A/N: Thank you for the reviews last chapter, and especially to my guest reviewers! I cannot PM you, but I hope you're reading this and can accept my thanks and messages!

Sherlockfan: I'm glad that you are enjoying the story! And yes, Jucie will be around soon (John/Lucie!)! Thanks for dropping me a review :)

Rebecca: Thanks for your review, and I'm very glad you're a fan! Thanks for reading my other stories too…and wow, another Phan! Yay! Dammit, I want family who work in the West End too! It's not fair! :)

Anyway, so I dedicate this chappie to Rebecca for finding a soulmate in Sherlock/Phantom love! :)

10: The Exciting Clarity

Sherlock strode to the stairs quickly and rapidly skipped down them, narrowly avoiding knocking over various elderly people en route. Before long he reached the morgue and spotted Molly in the corner, poring over a microscope. A small smile played on Sherlock's lips, and the temptation to make her jump out of her skin was too tempting.

He crept up behind the unsuspecting pathologist and cleared his throat loudly; Molly jumped almost out of her skin and leaped around, staring into the laughing eyes of Sherlock. Composing herself, she tried to appear indifferent and calm her flaming cheeks, although Sherlock had already noted and analysed everything about her appearance.

"No lipstick today, Molly?" he said, raising an eyebrow and taking in her dishevelled hair at the same time. "And I would say that you haven't even straightened your hair this morning. What has gotten into you?" He peered down the microscope eyepieces and studied the blood smear methodically. Molly, meanwhile, was trying not to blush again and desperately flattening her hair down so that it looked mildly more presentable.

"Don't bother," Sherlock said, not looking up. "I think it looks fine."

Molly's hands froze a few centimetres from her head before she clasped them together behind her back, trying to be rational.

"What can I do for you, Mr Holmes?" she said, and Sherlock looked up at her, perplexed for once.

"Ah, so now we are being formal again, Miss Hooper?" he said with a tinge of sarcasm. "I can't think why." He went back to looking at the microscope, and Molly sighed.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" she tried again, and Sherlock looked up with a smile.

"That's the Molly I know!" he said enthusiastically, twirling on the spot. "I need to see any bodies that have come in over the last week. It would be a man, in his fifties, shot…any takers?"

Molly thought for a moment.

"I think there was one man who came in a few days ago," she said. "Bullet wound clear through the heart, I think."

"Excellent!" said Sherlock, clapping his hands. "I need to see him!"

Molly led him through to where the corpses lay on their cold steel trolleys and searched until she found the right man.

"Here," she said, gesturing to the body. "A Mr Stuart Adler brought in on Thursday evening with a bullet wound straight through his heart." She pulled the cover down from the man's head ever so slightly to show Sherlock the wound in his chest. Sherlock studied him for a moment, not really listening to the name that Molly had given him.

"So, his face has these marks on," he said, tracing thin scars with his little finger. "Where would they come from? In theory, they look like scars, but if some sort of torture instrument like a whip was used…cat o' nine tails, let's say…then the damage would be much worse but wouldn't look like a big deal. If he was murdered, as we know he was, then it's easy to tell that he was tortured before his death; held in a small, enclosed space with his captor and torturer, no way of escaping the abuse. What did you say his name was?" Sherlock asked absentmindedly, running his fingers lightly over the dead man's face and shoulders.

"Stuart Adler," Molly said, and Sherlock stood up like a shot, his eyes searching Molly's face. He grabbed the sides of her face and Molly tried not to blush.

"Adler?" he said urgently. "You said his name was Adler?"

"Y…yes…" Molly stammered, trying not to concentrate on Sherlock's hands pressing against her face. "Mr…Adler."

Sherlock released her and began pacing the room.

"Adler, Adler…" he muttered, bringing his fingertips together. "I know an Adler…Molly, who is the only Adler that we know?" he barked at her, snapping his fingers and pointing at her. Molly had to think for a moment.

"That…woman from before…who died…but then she didn't…you recognised her from…not her face…" she said, trying to remember everything about her; unfortunately, the only thing she could recall was the shock that came from seeing Sherlock recognise somebody from their body.

"Exactly!" Sherlock said excitedly, beginning to hop from foot to foot.

Molly was still completely in the dark, but decided to wait for him to explain in his own time.

"Adler!" he said. "Adler isn't a common surname…Molly, I need a computer. Now, s'il vous plaît." He looked at her expectantly, and Molly sighed. Honestly, sometimes it was like catering for a toddler. She led him into the next room and logged on for him, loading up the familiar page of the search engine for citizens.

Sherlock sat down quickly at the chair and typed in the word 'Adler' to the surname box, clicked 'Enter' and waited impatiently, tapping his fingers together.

"It's not loading, Molly," he said petulantly. "I want it to load."

"It will load, Sherlock," she said, as if talking to a toddler. "You just need to give it time to warm up."

Sherlock groaned and looked at his watch. Then he looked at the clock on the wall, the clock on the computer, and then back to his watch. The computer finally beeped to let him know that it had finished searching, and he scanned the data quickly, his eyes lighting up and a triumphant smile spreading across his face.

"There!" he said, pointing at the screen. "Mr Stuart Adler – now deceased. Mrs Camilla Adler, spouse – died in 1992. Miss Irene Adler, daughter – also apparently deceased, although that's a load of rubbish. And look!" he said triumphantly, turning to Molly. She bent down to look at the screen, seeing a picture of a young woman looking back at her. She had soft auburn curls and blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face.

"She's beautiful," Molly said bitterly, fingering her own lank hair. "So?"

"Read what it says!" Sherlock barked, still hopping around from excitement. Molly leaned closer to read the profile next to the picture.

"Name: Miss Lucie Adler," she read. "Relation: Daughter. Age: 32. Current Residence: Unknown." She leant back. "Irene Adler is her sister?" she said, in shock. Sherlock clapped his hands together.

"It would appear so. But that can wait. Her surname is Adler, and not Ellery!"

"What's that got to do with anything?" said Molly, totally confused.

"'What's this got to do with anything?!'" Sherlock said incredulously. "This is one of the most vital pieces of information that we've come across yet! This girl…this woman is the very person lying upstairs in a hospital bed."

Molly looked confused.

"Why is she in a hospital bed?" she asked, and Sherlock let out a frustrated huff.

"Well, she's perfectly fine but she was my ticket down to the morgue so that I could see you, see the body and find out what I could about Lucie!" He was waving his hands around frantically, but Molly was just looking more and more perplexed. "She is the very person who turned up on our doorstep two nights ago, and who John brought up when she had been drugged! But why is she going by a different name?" He brought his palms together and thought long and hard.

Molly said nothing, thinking it best not to interrupt the consulting detective's thought process. Besides, it wouldn't do much good; she would probably only end up being shouted at. She folded her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth onto the balls of her feet, waiting.

"Molly, I need you to type a name into that computer for me," Sherlock said, his back to her. She quickly scooted over to the monitor and waited, her hands hovering over the keyboard. "Open a new tab," he ordered, which she did. "Now, I want you to type the name 'Lucie Ellery' into the database. L-U-C-I-E-E-L-L-E-R-Y," he spelt out, and Molly obediently followed his instructions, tapping her thumbs against the mouse while she waited for the system to load. Sherlock slammed a hand over hers, forcing her to stop but also succeeding in securing a hearty blush from her, which Sherlock noted and smirked.

He knew exactly why she wasn't wearing any lipstick, and why her hair was unkempt. He hadn't been down to the morgue for quite a while, and she wasn't expecting to see him. If he had phoned to announce his visit earlier, he had no doubt that her hair would have been perfectly straightened and her lipstick expertly applied, but he had made no such announcement. Therefore, the only logical deduction was that she only really bothered to go the extra mile with her appearance when she knew that he was going to be there. As to why she would want to look nice for him, he had absolutely no idea, but it was a rather amusing phenomenon to observe.

"Here, Sherlock," Molly said, pointing to the screen. "Lucie Ellery."

Sherlock leaned in close to the monitor, trying to process what he was seeing.

"Well, Miss Lucie…" he said quietly. "I do believe there is rather large piece of your jigsaw slid into place."

John was still sat in front of the TV when the doorbell to 221B rang. At the same time, his phone vibrated, and he picked it up to see a message from Irene.

I'm outside.
- IA xx

Quickly flicking the television off, John cleared his mug into the kitchen and made sure the room looked mildly presentable before heading down the stairs, key in hand. He opened the door to see Irene standing there, chocolates in hand. She smiled when he opened the door, and he could see that the flirtatious dominatrix was probably not going to put in much of an appearance this time…he was glad. He hoped that Irene wouldn't stay too long and that she would simply tell him what she needed to, and then leave.

"John," she said in greeting, smiling.

"Miss Adler," he replied, inclining his head and opening the door for her to make her way up the stairs to the flat. He followed a few seconds later after locking the door securely, smoothing his hair down in the glass of Mrs Hudson's door and adjusting his shirt collar.

"You look more than presentable, Dr Watson," called a voice from above, and John looked up to see Irene stood there with an amused smirk on her face. "We need to talk."

John cleared his throat nervously, smoothed his palms on the sides of his jeans and walked up the stairs, trying to look more confident than he felt.

Irene was stood in the middle of the flat, looking around at the various items strewn about. Her eyes wandered with amusement to the mauled Cluedo board, but she said nothing.

"Please, sit down, Miss Adler," John said, making a gesture with his hands that was far too dramatic. He cringed inwardly; why couldn't he just act normally for once? Irene wasn't going to bite him. He thought for a moment. Oh dear, wrong choice of words. He shook his head to clear his mind of these unpleasant thoughts to see Irene watching him like a hawk from her new perch on the sofa. He sat down gingerly at the other end and then shot back up again.

"Coffee? Tea?" he asked, again chiding himself for acting so stupidly. Irene merely looked unfazed.

"Tea would be lovely," she said, and John made his way out into the kitchen, more than a little surprised and unnerved when she followed him.

He set about boiling the kettle and finding the one china teacup that they owned – a Christmas present from Mrs Hudson, busily rearranging the mugs in the cupboard so that he wouldn't have to turn around and look at or talk to Irene. She leant against the worktop, looking amused.

"John…" she said softly, and he turned round to her involuntarily. "What I have to tell you may come as a shock, so I would like you merely to drop all formalities from here. There is no point pretending to be formal when I think that we may be becoming better acquainted."

John gulped.

"Look, Miss…" he began, but Irene interrupted.

"Irene," she said, and he reluctantly continued.

"Irene…" he said. "I'm very flattered by your attention, but…you know…I'm not sure that I could really see us being friends as of yet, let alone…more than…I mean…" he stammered over his words, but Irene stood there, an expression somewhere between shock and hilarity on her face.

"John, you think I came here to ask you out on a date with me?" she said incredulously, and he blushed crimson. "I have something important that you need to know. It concerns Lucie."

John looked up, and she smiled.

"I thought that might get your attention," she said, watching him as he carefully poured her cup of tea. He handed it to her and the two made their way back into the main room, taking their places back on the sofa.

"I am a lot better acquainted with her than you know," Irene began after taking a sip of her tea. "I want things to turn out well for her, although I have not done a very good job of that so far, with her falling into the clutches of Jim Moriarty…and Papa…" she buried her face in her hands momentarily, allowing a few tears to trickle down her cheeks, but quickly pulled herself together. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. "John…I can't play games with you here. I just need to tell you the truth, straight out."

John leaned forward, his interest piqued and his heartbeat sped up somewhat.

"Lucie Adler, or as you would know her, Lucie Ellery…is my twin sister."

A/N: *GASP* Dundundun! I know that this chappie was a little on the short side, but I am unavailable from Friday to Sunday, so I wanted to get an upload done. So here is a huge detail about Lucie's past revealed! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, por favor, as shown from the feedback on last chapter! I mean, I got reviews, and now look what crazy things happened in this chappie! Anyway, thanks to all who read, favourite and follow, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)