Oh, come on Molly, breathe.

Deep breaths.

It's only make-up. You can do this.

Molly used to be a fairly normal, relatively happy person. She didn't have a boyfriend but she had a job she liked, some friends and an adequate life.

Now applying make-up and getting dressed in the morning turned her into a nervous wreck. She was pretty sure he was going to turn up at Bart's and every time he came she felt like she was standing naked in the city square. Every touch of mascara was read like a psychological evaluation, just as the lack of it was.

It was too much, simply too much.

Steering herself and gathering her courage, she decided to go for her usual nude tones, blush, a little bit of mascara and...lip-gloss? Lipstick?...he would read too much in lipstick. Gloss. Definitely Gloss... Gloss? Gloss.

After applying the lipstick, Molly smiled one more time to make sure there was none on her teeth, oh God that time was mortifying, she tied up her hair in that style he once said suited her and went to work.

"Hey Molly, we've got a fresh one!" Tom grinned at her as she walked in. " We're sending the stiff down, the freak wants to have a look at him."

"Don't call him that." Molly answered automatically. "It's rude."

"Ah because he's so polite, isn't he, Molly?" Tom mused sardonically. "I really don't know what you see in him."

"Stiff." Molly said, curtly.

"Huh?"

"Don't call him stiff, it's rude." And with that she went to the morgue without even looking at Tom.

Of course she had meant to stand up for Sherlock, but she was fast becoming the laughing stock of the hospital. If she had any hope of retaining some dignity she had to learn to step back. It's not like Sherlock cared what Tom thought of him.

But I care.

Molly gripped her notice board tightly to her chest. People were so horrible with Sherlock. The fact that he was horrible with them didn't count, he couldn't help it! He was horrible with everyone. So cruel, always...

"Molly." the interruption of her reverie caused her to jump and almost drop her vial.

"Oh good morning, Doctor Paten!" She stood up from her chair.

"Molly, a new hospital is opening in Manchester. They need a new Director of Pathology and asked me if I knew anyone." He looked at her meaningfully.

"Oh...Oh!" She exclaimed. "Really? Me? Seriously?"

"It would be great leap in your career: Head of Pathology at such a young age. I told them you would be perfect for the job."

She felt her stomach clench slightly. "Thank you Doctor Paten, but I'm learning so much here..."

"...Working with Sherlock Holmes, I know. Now that you can say you've worked with him even more doors will open for you, it's not necessary to stay here any longer, people never last this much with Holmes anyway!" Doctor Paten walked closed and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Molly you're a gifted pathologist. You could have a brilliant career if you tried! I'm baffled you're still working here after so long, you surely must realise you're wasting away in this place. At least think about it."

The pathologist smiled meekly. "Thank you for the opportunity, Doctor Paten. I...I will think about it."

Satisfied he'd gotten that much out of her, the kindly old doctor left the morgue.

Molly stayed very still for a while, pondering her options.

She could leave, run away from the man that tormented her, and get a great career... Or she could stay, stuck in the same job with a guy who barely knew she was alive.

"Mmh, tough choice." She muttered to herself. The truth was, change scared her; all she needed was that extra push to give her the strength to leave, to move on.

The corpse was delivered. He had been found dumped in a parking lot, naked, with no ID of any kind. She began inspecting him when a familiar voice echoed through the corridors.

"Of course she wasn't the Duchess! Did you see her handbag?"

"Yes, it was a Louis Vuitton."

"Oh my God how did you not notice? The monogram! Did you even look at the monogram?"

"The what?"

Sherlock sighed "The monogram on the top right corner was covered by the handle, which by the was had 6 stitches instead of 5. That handbag is an imitation!"

The door flew open as John and Sherlock walked in. Sherlock kept talking animatedly and walking around the room as he failed to contain his energy. "And it was a present, obviously..."

John sighed in resignation. "How do you know?"

"The rubber." Sherlock said matter-of-factly, looking at his friend expectantly.

All he got was John's blank stare. Sherlock moaned in frustration and continued to explain.

"The handles have traces of rubber on them, particularly where the hands hold them. Louis Vuitton handbags have leather handles that grow darker over time, especially in the areas where they are most handled. Some women use rubber on those spots to make the leather stay lighter longer and thus have the bag look newer than it is. No woman would waste time rubbing a fake handbag, so it is clearly a present from someone she believed could afford a proper bag; she simply didn't know the person was too mean, or didn't think her worth enough, to buy her an original.

She is the duke's mistress, and an unimportant one at that!" Sherlock turned to Molly.

"Cause of death?"

"Head trauma." She muttered wistfully as she looked into his steely eyes. Barely noticing her, he looked at the corpse.

"Good morning, Molly how are you today?

Fine, thank you, Sherlock. And how are you?

I must say you look very nice today, that lipstick suits you..." Molly shook her head.

Yeah, right.

She continued speaking as Sherlock walked around the body, his mind racing as usual.

"He didn't have any clothes or items on him, so he's a John Doe at the moment. He was found at a parking lot, so Lestrade is..."

"Call Lestrade and tell him to look at any place where beach volley is played."

"Pardon?"

"Physique and bruising is consistent with the sport, his toenails and fingernails have sand in them, the kind you find in beach volley courts. His hair is wet though and doesn't have sand, which means he had finished playing and was in the shower. He didn't finish the shower because if he had he wouldn't still have the sand between his toes and in other parts of the body. This man was naked when he was murdered, no more than 5 hours ago."

Sherlock ran to the door with his phone in his hands "Find any beach volley games within the last 6 hours, now!" He looked at Molly before walking out. "That woman from the golf court. I want to see her again. I'll be back in an hour."

John smiled at her and gave a little shrug and a wave before running after his friend.

Molly was left standing by the beach volley John Doe.

"Bye, Sherlock." She whispered to the empty room.