Oh, thanks for the favs, follows and reviews! It's so lovely! Time to take a little trip to the morgue. This is becoming my favourite kind of scene – examining the body, gathering evidence and watching these people work together and react to each other. Fun! (psst -I still don't own it . . .in case you were wondering.)

I could have been someone

Well so could anyone

You took my dreams from me

When I first found you

I kept them with me babe

I put them with my own

Can't make it all alone

I've built my dreams around you.

(Fairytale of New York – The Pogues)

Molly clutched her Secret Santa gift in a vise like grip as she made her way down to the morgue. Back at the party, she was sure that a bottle of kahlua was making it's rounds, by now, spiking the coffees of those who were not scheduled to work that day, judging by the raucous the party made, now muted by distance.

She found Sherlock and Greg awaiting her arrival just outside the double set of swinging doors that led to a series of examination rooms where autopsies were preformed.

"Molly, I'm so sorry to drag you away from the party." Greg Lestrade looked truly apologetic seeing the pathologist arrive with the gift still in her arms.

"Yes, well, death doesn't take a holiday, does it?" Molly replied with a shrug. This wasn't her first Christmas murder. Nor would it likely be her last.

Greg nodded with compassion. How well he knew this, having put in his share of time working homicide through the holidays. He stepped aside so Molly could lead the way.

"Sherlock." Molly nodded at the consulting detective by way of greeting. "John not with you today?"

"He abandoned me." Sherlock scowled. "He attended the crime scene, but he started going on about something – wasn't really listening - haven't seen him since." Sherlock gave an annoyed huff. "And people call me inconsiderate?"

"Sherlock," Greg gave a long suffering sigh. "I've told you this three times. John was there for six hours but he had to get back to his family. He was very clear that Mary and Lucy were expecting to meet him for dinner."

"Why would he do that?"

"You're the one who told him that this crime only rated a five and that you would have it solved with the evidence from the toxicology screen. There wasn't really any reason for him to stay, now was there?"

Molly listened to the men bicker as they approached Exam Room A. "Sherlock, it's their first Christmas as a family." Molly explained. "You can't blame John for being a bit excited about that."

Molly unlocked the room and held the door open for Sherlock and Greg.

"Why? An infant has no basis for comparison, no preconceived notions regarding holiday traditions and therefore has not developed expectations. To Lucy it will just be another day, like any, where she will likely repeat her set patterns of sleeping, eating, urinating and defecating. I don't understand what the fuss is about? Even a five is more interesting than that!"

Greg just looked at Molly and she rolled her eyes behind Sherlock's back, but the consulting detective glanced over his shoulder in time to catch the exchange. "What? Is that not good?"

"A bit not good." Molly said with a smile. "I think John would prefer to spend time with his wife and daughter, rather than to stand around at a crime scene that you've obviously already solved.

"Not entirely." Sherlock sniffed. "We still need the lab results."

The three looked at the bagged body on the gurney before them. Molly stepped forward to unzip the bag before remembering the package in her arms. The problem was that she didn't exactly want to put it down in the same room as Sherlock. Who knew what he might deduce about the contents? She had a tiny glimmer of hope that she just might get the package home. Then she could open it in the privacy of her flat and avoid the added stress of an audience.

Of course Sherlock Holmes observed her dilemma immediately.

"You seem hesitant to let go of that package." There was an odd smirk on his face. "Would you like me to do the honours?" he asked gesturing to the body.

Molly hugged the gift to herself. "Uh, yeah, sure. Be my guest."

He stepped up to the table, pulled down the zipper and parting the opening of the bag, revealed the body within.

The corpse was a young man, Molly observed, probably in his late twenties, early thirties, if she had to hazard a guess. She had seen plenty of young men on her table over the years, men who had died in many different ways under some very unique circumstances, but there was something about this one that made it a first in her career. He was dressed like Father Christmas. He wore a red robe trimmed in white fake fur, a hat to match and beard that was tied to his chin by an elastic string. Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Festive." She commented.

"Yes." Sherlock agreed. "His body was found in the heating and cooling duct work of a condominium complex."

"I've read about a couple of cases like that." Molly replied. "Tragic. Dad climbs down the chimney or through duct work to play Santa for the kids. They meet with a mishap along the way: heart attack, stroke, broken neck. Poor kids. What a terrible thing to happen at Christmas."

"Only this guy doesn't have kids." Greg supplied.

"No? Then why would he do this?"

Sherlock took out his magnifier and having pulled back the fake beard, he closely examined the region of the victim's mouth. "Come look at this Molly and tell me what you see."

Molly tucked the gift under one arm to free a hand and take the magnifier he offered. She bent over the body to look where Sherlock indicated. Right away she could see the dried foam of saliva around the cadaver's mouth.

"Does anyone know if he had seizures?" Molly asked

"Well because he was in the duct, no one saw him." Greg answered. "But the reason he was found was due to the multiple reports of banging sounds coming from the heating vents."

"Dents in the steel, where the body was discovered could indicate seizures at the time of death." Sherlock commented. His eyes were twinkling as they had that tendency, when sifting through the details of a murder. "And look at this."

Sherlock had pointed out the man's finger nails, which were bloodied. And then he pulled up a trouser leg where there were visible scratch marks raked into the flesh.

"Formication due to paresthesia? You think he was poisoned?" Molly asked.

"Scratched his skin to ribbons due to the pins and needles feeling. It would have felt like bugs crawling under the skin. Yes, all signs point to poisoning."

"So you want a full toxicology screening?"

"Yes, but I want you to check for the presence of grayantoxin, primarily."

"You think this is from Rhododendrons?"

"Yup. The murder suspect is the victims estranged wife. Their parting was not an amicable one, it would seem. A prolonged court battle involving shared business interests revealed rather intense feelings of hostility between the two. The pair were to have met to discuss a possible deal over tea this morning. He told her he was flying to Spain later in the day to spend some time with family for the holidays. The poison would have taken several hours to affect the victim. The wife likely thought he would be out of the country be the time he succumbed to the toxins. Little did she know that the flight was a cover. The body was found with a gun. I dare say that if she had not been successful, we would be standing over a female corpse with gunshot wounds instead."

"Happy Holidays." said Molly shaking her head.

"And a Happy New Year." Greg answered.

"Too simple." Sherlock sulked. "Ranked only a low five. Hardly worth my time.

"I don't know, Sherlock. It seems complex to me. How do you know the wife did it? I mean beyond the hard feelings – that's kind of common in divorce cases." Molly wondered.

Greg pulled out an evidence bag containing a jar of honey. "Well, once we test this we should have a clearer picture."

"Honey is the most common source of grayantoxin poisoning. This jar was found with the tea setting in her residence; a condominium in the building where the body was discovered." Sherlock stated.

They were interrupted by the sound of someone crashing noisily through the morgue. A squeal of laughter sounded just beyond the exam room door. "Molly! Where are you!" It was Meena and by the sound of it, she was quite intoxicated. She popped her head through the door, eyes landing on the body.

"Well Merry Fucking Christmas." She called. "God. That's pretty sick!"

"Should she be in here?" Sherlock asked

"You know she works here." Molly sighed shaking her head. The morgue exam room was not exactly an appropriate place for the annual festivities to spill over.

"Molly! Who's your cute friend?" Meena asked in a loud stage whisper eyeing Lestade with interest.

Meena still had that dildo clutched in her fist. Lestrade eyed it with some trepidation, but Meena was a quite an attractive woman. And there was Lestrade, on another one of his seemingly endless marital separations. His wife had taken up with her yoga instructor this time, and well, it was beginning to look like a permanent parting of ways, probably should have been a long time ago. An attractive woman showing interest was definitely something he was open to, even a giant dildo toting one.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade." He flashed a smile that lit his handsome features and Meena returned it with increased interest.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust.

"But you can call me Greg."

"And I'm Meena." She held out her non dildo occupied hand to shake Lestrade's. "And I guess you are here to keep the people of London safe from heinous crimes, Greg?" She said sweetly all but batting her eye lashes and simpering at the hopeless man.

"That's part of the job description." Lestrade seemed to puff up, full of virile pride.

"Well you should be knighted, sir." She said, wielding the dildo which now had apparently become a sword. She tapped him with it on each shoulder in turn and Greg actually started to blush.

Molly snorted in amusement.

"I knight thee, Sir Gregory Lestrade, Knight of the Scotland Yard." Meena solemnly announced. And then Greg and Meena laughed, more than the situation called for in Molly's opinion. She looked at Sherlock with raised eyebrows and he mirrored her expression.

"When you're done here, why don't you come join the party?"

"I would, but I'm on duty . ." Greg looked truly disappointed. These kind of situations just didn't happen to him every day!

"It's going to take a couple of hours to get the results." Molly said. "May as well go, Greg. Have fun."

Meena held out her bottle of kahlua in offering but Greg declined. "Like I said, I'm on duty, but I will accompany you if you'd like? How about it then, M'lady?" He held out his arm and she looped hers through it. "Shall we?"

"You bet, cutie! Oh, and Molly – don't think you've gotten out of opening your gift. We'll be waiting for you!" And the pair sauntered off together.

The next couple of hours passed with Sherlock and Molly working together in the lab. Molly thought she might drop the gift into her office and lock the door, but she knew that would draw Sherlock's attention to it, and if he got it into his head to find out what was in the package, the lock on her door would not be sufficient to keep him out.

But obviously it had already caught his interest. And he tried to get her to talk about it at every opportunity. As they took blood and tissue samples from the corpse, Sherlock tried to question her.

"I assume that is part of the ridiculous gift ritual this institution insists on perpetuating?" He said gesturing to the package. "Are you going to open it?"

"No." That was all Molly would say on that matter.

"The whole point of a gift is to discover what is inside."

"No."

As they worked side by side with a set of petri dishes in front of them Sherlock stated."I can deduce the contents if you let me ask three questions."

"No." Molly reply. No further comment.

As they sat side by side at the microscopes, the package balance on Molly's lap, Sherlock feigned disinterest. "You know, you don't have to keep holding it like that. I have no interest, really Molly and it's getting in the way. Why don't you just go put it in your locker?

"No."

It occurred to her that he was teasing, which for some inexplicable reason caused her stomach to flip flop. Damn it! He always got to her! She kept trying to write him off, but she just couldn't seem to dismiss him completely from her fantasies. It was so silly. All those years of trying to flirt with the man only to be greeted by his cold glares, the way she had dressed herself up for him only to be criticized.

God. She was his David Hughes, wasn't she?

And in more ways than she liked to remember. There was that horrible gift incident, that Christmas Eve he had said those awful things to her. She only meant it as a joke but when she thought of it now she felt deep sense of humiliation. His David Hughes, indeed!

She never did find out if he had opened the present. Considering everything that had happened after, she really hoped he hadn't or that at least he might have deleted the experience. She would probably never know. In fact, in this case she could say with certainty that ignorance really was bliss.

Finally she reminded herself that they were friends now. Yes, her feelings for Sherlock were still there, but she controlled then now, they didn't control her. They were friends, more than just co-workers passing each other in the corridors. It was . . .nice.

The results came back positive for grayantoxin, both in the corpse and the jar of honey. Sherlock and Lestrade (with Meena's number tucked in his wallet) left for a second round of questioning of the suspect.

Soon the morgue was quiet and empty, the sounds of the party absent. It was over then. She breathed a sigh of relief, slipped stealthily out of the morgue and made her way home, package tucked firmly under her arm.

A/N - So instead of revealing the contents of the package, I give you another mystery gift to think about instead!