Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Sherlock, John or anyone you recognise.

Authors note: I wrote this story many months ago, but have always been afraid to post any of my writing. Today I realised that if I didn't post it soon, then I never would, and I really wanted to. Think of this as a bit of a taster, and if it gets good reviews then I'll post the other chapters (though i'll be happy if it gets any reviews at all) This is my first fanfic, but I hope you enjoy it :)

It was a freezing morning in early December. The air outside was crisp and cold; and frost covered the streets like a thick blanket. Big Ben read half past five, looking down on a wintry London. Sherlock sat at a cluttered desk in St Barts surrounded by Petri dishes and test tubes. He was peering through a microscope when he heard the door open and looked up to find a surprised Molly staring at him intently. Her hair was tied back; a dark denim jacket covered a lilac blouse, put together with smart, black trousers and leather pumps. She wore no makeup, but despite this her face was still unblemished, and two clear eyes looked through long, thick lashes.

Sherlock nodded to her and turned his head back to his work. She removed her jacket, and replaced it with her over-worn lab coat. After a few minutes of silence, Molly looked over to the focused man across the room.

"You're up early today," She stated.

"I'm aware," Sherlock replied rudely.

Molly frowned at his bluntness and started her work, reaching into a cupboard in search for a beaker. Sherlock glanced at her turned back and thoughtfully steepled his hands under his chin. He regretted his words. John was always telling him to be more polite to people, and deep down, he knew his friend was right. But what could he say now?

"What did...what did you do last night?" He asked hesitantly.

"Excuse me?" Molly turned with a beaker in her hand.

"What did you do last night?" Sherlock repeated.

"Not much," She placed the beaker by the sink, and leaned against the counter, "Watched EastEnders, called up my mum, we spoke for a while," She inwardly laughed at Sherlock's attempt a small talk.

"New Zealand or Australia?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"What?" Molly's head snapped up.

"Where has she gone to for her holiday?" He elaborated.

"Australia. How did you know she was on holiday?"

Molly was fully aware of Sherlock's...talents; but she hadn't spoken of her mum's holiday to anyone. There was no way he could have known, or even noticed.
Sherlock smiled, and jumped straight into his deduction...

"When you spoke of your mother you slumped your shoulders, though your eyebrows are at an even angle, so you're not angry with her, but somehow you're not exactly happy with something related to her. You mentioned that you spoke to her on the phone for a while, which means she had been unavailable to talk until then, and there were plenty of different topics of conversation to get through. There is also a postcard sticking out of your bag..."

He glanced over to the corner of the room where her worn out messenger bag had been thrown.
Molly followed his gaze and laughed in surprise to see the postcard her mother had sent from Australia peeping out of the side pocket.

"I can't see any people or places on the picture but the sun is very clear, which shows your mother has gone somewhere warm, and that fits exactly with what you told me last year about your mother hating the winter. Obviously if someone hates the winter it would make sense to fly to a country where it is summer,"

Sherlock couldn't resist a chance to show off. His eyes sparkled with the knowledge that his deduction had both startled and impressed Molly, who now stood frozen on the other side of the lab. She knew how intelligent and observant Sherlock could be, but never before had he gone into such detail on something she hadn't even mentioned.

"You miss her, don't you?" He asked, though he already knew her answer.

"Very much," She replied, and her eyes watered.

She turned away from him and looked out of the window, not wanting him to see her cry. It took a while to pull herself together, and then she spoke softly, so Sherlock had to strain his ears to hear her.

"I love the winter."

"Me too."

Molly turned and grinned at him.

"Nice to know we have something in common," She joked.

Sherlock returned her grin and stood from his desk. He started packing away some papers whilst absent-mindedly he hummed the tune to Jingle Bells. The hum sounded odd in his baritone voice and Molly couldn't help but laugh. He looked up at her trying to hide a giggle and soon they were laughing in harmony.

It was soon afterwards that Sherlock exited the building, wrapped up in his coat and scarf. It didn't take him long to arrive at 221b Baker street. John sat at the table with two cups of tea in front of him. Sherlock entered the kitchen and picked one up, his coat and scarf already removed.

"Morning," John said before putting his lips to the mug. He swallowed before asking, "St Barts again?"

The detective nodded.

"Was Molly there?" John inquired with a smile.

"Yes, why?"

"Just wondering."

Recently Sherlock had been seeing a lot more of the shy pathologist. Of course the detective himself was oblivious, but John had noticed. It had all started last Christmas, when Molly had arrived at the gathering dressed beautifully. Sherlock had humiliated her in front of everyone, which lead to him genuinely (which is something Sherlock never does) Through the last year Sherlock had tried to be nicer towards her. Suddenly, during the last two months, her name crept up in many conversations, and a copy of Molly's working hours had been found on Sherlock's desk. He was adamant it was for case reasons only, but the doctor was still suspicious.

Sherlock sat on one of the ancient kitchen chairs and sipped his tea. The men engaged in conversation about Sherlock's most recent experiment, and it wasn't long before they were interrupted by a mobile ringtone. Lestrade's name flashed onto the screen, and the phone was instantly picked up.

"What have you got for us?" Sherlock asked urgently. It had been weeks since their last case, and the boredom had started to take effect. He stood and left the kitchen.

"A man, quite young. Found dead by his girlfriend in their home on Cumberland Street. She said she'd left him asleep on the sofa when she went out last night, and when she went to wake him up this morning he was dead. There's been no break in, and his body is woundless. We're going to question the girl and look for identification but we need you here Sherlock. Be as quick as you can."

There was a mumble in the background and Lestrade hung up.

John was still sat at the table though there were only drops left in his mug. His mind was wandering. Despite Sherlock's boredom, John was in a good mood. He's been dating an astrophysicist whom he'd met during a recent case. She'd already met Sherlock, and hadn't run out crying at his deductions like most of his dates had. She'd even been able to make his 'sociopathic' flatmate laugh on a couple of occasions. He was still thinking about her when a head covered in familiar curly hair peered round the corner.

"Get dressed. We've got a case," Sherlock said with a grin.

"But I've got a date with Naomi today!" He answered, but the mob of curly hair had gone.

When John entered the living room half an hour later -washed and dressed- Sherlock was back on the phone to Lestrade.

"...Alright...No, tell Anderson to stay away...I don't care, you have plenty of other forensics...oh, well I see your point...fine, if he must..."

He glanced at John and spoke into the phone again.

"We'll be there soon. Don't let Anderson touch anything," He said quickly and hung up.