Finally!" Sherlock exclaimed, without bothering to get off of the sofa, "I was beginning to worry you wouldn't come." Irene sat on the arm of the sofa he lay on, her white dress so small and unsuitable for winter that it hardly covered anything.
"Sherlock, how-"
"How indeed, John. How could a man who killed himself right in front of my very eyes live? Oh! He does know how to play this game," Sherlock sat up. "He is so very clever."
"Is there any way he could have faked it?" Molly chimed in, "Like you did?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing, Ms. Hooper. You helped me, so why couldn't you help him? I wouldn't be surprised if you-"
"Sherlock!" John and Mary shouted amid gasps.
"I-I wouldn't-" Molly stuttered. She could feel her face redden. "You're so..." but with nothing else to say, she turned and exited the building.
________
She was so... So... Angry. Angry at Sherlock. Why would he make such an assumption? She would never help the enemy. Especially not someone as psychotic as Moriarty. She had to admit, though, that he was attractive. They'd gone on a few dates when she thought he worked in IT, but she broke up with him after Sherlock proposed him to be gay. She kept telling herself it was for the best, but some nights she would lye awake thinking about him.
"Stop. You don't love Jim Moriarty. Hes... he's insane!" She'd tell herself. Still it nagged at her.
Her thoughts were distracted when her phone buzzed in her pocket:
I am sorry. Please forgive me.
SH
To which she replied:
I forgive you, Sherlock, but should shouldn't be so insensitive.
Molly
He never replied back.
_______
