Sebastian Moran ushered John inside with a manic grin on his face. He led John up a flight of stairs while murmuring about how pleased he was that John would be helping. He opened the door at the top of the stairs and John was surprised to see that it looked like a normal flat.

He'd been expecting some sort of medical lab, but maybe a bit more technologically advanced than the labs he'd spent time in. What he saw instead was a typical flat, complete with a sofa, fireplace, and a weird cow skull on the wall. Were those headphones?

Moran had moved to the kitchen, looming over the dining table that was littered with science equipment. John stepped into the kitchen and realized they'd turned it into a makeshift lab. Every flat surface was covered with equipment or files, and the walls were littered with notes stuck to it.

"Right. Here's the bloke's notes. I'm gonna let you handle them since they're rubbish to me. Think of this area as your base of operations. The loo is just down that hall a bit. Sorry, I've gotta dash, the boss is making demands again." He winked conspiratorially at John, as though they had both shared a little joke. Moran clapped him on the shoulder as he left. "Thanks for doing this, mate. Your assistant will be here shortly."

John heard the loud bang of the closing door and dropped into the nearest chair, sighing. With one hand he grabbed the file, while the other scrubbed his face as he asked himself for the hundredth time why he'd agreed to this. Because you need something, his brain helpfully supplied. You need something interesting to happen to you.

He flipped open the file as he murmured aloud "nothing happens to me."

xxx

John was so immersed in the scientist's notes that he didn't hear the door to 221B click open. He was too busy trying to wrap his head around the idea of modifying a creature's DNA in a way that made the creature better without any devastating or fatal side effects. He couldn't help but shudder at the idea of getting it wrong.

"Oh!" came a soft voice from the doorway, and the loud thud of an object being dropped to the floor. John jumped out of his chair, wincing at his leg, and quickly assessed the new arrival.

She was a soft, mousy woman. Her face was kind as she bent over and scrambled to pick up the items she'd dropped in her surprise. John wobbled over to help her.

"Thanks," she said quietly as John handed her the last can of diced tomatoes. "You must be Doctor Watson." It wasn't a question so much as a statement. She refused to meet John's eyes as she turned from him and ventured into the kitchen. John followed and watched as she emptied her grocery bags into the fridge. He'd honestly assumed the fridge was for experiments, not actual food. She turned back to him, still not meeting his gaze, and sighed. "I'm Molly Hooper. I... I wasn't expecting you to be here yet." She turned from him again and began rooting in cupboards, pulling out a few pots and dishes. "Doctor Magnussen was always late," she spoke over her shoulder as she filled the pot with water before placing it on the stove.

John watched her as she quickly made a large batch of spaghetti and spooned it onto 3 plates. She motioned to the table and he sat down slowly as she placed a plate in front of him and sat down with her own.

She seemed content to eat in silence, but John was feeling rather awkward about the whole encounter and wanted to make a better first impression.

"Call me John. I, uh, don't feel like much of a doctor anymore." He rubbed the back of his neck and continued to eat. Out of his peripheral vision he saw her finally looking at him. He didn't want to interrupt her by returning the gesture, so he continued to stare at his plate.

"Right. John, then. How did you wind up here, John?"

xxx

After their meals, Molly placed the two empty plates in the sink, and John suddenly remembered the third plate. It was still sitting on the counter, untouched. He wondered if she had just made too much, and maybe she'd put it in the fridge for leftovers. Molly was fussing about the kitchen and didn't take any mind of the third plate, so John figured he was spending entirely too much time worrying about it, when he should be more focused on the notes.

He returned to the armchair in the living room that he'd already branded as his own, and delved into the files again.

Now and again he'd hear sounds from Molly as she cleaned up. A clink as she moved dishes in the sink, a scrape as she moved a piece of equipment across the countertop. It all felt rather domestic and it helped John to relax a bit.

After a few minutes, (or was it an hour?) John looked up from the notes to ask Molly how much she knew about the splicing, and whether she thought it was particularly ethical. When he didn't get a response he moved to the kitchen to ask again.

The kitchen was empty. He shrugged his shoulders, assuming Molly had run to the loo or something. He turned back to his chair but out of the corner of his eye he saw the countertop. The empty countertop, with no sign of the extra spaghetti plate.

Maybe she'd put it away. For some inexplicable reason, he checked the fridge for the leftovers, but found none. He moved to the sink and saw just the two empty plates and their cutlery.

That was odd. Was it odd? Why was it odd? Where was the extra spaghetti?

xxx

Molly returned to the flat not long after, defeat clearly written on her face. In her hand, she held the spaghetti plate. She moved to the kitchen, seemingly unaware that John was watching her, and scraped the remaining spaghetti into the bin. John noticed that there was almost the same amount of spaghetti on the plate that she'd originally dished up.

"Molly," John spoke and she jumped, flinging the empty plate into the sink with a loud clink. "What is your job here?"

"Oh, I just helped Doctor Magnussen when he needed me. I was his assistant."

John looked back at the notes in his hand. "These notes talk of practical research. Not just theory, but the results of live experiments. Why is our lab in central London, when we should really be at a farm to conduct these experiments?"

"Farm?" Molly's face was a stoic mask. "We go to the farm when we need to see how the theory works in practice. We don't need to be there all the time. In fact, you probably won't go at all. We just need you to finish the latest theory, and we'll test it ourselves."

"Without me? What if my theory is bollocks? It would make sense for me to test my own theory, so I could make changes where..." he trailed off when he saw the mask on Molly's face slip. It was just for a second, he wouldn't have noticed if he'd looked at her a fraction of a second later. For a brief moment, her face was pained. As though she was physically hurting. Then the calm mask returned and she sighed.

"I don't decide these things, John. Just... Just do your job and I'll do mine." She turned back to the sink and began scrubbing the dishes.

John reluctantly returned to his notes.

xxx

"Now, it's come to my attention that jellyfish has a type of immortality in that they do not age and will not die of natural causes. Naturally, they can be killed, but that is something for another day. Think how wonderful it would be if we humans were able to absorb that trait from jellyfish. Sure, people would still be killed, but we wouldn't lose great minds from nuisances like old age. Excellent. I've managed to isolate the gene and it must be administered to the patient over a period of time."

John didn't like the way the words on the page made his skin crawl. He supposed it would be helpful if accidents couldn't happen to cattle, causing a shortage of meat, but it seemed extreme to discuss applying the trait to humans.

He shook his head and glanced around the flat. The lights were on, but they were dim. The whole place was warmly lit by just a couple bulbs, adding an ominous feel to the room. He glanced at the fireplace, maybe he should light it? It would add more warm light to the room, and might chase off the shivers running down his spine.

He got up from his chair and knelt down, piling on a few logs from the nearby pile. A bright streak of white in the ash caught his attention. Paper. Paper that someone had tried to burn. He fished it out and thankfully, it was mostly intact. He leaned back on his heels and began to read.

"Day 1: obviously no notable reaction. I expected this. We cannot create perfection overnight.Day 12: subject has been violent. Understandable. Altering genetic makeup can't be comfortable. Still, we press on. No immediate negative side effects.Day 35: subject is refusing food. Yet, it does not seem like a wish to die. The subject simply doesn't require food? Worth further study.Day 51: found another gene, this time from a raven, that I hope will ramp up intelligence. While the subject is not dim-witted, by any means, the subject can be better. Smarter. Perfect. I've begun treatments with this gene as well.Day 55: the raven gene is showing a quicker reaction than the jellyfish. The subject is already showing a heightened level of intelligence. Incredible.Day 75: this is it. I am so close to perfection. We've spliced some of the greatest genes into the subject, now we only need time. Time for the genes to fully take effect, so we need to continue treatment for just a little longer. Sadly, I fear for my work. They're on to me. I've spoken to Jim but he doesn't seem worried. He asked if my work was done, and I told him yes, the difficult part is done but treatments need to continue for another week, at least. I regret telling him that. I am no longer required. The weak-willed woman can do the job now. Unless I sabotage the last treatment. She isn't skilled enough to create the treatment, only administer it. I hate to leave the experiment unfinished, but I fear for my life unless I am required. I've written in the notes that my final treatment was a dud and that I need to rework the formula. They will need me.Day 76: I've been instructed to leave Baker Street. Jim said there was nothing they could do to stop Scotland Yard. I can't be caught here. If they catch me here they'll search the whole place and they'll find him. If they find him, my life is as good as over. They won't understand. I hid the treatment in the house. They'll never find it. I'll return and finish what I've started."

"Molly," John somehow managed to keep his voice steady and calm. Steady and calm. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm. He heard the muffled footsteps as Molly stepped into the living room from the kitchen. He turned to her and her gaze snapped to the burnt paper in his hand. Her hand rose to her mouth. "Where is he?"

He didn't quite manage to keep the rage out of his voice.

xxx

Sorry for the long chapter but it kinda ran away from me! I know nothing about genes or splicing, I just messed around with some ideas that are probably completely incorrect but hey, it's fiction. Please review! I promise Sherlock in the next chapter.