A/N: This is my first Sherlock story (I've actually published before). I hope I do it justice.

All my love and all my thanks plus more to the lovely CompanionToMisterHolmes for beta-ing this story. You're an angel.

I do not, unfortunately, own any of the characters except the very first two you meet (aka not Sherlock, Molly, John, Mrs Hudson, Anthea, Mycroft, so on and so forth, etc, etc.) I only own the characters I made up (duh) and the plot line.

mrsmollyhooperholmes

PS If I start to ramble, please feel free to leave a review telling me to stop. Well, review anyways, but...oh dear, here I go again.

Enjoy!

"My lady?"

"Alexander, you had best pray that the news you bear is worth interrupting my meditation for," the seventeen-year-old girl answered, never opening her eyes.

"My…my lady, your brother is dead."

The girl merely smiled, but there was no warmth.

"Oh, is he? Finally. Did Svensky get to him?"

"No, my lady. He had a confrontation with Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah. And this Holmes fellow killed him?"

"No, my lady. He shot himself so that Mr Holmes would jump from the roof of St Bart's."

"But he isn't dead?"

"The world believes him to be…"

"Who knows?"

"A pathologist named Molly Hooper."

"Get me her info. And Alexander?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Don't interrupt my meditation ever again. I just learned a new Krav Maga move, and I'd be happy to test it on someone."

Alexander gulped and shut the door quietly, leaving the girl cross-legged on the floor, eyes still closed.

Molly Hooper bent over the cadaver she was stitching up.

"Doctor Hooper?" said a rich baritone voice. "The blood results have come back."

"And?" she asked, straightening to look into the grey-blue-green (she could never tell) eyes of Sherlock Holmes, currently in disguise as Sheldon Hinton, a forensic pathologist technician, assigned to one Doctor Molly Hooper.

"Lily of the valley-a deadly poison-as well as traces of mercury, although the stomach contents show that he ate fish before death, so that's not really an issue, except that the mercury levels are far too high to be simply salmon. Tell Lestrade to investigate the wife's best friend. I believe that he'll find something interesting."

"Okay, Sherlock," Molly said absently, bending back over the cadaver.

"Who's Sherlock?" asked Sherlock innocently.

"Oh! No one. Um, I'll tell DI Lestrade, Sher-Sheldon."

Sheldon-not-Sherlock glanced at the clock.

"Your shift's over," he noted.

"Yeah, I'll be done in a second."

Sherlock frowned. "Let's go."

Molly put the last stitch in the body and straightened.

"Okay, go put him away. I shall finish the paperwork."

Fifteen minutes later, they were ready to leave.

"ALEXANDER!"

The slim blonde figure called out her servant's name as she clicked down the hall in a grey suit (Westwood, a gift from Jim) and four-inch-high stilettos (black, glossy, a gift from Mother when she had her first seduction lesson, two years and seventeen days before), tapping a message on her phone.

The pose and concentration were reminiscent of Anthea. In fact, the night of John Watson's meeting with the PA to Mycroft Holmes, Jim had arranged for her to replace Anthea. The real woman had been captured and drugged so that she wouldn't remember a thing.

"I want cameras installed in that…pathologist's lab. A new technician just started, Sheldon Hinton…the name and description seems a bit too like Sherlock Holmes for my liking. I also want cameras in every room in Molly Hooper's flat, except the bathroom. I have no desire to see that. Get Jason on that, quickly. And I want the name on my birth certificate changed. I'm not going to be Gina Eliza Moriarty any more. No, from now on, I shall be Jane Irene Moriarty."

"Yes, my lady. Anything else?"

"Get me a job as a receptionist at St Bart's. Say I'm twenty-two, I can look it. I want to keep an eye on that pathologist and her little technician."

"Yes, my lady."

As Alexander hurried away, Jane typed the final character into her phone and sent a text.

"It's gonna start soon, Sherlock, the second fall. But don't be scared…oh, wait, do," she muttered. "Jim was a softie. I won't fail. I'll kill you, Sherlock Holmes, and I'll make sure you stay dead."