ST BART'S MORGUE

Sherlock burst through the doors of the morgue at Bart's Hospital. John followed quickly on his tail.

"Molly!" the detective bellowed, his eyes darting left and right searching frantically for his pathologist. "I need your assistance urgently. It's happened again."

"Surely it would be simpler to just go and buy a new shirt, preferably one that's the next size up," John grumbled.

"Nonsense," Sherlock responded. "I can't replace my purple shirt, its Molly's favourite," he said with a wink as Molly rushed in a needle and thread at the ready.

Sherlock removed his belstaff and made his way over to a low stool where he dutifully sat down.

Molly walked over to inspect the damage.

The three top buttons were missing, having been clearly wrenched away with great force.

From his trouser pocket Sherlock produced a small plastic container filled with purple buttons that matched exactly those that still remained secure, and handed them to the petite pathologist.

Molly removed three buttons from the container before carefully sewing them in place, making sure not to damage the shirt, or its owner.

"You might want to consider not sewing them on so tightly Molly," John remarked. "Then maybe they wont come flying off so regularly."

John was a good man, but not a particularly observant one. If he were, he might have noted the conspiratorial smile the consulting detective and the woman standing between his splayed legs shared. That and the way Molly made certain that the new buttons were sewn on extra tight, just for good measure.