On a very wet and dreary Thursday morning, Molly Hooper once again finds herself inside her beloved morgue working her normal 9-5, five days a week shift. Originally, the plan was to catch up (and maybe get ahead) on work so that she could leave a couple of hours earlier than usual. She had been overworked the entire week and was looking forward to going home, cuddling with her cat, perhaps catch up on her network television, and possibly read during her bubble bath. Unfortunately, two of her co-workers called off today, both with very different and unconvincing reasons. Somehow her boss talked her into staying long enough to pick up some of the slack that they would be leaving.

Bringing a file over to the exam table, Molly starts a new round of paperwork. At this point, she is already working her overtime and is ready to go home. The messy bun her hair kept after her fixing it for the fourth or fifth time, and her reading glasses she eventually decided to put on because the constant paperwork started to hurt her eyes were the least of her worries at the moment. Caught up in her paperwork, she didn't notice let alone hear anyone enter the lab. She looks up, startled to see a very familiar face looking at her curiously from the other side of the lab table.

"John" she says, blushing and unsuccessfully trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Molly" says her good friend John Watson, retired captain and army doctor, current leading doctor in his department at St. Barts hospital. "So sorry if I startled you" Molly responds with a smile. "It's just that," he continues, "I wouldn't think to find you here at this kind of hour."

"Oh that's alright" she explains "Foreman and Hughes call off again today, so I'm just filling out their stupid paperwork that they were supposed to finish two days ago."

"Pulling some extra hours so that you can get more vacation days, you mean?" John jokes with an understanding smile. "However, I am glad that I did find you here. Sherlock and I need to use some of your lab equipment for a case. It'll only be for a few minutes, if that is okay with you"

Molly's head snapped up at the mention of the name. Sherlock Holmes. John's roommate and partner in solving mystery and crime cases. Being the world's only consulting detective, her sure always found his way to intimidate her. Though Molly often crossed paths with the guy so he could use her lab for cases, she never could seem to get used to him. There was something about him just plain fascinated her.

"Um….yeah, sure why not. I'm not exactly done here anyway, so go ahead" she says almost hesitantly

"Thanks a lot Molls" John says appreciatively. "Good news though, he's in a rather fair mood today, so maybe he will be a tiny bit easier to work with."

"Oh yeah, sure" Molly says sarcastically "We will all see how that turns out"

Looking around John explains "He should be here in a few moments. He was just leaving Baker Street when I arrived."

"So what exactly is this case dealing with?" Molly asks while attempting to quickly tidy up her workplace before Sherlock had a chance to insult her about it.

"Oh you know" John sighed "Two separate murders at the same time, linking us to the same killer. However, we need to find out just how many types of blood there were at the scene."

"Couldn't you just send that in to get tested through Lestrade's team?" Molly teased

"Yeah… well that'd just be too easy, now wouldn't it?" John replied sarcastically. "The idea is to find out if there were any other victims that we were unaware of. However, Sherlock has this clever idea to test and see if the blood could somehow -

-"If the blood would lead us to the killer, since it is his, of course." Sang a rich, deep baritone voice from the entrance way.

Completely startled once again, Molly jumped out of her skin while throwing her pen halfway across the room. She then threw her head up to eye the new visitor. Just the sound of his voice made her heart start pounding instantly. His lovely curly black hair looked like he had just spent three hours fixing it up, when in reality, he probably hadn't touched it in days. His signature coat and scarf in the process of being taken off. His intense gaze those bright eyes held the instant he entered the room. And that gorgeous smirk he wore just from that one sentence, as if he had just solved five murders at once.

Well, there he was. Sherlock Holmes.