30 March.

"I think we're going to have to put locks on the labs as well," Molly Hooper sighed when she walked into the lab with a report. "What on earth are you two doing here?"

Sherlock Holmes was smiling at the computer monitor, the smile fading a little as he sees Molly. "Trying to save a woman's life," he said simply.

She looked at the sandy-haired man, now without his walking cane, who merely nods. "I don't suppose either of you have any papers or a proper pass for use of the lab, do you?" Sherlock, who'd gone back to staring down into a microscope, looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Right," she sighed. "Fine. I'll be calling Lestrade, then."

As she pulled out her phone, a man in typical computer nerd-wear, thick glasses included, strides into the room. "There you are, Molly," he said, smiling briefly.

She looks up and stops dialing. "Hullo, Jim," she smiled back.

"Thought I'd interrupt your work for a bite," he said, "are these two new?"

She shook her head. "No, they're freelancers. Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes," she waved carelessly at them. "Jim, have a seat, I won't be long." She shoved Holmes over, making both the not-detective and the would-be doctor somewhat disgruntled, but she didn't care. After all, she's got a job here, and one that pays her bills. She's not being paid to babysit these men. Automatically, she saved whatever the hell Holmes was working on, then opened a new window and logged into the system. Then she flipped open the manila folder and started typing the results of her latest autopsy, a literal cut-and-dried case that would put her off of beef jerky for a while.

Her boyfriend, for his part, perched on a stool next to her, typing away on his phone. "Shall we try a new place, or should we head to the Fox?" he said, pausing in his typing.

Molly didn't look up or stop typing. "Mm, probably the Fox for dinner. I want something light for lunch."

"All right," he smiled, and resumed his own thumb-typing on a much smaller keyboard.

"Hang on, new boyfriend?" Dr. Watson said out of nowhere.

"No, evil twin brother," Molly replied sarcastically, connecting her mobile phone to the computer and uploading the photos.

"Well, that makes sense," Sherlock murmured.

"For freelancers, they're awfully familiar, aren't they?" Jim frowned at Molly.

She sighed, then disconnected her phone and logged out. "Don't worry about them. They're harmless. Stupid, but harmless," she said as she stood, ignoring the insulted glares from both men.

But her boyfriend frowned at Holmes and Watson. "I don't know," he said, "does this hospital always let any sort just wander in and use the equipment?" Then his large dark eyes narrowed further. "Holmes. That's the one who keeps barging in here?"

There's a large part of her that's gratified that she's not the only one who's ticked off by the freelancer's flaunting authority. "Yes, that's the one," she said.

Then he smirked. "Like you said, not much too him except for hair and clothes. Hope he knows what he's doing with a microscope."

"Oi!" Watson glared at him. Looks like Holmes has a loyal pet, Molly thought to herself.

But Jim shook his head. "Not sure what kind of doctor you are, but I'm guessing you're about as reputable as your mate there." Watson started towards him, but Holmes shook his head.

"That's why I love you," Molly laughed and linked her arm in his. "Come on, Jim, let's have lunch before I spoil my appetite."

He smiled and kissed her. "All right then," he said, and they walked out. As they went down the hallway, he raised an eyebrow. "Evil twin brother, eh? Won't that make us incestuous, then?" And he waggled both eyebrows for effect.

She snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. If anything, you should be flattered you're considered the evil one, since I'm apparently the wicked witch at work."

"Alliteration, nice," Jim smiled, "and that's why I love you."

She couldn't help but smile back. They ended up having Chinese at a tiny restaurant, and Jim made her laugh with his insulting impressions of the various passersby. Their lunch break was over too soon, and she found herself wishing her shift was already over so they could go on to dinner. Perhaps it was because she was looking forward to it, but the minutes dragged on for what seemed like hours, and by dinner time, Jim escaped from IT to take her out to the Fox. It was more than a little busy, of course, but Jim somehow had connections, and they got themselves seated with decent service, to boot. The meal was amazing, as always, Molly swore that she'd get fat on the incredible restaurant food they were eating as they were dating. Jim always said he liked his women with curves, not angles, so she felt a bit better. He had other things going for him, like he always picked up the tab, he was incredibly smart, he had his own place, he didn't smoke, and he was great at snogging. And she's always had a thing for a man in glasses. That night, however, he drops her off at home, and kisses her on her doorstep. "Good night, Molly Hooper."

"Good night, Jim Moriarty," she said, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes.

The next morning, Jim texts her: "Thinking of you. Will be busy today. Don't wait up."

"I won't," she texts back. "Thinking of you, too."

But that's actually the last time she thinks about him, because her day is swamped, trying to fend off paparazzi and other vultures from the latest body to transfer to St. Bart's: Connie Prince. Thankfully, the morgue locks are in place, but she's too busy dealing with administration and security to ensure proper precautions, that any thoughts of Jim fly out the window. Then she hears from Meena that Lestrade brought Holmes and Watson in to examine Connie Prince's body, and she wants to tear her hair out. Molly does, not Meena or Connie Prince.

It's at that point that she picks up her phone to call Jim, but thinks better of it. After all, she hates it when people call her while she's busy, so she's fairly sure he's the same. Especially with how impatient they both are with the stupidity of people and all that. She sighed, then shrugged. "Fine, I'm not waiting," she told her phone, and put it away. She ended up going out with some of the office girls, although she felt the odd out, being the oldest in the party, and ended up drinking far too much to cover her awkwardness.

The awkwardness was not relieved by the incredible hangover she had the next morning, and she spent longer than she wanted trying to recover from said hangover. On top of that, there were a dozen elderly bodies waiting to be processed when she staggered into the morgue, one of which seemed to bear witness to being ground zero. Initial report said "gas leak", but as she went through each and every one of them, she could tell whoever made that report was an idiot. Hangover or not, there was no way the smell from these bodies, as well as victim zero, indicated such a ridiculous notion, and she found herself imbibing the sports drinks from the vending machine in order to counterbalance her queasiness.

She'd finally made it to a lunch break, but she only had time to down the canteen coffee sludge and a pathetic sandwich when she was called in for a supposed drown victim. It seemed Lestrade and Holmes had already gone through it, and she sighed at the loss of pertinent information. Still, she does her job, and then some, when Meena called in to beg off, having a worse hangover than herself. Molly had rolled her eyes, but agreed, then took a short break to go down to the IT department. Hang his "busy"-ness, she was going to see her boyfriend, especially if it was going to be another long day.

Oddly enough, he was nowhere to be found, and his boss said he hadn't shown up for work since yesterday. Molly frowned. Something's very wrong here, but she wasn't about to panic just yet. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," she said.

"Perhaps," the hefty man shrugged, "but if there is, Jim never gave one. Good thing he was only a temp worker, but he was a damn good one. Never seen anyone pick up the system so quick."

She nodded. "That sounds like him. Well, if he shows up, let me know," she smiled briefly, and he nodded back.

The rest of the day was boring after that, finishing up reports on the twelve elderlies, plus the hefty waterlogged vic, which she found were connected to each other, as well as Connie Prince and even the odd-looking trainers left at the lab, thanks to Sherlock Holmes. Somehow, she wasn't surprised. They could put a dead sherpa, a wad of chewing gum, and the prime minister's toupee in front of Holmes and he'd somehow connect them in some mad fashion. But she was tapping her foot by 8 P.M. and started to go a little mad half an hour after that. Molly ended up going out to a nearby restaurant, simply because she was bored and hungry, and yes, hoping for a glimpse of her boyfriend. What kind of man leaves his job and girl without a word? she thought to herself, and pursed her lips. She pulled out her phone and texted: "Where the hell are you? Skipped out on work and me. It's not like you."

She hit "send", and frowned. Then again, what did she really know about him? It's only been, what, five days, and all she knows about him personally is superficial. She knows nothing about his family, or previous jobs, or previous girls, for that matter. Then she gets a call from St. Bart's that another body's come in, an elderly woman, choked to death. "Well, good job that I'm done with dinner," she murmured, and picked up her jacket. The next comment had her running back to work, because they said it had something to do with Holmes.

Dammit, she thought, working off whatever calories she might've picked up, it figures that idiot would raise the body count!

It's that heady combination of anger and indignation that takes her through the rest of the night, then into a cab, and finally collapsing in her bed. And then, for the first time since she met Jim Moriarty, she sleeps a dreamless sleep.