The consulting detective and his partner waited patiently just inside the doors of the morgue for Molly to finish the autopsy on the deceased pathologist. She had tried to persuade them to wait outside, citing hospital policy, but Sherlock simply ignored her and made himself comfortable.

She was thorough in her examination. Not that she wasn't always thorough, but she was willing to admit that the effort she put into this particular endeavor was substantial.

"Cause of death confirmed. asphyxiation due to trachea and larynx being crushed. Based on the bruising around the neck, the victim was strangled by hand. Size of handprints indicate a large male. No apparent signs of a struggle. However, a micro puncture wound underneath the victim's jaw found to be the injection site of the paraletic substance discovered in the victim's system: identified by toxicology department as a medicinized form of puffer fish victim was paralyzed and then strangled while fully aware. Barely processed contents of his stomach and semi-masticated particles in his mouth suggest that the victim was in the middle of consuming a meal at the time of injection and death." She spoke confidently into the recorder as she scribed her findings into the official report.

The entire time she was talking, she could feel Sherlock's eyes on her. Tracking her every movement. Like she was prey. Molly shivered pleasantly at the thought. She was a predatory animal herself and normally did not take kindly to being prey, but for this male, she was willing to make an exception. She could feel the single bold stripe on her back start to darken and was eminently thankful that her breed's coloration allowed for easy cover.

She cleared her throat and was happy to hear that her voice came out steady and strong (if was a touch lower, she wasn't going to let it count against her). "Done. I'm just going to slide him back into cold storage and I'll be ready to go."

As she performed her closing tasks, she thought about the coming evening. Lestrade was going to meet up with them back at Baker Street and discuss the case and its ramifications. Beyond that, Molly had no idea.

"Okay. Lets go."

He helped her into her coat and they were on their way. He never strayed far from her side, even when he was hailing a cab. The ride was short with no conversation and before she knew it, she was standing just inside of 221B.

She had only been to Sherlock's flat on a couple of occasions, but it was one of her favorite places. Not only because of the male who resided there, but the place in general. The random experiments always taking place, the fascinating scientific texts, even the skull with its own place of honor on the fireplace. It was not a typical Tigurian den, neat and orderly, but Sherlock was also half Leotan. Rambunctious and ferocious. She had surmised from the few brief encounters with his brother, that Sherlock had inherited the lion's share of the Leotan genetics (she loved her sense of humor, Sherlock could stuff it) and Mycroft, the Tigurian. Either way, Sherlock's den was perfect, at least to her.

"Anyone for a cuppa?" John asked.

"That would be lovely." Molly could use its warm comfort. The revelation of the possible danger she was in left her chilled to the core.

"No, thank you, John."

"I'll have one." Lestrade muttered this as he came striding into the flat. "If you dont mind."

"Not at all."

After the tea was prepared, Sherlock motioned for everyone to sit down and Molly made her way with Lestrade to the couch against the back wall that she knew was reserved for clients and guests. Sherlock and John went to their respective chairs.

Lestrade wasted no time. "Here are the facts. All five victims were Pathologists from hospitals in the London area. 2 from the same hospital. That's actually what tipped us off. So far all of the victims have been male, but that could be due to the higher ratio of male pathologists to female ones, at least here in London. All of the other precincts are in the process of putting protection on other possible victims..."

Here, Molly interrupted. "Possible victims. You mean- pathologists. What sort of protection?"

"Some are getting plain clothes units to tail them outside of the hospital, others have agreed to go stay with friends or family. Don't worry Molly. I wont let this bastard get to you." As he said this, he laid a friendly hand on her shoulder and she answered him with a small smile.

There was a rather loud growl from the other side of the room and Sherlock was out of his chair and beside her quicker then she could blink. Greg snatched his hand from her shoulder as if he could sense some sort of danger to his person. He may be human, but he was particularly sensitive to dangerous situations.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the DI, a few of his sleek curls falling becomingly onto his brow. He reached down and lifted her up by the elbow.

"Molly, come sit here by the fire. I'm sure you need the warmth."

"But Sherlock, there is no fire lit."

"Even so."

"Sherlock, I was getting more heat from sharing the couch with Greg than this non-existent fire. And besides, this is your chair. You never let anyone sit in your chair."

"Nonsense." His solution to her complaints? He simply scooped her up, sat in the chair and promptly settled her on his lap with what could only be described as a possessive hand at her hip. What on earth?

"Sherlock!" She squeaked. It wasnt the most dignified of responses but it was all she could manage. After some futile squirming which only served to make him tighten his grip on her with another hand on her calf, Molly eventually stopped resisting and gave in.

"Good," he bit out, satisfied. She swore she could feel him purring beneath the hand she had placed on his chest for balance. He was trying not to, but she could feel it. "Very well then, Greg," Sherlock sneered his name as if it were a curse, "continue."

After some stammering at having witnessed such a sight for a second time in as many days, Greg did. "Ahem, yes, well, uh, the reports show that all of the victims were killed in varying ways. It would seem our killer has no preferred method. The only other common factor between all of them was the venom."

"The puffer fish venom?" Sherlock queried.

"Yes. The toxicology reports on the first four victims just came back yesterday and Molly, yours came back just this evening as you know. They all reported similar levels of the toxin prevalent in puffer fish venom found in the victims' bloodstream."

"Were the injection sights found on the first four as well? Molly found one just under Coors' jaw." John asked.

Lestrade flipped through the files of the case he had brought with him. Eventually he nodded. "Two of them, yes. Just under the jaw."

"And the other two?"

"Unknown. They were suspected to be natural causes and the families elected not to have autopsies. Both were cremated."

Sherlock's hand began drawing small intimate circles on Molly's hip. It was driving her to distraction.

"We should assume that they too bore similar placement."

"A serial killer then? You're sure?" Lestrade looked almost hopefully at Sherlock.

"Quite sure." Sherlock was already drifting. She could see it. He was about to enter his mind palace. And still his hand drew their patterns. Even through the denim, it felt like a brand.

"Well damn. I was hoping you would tell me that it was ridiculous. Just a coincidence."

"Coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy."

Lestrade nodded resignedly and made to leave. "I'll call you in the morning. Everything we discussed still alright?"

Sherlock grunted in agreement. John rose to escort Lestrade out.

"Leave the files, George."

Lestrade must have been tired, because he didn't even flinch at the incorrect name. "Can't, Holmes. Its police property. We need it for our investigation."

Sherlock let out a low chuckle at this and was gifted with a light slap on the stomach and a frown from Molly. He gave her a childish look of "Really? Do I have to play nice?" before he turned back to Lestrade.

"Yes yes. You and your department's investigation is important and critical to solving this case. Blah blah blah. But I really do need the pertinent information for my own purposes." He then looked at Molly as if to say, "see? i can behave." Ridiculous.

John broke in, "I'll come to the station tomorrow and get copies. How's that?" Both parties nodded and Greg left. John picked up the tea-tray and went into the kitchen.

Molly made to get up and prepare to leave herself but was once again stopped by both of Sherlock's hands tightening their grip.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly?"

The man was infuriating! Gorgeous, brilliant, and an all around impressive specimen of male who she was madly in love with. But still- infuriating!

"I need to go home Sherlock. It's late and I want to get a piping hot shower before I crawl under my covers and give in to this exhaustion."

"Were you not paying attention, Molly? All of the remaining pathologists in this area have been put under protection."

"Yeah, so?"

He rolled his eyes and moved the hand on her calf up to her neck. He began kneading her sore muscles gently and she moaned. She didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed. His reaction to the soft sound was intriguing. She saw his eyes flicker golden before he looked away and she could have sworn she saw stripes begin to inch up the curve of his neck. She could hardly believe what she was witnessing. Sherlock was aroused? By her? Surely not. But no, his Tigurian lineage made it impossible for him to hide. Her Beast, quiet for most of the night was now wide awake.

Male. Strong. Clever. Ours.

No. Down girl. Not ours. Never ours. This thought brought Molly's spirits down a bit, but her Beast ignored her weak attempts at dissuasion.

Ours. Let him claim. Want. Need.

His deep baritone response only served to rile her Beast up more. "You will be staying with me Molly. Here at Baker Street. For the foreseeable future."

"But..." He shook his head slowly, negating any at argument she may have made.

"Your cat has been placed in temporary care and is quite content, I assure you. I had your friend, Amy pack a suitcase for you. Your rent and utilities have all been take care of for the next few months, not that it should take me that long to solve this case, but still, don't like to be rushed." She mentally chuckled at this. He was sure willing to rush everyone else. Herself included.

"You did all this when?"

"While you were conducting Mr. Coors' autopsy."

Good male. Provided for us.

"What if I declined?"

He stilled. Even his hands stopped their delicious motions. "Are you declining?"

She couldn't vocalize a response. She simply shook her head and rose to her feet, Sherlock's brief lapse allowing her to escape.

"I'll stay."

He rose as well. "Of course you will." The stripes were still there. In fact, they had grown darker. He believed she could not see them, being human. But she was painfully aware of their presence and her own reaction to them.

Mmmmm. Make him chase.

Molly shook her head at the preposterous thought. Chasing was a big deal to someone in her current condition. One of the final steps of the Quocalor. If a female decided a specific male was the one, she would initiate a Chase at the height of a full moon. If the male caught her and she submitted, that was pretty much that. A night of ravenous love-making, a claiming bite, and a ceremonial meal caught and supplied by the male as a tender offering in the morning and the union was pretty much set.

Granted, it was a new moon, so no danger there. Even so, Sherlock would never accept her challenge. He was probably just feeling some inadvertent side effects of her Quocalor pheromones despite her attempts at masking, and was reacting against his will. She wilted a little at the thought.

She stepped back. "Well, thank you, Sherlock. And you, John." She waved to the Ursuline who had just re-entered the sitting room. "You are both very kind to allow me to stay, even if I was never properly asked." She couldn't help this little admonishment. She may be a naturally quiet and peaceable person, but she was still a Feline. The male couldn't go completely unscorned.

She spotted the case with her belongings that Amy must have prepared and picked it up. "I'm just going to get a shower and head to bed if you don't mind. It's been a long day."

"Make yourself at home, Molly." John had a friendly welcoming smile.

She made her way to the bathroom, but turned for a final glimpse of Sherlock. His back was to her now and he was staring out the window. His mood? Undecipherable.

She shrugged inwardly and soothed her Beast. Oh well. No use crying over wasted pheromones.

Her shower was long and steamy, not in the fun way of course. After a quick pat dry and a comb through her long tangle of curls, Molly tiptoed outside of the bathroom clad in short pajama bottoms and a rather revealing spaghetti-strap form-fitting tank top. Honestly, what had Amy been thinking? Yes, this is what she normally wore to bed. Well, actually, she had been wearing nothing recently due to her sensitized skin. But still...Amy knew she would be residing with two men, one of whom she had a heart-wrenching crush on. Amy was an evil little Vixen. Literally.

She didn't see either man around, so she found a clean sheet and blanket in the linen closet (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson most likely) and bedded down onto 221B's rather lumpy couch. She was asleep almost immediately, the day's events and the hot shower taking their toll.

She was so tired, that she barely even stirred an hour later when a pair of strong familiar arms scooped her gently from the couch and carried her down the hallway to lie in a much more comfortable bed, before quietly exiting the room. She was in a bed that smelled of sandalwood and just a hint of peppermint tobacco. And delicious Legurian male. Even her Beast, which had been pacing in frustration ever since her denial earlier, was calmed. Molly succumbed to peaceful slumber, the scent of Sherlock surrounding her, but not the man himself. Much to her subconscious displeasure.