This is my first story that I've actually published in a while. After the finale of Season 4 I felt the need to really explore Molly and her build up to the finale, and her realasionship development with Sherlock. This will include every episode she's in in each chapter, and a before and after.

Here's the before. :)

Enjoy

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The Hypothermic Sauna

"Oh, it was a case about, um, ten years ago nobody could figure out. There was an old lady dead in a sauna."

"Oh yeah? How'd she die?"

"Hypothermia."

"What?"

"I loved her."

Molly turned her head away, fisting her hands inside her pockets. She wished that they wouldn't have to identify the body like this, with a sheet covering garish pale skin, no semblance of life left except the shell of a body once occupied.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Thank you for coming in."

Tears hung off the pepper lashes of the man opposite of her. He seemed not to notice Molly was even there. He had deep set lines drawn into his face, and they contorted against the strain of his quivering frown. A weathered hand reached into view and caressed the woman's cheek, as if she was still feeling, as if waking her up from sleep. He didn't flinch from the cold of her skin, or notice the stiffness of her body. His tears simply dropped onto the closed face of his wife as he kissed her cheek. "I love you, so much."

God help her, Molly felt like a mess watching this man say goodbye to his wife. The old love cradled in his touch, she didn't want to think about the memories they'd made together. She swallowed the lump in her throat and controlled the sting in her eyes. She was the strong one here, she had no right to cry over someone she didn't know, and she had no right to break in front of a shattered man.

Warm brown eyes followed up to her own and she tried not to look away. She'd felt caught in a special moment she shouldn't have seen. "You'll find out what happened to her?" He asked. "She may have been an old girl, but she was healthy enough."

Molly nodded, tried a smile. "Of course," She said. "Now if you will follow Dr. Stanford out so he can finish some of the papers. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss."

The man nodded, placed one last kiss on his wife and followed Stanford out of the room. Molly then took one good look at the door, leaned against the table the body was on, bowing her head. Six months she'd been doing autopsies and she still was trying to get used to it. She usually could get past it with a few awful jokes and move on to slicing open the cadaver, but some cases like this hurt.

"Alright Mrs. Stubb," She began, wheeling her tools closer to the slab. "Let's see what you have to say."

Throughout the autopsy Molly made notes to the recorder hanging above the body. The body didn't seem to have anything initially the matter. It looked as if she'd dropped dead of her own accord. But opening up the body was a different story.

"Upon further research there are signs of respiratory failure. Lungs are slightly heavier than the average weight, but exhibit no signs of Tobacco usage." Molly took the right lung from the weight next to her a copied down the numbers on the scale. "The lungs seem to have suffered inflammation most commonly occurring during respiratory failure. I'll be taking a small sample for further research, as well as sampling the blood for signs of a profusion of carbon dioxide."

Molly moved farther into the analysis of how Mrs. Stubb had managed to drop dead in the middle of a sauna. It began to become evident however that there was something very amiss. Not only were her lungs exhibiting signs of respiratory failure, Molly also noticed that there was cardiac failure as well, and while both came hand in hand it seemed rather odd that both struck at the same time. Cardiac Failure, Respiratory Failure, gangrene all symptoms of one big beast.

Molly stepped back, cocking her head to the side and observed the body. Hypothermia. All of the pieces were fitting together, but the picture made no sense. Hadn't Scotland Yard said they found her in a Sauna, no signs of the body being moved? They'd actually found her pressed into the corner, under the benches. "You were burrowing, weren't you?" Molly whispered.

Then she noticed the placement of a formulated bruise curving behind the neck. Molly turned the head and saw the tell-tale signs of an injection point for a substance Molly would surely find in the bloodstream. Smirking, Molly peeled off the blue latex gloves and threw them into the bin. "Well, you are proving to be quite interesting, Mrs. Stubb."

Lestrade the DI for Scotland Yard found Molly waiting outside of the morgue doors, the patient file in hand. "Molly, you said the blood work came back?"

Molly nodded, suppressing a sly smile. She'd met with Lestrade on a few occasions where she'd done the autopsies of a few unfortunate murder victims. "Yes, and it's incredible." She said, pushing from the wall. "I don't think that it was some fluke, her dying of hypothermia I mean. I think that it was-"

"Murder, quite obvious, Doctor, thank you."

Molly recoiled with a questioning look to Lestrade, who, in-tern, shook his head with a flitting glimpse of annoyance. Practically gliding down the hall, a man Molly hadn't previously seen appeared. He had a tall, lean frame, draped in a coat far too heavy for the month of June. He had eyes the color of ice and hair made of mahogany springs, every moment he looked at her she could feel him analyzing her. "Detective, are you sure that this one will due? She's rather new and still trying to prove her worth. Makes for mistakes."

Molly clutched the file closer to her, slightly affronted by the man. He was her age, maybe older, and working on cases. She could say the same thing. His fingers kept twitching, like an itch, and Molly could only stare. "W-Who are you?"

Lestrade stepped in, sending a darting glare over his shoulder. "He's helping with the case."

"The name's Sherlock Holmes." Molly eyed him, for which he rolled his own eyes.

"Molly Hooper." She replied. "Now why should I grant you access to the body?"

"Because I'm the only one who can solve this case, so if you would let us through."

"Lestrade?" Molly swerved on him. "Since when has Scotland Yard invested in the help of junkies, may I ask?"

Sherlock's face remained impassive, save for the slightest twitch of his mouth which gave him away. He was surprised. Molly pursed her lips. "I may examine dead bodies, Mr. Holmes, but I'm still a doctor and know an addict when I see one."

Sherlock smiled, a stretched smile that flipped Molly's stomach, causing a blush to spread unbidden to her cheeks. "You'll do very well, Dr. Hooper."

"What've you found Molly?" Lestrade prodded, glancing between the detective and the pathologist.

Molly broke her eyes from Sherlock, who looked like he was reading her, as if an open book. She hoisted the folders in her arms closer whilst she swung around and pushed open the doors of the morgue. It was a good few degrees colder just by walking through the doors, and Lestrade folded his arms against the cold whilst Molly wheeled out the body. She unzipped the body bag.

Molly opened her files, keeping a attentive eye on the new entity to her morgue. He was rather attractive she mused. He had pounced on examining the body like a bloodhound catching a sent. A small magnifying glass between his index finger and thumb, the glass inches from his eye. This was his element, though his eye continually twitched, moaning for a fix.

Clearing her throat, Molly turned her full attention to her file. "Mrs. Stubb's death resulted in hypothermia, as we obviously already know. The reason why I sense malicious intent, is this." Upon dawning a new pair of gloves, Molly moved the head, exposing the bruising on the neck. "I found this during the autopsy. An injection point from the look of it."

"What, I don't see anything?" Lestrade said, squinting at the neck.

Molly smiled. "Right here. Slight discoloration around the injection point." Her purple latex finger pushed against the portion of the neck in question.

"It's obvious, Detective, slight discoloration right below the ear." Sherlock sighed.

Lestrade came up closer to the body before looking at the injection point that Molly had spoken of. "Alright, so?"

"So," Molly stood up straight and discarded her gloves. "When I did the lab tests, they came back with moderate levels of barbiturates, enough to cause a mild sedative reaction." Seeing Lestrade's blank look, Molly smirked. "Barbiturates, due to the properties can have side effects which cause-"

Sherlock's blue eyes widened. "—Decreased metabolism, and drop of blood pressure which results in the stimulant effect of the drug."

Molly nodded, her cheeks heating. "Y-yes, exactly. When that happens in addition to factors such as her age and that fact that she was mildly anorexic-"

"What? But she's seventy-one."

"A seventy-one year old women who constantly is trying to keep up with the trends, Lestrade. You can tell from the obvious Botox injections on the forehead and cheeks, the constant dying of the hair, and the religious trips to the spa and sauna. An old women trying to remain young forever. Therefore she constantly tries to lose weight, even if it means starving herself to maintain it." Molly and Lestrade merely stared.

"Dear Lord, I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that."

Molly merely gaped. "That was incredibly accurate." She felt some tug at her stomach when Sherlock looked at her.

"Yes, I know." He pulled out a notepad, jotted down a few things, then spoke. "In addition to the malnutrition, the injection of the drug-"

"How do we know she didn't inject herself?"

Sherlock targeted a withering look at the poor DI. "She's obviously left handed, look at the indents on her fingers. Highly unlikely she'd inject something with her right hand on the right side of her neck. If she really wanted to inject drugs she would've done it directly into the arm. No, this, and the obvious bruising show that someone didn't want her to know they were injecting her. Someone knew what they were doing. It was the sauna assistant." Sherlock was rushing to the door, his paper in his hands flapping as if trying to escape. The man was manic.

Lestrade followed after him, casting a half-forgotten thanks at Molly. "You can't make someone have hypothermia in a sauna!"

"If they opened the vents they could, Lestrade!"

The doors swung shut, cutting off the exclamations from both parties. Molly blinked. "Alright." She mumbled into the cool air. Shutting the files, she zipped the body back up ready to roll it back into its locker.

The door slammed open.

Molly squeaked. Turning, she found the blue eyes of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who had popped his head back into the morgue.

"I feel we'll be seeing much more of each other, Dr. Hooper."

He didn't leave, just stood gazing at her, as if waiting for her to say 'piss off'.

"I suppose so." Was her only reply as Molly dropped the hand that had unconsciously clasped over her heart.

With a smirk Sherlock had disappeared into the hall once more.

Molly had a sinking feeling she'd regret her agreement. Yet another blush lit up her neck and ears all the same

...