Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock's

This is the sequel to The End of the World, Maybe, where Molly interrupts Irene and Sherlock in that scene full of sexual tension instead of Mycroft's agent in ASiB.

This can be a stand alone story, though.

The Bloody Case of Sherlock Holmes

Molly was standing in the mortuary's freezer that held a few of their recently deceased that needed to be preserved. Looking at her watch for the tenth time, she sighed and her breath formed ice crystals in the air.

In front of her was large pig that was strung up by its neck and chained to the rafters above. Sherlock had put in a special order for an ungutted pig that he somehow managed to talk the manager to order and ship one here for him.

The pig had only just arrived a half hour ago and the call had been made to Sherlock immediately. Molly was growing more and more impatient. Her shift hadn't started yet, but she wanted to be here if Sherlock needed her for anything... and she really wanted to see him.

Molly checked her watch again: forty-five minutes. She didn't understand, the trip by cab was only fifteen minutes and by tube was another five.

Glancing briefly behind her at the empty doorway, Molly resumed gazing darkly back at the pig, frankly, it was its fault for her being her this early. A few seconds pass while she studies the pig. Not an it, a she. It was her fault for this.

BAM!

Molly jumped and spun midair as the double doors were blasted open by an eager Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock! What have you got...?" Molly looked warily at the sharp object in Sherlock's hands.

"A harpoon. It's a harpoon for stabbing things, thus: the pig." He replied calmly, inspecting the pig from afar before going up to it to poke and prod at the sow. Finding it sufficient, he rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt and walked forward.

"Killed the usual way?" Sherlock inquired.

"With a drug, yes. The most humane way."

"Perfect."

Molly took a few steps back as Sherlock lifted the harpoon. Without hesitation, he plunged the dagger-like tip into the pig's heart and pulled the barbed tip out viciously. A small spray of blood few across the room, hitting Sherlock's left side and Molly's feet.

Molly let out a short squeal and took a few steps back, "What are you doing?" She exclaimed, appalled that Sherlock would be so cruel to a dead being. She may have been longing to see Sherlock's face since she woke up, but this wasn't a quiet experiment in the lab.

"Testing a man's alibi," Sherlock replied, his eyes focused solely on the wound slowly dripping dead blood, "If this is unsavory to you, you can leave."

"O-of course." Molly said quietly as she backed to the door, ever so reluctant to leave him.

"No, no, no, that won't do." Sherlock muttered to himself, lifting the bloodied harpoon again.

Molly shrieked as she dashed for the doors, desperate to avoid the next spray of blood as Sherlock repeated the stab-and-rip movement.

Molly made her way to the a small window that was installed by the door.

She could see Sherlock's heaving breaths as he inspected his five new wounds. Molly could see that each had hit a specific organ within the pig.

Sherlock pulled out his small magnifying glass and opened it. Holding it up, he frowned. He took a step back from the pig and looked closer at his eye glass, wiping a bit of stray blood that his hand had smeared onto it.

Returning to his place beside the pig, he examined each bleeding mark independently, silently comparing them. Molly watched the way that his face contorted as he frowned and his eyes brightened when he found something satisfactory.

Molly saw Sherlock's face turn emotionless as he calculated in his head, only his eyes narrowing a bit here and there at times.

This went on for a few moments before Sherlock came out of his trance and quickly stabbed the pig straight through its liver. Sherlock's hands, now red with blood, pulled the harpoon out and grabbed the two sides of the cut. Pulling it apart further, he gazed inside. His eyes narrowed and withdrew his hands as a huff of breath was released in a pout-like manner. Molly would have found this a lot more cute if there wasn't blood on everything.

He repeated the same actions with the stomach.

This time, Molly could see a pleased smile on Sherlock's face as he stood straighter and stabbed directly into the stomach another five times from varying heights and angles.

At one point, Sherlock had wiped his forehead of sweat and blood, but the area was once again covered and dripping into his eyes.

Molly gazed at Sherlock's blood painted shirt as it pulled across his chest when his reached upward to inspect the highest stab wound.

Then, Sherlock stooped to the lowest wound and intently searched it for something in particular and Molly was unable to figure out what it was.

Sherlock stood and began to hurry to the other side of the sow, but in his hast, his foot slipped on a patch of fresh blood and his foot slide out from under him.

Sherlock landed on his back and a barely audible grunt could be heard outside the freezer by Molly.

Molly gasped and hurried to the doors, as she pulled them open, she could hear Sherlock softly chuckle to himself and got back on his feet, stretching out that wonderful torso of his; completely ignoring Molly's presence.

Molly would be lying if the chuckle didn't throw her off a bit. She'd be committing blasphemy if she said that some part of her (in guilty pleasure) wanted Sherlock to be hurt so she could come to his rescue and comfort him.

Softly closing the door and returning to her post, Molly continued her vigil over her adored Sherlock.

Swiftly, Sherlock pulled out a small switchblade and cut some flesh surrounding the wound that pierced the liver. His hands disappeared within the pig's side as he groped around. A shadow of a smile formed as he strode back over to the row of stomach wounds.

Returning to the lowest one of the set, Sherlock pulled the flesh apart, the ghost of a smile turning into a dazzling one. His eyes were wide open as the pieces of his puzzle came together.

Molly figured that Sherlock's goal had been met, so she looked behind her quickly and found a cabinet that had some wet wipes inside. Grabbing a box, she made her way back into the freezer.

She opened the double doors to find Sherlock standing a few paces away from the pig, breaths coming out in quick puffs from the exertion. His chest and face were covered with sprays of blood, his back was a large smear of red from his fall. Sherlock's black shoes seemed to have scrapped by without much gore, but his arms were coated quite thoroughly.

Sherlock wiped the blade on his pant leg, folding the blade inward, he placed it back in his pocket.

Avoiding the puddles of slick blood, Molly offered Sherlock the box of wipes.

"H-here, Sherlock." She said a little timidly, after all, the harpoon was still in his hand.

Not surprised by her presence what so ever, Sherlock looked down at her. Then to the box.

Molly could see the detective's trademark 'calculating look' cross his face again.

Putting all the evidence together, Sherlock could see that there were not enough wipes to completely clean off the blood, so why bother? When he reached the flat, he could take a shower and get clean all at once rather than trying at it twice and wasting time.

"Thank-you, Molly. I'll see that the cleaning crew cleans this up." Sherlock began to take elegant paces toward the door.

Molly attempted to keep him there longer, "Sherlock!" She sputtered as he spun to look at her with a questioning look, "Ah, what exactly was the man's alibi? How did it come down to mauling a dead pig?"

Sherlock smirked at the mortuary worker.

"The alibi itself does not matter, what does matter is what was achieved and proved by 'mauling a dead pig'. I needed to know if I could pierce the stomach and liver, while breaking the pig's back too, in one stab. I was able to figure all the possible and angles needed, and check marked each point. I also found that I needed to work from the stomach side and thrust upward. All in all, it is systematically impossible to damage all three internal structures in one try. Thus, I have proved my inquiry correct and I need to phone Lestrade so he can release the man in police custody and arrest the client's housekeeper's husband."

"Oh, was it now..." Molly breathed out.

"Yes. Quite simple, really."

"Does John ever get what you're saying?" Molly asked.

"At times, but only in the rarest occasion." Answered Sherlock as he left through the double doors into the adjoining laboratory.

Molly hastily followed, wanting to continue their... well you couldn't really call it a conversation... much less a chat. It was a... uh... 'desperate ploy for attention from the guy who is talking to you like a five-year-old', type of thing.

"Are you sure that you're done here, Sherlock?" Molly tried again.

"Believe so. I already have my barbed harpoon."

"Good, you have your spear, but what abou-"

Sherlock cut in, "Harpoon."

"Yes," Molly blushed. Collecting herself again, she restarted, "But what about food. After finishing a case, I'm sure that you're wanting to eat."

"Mrs. Hudson offered to cook breakfast for John and me today."

"I wasn't... I was asking... Never mind. Do tell me though, ever think that-"

"No doubt. Really, phrase you're questions better. You're worse than John."

Molly blushed harder.

"...That someone might... fancy you? That they would try to 'make a move'?"

"Hardly. I don't have much time to 'stop and see the sights'; since we're using slang."

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Then, heed my earlier advice: phrase you're questions better." Sherlock advised. Amusing himself by further flustering the mortuary worker. John would no doubt scold him if he ever found out. Sherlock would easily claim that he was gathering information about female attitude and tendencies.

Vaguely, Sherlock heard Mrs. Hooper begin to speak again while her feet shuffled uneasily. Although, he, himself, was deep within his working mind. He was reviewing the case currently at hand:

The renowned scientist, Taylor Lawrence, works on animal traits and had created the 'perfect pig' with genetic fusion and breeding. Three days ago the gardener found the pig dead in her enclosed area with a single stab wound to into the stomach with a sharp object, pig fell on it's side and was pierced again by a garden hoe. The spine was also found to be broken due to the stabbing force. The old woman was too weak: garden worker – Innocent.

NEW: Found that liver, stomach and backbone can not be damaged in one thrust. Garden hoe pierced pig's liver on the other side of the stomach as it fell over, dead.

Tobacco ash # 167 was found on scene. No one on staff smokes but young Daniel. Interviewed. Innocent – too tall.

Pig's wound suggest a barbed spear or harpoon. Homemade - Frayed twine string fragments found on scene.

Known people who know of pig and know how to aim with a spear-like weapon: scientist's wife, scientist, – both from foreign travel to native tribes – a part-time maid's husband and son's best friend.

Wife never liked the pig, but – Innocent.

Scientist – Improbable.

Part-time maid's husband and son's friend both smoke cigarettes that create # 167 tobacco ash. Both interviewed.

Friend: Just after puberty, has has already had two girlfriends; slept with most recent. Learned to throw spears for fun, no doubt. Had been out of town recently - same time as killing... Arranged it that way? No, not clever enough – Innocent.

Part-time maid's husband: Recent hip surgery, five months since – explains limp and mud on shoe from where the leg is shuffled forward awkwardly when he walks on it. Mud sample – Same as mud in pig pen. Claims he didn't like his wife's late hours – He loves her, but she doesn't feel the same, she keeps late hours hoping to come home and find him asleep. Shoulders suggest that he Indian-style hunted with a spear as a youth. Observation: Pig's blood on his wrist watch on the left arm. He's right handed, He pulled the harpoon out with dominate hand and held the carcass down with his left; the wrist coming in contact with blood.

Maid's husband – Guilty.

Yes. He was definitely correct, time to make a call. Sherlock's eyes cleared and cut across Molly, who was in mid-sentence.

"Hold that thought, Molly." Sherlock snatched his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Lestrade. It only took a single ring for the DI to pick up.

"Sherlock? Find anything?"

"Yes. Release the idiot that Anderson thought was the pig-killer and arrest the housekeeper's husband."

"Wait... wha-"

Sherlock hung up. Looking at Molly, who was looking quite put out, he said, "Thank you for your time this morning. It was very nice of you to come in and help. Good-afternoon."

"Wait... did you hear anything I just said?" She asked, crestfallen.

"Sorry, no, it doesn't seem so."

Sherlock strode out of the mortuary lab that they currently occupied and walked to the main entrance to hail a cab to get home. Silently, he wondered to himself if that was still possible, taxis may be wary of the sight of blood. Time to test it out.

Hearing the door closed behind Sherlock, Molly snapped out of her thoughts, her face burned bright with annoyance and embarrassment. Of course the one time that she actually comes out and tells a guy that she like him, he doesn't pay attention long enough.

FIN

A/N: Wow. I had so much fun with this. Like, the amount of fun that sane people should never have...wait... :I

Poor Molly, maybe one day he'll listen. BUT NOT IN MY FANDOM. I like the one-sided aspect of HooperHolmes.

FYI:I rally don't know if you can break a pigs backbone and pierce it's stomach in one stab or if you can also pierce the liver too at the same time. I just needed a plot.

My next story will be after Sherlock "supposed" death and he comes into he mortuary to find John and Molly there. Only Sherlock is in disguise and they don't recognize him at first. Let's see how they react when the dead consulting detective is resurrected!

Review to your heart's content, because frankly, that's what those amazingly, beautiful button down there are for.