I curled up on my couch, and, stifling a yawn, began to channel surf. Toby was curled up beside me in a warm little ball, head nestling up against me. I petted him absentmindly, snuggling down and searching for something to watch.

For days I'd been worried someone would confront me about the little message from Jim-someone would connect that the body was found close to my street, or see my phone and that I'd been getting texts. Jim himself also made a nervous. Would he try something more drastic?

But as the days started to crawl by and nothing happened, things slowly fell back into normality. Everyday I'd wake up, go to work where there'd be another body to examine, and then come home and spend the night alone in my house. The days were dull, and blurred together easily.

"But not today," I said to Toby with a smile.

I checked my watch. It was 12 oclock. My friend Natasha was going to pick me up soon to go out shopping with some friends for the day and then go out to eat. It would be nice to get out with friends- I'd been growing distant to them lately, and I couldn't wait to go out and have some actual fun.

Settling on a bridal show, I watched women be fitted for dresses as I waited to hear the sound of a car pulling into my driveway. I needed some new clothing. Maybe I'd buy some new shoes. I grinned and checked the clock again.

After the bridal show, there was a show about fashion. And after the show about fashion, there was a show about baking cakes. And after the show about baking cakes, there was a show on modelling.

I'd tried calling Natasha several times but by six I accepted she wasn't coming. I felt horribly hollow inside,and decided against making dinner because I didn't know if I could stomach it. Even Toby had wandered off into the depths of the house (probably in one of the three empty bedrooms) leaving me alone in my vast living room.

At 7:30 the phone rang. Turning off the telly and leaping up, I answered it on the second ring.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Molly! It's Natasha. I am sooo sorry, I completely forgot about today and scheduled a date with Brian," Natasha's voice echoed through the line. I could hear laughter in the background, and talking. I tried to make my voice seem happy, an action which clashed with the sinking feeling I felt.

"It's alright, I ended up being pretty busy anyway. Enjoy yourself okay Natasha?" I laughed a quiet, empty laugh into the phone.

I felt icy all over. Numb and cold. As I answered I walked around with the phone, looking at the pictures on my mantle. There was an old one of me and some friends, one I'd managed to take of Sherlock one day at the morgue, the only picture I had of my father, and a line of photos of Jim and I taken in a photobooth.

"You are a doll. Thanks so much Mols! We'll have to hang out some time soon. Bye!" I heard Natasha giggle before the line went dead.

And I was left in silence in my large, empty house.

/

It was another couple of weeks before my next message. Every now and then Sherlock would pop into the morgue, which always brightened the day a little, even if he said the worst things sometimes. It was nice though. Having a bit of company while I worked.

I'd gotten the next message on another day off. I'd settled down at my table eating my breakfast holding out a cheap romance novel in front of me, but I wasn't reading. As I picked away at my runny eggs, I was trying to decide what to do that day. Now it as down to two choices, which were to go out and get a manicure (it'd been a while since I'd gone out to the salon) or to rewatch something by John Hughes.

I'd tried to contact my "friends" again, but I dropped it when no one answered me. I didn't want to bother anyone, but I had to wonder why they were all abandonning me. Because I had a job working in a morgue? Because I'd dated a psychopath? Because I just wasn't very interesting?

When I'd been in high school, I figured that as long as I got a well paying job and worked hard I'd be set. I'd planned everything out, every step through university and medschool and residency. It'd all been perfect. I'd assumed that somewhere along the way I'd have lots of friends, meet a nice man and get married, start a family.

I was wondering if I should get another cat when my phone buzzed.

Looking down at it quickly, I opened up the new text. It was from a different number than the last time, but consisted of exactly the same message.

-JM

I jumped up. Looks like I didn't have a day off after all. My heart drumming in my chest, I headed for the morgue.

/

By the time I got there, the substitute pathologist had already arrived and was about to start the exaination. I'd ran through a few red lights to get there in time, and ran into the room, quite out of breath.

"Molly?"

The sub was a short, young man named Mick who was still in his training. He was a nice man, I rather liked him, even if he did have a tendancy to mess up his examinations. Gloves alresdy covered his hands, and he was holding a scalpel in his left one. His thick eyebrows had shot up when I entered, and he looked like he almost dropped the scalpel.

"Yes, hello." I answered, out of breath.

He set the scalpel aside and turned to me.

"Isn't it your day off?"

"Yes." I answered him, "But I really don't have anything better to do, so you can go home if you like."

He seemed uneasy with the idea.

"Are you sure? It's really no problem covering for you."

I shook my head rapidly.

"No, no, no. I insist." I gave him a smile and with a shrug, he left. Before he left, he stopped.

"This case is pretty clear anyway, took a bashing to the back of the head, s'all. Should be a breeze."

Then it was just me and the body.

I circled the body (this time a women, probably in her forties) snapping on my own gloves and picking up my own scalpel. The only inication of injury on the surface was a large, swollen and purple bump at the back of the head, indicating it had been a death by blunt trauma, as Mick had said.

As I looked over the body, something caught my eye. Lifting the victim's arm, I noticed a small, clean bullet wound at an upward angle, indicating a bullet had gone up into the neck or head. Searching through her hair, I determined that there was no exit wound. I knew I should measure and photograph the bullet wounds as per protocol, but I was too interested in where the message from Jim was. I could bet it had to do with the bullet.

Well, looks like it was time to check the head.

I felt around the woman's jaw, and noticed it was very loose. There was still no indications a bullet had gone through the head region, however, so the shooter must have been very skilled.

Taking my scalpal, I made an incision from behind the left ear, and draged my knife cleanly through the top of the head down to behind the right ear. I peeled the scalp foreward, revealing the white hard skull underneath. I carefully looked over the skull until I noticed a slight indent on the very left of the forehead. That must be where the bullet was caught.

Placing my scalpal down, I looked around for the saw used to cut through bone. Ah, there. After I'd disinfected it, I used the saw to cut a piece off the front of the skull. Upon removing the peice, I found the tiny little bullet, lodged between the brain and the skull.

"There you are, you little rascal," I said, plucking the bullet out of the brain. It had been very well hidden, and I was glad I hadn't taken Mick's word for the matter.

I examined the bullet. There seemed to be a weird pattern on it of some sort. Taking it over to the sink, I washed it and my gloves off. I peeled off the gloves and put the bullet under a lamp to inspect it closer.

It was inscribed with words written in beautiful cursive:

"Roses are red

Violets are blue

Good work, Molly Hooper

I'm watching you."

I nearly dropped it down the sink. There it was. A feeling of accomplishment washed over me, the first feeling of pride I'd felt in a long, long time.

I looked down at the women, and for the first time, really looked. Death had never really bothered me, and I'd long since blocked out any feelings I had for the victims. I had to, with my work. I couldn't go around sobbing into the bodies, thinking of their families or friends or what their life had been like. They'd long since just become like machines, and I was the mechanic to take them apart.

But now here I was wondering. Was she a mother? Who had she been? Had Moriarty killed her? Just to send me a message?

I drew a shaky breath, feeling an overpour of guilt, and went to continue on. After I placed the skull piece back in place and sewed the skin back together, I knew I had to continue my job as an examiner and make the next incison.

But now that she was a SHE and not an IT I found it difficult to cut. My hands shook, and I set down the scalpal and gripped the side of the table, leaning over the corpse. My hair hung down as I tried to catch my breath again.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the scalpal again, making a clean y-shaped incision into the torso. And then, SHE became an IT once more.

Once I'd finished documenting the rest of the body (removed the organs, replace them, sew up the corpse) I covered the body up and began writing my report.

I left out the bullet.

I felt like a child again, one who'd stolen a cookie when you were on your diet. I was lying to protect a criminal- so I was breaking the law now. I guess I already had before. Somehow, at this point, I was numb to this fact.

Signing my name, I placed the report on a clipboard on top of the covered body and headed out. As I walked to my car, I couldn't help but look around me wildly.

He'd said he was watching. Was he watching now?

Starting my car, I realized I didn't feel safe anymore.

Leaving the lot, I realized I didn't feel as lonely.

AN:/ Oh Molly, Molly, Molly. You and your mixed up feelings. Caught between being terrified and needy. At least that was what I was going for I dunno. Hoped you enjoyed, I'll update soon. Probably with Jim in the next couple chapters or so. Also, it's not as gory as I first intended. It probably will get gorier later on but yeah. Mostly just autopsy goodness here~