A/N: Thank you, kind reviewer! :D

Okay, I've been saying it for every chapter... but this is *actually* the one that might start having spoilers :p


"I suppose we should be heading to bed," Sherlock sounded as unenthralled by that idea as if he had just been asked to take on a case where the murderer had not only left easily avoidable traces of himself, but was still in the building. "Storm's finishing now."

He rose, stretching his arms up over his head and making his lanky figure seem even taller.

"John, why do you keep staring at me? Is there something wrong with my face?" he frowned, catching sight of his companion eyeing him from the chair he had claimed.

"No, nothing. Was just thinking… about that poor guy Molly called me about."

"Hmmm." The detective didn't seem to be listening, more interested in perusing the board of notes. "You know the strangest thing about that?" he asked suddenly, turning on his heel to face his friend. "He was at the old power plant rather than the new place. Why would anyone be there, especially on a night like tonight?"

"I-"

"I'm thinking, maybe it wasn't a suicide or an accident," he was pacing now, and becoming excitable as ideas came to him, "maybe it was a murder. Out of the way place like that, under cover of darkness, the rain would wash away any trace… what was the cause of death?"

The hesitation born from the abruptness of the question at the end of the stream of chatter made him frown again.

"Electrocuted," came the quick answer before he could ask any more questions about strange behaviour. "Standing on a metal grid, probably drunk or something."

"The nearest pub isn't for miles," Sherlock said after a moment's consideration. "That's quite the drunken hike. You know, maybe there is something to this after all – we're going to the morgue first thing. Night."

Watson wasn't given a chance to respond as his friend vanished to his room. Or rather, Molly wasn't.

She sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. Sherlock believed her to be Watson – difficult not to, even for him – and she had just spent more time with him than she ever had, with all the failed suggestions of coffee or other out of work rendezvous. Severed head aside, it had been exactly what she wanted – actually, the head hadn't been that much of a surprise, really.

Only now everything would be ruined by there being no body. She should have realized he would figure out that the plant was out of use. And where would he think she was if she wasn't at work tomorrow? Would he care?

"Must remember to buy milk, too." Sherlock showing up at the door made her jump.

"Right," she responded in what she hoped was a steady voice.


He asked the cab driver to take him to the hospital, not being sure where else to go. He assumed the keyring he had found in the handbag had keys to both Molly's house and workplace, but had no idea where her house was, even if he had felt comfortable going there. He didn't know what he expected to find at the hospital, but as long as he wasn't asked to do anything morgue-specific he would be okay; that was one benefit to being a doctor in this situation.

"Thanks," the female voice freaked him out a little less this time, as he hunted through the handbag for the fare and climbed out. Thank goodness Molly's job meant she couldn't have too-long nails, or he was sure he would have harmed himself by now.

He managed to make it through the corridors without interception, thankful to find the morgue doors unlocked so he didn't need to try all the different keys to get in. He flicked on the lights against his better judgement, relieved to be in a place of light even if it was inhabited by dead bodies.

Leaving the handbag on a vacant table, he looked around for the nearest bathroom. He needed another look – and a hard pinch to ensure that this wasn't some crazy dream. Although a dream might have made more sense, he considered as he flicked on more fluorescent lights and stood back from the mirror in order to see as much of himself as possible.

Or herself. His eyes hadn't been deceiving him, he really was Molly. A Molly who thankfully hadn't gone out in such terrible weather in a skirt or heels, or else he would have felt even more ridiculous. He reached up to release what damp hair remained in the hair tie, the damp strands further confirmation of the reality.

"Okay," he pulled the hair back, tying it loosely at the nape of the neck as he leaned over a washbasin to clean off the dirt from having fallen at the plant. "This isn't a dream. You're Molly… which means Molly is you? Is she back at the flat? Did she somehow plan this? But why?"

At least he had control over the face. The female features staring back at him looked just as confused as he felt.


In comparison to the messiness of the flat, the tidiness of Watson's room proved that the mess belonged to Sherlock. She had never taken Watson to be anything other than a simple man with simple needs and a simple lifestyle, and it seemed she had been right; or at least, not many of his belongings had survived his tour of Afghanistan.

The newest item was a framed photograph on the nightstand, which she smiled at as she picked it up, a natural response to the smiles of the people depicted. John and Sarah, on what was presumably an early date, judging by the new-couple distance between them. Sarah was a nice girl, and had found a nice man… but no one was like her Sherlock.

Her brain caught up with her thoughts a moment later. She was still thinking about Sherlock. She had been hatching this plan to get closer to him since before Watson had come onto the scene – his appearance had given her the help she needed – and since then she had met her new boyfriend, Jim. Maybe she didn't think as much of Jim as she thought she did if she was still calling Sherlock "my Sherlock."


"Wasn't expecting you to still be here," the friendly morgue attendant smiled as he and his partner wheeled the body in.

Watson had had to come out of the bathroom when he heard people approaching, even if it was only to see if he could pull off this new body until he could get a hold of the real Molly.

"I was just about to leave," he lied, automatically reaching for the zip of the body bag while hoping that they weren't going to stick around long enough to see that he didn't really know what to do. "What happened?"

"Accident," the attendant shrugged. "Seems to have been electrocuted."

How's that for a coincidence? Watson thought to himself, while simultaneously wondering if it could have been the bundle he had seen at the plant – except that had disappeared by the time he had come around.

"Where was he?"

"Outside a pub, can't you smell the alcohol? Probably just managed to touch a street lamp at the wrong time. Poor fool." He shook his head, his features a combination of pity and sadness. "Terrible way to go, but it happens. I wouldn't worry about processing him tonight, this isn't anything more than an accident. Go home, get some sleep."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Watson murmured, raising his hand in a half wave as the duo departed. While it could have been planned with a well-timed push, he didn't think Molly was capable of actually killing anyone, and didn't see how this death could benefit her anyway.

He reluctantly headed over to the handbag, hunting for the purse that he hoped would contain a driving licence.

"Perfect," he grinned on finding not only a driving licence, but another ring holding what could only be car keys. He remembered he and Sherlock catching her once when she had just arrived at work, not even giving her the time to get out of her car before Sherlock asked her The Incredibly Important Thing he Needed to Know. He had misplaced his riding crop.

~sh~

Luckily the early hours were the best time of day to be driving the streets of London, and he made the journey in a matter of minutes, only made longer by his deliberation over whether to go to Molly's or pay a visit to 221b Baker Street. He decided against a confrontation, partly because of the sheer ridiculousness in turning up and trying to explain his predicament at such an hour and the fact that there was no guarantee he would find Molly there.

"It's about time, I've been ever so patient." The voice that greeted him in the darkness made him jump, the squeak that escaped him sounding even more pathetic in gentle female tones.

He spun around to face the short dark haired man sitting in an armchair by the lit fire. Molly had a boyfriend? Right, she had mentioned him… Bill… Tim…

"Alright then, I'll come to you," he announced in his accented voice, rising and approaching with a smile. "Really, anyone would think you weren't happy to see your favourite Jimmy Baby."

I have a girlfriend and I still find that nickname sickening, Watson thought as he swallowed a wave of nausea. At least he had the name now; Jim.

"Of course I am, I just wasn't expecting to see you tonight," he responded carefully.

"I know, work ran late. You'd be surprised how many computers can't handle a little storm like this," he chuckled. "But when you didn't answer my call, I got worried about you."

It took a lot of control not to pull away as he reached round to pull out the hair tie, and then helped remove the jacket he was still wearing.

"You must be cold," Jim remarked, hanging up the coat on a hook by the door, "You need tea!"


A/N: okay, Jim's probably going to be the second hardest character to do justice :p I hope the changing POVs aren't too hard to follow :/