"Sherlock?" Irene asked, seeing the familiar head of black curls behind his favorite chair. He didn't answer. "Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson wanted me to bring your tea, but then you would get the wrong idea about this…" The woman smirked. He still didn't respond. She sighed. "I put clothes on." At this, she turned the chair around to face her. She was disappointed, for, in it was, a dummy with a curly black wig. "Damn it." She muttered. "Language, Ms. Adler," said Sherlock's curt professional tone. Irene turned. His tall, lean, figure was resting casually with his back against the doorframe. "That was an experiment. I wanted to figure out how long it took an average mind to figure out that they weren't actually talking to anyone, of course I was waiting for John to test it, but you tend to prefer your conversations dramatic anyways, so I was-"

"Shut it." Irene snapped. Sherlock was taken aback. It wasn't the first time he had heard those words, but it was the first time she had said them to him. Usually she shut him up in, other ways. "I don't care about your bloody experiment. I came up to tell you that," she paused. "Yes?" Sherlock prompted. "Tea's ready." She said hurriedly and skirted past him to wherever she usually storms off to.

John was anxious. About what, Sherlock was trying to figure out. Thinking about his own situation was too tiresome, so he was trying to only worry about what's going on in others' lives. This was proving tiresome too. He was starting to get bored. "John, quit pacing. You're putting me off." John sat down, but then proceeded to tap his fingers to a rhythmic pattern. His hair was gelled and parted down the middle, and his face was recently shaven. "So," Sherlock began dramatically, "you're going to brunch with Mary's mates!" John looked up at Sherlock and started to say something, but thought better of it. "Yes. First time since the wedding."

"Dull." Sherlock said.

"It's not dull, it's nerve-racking!"

"Why would this be nerve-racking? It's just her friends. And part your hair to the side. Down the middle, it just makes you look weird." John looked worried. "It does?"

Sherlock nodded. "Like you're trying too hard." John got up and dashed away to the bathroom to fix it.

"Oomph! Why is it you two are always rushing about?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she was unfortunately in the path of John's hurried escape. "Now, Sherlock! What have I been telling you? The skull stays OFF of my mantel!" He glanced at the object in question. She had returned it under one condition.

"Well, technically, it's my mantel. The fixture in question is located in my apartment, and I need someone to fill in for John since he's gone all, domestic and isn't here enough. That IS the frailty of genius, it needs an audience." Sherlock stated, remembering the first time he said those exact words to John, years and years earlier. "Well find another place for your 'audience', it doesn't need to be on my mantel! Humph!" the nodded her head once, and left the room. People seem to keep doing that today… Sherlock thought to himself, leaving the room… "Oh, well." He said to no one in particular, he then stood up, and took the skull with him on the way out of the room. He had somewhere to be.

"Sherlock!" Molly gasped. She wasn't expecting him to come by today. "I wasn't expecting you to drop in today!" she said, while turning around to hurriedly fix her hair and apply some lip-gloss. "What are you doing here anyway?" Sherlock gave her a once-over. "Oh, no need to get excited Molly, I'm here on a case."

"A case? Where's John?"

"He doesn't know I'm here." He looked around the morgue. "I'm looking for something. Anything new, or strange, come in lately?"

"Well-no. nothing really."

"'Really'? I am not stupid. I am anything but stupid. So, think very carefully before you lie to me again, Molly Hooper." He latched onto her arm.

"Fine. There is. But I'm not allowed to tell you. So please, stop it!" She replied shakily. Her arm was starting to bruise. He had never Sherlocked-out on her before. He had always been surprisingly gentle since Christmas. He suddenly realized what he was doing. He recoiled like he had been shocked. "Oh, Molly Hooper, I am truly sorry." He couldn't look at her.

"Just, get out." She whispered.

"Molly-"

"OUT!"

"I-"

"Go." He nodded and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and she flinched, and he felt it like a slap in the face.