AN: This is my attempt at writing Sherlock. Because, you know, my other one was about Molly, and she's probably easier to write than Sherlock, cuz he's impossible… Anyway, enjoy!

Sherlock blew one of his many dark curls out of his face, concentrating. He'd need serious concentration if he was to get that one tiny layer of skin to get off of the scalp. With careful placement of the scalpel, he slowly inched it through the severed head. To ordinary people- the absolute morons that took up most of the population of Earth- he was skinning a head. To someone who knew a shred of anatomy, he was looking at something. To people who were actually competent- a breed of people slowly becoming extinct- he was experimenting. Probably something to do with the skull, if they knew him well enough. And he was. He was testing the layers of skin between the cranium and the scalp. He was almost there, just a little bit of precision, right there, yes, and-

"Sherlock?"

John's voice distracted him from completing it, but he'd still managed to pull the scalpel out of the head without ruining the experiment. Actually, he'd just completed it. Thank John for unintentionally helping him complete his experiment. In a fairly good mood, he replied, "Yes?" "There's been a murder." John stated. "About an eight." Sherlock, being his arrogant, cocky self, responded, "Well, what was it? Knowing your rating on murders, this is probably a five or six." John shook his head. "Actually, no. Locked doors, looked a hell of a lot like a suicide. The only differences were that he did it in a porta-potty, and there was no weapon."

Sherlock stayed silent for a bit, going over various possible solutions in his head. Deciding to get some concrete evidence, he nodded. "Your interpretation on murders is improving ever so slightly, John," he commented as he slipped on his coat and wound his scarf around his neck. "Yeah, thanks," John replied sarcastically.

Sherlock burst through the doors to the morgue, in his dramatic fashion that would make a stranger go wide-eyed but make someone who knew him roll their eyes.

As he was making his usual dramatic entrance, he noticed someone else in the morgue, talking to Molly. As usual, he went through the deduction process.

First evaluation: common sense. They look like they're familiar, and furthermore, they're conversing in a morgue. He may not know much about human nature, but he knew that they were generally disgusted with the insides of corpses. Therefore, it can't be a family member, because they're all a bunch of stuck-up morons who are too worried about their hair or whatever to bother worrying about 'Morbid Molly', the oddball girl who 'wears the most hideous clothing ever' and 'cannot apply makeup if her life depended on it'. They-

Concentrate, Sherlock. The person.

Okay, so, not family. Close, though. Known since childhood, going with the easy closeness between them, the innocent playfulness.

Second evaluation: details. Male, early thirties, died dark hair, with a streak of- purple? Did people that age really do that? Several piercings, a tattoo of a skull- an anatomically correct skull, impressive- on arm, gold shirt with Weasley is our King logo, whatever that means. No hairs indicating a pet, bit of chocolate on shoulder- had a cookie recently- miniscule amount of tea on corner of lip. Had lunch recently- but no, not lunch, because no one eats only a cookie for lunch. Snack, then. But it's nine in the morning, who has a snack at nine in the morning? Someone who had a small breakfast. Why would he have a small breakfast? He can afford to have those expensive earrings in each one of his piercings. He can afford breakfast, so that's not the reason. He probably didn't have time to eat, as he slept late- he rushed to put that shirt on- got on a train, went to London. He's not a tourist, obviously, he's just talking to Molly. Not bad news- no indicator that he'd been crying or any sort of sadness. He got on a train to London, and worried about coming late. Has news- no one really goes on a train to see a childhood friend just to say hi. Happy news. Also has engagement ring on. Therefore- childhood friend goes to see Molly to invite her to the wedding. Has a lot of expensive earrings- one is a flower. Why would a man have a flower earring? Conclusion- borrowed it from sister, older sister. It's worn down, very worn down. Sentiment. Why would he keep a flower earring from his older sister and wear it all the time? Something made him want to keep her close. Maybe she committed suicide, maybe she died. Most likely committed suicide.

So, childhood friend, punk, dead sister, getting married, and has a tattoo of an anatomically correct skull. And that was all done by the time Molly noticed their presence. Good to know that he hadn't lost his touch.

"Oh, hi, Sherlock," Molly greeted, "This is Ian. Ian, this is Sherlock and John." John smiled and held out his hand. Ian shook it, and then offered his hand to Sherlock. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow. Ian frowned. Molly sighed and stated, "Sherlock, you might as well get the showing-off done now."

Sherlock smirked slightly, and replied, "Ian here has a tattoo of a skull- an anatomically correct skull, at that. Either Molly told him to get it done that way because she's a pathologist, or you yourself have enough knowledge of anatomy to get it done that way and that's why you're friends with her. You had an older sister, committed suicide. You woke up late, came here on the train to tell Molly that you were getting married. Congratulations. You dress like a delinquent teenager even though you're in your early thirties. You've known Molly since you were children, given the easy conversation and the fact that no living member of her family would ever step foot in a morgue. Did I get anything wrong?"

Ian's eyes widened. "How on earth- how did you know that? All that?" Sherlock replied, "I didn't know, I saw. Like I said, easy conversation. Knew each other a long time. Also like I said, all of Molly's living family are arrogant buffoons who apparently have a delusional belief that getting plastic surgery and putting on thirty layers of makeup will save their souls. Obviously, you're not disturbed with dead bodies quite as much as those blithering idiots, given the skull and the mere fact that you're in a morgue. Now, the sister. You have a flower earring, left ear. Worn down, old. If you had a little sister, she wouldn't give you her earrings, you'd give her yours. So, older sister. Now, if you had an older sister who gave you an earring of a flower, why would you wear it around? Something happened to her, something bad enough to make you wear it around everywhere, so as to keep a piece of her close. Apparently, people do that. They do, right?" He asked John. John sighed and nodded.

"Right. So," he continued, "most likely, she died. No one dies by accident these days, and it's highly unlikely that she was murdered. So, she probably killed herself. As for getting married, you have an engagement ring, and we've already stated that you're a friend from childhood, so, you hopped on a train to come to London to invite your good friend Molly to your wedding. You may or may not have asked her aloud already, if not, Molly wants to go. The fact that you dress like a delinquent is a glaringly obvious detail that only a true moron would miss. Did I get anything wrong?" Ian smiled. "No. Nothing. Nothing wrong whatsoever."

Sherlock smirked. "Good. So, did Molly get the skull done anatomically correct, or was that you?" Ian looked at said tattoo. "I got it done. Molly was there, but she didn't tell me to get it done like this. Just my pride in knowing things like this, interesting things. Molly wanted to be a pathologist. Mine was to be a forensic pathologist, like with the police, and that's exactly what happened. Only difference between dreams and reality is that Molly decided to go to London, and I decided to stay in Cardiff. And speaking of tattoos…"

Ian smiled mischievously at Molly. Molly groaned. "Do you really have to bring that up?" she complained.

Ian winked at her. "'Course I do. I'm your childhood best friend. It's my job to embarrass you in front of the friends you made while I was gone." "What is he talking about?" Sherlock inquired, obviously curious. Molly, knowing that she shouldn't even bother trying to dismiss that, replied, "I am not telling you. Ever."

"Molly…do you have a tattoo?!" John asked in disbelief. Ian smiled and responded, "Yup! It's of an anatomically correct heart! The tattoo stylist I went to had serious fucking skill." "Okay, then…" John replied.

AN: Yeah, bad place for a chapter to end, I know. This is probably going to be a short fic, because I'm taking baby steps with this. Because, you know, I don't wanna suck. Okay, so, see that box? It says, 'Type your review here…' Obey it. Type your review. Do it, now. Don't bother reading the rest of this AN, just review.