I love how this chapter raises the word count of this story above that of the only other fan-fiction I have ever written. That was published on this site a few years ago and in 15 chapters, it wasn't as long as this story is now. That just tickled me. As always, reviews welcomed!


On the other side of London, Molly Hooper sat on the sofa, toying with a piece of toast. She hadn't been able to eat much since Jim had left. She hadn't been able to do much. The water she'd boiled two hours ago still sat in the kettle. She was still wrapped in her dressing gown, everything still exactly as it had been when he'd left. It was almost as if she felt that starting her day would mean that last night never happened. It was already starting to feel like she had imagined it all…could she have imagined it? No…the aching all over her body and her flat which looked like it had been raided by rapid animals were the only evidence that Jim Moriarty had been there at all. She almost hated herself for letting this affect her so deeply. Dream Molly wouldn't be moping over a piece of toast and mooning over the memories of the previous night. She'd be up and about, dressed to kill, sporting blood red lipstick and heading out to seduce the next man foolish enough to cross her path. But Dream Molly had left along with Jim. It couldn't be certain if she'd ever return. Real Molly cursed herself for being so pathetic. She'd known from the outset that this was never going to be a Hollywood romance. They'd made a business agreement which she was forcing herself not to dwell on, had had one night of insane passion and that was all. This was probably how Jim lived his life all the time, flitting from woman to woman, bed to bed. He probably had a whole string of Mollys, sitting alone and pining after the man who would never care. Well, she wasn't going to be one of those girls. She'd been doing that for long enough, for another brilliant mind. No…Molly Hooper may have sold her soul to the devil, but Dream Molly certainly hadn't. And it was time to show St Bart's exactly what Dream Molly had to offer.

Molly had faltered several times on her journey to work; at her front door, while she was in the lift, on the Tube and bus on the way across London. Every time she'd been tempted to turn around, get back into bed and never leave. She wasn't this person. This girl wearing the figure-hugging black pencil skirt and revealing, low-cut blouse (the only vaguely sexy clothes she owned other than 'that dress'), this girl wearing carefully applied but casually seductive makeup to work, this girl in heels and seamed stockings getting eyed up every step of the way from her flat to the morgue at St Bart's. Every colleague she passed in the impersonal and clinically clean corridors was taken aback. Her heart leapt as she glanced through the window on the door leading into the morgue. Sherlock was inside, accompanied by John, Lestrade, Anderson and Donavon. Molly took a deep breath. She hadn't expected such an audience straight away. She'd hoped to have a couple of quiet hours to herself before she had to see anyone. She was so very tempted to go to the toilets and drab herself down. She must have some flat shoes lying around somewhere, and with her lab coat on they would barely see the clothes…she could just take off the makeup and…no! She had made it this far. She tousled her hair a little, stood straight with her shoulders back and breezed into the room. Five heads turned to see who was walking through the door. Four pairs of eyes widened in surprise as Molly strode confidently to her desk, dropping her bag and pulling her lab coat on, deliberately leaving it open. Sherlock was flicking through images on his phone, frowning to himself as he tried to find the right one. He pursed his lips and Molly's knees felt weak as his cheekbones protruded a little. Keep it together, Hooper. Although she tried to seem oblivious to their reactions, Molly's disappointment at Sherlock's indifference was a little overwhelmed by the way the other three men were looking at her. Greg was wearing the expression he had at the Christmas party, John didn't seem aware that his gaze was flicking between her legs and her chest unable to decide where to settle, and Anderson was staring at her like he'd never seen a woman before. Which may well have been the case. Donavon just looked incredulous. Molly gazed around at the gawping faces and smiled as confidently as she could.

"What can I do for you?"

"At last, someone who wants to get some work done! No one else seems to have any sense of urgency, so thank you Molly." She coloured a little at Sherlock's words but she knew she was safe – no one was looking at her face anyway. "Now, could you take a look at these photos and tell me if you've seen anything similar in the past few weeks?" Sherlock lightly tossed her the phone which she deftly caught. The screen showed a male corpse, a man with dark hair who may once have been attractive. Something about him seemed familiar to Molly…but that wasn't she was focusing on. There was heavy bruising around his neck with two very distinct thumb marks. She looked at the photo for what felt like a very long time, flicking between the others in the folder (the same corpse from different angles and different levels of zoom).

"I…I don't see anything too strange. Surely we're looking at simple strangulation?" Despite her costume, Molly wasn't finding it quite so easy to maintain her persona.

"Are all you people blind?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, snatching his phone back. "I'll do it myself, as usual. May I?" Molly sighed and dropped into her desk chair. She was used to Sherlock demanding free reign of her domain and she'd given up arguing despite it being so very against regulations.

By lunchtime, they were all getting restless. Sherlock had ordered Anderson and Donavon to leave, claiming that he couldn't work with their faces distracting him. They hadn't been happy and had made a lot of snide comments as they left, but they had left. Thank God. Molly didn't know how much longer she could have taken Anderson's leering. Sherlock was muttering agitatedly to himself and flicking through file after file, not allowing anyone to speak to him, only interacting to accept cups of coffee and occasionally exclaiming things which they'd all long ago zoned out. For the past hour, Molly had been fashioning a paper clip chain and doodling on Post-it notes which she was using to decorate her computer screen. It was difficult being Dream Molly when she was so bored. She tried desperately to keep her mind from slipping back to last night. She couldn't help but wonder what Jim was up to right now… Snap out of it! She shook herself a little. Greg was taking a call from his wife, possibly ex-wife, outside – Molly wasn't quite sure how their relationship stood at the moment, but she was pretty sure Mrs Lestrade wouldn't like the surreptitious glances he'd been sneaking down her blouse – and John had just returned with yet another coffee run. He attempted to balance the paper tray on a pile of documents on her desk and one cup tipped, spilling a little scalding hot liquid into Molly's lap. She shrieked and leapt to her feet. It didn't hurt too badly and she got over the shock pretty quickly but John jumped into action, attempting to dab at the front of her skirt with the handful of the least absorbent napkins in the world you always get with coffee from a cheap machine.

"I'm so sorry, Molly. So sorry…I'm so bloody clumsy…" John's awkward attempts to dry her skirt were put to a sudden halt by her grabbing his hand.

"If you're going to try and touch me up, at least have the decency to buy me dinner first Watson." Molly held John's gaze brazenly and spoke in a low husky voice. She gave John a little smirk, held his hand a little longer than necessary, and inwardly congratulated herself on being able to come up with a line so quickly. John flushed pink and opened his mouth as if to say something, then decided against. He did this twice more and then left the room without any explanation other than just pointing at the door and then exiting through it. Molly leant back in her chair and smiled. This Dream Molly stuff was more fun than she had expected it to be.