"Anderson, SHUT UP!" Molly looked up, half-stunned and half-amused as a certain consulting detective swept into the lab, followed by a gawky policeman. She inwardly sighed, already pulling her clipboard off the desk, for she had just completed an autopsy and had just shed her gloves and lab coat. Molly quickly shrugged back into the less than pristine coat and plastered a smile on her face.

"And who are you visiting today, Sherlock?" Molly cringed internally as she snapped at the detective, who didn't appear to notice her rudeness.

"Jennifer Price, found yesterday behind the Charlotte Hotel," Sherlock answered succinctly, ignoring the look of wonder on the policeman's face. Idiot was probably curious as to how he had figured out where the woman had been found. Never mind that his files were currently half hanging out of his briefcase. "American, studying at the…. At King's College on a scholarship." The woman was wearing a small pin on her jacket, deigning the university's emblem, as well as the program. While well-dressed, she was not wearing up to date fashion, nor did she carry an umbrella or anorak suitable for the sudden rain London was apt to experience.

"24 years of age, in otherwise perfect health apart from the fact that she is dead," Molly scanned her notes briefly.

"Friends say that she was studious, rarely went to parties, and went to bed in the dormitory at nine Tuesday night. Price was gone to the library early Wednesday morning, so her roommates say." Anderson listed, trying to show off in front of an audience.

"Price's routine was to go to the library. Obviously, she didn't go to the library that Wednesday." Sherlock began to pace, irritated. Price was found at the Charlotte Hotel, one point five miles from the college. "She was in perfect health," he repeated Molly's words from earlier, zeroing in on the specific meaning. Sherlock lifted the sleeve covering the body's arm. As he had suspected, it was covered in bruises. Subconsciously, he wrapped his hand around the arm, his fingers roughly matching the bruised pattern.

Bile began to rise in Sherlock's throat. "This woman was raped, and murdered," he said coldly. Left for dead in the alley. "Dressed in an older style suit, she was on her way to meet someone. A date. Probably arranged at the last minute. The pin on her jacket is on the wrong side; she normally wears it on the left – there are tiny holes on the left lapel but none on the right. She dressed in a hurry. Her skirt caught on the pavement, there are several runs that run parallel to each other. They were obviously created at the same time."

"There's no sign of forced…entry, on the woman," Molly could have kicked herself. What terrible, awkward phrasing to say that the autopsy revealed no indication that the woman had been raped.

"It began consensually," Sherlock replied, irritated. "It began consensually," he repeated, slower. "Molly, that's it!" He exclaimed, disappearing from the morgue immediately.

"I suppose that I'd better go after him," Anderson sniffed. "Thinks he's superior to everyone."

"Isn't that why you brought me to the crime scene?" Sherlock poked his head back into the morgue and winked at Molly. "Are we going to go and arrest Richard Dawkins or hang around a body all day?"

"Richard Dawkins?" Anderson looked up at Sherlock, confused.

"Yes, Richard Dawkins. Do keep up, Anderson." Sherlock left once more, this time leaving Molly alone in the morgue.