I know I left too much mess and destruction
To come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
Then I'm sure that that makes sense
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door

White Flag – Dido

Brunch came and went again, this time with numerous announcements. First off, John and Mary were engaged, not that it surprised Imogen or Sherlock – it had happened right in front of their eyes after all.

Second, Molly was engaged to her boyfriend Tom as well, something that didn't sit well with either Sherlock or Imogen. Namely, because they'd both deduced the second he walked through the door that he was cheating on Molly and no one did that to their pathologist friend. Sherlock wanted to tell her immediately of course but Imogen said that she would tell Molly – it would sound better coming from a woman – and at a time when they weren't in a room filled to the brim with people (to save face for Molly).

Third, Mycroft and Lestrade were finally admitting to being a thing (Mycroft refused to label them as being a couple). An excellent thing if ever Imogen had known one. Also, it made the British Government blush so it gave everyone something to laugh about.

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Now, Imogen stood in the morgue of St. Bart's, staring intently at the body of the first victim, examining her. Her name, according to the documentation the police had found in her apartment, was Clara Hewlett, she was 19-years-old – not much older than Imogen herself was – a second-year accounting and finance student at London School of Economic and part-time nanny, also a virgin which proved – in part – Imogen's theory on the killer. "Any fingerprints?" she asked Molly, knowing that Jennifer Evans' body had been without them.

"None," Molly answered "Although there was evidence of latex," she continued. Imogen nodded. Maybe the killer was a medical professional, a doctor? Probably a GP or psychologist, a surgeon would be unlikely (they got their rushes from saving lives in the Operating Rooms of hospitals rather than taking them). "There's, uh, bruising around her wrists but that's probably from the ties that were put on them," the pathologist added and once again Imogen nodded in replied.

She leaned in, looking at the nape of Clara's neck and noted that a large chunk of hair was missing "He took a souvenir," she stated and Molly looked up, approaching the cold, metal slab on which the body lay "See, she's missing some of her hair. With Jennifer Evans', Anderson noticed that she was missing a lock of hair too," Imogen commented, yet another link between the two victims, Imogen was thankful that Anderson had actually noticed it if she was being honest with herself.

"But why would he do that?" Molly asked, somewhat confused.

"Because," Imogen began "He wants to remember, to remember how he turned each of his failures as a man into a success, to remember the satisfaction he felt when he saw the light leave their eyes, the sheer power he felt at the fact that he could put the world to rights by removing the Madonnas and the Whores from the world," she answered, finally able to profile at least a small amount of who the killer was or might be.

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"So what did you think of Tom?" Molly asked her. They had retreated into the locker room, at Imogen's behest. She had always insisted on wearing scrubs so as not to contaminate the body she was examining with fibres from her own clothing.

"He's nice," Imogen said all too quickly, unable to keep eye contact with her friend.

"You're avoiding making eye contact with me, why?" Molly asked and Imogen inhaled sharply, preparing herself for the thunderstorm of pain she was about to inflict on the woman she saw as her best friend.

"I – I just… I think he's cheating on you," the 18-year-old admitted, waiting for a reaction.

"How do you know?" Molly asked, her voice filled with a monotonous anger, the calm before the storm it would appear.

"He – he had lipstick on his scarf and I know that it's not a shade that you wear, so I put two and two together,"

"I can't have one moment of happiness, can I? Between you and your father… You know what? Sack this, next time you need access to a body, ask Stamford!" Molly shouted angrily, rage permeating her so that she turned a bright shade of scarlet. Meanwhile, Imogen sank to the floor, tears streaming out of her eyes and down her porcelain coloured cheeks, so upset that her friend didn't believe her, so knowingly vulnerable. Maybe her uncle was right, maybe caring was a disadvantage. Maybe she should have listened to her father when he told her that emotion was a chemical defect of the weak.

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Moriarty watched as Imogen fell apart at the apparent loss of her dear friend and pathologist. Tom had done his job quite nicely and in a mere six weeks as well, Jim was impressed. The two dead girls were a nice touch too. This was the perfect time for him to launch into enacting stage two of his plan. All it would take is a black town car and a few willing, if slightly ill-informed participants and Imogen Holmes would belong to Jim Moriarty.