Chapter Two: Mama's going to buy you a looking glass

Molly looked down at the child on the table, Bobby Page. As a pathologist she had to have a certain amount of apathy, it was an important attribute for someone in her line of work. It wasn't that she was unfeeling; nothing could be further from the truth. It was more a safeguard. One could not do their job properly if they were sobbing over every body that came in. Still, Molly was finding it hard to fully step back lately. And it all had to do with the recent rash of murders in London. It was hard not to feel sad when children ended up on her table.

Even knowing that if anyone saw her she would be reprimanded, Molly ran a hand down the face of young Bobby before setting back to work. Only ten minutes later she was interrupted when Sherlock barged his way in the room. Molly smiled; she knew Greg would eventually break down and go to him, no matter what he said on the matter.

"This him?" Sherlock didn't acknowledge Molly more than a simple nod of the head; still it was more than he would have done at one time. He knew she wouldn't take offence. They were working, it wasn't time for pleasantries.

"Yes, Bobby Page, age five." Her smile turned almost grim as she watched Sherlock work, snapping on his gloves and examining the body like a cardboard piece of a new puzzle. Molly had seen him work like this before so this was not a new thought. She had tried on several occasions to think like that, to see the world as one great puzzle, and everyone in it just another piece to be put in their proper place to create a complete picture. It made her head hurt, it was one thing to process information in that way while working, but to live like that was enough to drive anyone crazy.

"How long has he been dead?" Moving around the table, Sherlock took in every detail of the child, from the obviously expensive haircut to the slight roundness to the body indicating an over indulged child.

"Not long, I'd place the time of death at around midnight." Molly fought the shake of her head, the child should have been tucked safely in bed sleeping peacefully, but instead he had been in the hands of a monster.

Sherlock bent down, his face going close to that of young Bobby as he examined the bruising along the child's nose and mouth. He ran a single finger along the purple marks before slipping his own hand up to cover the child's mouth like the murderer had done. Molly watched on with a feeling of unease. She had heard what some of the others at both Bart's and the Yard had said about him, that he would one day be the cause of the body on her table.

Everyone was capable of murder; he had told her that many times, that even she had a breaking point. She had refused to believe it, but she knew now that he had been right. She had been precariously close to her breaking point the night he had come to her for her help. She knew that she would have snapped had Sherlock actually died, and she often wondered now if she would have actually killed a man. The image would pop into her head then, of Sherlock lying dead on her table, and she knew her answer. Yes, she would have torn Moriarty limb from limb.

"Lestrade said the others had a large level of sleep aid found in their blood. Is it the same with this one?" Sherlock removed his hand and stood straight, though he still didn't look to Molly. Things had changed between them, he had always been comfortable around her, and that had not changed. He couldn't place it, but there was a restlessness that had crept into the comfortableness. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Tox report won't be back for a while yet, but I doubt it will show anything different." That was one thing she was at least grateful for, not one of the children would have felt a thing.

"How high are the levels, enough to kill a child?" Sherlock slipped the gloves off with a snap, tossing them into the bin. Pulling out a small black notebook from his inside pocket, Sherlock made a few notations before flipping it shut and replacing it.

"No, but enough to knock them out quickly." Molly gave a short look towards the child, catching herself before Sherlock could see and turned towards the paperwork on a table across from her.

"So the child was most likely asleep when the murderer smothered them." Turning around Sherlock found himself a bit surprised to find Molly's back to him. Her eyes normally followed him when they were in the same room, it unnerved him somehow to find her eyes occupied elsewhere.

"I would suspect so."

"This sticky substance, was it found on the others?" Sherlock waited until Molly turned towards him fully before pointing to the corner of the child's mouth, his finger near but not touching.

"Yes, it's just milk and the sleep aid. Their faces and much of their clothing tend to be covered with it." When the first child had been found they had hoped the substance would be revealed as something more traceable. Of course things such as that could never be simple.

The doors flung open for the second time, Lestrade and John pushing their way into the room, looking out of breath and very, very annoyed.

"You could have waited, Sherlock." Lestrade pressed a hand to his stomach, he knew he was a bit out of shape, but this just seemed a bit ridiculous.

"I could have, but you were taking too long." Sherlock gave them a fleeting smile. The same one that John had wanted to punch off his face many times before.

"Two minutes!" They had been two bloody minutes behind. Not that Lestrade wanted to sound uncaring or anything, but the child was dead and not going anywhere.

"As I said, you were taking too long." He waved his hand and turned back towards the body and Molly.

"Best let it go, you'll never win." John laid a hand on Lestrade's shoulder. He knew what the DI was feeling at that moment; because he had felt it just about every minute of every day he had lived at 221B.

"Fine. Well Sherlock, what've you got?" Taking a few steps forward Greg tried not to actually look at the child. He had seen him at the crime scene and he really couldn't stand to see him again. His dreams were already taking a disturbing turn as it was.

"Not much, I'm going to need to see the reports. So far I can tell you it's a woman, most likely in her mid-twenties to early thirties. A mother, or had been a mother at one time." It was looking to be a rather more interesting case. It wasn't that women never committed murder, but there were fewer of them.

"A woman? How can you tell that?" Lestrade chanced a glance at the child then, as though he hoped to make the same deduction as Sherlock had.

Sherlock looked over to Lestrade and gave a great huff. It still annoyed him when people couldn't see the obvious.

"Yes, a woman. Let's start with the most apparent shall we? The bruising pattern along the mouth indicates a small hand with long, slim fingers. Oh, it could belong to a smaller built man, but you said the children are all swaddled, as though tucked into bed with a teddy bear." Sherlock cocked his head, actually hoping that the DI would understand without having to have it explained.

"I'll give you the hand, but I don't see how that bit with the blanket indicates it is a woman." He tucked his children in at night most of the time, unless he had to work.

"Molly, besides the bruising around the mouth and nose, are there any other signs of violence against the victims?" Sherlock sighed; it really was too much to hope.

"No, there are a few light marks on one wrist, like someone had held on to them too tightly." Molly felt like patting herself on the back at how calm she sounded. She was a bit shocked that Sherlock had asked her instead of just blurting it out himself, which is what he would have normally done.

"Most likely when she took the children, dragging them along." Sherlock mimicked the murderer's actions by taking Molly's own wrist and pulling her a few steps forward. After a moment he released her hand and looked at Lestrade with lifted brows.

"Alright, I still don't see…"

"Of course you don't…look the children are all cared for in great detail, our murderer has even gone to great pains to make sure the child does not suffer any. That is why she doses them. They are all cared for with the care of a mother." His eyebrows seemed to lift higher before falling just as he rolled his eyes at the obviousness of it all.

"You said this woman could be a mother, if she had children of her own how could she stand to hurt someone else's?" Being a father himself, he couldn't stand the thought of harming a child. How could anyone blessed with children wish harm on them?

"How can a woman kill her own children? It has happened. I need more information, but the way the murderer has cared for her victims would suggest she had no desire to actually hurt them. Maybe she lost her own child; maybe these murders mirror that child's death." Sherlock's eyes took on that strange glassiness that they always got when he was thinking.

"Right, so where do we go from here?" Lestrade shrugged his shoulders knowing that he wasn't going to get anything more out of the man, not when he looked like that.

"You are going to go and get me those files; I'm going to be in the lab with blood and stomach content samples. Molly, if you'd please?" He nodded his head at the woman beside him, a slight smile on his lips.

"Oh, oh right, of course I'll have samples sent down to the lab right away." Ignoring the others in the room, Molly turned to gather what she would need to gather the samples.

"Thank you Molly, if you'll excuse me." Sherlock pretended he didn't see the way Molly's cheeks turned bright red at his words and left for the labs.

"A mother?" Molly allowed her cheeks to cool before looking down at the child again, her hands filled with equipment.

John and Greg gave a look towards the body on the table and then to Molly, neither of them knowing quite what to say. Not about the case or about what they had just witnessed between their two friends.

"Well, I best be off then. Tell Sherlock I'll drop off the files as soon as I can safely get them out without being seen." He was uncomfortable enough as it was, he didn't want to stick around to see what would happen next. He never could take the cold, clinical cutting of a body during a post mortem.

John assured Lestrade he would before beating a hasty retreat himself.

When John entered the lab it was to find Sherlock leaning back in a chair, his hands steepled under his chin. It was such a normal sight to see that John paused at the door for a moment. He had missed Sherlock terribly, believing him dead was like having half of him torn off and destroyed. Even though he knew that he was alive, had been all along, John couldn't stop the fear that it was all a dream. That he would wake up one morning to find Sherlock well and truly dead, his body cold and moldering in the ground.

"Lestrade says he will have the reports here as soon as he can." John finally took a full step into the room, the door closing behind him.

Sherlock just waved his hand at John without a word before resuming his position. John sighed and sat down at the end of the table. He knew that look, there was nothing short of the lab blowing up that would rouse Sherlock when he looked like that. Even then John wasn't really sure that would get his attention. After ten minutes Sherlock, still not looking at him, sat up straight with a strange expression on his face.

"There is something familiar about this case, about the way the victims are all killed. I've seen it before, but I can't place it. Damn!" Sherlock slammed a hand down on the table before standing up and pacing a bit. All the while John remained in his chair, watching as his friend marched up and down, back and forth until after a while Molly walked through the lab doors, samples in hand.

"I thought I would bring them myself." Molly smiled a bit nervously as she held out her hand holding a small cooler.

"Thank you Molly." Sherlock snatched up the samples and turned to start working without another word.

"So, I best get back and finish up." Molly fought the blush she knew was quickly lighting up her face and nodded her head at Sherlock's clear dismissal when he waved a hand at her. Some things really didn't change, though unlike before she wasn't hurt by it. She knew she mattered, but he was already deep into what she called detective mode and he just couldn't spare any thought to anything but the case. And at that moment, if ignoring her helped him find and stop the woman killing all those children, she wasn't bothered by it.

John watched Molly walk out of the labs after Sherlock waved her off and followed to make sure she was alright. Everyone knew how she felt about the man, and how much his behavior always hurt her.

"Hey Molls, you doing alright?" He had spoken to her before about Sherlock's behavior, though the last time had been the Christmas where Adler had been found, well the woman that had been thought to be Adler. Though he had been mostly occupied with caring for his obviously grieving friend, he had made time to stop by Bart's to talk with Molly.

It had been uncomfortable, but he had held her while she cried on his shoulder. He had patted her back awkwardly, whispering what he hoped had been words of comfort. He had been conflicted, he had wanted to go home and pop Sherlock upside the head for how he had treated Molly, but he also had been so worried for his friend.

John had tried to speak with her one other time, after Sherlock's presumed death. She had known the man, loved him, and somehow John thought he would feel closer to Sherlock if he could just talk to her. Only Molly had refused to speak with him for the longest time, it wasn't until Sherlock showed back up very much alive that he understood why.

"I'm fine John, thank you for your concern, but I'm fine." Molly gave a little half smile. John was a lovely man, Mary was very lucky. She would be lying if she said that she hadn't thought about him at least once. He was not the devastatingly handsome man that Sherlock was, but he was cute, and loyal. It had been those thoughts that had stopped her from going to his flat one night a year after Sherlock's "death." He was cute and loyal, like a puppy, and she refused to use him for comfort.

"You sure, I mean you don't have to pretend with me." John had seen how Molly had calmed around Sherlock, but he also knew she stilled loved the man, so it never crossed his mind that she wouldn't be hurt by his actions anymore.

"I know I don't, but I'm telling the truth. I've known him long enough now to know when he is being purposely callous. I can't lie and say it doesn't bother me at least a bit, but it doesn't devastate me." The half smile turned into a full one, her eyes going to the doors behind John.

"You know he really does care for you? Mostly after everything you've done for him after the…well after." He shrugged his shoulders, even after all this time he didn't like talking about the 'Fall."

"I know he does, he's made it pretty clear often enough, even though I'm sure he doesn't realize it. I am still in love with him, but I've also come to realize that it will never be returned. And I'm alright with this, we are friends and that is enough." With that Molly placed a hand on John's arm and gave a squeeze before turning to return make to the morgue.

John watched her go before turning back around. Though when he did he found Sherlock leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I know you care about her wellbeing, but I would thank you to not meddle in our friendship." His words were drawn out, as though he had to force them off his tongue and through his lips.

"Says the man that ran every manner of background check on Mary before telling me I was allowed to marry her." John crossed his own arms, he still couldn't believe it. No, no actually he could, but he had really hoped after everything Sherlock wouldn't be so…well Sherlock.

"Yes, well, I think after Moriarty we are all a bit more cautious." Sherlock waved a hand as though that would make what he did anymore acceptable.

"Sherlock, did you actually think she could be the head of a criminal organization?" Mary? A crime boss? The thought made John laugh.

"No, but she has the eyes of a murderer. Wouldn't want you marrying a Black Widow, now would we?" He wished that John would just drop the subject already.

"Mary can't even bring herself to kill a mouse, I doubt she could kill a person….and you just changed the subject." John's arms fell down to his sides. He was annoyed that his friend could so easily manipulate a conversation. It was a gift he had never acquired.

"No I didn't, we were already finished with the other one. We are on a new one now." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"It is not like I didn't tell her what she didn't already know. And it wouldn't hurt you to remind her every once in a while." The urge to punch his friend pressed against his chest again. Molly was a good woman, and though he doubted Sherlock would ever love her, he knew he cared a great deal for her.

"Sentiment…"

"I know, I know, but she has done so much for you. She put her job on the line for you…" John watched amazed as Sherlock pushed off the doorframe with a touch of violence, his eyes and lips going hard.

"You think I don't know that? Moriarty may not have targeted her, but she was in just as much danger for helping me. I know what she has done, we have both talked about it, and I assure you that it is none of your business."

John blinked as Sherlock whirled around and headed back into the lab. No matter how many years he knew the man, he would never understand him.

Sherlock resisted the urge to throw the damn folder across the lab. Lestrade had dropped off the files around an hour ago, and he had been combing through them ever since. John had gone home several hours before, after a rather heated phone call from his wife, and Sherlock couldn't help be annoyed with that. He needed his skull, John or just someone or something to talk to…or rather talk at.

When Lestrade begged him to take the case he had thought it a five, that he would have it solved before the night was through. Every murderer made a mistake, some little tell and he had figured to find one after four murders, only there wasn't one. The case suddenly looked more to be a seven or an eight.

Sherlock didn't lift his head when the doors to the lab opened, but he did look out the corner of his eye. He wasn't really surprised to see Molly, or the cup of coffee she held in her hand. Ever since he had returned he had formed a…a friendship of sorts with her. He didn't really treat her that much different than he had before, not in any way that most people would be able to tell at least. Then again he didn't treat John much different either, it was just who he was and his friends all understood that.

"The tox report shows nothing different, levels are within the same range as the other victims." Molly set down the coffee and the file containing the report for Sherlock. She looked around the room almost expecting to see John and smiled when she didn't find him. Sherlock had the habit of ringing him in the middle of the night when he was working on a case, and Molly knew Mary was about ready to murder Sherlock herself. Mostly after he interrupted them in bed one too many times.

"Not surprising. Our murderer isn't looking to hurt the children, she uses the drug to relax them, put them to sleep." Sherlock picked up the coffee, taking a large sip of it, grateful for the legal stimulant.

"Have the stomach samples yielded anything new?" Molly leaned against the table, smiling as she watched Sherlock practically down his coffee. She wished she could get him to eat something, she was always afraid he would one day just pass out from the hunger he chose to ignore.

"Not much, it seems our murderer fed the child though. Not long before the death actually." The cup was placed back on the table, empty. He would have to tell Molly to start bringing him bigger cups when he was there that late.

"What would that mean?"

"It just confirms what I said, our murderer is, or was, a mother. She is caring for the children, feeding them, cradling them as she kills them. This isn't about hate; it is about love, motherly love." Everyone always thought of a mother's love as being warm, kind, but it could drive a woman to kill. Sherlock had seen it before.

"How can murder be about love?" Molly didn't like to think that anyone could hurt a child, let along a mother.

"Molly…murder is a very passionate act; love and hate are both very passionate emotions. They both invoke violent reactions. What most people miss is how very similar they are." Sherlock leaned down until he was close enough to Molly he could smell the faint hint of the shampoo she had used that morning. Realizing how close he was he pulled back, but he could not rid that scent from his nose.

"Earlier you said these murders could mirror the death of her child." Molly felt her heart beat faster, her stomach churning at the look she had just seen in Sherlock's eyes. It was both hot and cold at the same time.

"It is very possible. She could have accidentally caused the death of her child, or maybe she watched it happen by the hands of another. She could be reliving the event but…"

"But?"

"Murderers like ours don't just pick random victims. We could argue that she picked these four simply for the reason that they are children, but then the ages very greatly. There is nothing to connect them. We know it is not about the sex of the child, not with the appearance of Bobby. None of the children have similar features or are even of the same race.

"We could look to the families of course, but even there we have too much difference to make a connection. The first two children came from rather poor families, but the last two came from reasonably well off families." Sherlock picked up one of the files and gave into the urge to toss it across the table, though not with enough force to scatter it everywhere.

"Alright…."

"If she was just reliving the murder of her child she would pick her victims accordingly. The children would all have something in common, most likely sex, hair colour, age." Sherlock practically glared at the file he had tossed, he hated when there was nothing for him to work with.

"So you don't have a lead yet?" Molly's eyes moved to where Sherlock had tossed the folder, she had seen him upset before, but he had never thrown anything. At least not in her presence.

"Our murderer is meticulous; the bodies were clean, only the trace of milk and drug where she forced them to drink it left behind. There is no connection to where they were found, or from where they were taken. There is nothing. Just bodies wrapped in blankets, massed produced blankets one can pick up anywhere.

"It seems I'll need to wait for the next one before any real evidence can be collected." He couldn't trust anyone else to correctly gather information.

"Th-the next one?! Sherlock!" Molly stood up straight, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. How could he speak so casually about the future murder of a child?

"Don't Molly, really just don't. There is nothing here to go by, nothing to indicate the identity of the murderer." He waved his hand over the files before him, as though inviting her to find what he could not.

"I know, but surely…"

"I'm not allowing a murder to happen; nothing that I do at this point will stop it. How can I catch a murderer with nothing to go by?" He felt like grabbing Molly's shoulders and shaking her, but he kept his hands at his side.

"I know, I know, but they are just children Sherlock." She hated the way he could sound so cold, and yet he was right. Another child was going to die and there was nothing any of them could do to stop it.

"Deaths for all ages and occasions." A rather bitter smirk crossed over Sherlock's face.

"Children, Sherlock, little innocent children!" Molly was on her toes then, her face shoved as far in his as she could being so much shorter than him.

"And they die just like anyone else." Sherlock looked down at the woman in front of him. Her face was turned up towards him, her nose as far up in the air as she could get it.

Molly stood there, her with her mouth falling agape, the urge to blacken his eye so strong she had to clench her hands together behind her back just to keep from swinging at him.

"I can't believe you just said that! I know you dislike people, but to say something so horrid about children." She could feel a tear form at the corner of her eye, and cursed it as it slipped down her cheek.

"What I said wasn't horrid, it was the truth. You know as well as I that children die, you have had many on your table before now. You have always been able to remove yourself from the situation, this is no different. Leave the caring to the families and the public; right now we all need you to do your job." He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to take a few steps back.

Molly knew that he was right, not that it made her feel any better, or want to hit him less. Knowing that she might not be able to stop herself, she turned on her heel and left without a word.

Sherlock watched Molly leave and tried to ignore the rolling sickness in his stomach. He had been much harsher on her before, and far more malicious. He had even caused her to run off in tears many times. This time he hadn't wanted to hurt her, he hadn't been aiming for injury. He had only wanted to help her. He could see her professionalism slipping, she was beginning to care for the children on her table, and he knew that way only led to heartbreak. Still he found it didn't settle well with him the reaction he got, the fact that his words had upset her.

He sighed and went to take a drink of his coffee, scrunching up his nose when he remembered he had finished it already. He set it down before looking back at the files. There was nothing more he could do at the lab, he might as well go back to 221B; at least he didn't have to deal with offending his skull.

Author's Note: Right, one of the hardest chapters to write. Sherlock is so smart you always want him to just solve the case right away, and doing that would mean no actual story. So hopefully this worked out well, and that you enjoyed the Molly/Sherlock interaction. There will be much more from now on.

Next Chapter: Sherlock goes undercover, Molly wears a ring, and house hunting.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.