Warning: Descriptions of torture, and a little romance in the morgue! Read at your own risk.

Chapter Nine: Casualties of Love and War

"Women's eyes have pierced more hearts than ever did the bullets of war." William Scott Downey, Proverbs

Lestrade's instincts turned out to be correct. Amber was the first victim of the killer the media dubbed the "Satanic Slasher."

But she was not the last.

Over the next few months, London was engulfed in fear as permeable as the humid air as the body count continued to rise. By the end of August, seventeen victims fell to the Satanic Slasher.

There seemed to be no pattern. The victims had no apparent connection with one another and no similarity. They ranged in age from a thirteen year old homeless girl to a seventy-two year old businessman. Male and female, young and old, from different economic, social, and ethnic backgrounds. Most of victims were walking through the streets when they were taken, although a few were known to be home, only to be drug out of their beds at night and be found in the streets the next morning.

Except for the fact that all of the killings happened at night, there seemed to be no pattern as to the times that the killer chose to attack, either. One week, there would be no victims, while another week may have three, only to be followed with just one victim the next week after that.

However, the method of killing was always the same.

The victim would be found in an abandoned alley, throat cut to stop the victim from screaming. Then the victim would be stabbed repeated until they succumbed to death from trauma and extreme blood loss. Then, the heart would be removed and sat on fire, to be placed a few feet away from the victim. Finally, the numbers "666", with the middle number raised slightly higher than the other two, almost as though they were arranged in a triangle.

London, in short, was under siege.

Lestrade went to Mycroft to ask if there was any way that the CCTV system could be used to track down the killer, only to learn that someone was mysteriously shutting down the footage on all the screens. It was only for a few hours at a time, but each time corresponded with the timing of one of the murders.

Mycroft did what he could, and called to alert the Yard every time the system went down. But with the overall size and population of London, it was impossible to pinpoint the next probable location where the killer would strike.

The Scotland Yard Metropolitan Police patrolled the streets in shifts, constantly on the lookout for anyone who could be the Slasher. Meanwhile, ordinary civilians traveled in groups, or used public transportation. Suspects were rounded up and brought in for questioning, only to be systematically ruled out. Events were canceled, and people began to sleep with guns in easy reach.

And the body count continued to rise.

September 12. One year and four months after the Fall at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.

"Good afternoon, John. I have news that will be of great interest to you." Mycroft said. Despite his usual pompous personae, there was an undercurrent of excitement in Mycroft's manner.

"Mycroft." John greeted quickly and sat down at the table at the Diogenes Club. He received a text message asking him to come there for a private meeting with Mycroft and Chase.

Personally, he was looking forward to it. With so little headway being made on the Satanic Slasher case, it was good to keep track of the deterioration of Moriarty's web, which only seemed to be accelerating as the months flew by.

"Hey! John! Good to see you!" Chase greeted as he flipped open his laptop.

"And you as well, Chase." John said politely. "So. What's going on?"

"I have just received word that one of Moriarty's lieutenants, a gentleman by the name of Charles Milverton, has been found dead in his manor in Venice, Italy just a few days ago. He was shot several times in the chest and died almost instantly. The perpetrators also destroyed everything that was located in his safe. Incriminating documents, pictures, disks, his personal computer, all of it was found in the fireplace, amongst the ashes." Mycroft leaned back in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

"How do you know it was perpetrators and not one person?" John asked.

Mycroft smiled slightly. "Because they were spotted leaving the area. One woman, who I have already identified, followed a few minutes later by two masked figures, whose identities remain a mystery. I have already spoken to the lady and found out she was the one who killed Milverton. She was a former victim of his, you see. When she could not pay the exuberant amount that he demanded, Milverton released some information that caused the woman much embarrassment, as well as indirectly causing the woman's husband to die from heart complications."

John nodded understandingly.

"For many years, she lived with her bitterness until she finally decided to take her revenge. Do not ask me her name or where she is now, John. As far as I am concerned, the woman has suffered enough at the hands of the odious blackmailer, and turning the matter over to the police would result in other victims being hurt as well." Mycroft explained.

"How about the two people who left later? What were they doing there?" John asked.

"That is the question I would like answered. After talking to the unfortunate woman, she told me that she left soon after confronting Milverton. I thus deduce that these two persons, whoever they may be, were present and stood by unseen when Milverton was 'disposed of.' After she left, they chose to destroy the materials accumulated over the years by Milverton. Allow me to show you some video footage that my security team sent to me."

Turning to Chase, Mycroft waved his hand. "Mr. Douglas, if you would, please."

"Sure thing, DMP!" Chase said, positioning his laptop to where John could see it. "Now, this Milverton guy was holding a masquerade ball earlier that night. Something rich people do, I guess! Personally, I think time would be better spent at a nightclub, but..."

"Mr. Douglas. Focus, please!" Mycroft huffed.

Chase flushed crimson. "Sorry, DMP! Anyway, what you are seeing here is footage of the guests arriving."

John squinted as he looked at the screen. Several dozen people were coming in, the gentlemen in ornate tuxedos and military uniforms, while the ladies were adorned in beautiful ball gowns of the classical Old European Style.

All were wearing decorated party masks.

"Now, do you see these two right here? The man and the woman on the steps?" Chase said, pointing them out.

"The man with the Colonel uniform and the woman in the red dress?" John asked.

"Yeah. They gave their names as Colonel Lorenzo Bianchi and his wife, Giulia. Obviously not their real names, of course! Anyway, they went in, socialized, burnt up the dance floor, and do whatever the heck they do at these things! Now I will skip to the end, where everyone is leaving."

John watched the video in silence for a few minutes before it dawned on him. "The couple never left the party."

Chase grinned. "Exactly! Now, fast forward to a couple of hours later. It is one-fifteen in the morning. You see the hooded figure run out there? That's the woman Mycroft is so bent on protecting! How he knew who she was is beyond me, since I can't see her face from this angle…"

"Mr. Douglas, stay on task, please." Mycroft broke in.

Chase blushed again. "Sorry, DMP! Anyway, now I will skip to one-twenty one. You now see our roving band of vandals running across the yard here! Two figures, dressed in black, complete with black ski masks. One is very tall, almost six feet, while the other one is shorter. See the bag the tall one is carrying?"

"Yes." John confirmed.

"Well, the DMP believes our couple hid in the house after the party was over, changed into their burglarizing outfits, and then waited until later before they emerged from wherever the heck they were and tried to open the safe." Chase summed up.

John watched in fascination as the two figures in black raced across the yard, heedless to the alarms going off. A pack of Dobermans, barking loudly, were close behind.

Suddenly, the smaller figure slipped and fell, clutching her ankle.

John watched in amazement as the taller figure immediately turned around and unceremoniously picked up the smaller person. One of the dogs rushed forward, sharp teeth aimed for the pair's flesh.

As quick as lightning, the tall figure lashed out and kicked the dog hard on his muzzle, sending the dazed canine to the ground. The dog's squeal of pain was heard, even on the tape. The man then turned around and continued running, his partner still safe in his arms, until he disappeared from the screen.

"He didn't leave her behind." John whispered.

"I know! You have to admit, it is kind of sweet! In a weird, romantic 'Bonny and Clyde' criminal sort of way! Who says there is no honor among thieves?" Chase said.

"Do you think they took any information with them? Any blackmail material that they could use?" John asked.

"They did take one item." Chase confirmed. "A disk with the names of everyone who has helped Milverton and Moriarty by delivering them the blackmail information over the years. Now we have it."

"How did we get it?" John asked.

Chase smiled. "Remember how my friends were monitoring the net to find out if any outside hackers were helping Moriarty?"

"Yes. What about it?" John asked.

Chase's face transformed into what only could be the picture definition of smugness. "Well, one of our suspects, Chimera, sent the list of Milverton's informants to one of my friends from Fan Fiction. I gave the list to DMP, and he is working with the other countries on apprehending them and mopping up the last of Milverton's operation!"

"Then that means…the only operating groups left are in Africa, South America, and here in England." John realized.

Mycroft spoke up. "Correction, John. I see I have neglected to inform you. Less than two weeks ago, an international coalition of countries descended on Moriarty's network in Africa and have succeeded in capturing or killing most of its members, as well as seizing the bulk of its assets. I cannot take any credit for that, as the operation was being planned for almost three years. But it is helpful to our cause."

"I say so! Tell him about the other stuff Chimera sent us, DMP!" Chase said eagerly.

Mycroft gave Chase a cool glare, but his tone was impassive. "As Mr. Douglas has already revealed, the same mysterious hacker who sent the information about Milverton also sent a list of locations and names of Moriarty's contacts in South America. In a few days' time, we will be in position to take them into custody."

"So while we still don't know if any of the outside hackers are helping Moriarty's web, we do know that one of them, Chimera, is working against him!" Chase explained.

"So once the threat in South America has been neutralized, then the only remaining cell is here, in London." Mycroft summed up in his usual pompous manner.

"You are talking about Sebastian Moran, aren't you?" John said.

Colonel Sebastian Moran was an elite sniper who served twice in Afghanistan before he was captured by the enemy. He was a prisoner of war for five months before he escaped, but he was wounded in the process. Disabled, he returned to London and was at one point approached by Moriarty.

Before Moriarty's suicide, he was Moriarty's second-in-command. John had already been briefed on the sniper that Moriarty kept in his employment, whom many believed to be the new leader of Moriarty's empire, although John and Mycroft both had some doubts.

"He and a couple of other members, some of whom have yet to be identified. Nevertheless, they are still free and capable to carry on the organization's orders. Recently, two of my agents were killed when they attempted to get close to Moran, so there is undoubtedly a security breach somewhere. Which is why I am going to request that you be moved to an undisclosed location until this is over." Mycroft said in the patronizing voice he reverted to whenever he sought to order people around.

"What?" John asked, agasted. "Mycroft, we have already gone through this! I told you that I am not running away, and that is all there is to it!"

"You may wish to reconsider your decision, John." Mycroft said calmly, handing John a manila file. "Thanks to Chimera, we have confirmed that a war has broken out among Moriarty's empire. Whoever is now in charge suspects that there is a traitor in their midst. Someone is divulging Moriarty's secrets to government agencies all over the world. Whoever has taken Moriarty's place as the new leader has been ruthless. Several members have been shot and killed for being suspected of being the traitor."

Mycroft paused, allowing John time to go over the contents. "And they were the fortunate ones."

"Oh, my God!" John breathed as he opened the file.

His hands began to shake as he continued to go through the material he was just given. He couldn't help it. Because what he saw in that file was now burnt into his memory for all time, and it would continue to haunt his nightmares for many years to come.

Inside the file Mycroft had handed him were pictures of men and women who were tortured. Some of them in ways that went beyond comprehension.

In the first picture, there was a young Asian woman in a dark, dirty room, with waste on the floor and bugs flying around. Food and water were curiously absent. The woman was covered with grime, dirt, and blood from head to toe, and stared forward, eyes curiously empty and void of any intelligence. A curious, crescent shaped scar was visible on the woman's scalp.

In the second picture, a man was hanging suspended from various ropes attached to hooks that were embedded in the man's skin. The blood and oozing around those wounds, as well as the various insects surrounding him, showed that he had been allowed to hang like that for some time.

The third picture showed a woman on a steel table, surrounded by surgical instruments. The evidence of dried blood covering everything showed that the people in charge obviously didn't care about keeping a sterile environment. As the woman, obviously still alive, was photographed while she screamed, her recently severed foot was positioned near her head.

The fourth picture showed two men tied up together to where they were connected, hand to hand, foot to foot, and mouth to mouth. Only after closer examination did John realize that while one of the men was very much alive, the other man was dead, and had been for several weeks, which was evident by the rotting flesh and bugs crawling around.

They tied up a living man to a corpse!

There were more pictures, each one more sickening than the last. Pictures of living, breathing human beings being put through various forms of torture.

Hanging, drowning, burning, severance of body parts, mutilation, rape, isolation, starvation, crucifixion, electrocution…

"When the Black Lotus destroyed themselves, someone called in a tip and sent authorities to this 'facility,' where Moriarty's victims were put through treatment that can best be described as 'barbaric.'" Mycroft explained, disgust succeeding in slipping through his emotionless persona.

"This is horrible!" John exclaimed. Bile rose up in the back of his throat, and he fought back the urge to gag.

"Tell me about it! I lost my breakfast when I saw the pictures! Poor DMP had to get his umbrella cleaned!" Chase said, nodding emphatically. "But the DMP is worried that someone may try to appease the new top dog and kidnap you. What's more, he's afraid you may be given the same type of treatment." Chase explained, shuddering at the thought. "Whoever has taken over is just as sick as Moriarty! Except that he is paranoid, of course. That's why the system's breaking down. Someone from the inside is sharing information with us, and they don't know who it is."

"Do we know who it is?" John asked.

"Sorry, John!" Chase said, looking disgruntled. "The DMP has no one on the inside. And as far as we know, no one else does, either!"

"Do you believe everything that Mycroft tells you?" John asked Chase sarcastically.

Chase looked amazed by this question. "Why would the DMP lie to me?"

John shook his head and looked back at Mycroft. "So you succeeded in brainwashing him, huh?"

Mycroft smirked. "He arrived in this state of mind already, before I employed him, John. But to answer your question, no, I do not have anyone in Moriarty's organization."

John didn't look like he believed Mycroft's statement, but decided to get back to the main issue. "But we know that at least one man and one woman are involved in this attack on Moriarty's empire!" John said, gesturing towards the screen.

"Unless someone is dressing in drag, we think so!" Chase confirmed.

"And there is more." Mycroft spoke up. "Whoever is behind this is sending messages to Moriarty's organization. Rather inventive ones, I might add. Mr. Douglas, if you would."

"Sure, DMP!" Chase said, turning his laptop back around to give John a better view of the screen. "I'm going to show you a series of snapshots. These are pictures of the messages that our mysterious vigilante has left for the new headmaster of Moriarty's happy little band of social misfits!"

Curious, John watched as pictures appeared on the screen. In each one, someone had spray-painted a message on the side of a building or a billboard, in different languages.

"The first one showed up in Japan, soon after the civil war with the Black Lotus erupted." Mycroft explained. "It says 'Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.' The second one shows up in China, and reads 'Two wrongs don't make a right, but neither does one. Revenge may seem petty by day, but on some nights she becomes Justice.'"

"How about that one?" John asked.

"That one is in Cairo, Egypt. It seems our little vigilante friend has a feisty side. This says 'A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is. Allow me to help you remember.' In perfect Arabic, I might add, according to the DMP." Chase replied, showing undisguised respect towards the writer of the anonymous messages. "There are many more, but here's the latest one, which was painted outside Mr. Smith's villa, just after his death. It is Spanish for 'Justice is my being allowed to do whatever I like. Injustice is whatever prevents my doing so.'"

"But what is that supposed to tell us, exactly?" John muttered.

"You mean besides the fact that the writer is in need of anger management?" Chase said. "All this talk about vengeance and justice and death…I say someone is a little pissed at Moriarty's empire!"

"He can get in line! But do we have any ideas on who it could be?" John asked.

"Well, when I saw the tags, I thought it could be Raze, but he has an alibi!" Chase said, grinning to show he was joking. "But whoever is doing it has a wicked sense of humor and a vast knowledge of pop culture! Look at this quote. 'It is a pleasure to burn!' That's from Fahrenheit. The other quotes are from famous people, literature, and so forth."

"So somebody is taunting Moriarty's web. But what is that?" John asked, pointing at the screen. "At the corner of each message is a symbol, or drawing, of some sort. It looks like a bird."

"A raven, actually." Mycroft explained. "The person or persons who are going after Moriarty's empire keep leaving this symbol behind. As I have said, it is a raven, a classic symbol of death."

"So the person doing this is calling himself the 'Raven?'" John asked.

Mycroft nodded. "I had my people research it. Despite the obvious parellels that exist in literature, the raven is also a bird that is biologically related to Moriarty's own symbol."

"The Thieving Magpie." John realized. "So it is someone close to Moriarty?"

"Based on some of this, it almost sounds like Moriarty himself, doesn't it?" Chase asked.

"Which means I must now share some information I have been withholding, as it previously had no bearing on the current situation." Mycroft said, looking momentarily uncomfortable. "Based on the limited data we have, I believe I can ascertain the identity of at least one person who is behind this operation. Someone with both the computer skills and the resources to accomplish the task. This person, whoever it is, has been tipping off authorities throughout the world and is taking down each of Moriarty's members, one by one. Almost all have been captured, although a few were found dead."

"Murdered?" John asked.

"I am inclined to believe it was done in self-defense, based on the preliminary reports, although it could have been premeditated." Mycroft replied.

"So you are saying you think you know who is behind the attacks of Moriarty's empire?" John asked.

"Not with absolute certainty. But I have sent a few of my operatives to America, near Savannah, Georgia. Hopefully, by the end of the week, I will have the information necessary to determine the identity of the person responsible for this." Mycroft affirmed.

"And then what? Are we going to help them? If this person is out to get Moriarty, and we are out to get Moriarty, then why can't we join forces?" John inquired.

"You think like a warrior, John, and that is highly commendable. But it is possible that this person or persons would not appreciate outside interference." Mycroft stated flatly.

John looked at Mycroft, calculating his appearance. As always, he was elegantly dressed, this time in a tanned suit, silk tie, and polished Italian leather shoes. His hair was characteristically swept back, and his icy blue eyes were clear and alert.

But John knew Mycroft. Maybe not as well as he knew Sherlock, but John had a feeling that he could gauge when either Holmes was not telling him the full truth.

"You know who it is, don't you, Mycroft?" John accused.

Mycroft shook his head dismissively. "I suspect I know who it may be, John. But until I collect the necessary data, then I have no evidence to support my theory."

"Fine! Then who do you suspect is involved?" John muttered.

"You would not believe it, even if I told you." Mycroft said, rising from his chair. "But as you still refuse to leave until after the danger is safely past, then at least allow me to double the surveillance on you so that you come to no harm."

"I can agree to that." John conceded. "And when you do get confirmation on who our new ally is, you will keep us informed, right?"

Mycroft's troubled silence was answer enough.

Molly Hooper checked to make sure her hair was still in place, so that it wouldn't get in her way as she performed the next autopsy. Satisfied, she hurriedly put on a pair of latex gloves.

With any luck, she would get out of the morgue and back to her flat before it got too late.

It was growing dark outside, which filled her with a cold sense of dread. Ever since the Satanic Slasher had shown up, she couldn't help but feel extremely uneasy. Before, she could walk out the door of Bart's hospital and walk a few blocks to the tube without any hesitation.

Now, the mere idea of traveling that short distance alone made her rather anxious.

A eighteenth victim was found last night. Mark Cooper. A young university student who was on the local Rugby team. Strong, athletic, and physically fit. Someone who should have been capable of protecting himself.

The gaping hole in his chest and the burnt lump that was once the man's heart suggested otherwise.

Molly was understandably frustrated. After eighteen victims, there was still no progress being made!No forensics, no leads, nothing! The only evidence they had was Violet Hunter and John's statements from the first crime scene.

So how the bloody hell could such a huge man, reportedly at least six feet tall, leave the crime scenes without a trace?

I bet Sherlock would have solved this months ago!

Molly frowned slightly as she thought of her absent friend. She had once harbored a serious crush on him, but it soon became clear he did not reciprocate those feelings. She was briefly depressed, feeling a sense of shame and inadequacy.

However, she respected the man enough not to push the issue.

Then, many months later, Sherlock hid out at Bart's, in her morgue, no less. He was accused of kidnapping those kids, and was hiding from both the Yard and Moriarty.

She recalled the sadness in his eyes, mere hours before he had his confrontation with Moriarty on the roof. So different from his usual confidence. He seemed trapped in some way, wanting desperately to confide in someone. Anyone.

He chose to confide in Molly.

"You're wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you."

For the last year and a half, when she couldn't sleep at night, she tormented herself with so many unanswered questions.

Was Sherlock still alive? Was he alright? Did he know that his name was cleared?

Did he know how much people still missed him?

Of course, she had changed. Probably so much so that Sherlock might not even recognize her. She had cut her hair a few inches shorter, for one thing, and while it was still long, the strands around her face curved inward, giving her face more definition. She was also paying more attention to her appearance, as was revealed by her neatly applied lipstick and manicured nails.

Her manner had went through some changes as well. She still felt unsure of herself most of the time, but over the last few months, she found that she was becoming more out-spoken in her opinions. She also felt a little more in-control of her life, instead of being passively in its grip.

In short, she now acted as though her choices mattered.

Suddenly, an orderly came through the double doors, pushing a gurney in front of him. "Got another one for you, Dr. Hooper!"

Molly looked up, startled. "Oh! My shift ends in another hour. I may not be able to perform the autopsy until tomorrow."

The orderly actually smirked at this comment. "There's no hurry! We already know the cause of death. The victim was sick, Dr. Hooper. Very sick!" He said significantly, looking at the body on the gurney, which was completely covered by a white sheet.

Molly frowned. Was this guy mocking her?

"I don't know what you find to be so amusing! If you don't mind, I have work to do!" Molly grabbed the other side of the gurney and pulled it away from the orderly in one jerk.

She didn't like it when people laughed at her! And lately, she didn't see a reason why she had to put up with it!

Wasn't she Molly Hooper, a beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman (at least, according to her latest love interest)? Didn't she deserve to be taken seriously?

The man continued grinning, obviously ignoring Molly's discomfiture. "Good luck!" He chuckled quietly as he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Molly was exasperated. Why did people always seem to make fun of her behind her back?

Didn't anyone see her as a human being?

However, before she could ponder this further, the "body" on the gurney suddenly set up and quickly pulled the sheet off his face.

Molly's loud-pitched scream echoed through the morgue.

The person turned to her. "Hey, Molly! Mind if I drop in?"

"CLARKY!" Molly shrieked again, smacking him hard on the arm. "What the bloody hell are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Clarky grinned unashamedly. "I'm hiding out from Stan! And anyway, I thought you may want some company!"

"So you came down here pretending to be a corpse to say hello?" Molly gasped disbelievingly.

"Something like that." Clarky shrugged.

"You almost scared me to death, Clarky!" Molly repeated.

"Sorry." Clarky said, giving her the mournful puppy-dog eyes that always made her heart melt, even when she wanted to stay mad at him.

Serendipitously, he reached under the sheet and pulled out a single pink rose. Her favorite.

Clarky held it out to her. "Am I forgiven?"

Molly grinned despite herself. She knew she should be angry at Clarky. It wouldn't do for him to know that he could give her gifts every time he made her mad.

But why did he always succeed? Was she that much of a push-over?

But did it really matter?

She calmly took the rose. "Well, maybe this once…" She said teasingly.

Clarky smirked, knowing that the worst was over.

"So, besides hiding from Inspector Hopkins, what are you doing here?" Molly said.

Clarky shrugged as he slid off the gurney. "Actually, if it is okay with you, I would like to drive you home tonight."

Molly blushed slightly. "Clarky, that is very sweet of you…"

"I won't take 'no' for an answer, Molly!" Clarky insisted. "We got a serial killer on the loose, and I don't want you to end up in the morgue!"

Molly gave him a strange look.

Clarky rolled his eyes. "I meant I don't want to see you in the morgue on a slab! Besides, you are the only person that I knew before I moved here! Who else is going to teach me 'British' English? Who else takes the time to teach me where all the good places are to eat, to socialize? Who's going to watch out for me to make sure I don't make a huge ass, sorry, arse of myself?"

Molly turned her back away from Clarky so he wouldn't see the treacherous blush in her cheeks.

Try to act composed, Molly Hooper. Don't babble and make a fool of yourself!

"I'm sure the Yarders can help you with stuff like that." Molly replied.

Clarky turned Molly around. "Maybe! But if something did happen to you, and I wasn't there..."

Without warning, he brought his warm lips to Molly's. For a moment, Molly froze, then responded by wrapping her arms around Clarky's neck and pulling him closer.

It wasn't their first kiss, and it likely wouldn't be their last.

But that never stopped Molly's heart from beating rapidly every time they did it, or blush like a silly school girl afterwards.

Several months ago, Clarky showed up in London, much to the surprise and delight of Molly, whom had been friends with Clarky for many years, even when they lived on different sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

Clarky, with his usual charm and flattery, had offered to take Molly to dinner one night to "catch up." As Molly's dinner plans were originally to eat take-out at home with no one but her cat Toby for company, she accepted.

She ended up having a great time. So when Clarky offered again, she accepted.

After the first few dinners, it soon became apparent to Molly that Clarky viewed her more than "just a friend."

And she realized, after some reflection, that she felt the same way towards him.

So when Clarky asked her if she was willing to take a chance on him, she agreed to try the whole dating thing.

And now, four months later, even with the rest of London terrified for their lives, Molly had never been happier.

"I knew it!"

Clarky groaned in annoyance as he pulled away from Molly. He looked over at the figure who had just barged in. "Stan! Get the hell out of here before I get one of my guns and shoot you! Right now!"

Stanley Hopkins grinned as he waltzed into the morgue. "Clarky, Clarky, Clarky! You really need to stop with this cloak-and-dagger stuff! Everyone at the Yard already knows you have a thing for Dr. Hooper!"

"Clarky and I are old friends, Stan." Molly said, feeling her entire face blush crimson from embarrassment. "We met at a seminar several years ago, and we have kept in touch."

"I'd say!" Stan retorted, looking pleased with himself. "And it is just coincidence that his car is seen at your flat on the weekends?"

"Prove it!" Molly challenged, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Hopkins cocked his left eyebrow in disbelief. "Are you serious? That hideous green color that can be spotted five kilometers away? Why anyone would have a car painted the same color as split-pea soup is beyond me! Tell me, Clarky! Did you have it painted that color so that no one in their right mind will ever steal it? If that was your plan, it worked!"

Clarky regarded Hopkins warily. "What do you want, Stan?"

Hopkins grinned. "For you two to admit you like each other! After three months, this secrecy is getting old, and you two aren't fooling anyone! Besides, the Yard has a pool going on when you two finally go public with your relationship, and I want to win!"

Clarky glared at Hopkins as he took a few steps forward. "Stan, so help me, I swear I am going to punch you if you keep this up! Molly here is a lady, and will be treated as such! I want you to apologize to her! Right now, or she will have another corpse to perform an autopsy to!"

Molly gently pulled Clarky back towards her. "Clarky, calm down! It's fine. There is nothing to get upset about." Turning to Hopkins, Molly gave her brightest smile. "So you want us to confess?"

"Yes!" Hopkins said. "Please! I want to win this time!"

"Very well. I confess!" Molly said smugly.

Hopkins pulled out a tape recorder he had hidden in his pocket. "What are you confessing to?"

Molly smirked. "I am having an affair with Clarky's car!"

Clarky guffawed with laughter as Hopkins's face fell with disappointment. "Bugger! That's not fair! Clarky! Will one of you just come out and say it? I got several quid riding on this!"

"I have the right to remain silent, Stanley!" Clarky snickered.

"Bugger!" Hopkins grumbled. "You two think you are so clever! I just wish I got a picture of you two snogging! I bet neither one of you could keep a secret if you tried!"

I don't know about that. Molly thought uncomfortably.

"Stan!" Clarky said, giving Hopkins a significant glance. "If you don't high-tail it out of here in the next few seconds, I will call Anderson up and tell him who was responsible for what happened to one of his little dinosaur collectables!"

Hopkins froze, his expression morphing from one of vast amusement to one of extreme terror. "You wouldn't!"

Clarky grinned mischievously. "Try me, you Brit!"

Hopkins pouted. "Fine! But don't think you two are fooling anyone!" Giving Clarky a knowing smirk, he walked out of the door.

Clarky shook his head in annoyance. "Sorry about that! Next time, before I come down here, I'll tie him up and lock him in a closet somewhere!"

Molly giggled. "It's fine, Clarky! Don't worry about it!"

Truthfully, she was already aware of the rumors flying around concerning hers and Clarky's relationship. Most of her colleagues seemed very happy for her. Even the Yarders seemed pleased with the development, even though Hopkins has been the only one vocal enough to voice his opinion on the matter.

Still, she didn't like the fact that they were now subjects of the famous Yarders' Betting Pool.

Clarky shook his head sadly. "Figures we would become the new topic of the Yarder's gambling, huh?" Clarky said, unknowingly voicing Molly's own thoughts on the matter.

"I wish people had something else to do with their time!" Molly muttered. "You think that betting on people's relationships would get old!"

Clarky suddenly inclined his head in embarrassment.

Molly saw Clarky's expression. "Clarky, did you bet on us?"

"No!" Clarky protested. "I just, uh…"

"What?" Molly persisted.

Clarky rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "I may have, uh, participated in the recent pool…the one that we had to predict the date that John would propose to his girlfriend, so this is probably karma coming back to bite me!"

Molly's brown eyes widened. "John proposed to Mary?"

Clarky nodded. "Last weekend! So Lestrade ended up winning the bet. If John had waited to this weekend, I would have won and could have taken you to a night out on the town!"

Molly smiled happily.

So John had found someone he wanted to share his life with! That was great news!

Just wait till Sherlock found out!

Assuming he was still alive, of course.

Clarky saw the change in Molly's expression, but was unable to figure out the reason why Molly suddenly looked depressed. "Hey, you weren't interested in, uh…"

Molly saw Clarky's expression and giggled. "What? Me and John? Of course not!"

"Oh! Good!" Clarky said, relieved. "Because Lucky didn't tell me about that!"

"Didn't he already tell you enough about me?" Molly asked playfully.

"Well, he did tell me your last boyfriend was a jerk, and that you were surrounded by men who didn't appreciate you!" Clarky protested.

Molly smirked, rolling the gurney that Clarky had ridden on to the side of the lab. "Well, Patrick's a good friend! Although I'm surprised he told you that! He can oblivious to alot of things!"

"Yeah! Tell me about it! So, uh, can I wait here until you get off work?" Clarky asked, still looking uncomfortable about pressing the matter.

Molly grinned as she gave Clarky a peck on the cheek, shaking off her doubts. "You can stay, Clarky. You know you are always welcome here. And yes, you can escort me home tonight. Just don't show up as a corpse again, ok?"

Clarky chuckled, green eyes bright with good humor. "No problem!"

Author's Note: Ah, the plot thickens! So we have a mysterious serial killer on the loose! The Yard is powerless to prevent it, and Mycroft can't help because someone is messing with the CCTV system.

Too bad Sherlock isn't around to help!

But the news isn't all bad! We know that one man and one woman are involved in taking down Charles Milverton's part of Moriarty's web in Italy. If only we knew who they were! (Warning: Beware of jumping to obvious conclusions!)

Also, we know that Chimera, one of the few unidentified hackers, has now aligned his or herself with Mycroft and his allies, and is feeding information to them about Moriarty's web.

With Mycroft's resources, he should come up with a few answers as to the mysterious identity of the "Raven," and be able to answer them for us soon.

Meanwhile, John and Mary got engaged, and Molly's found herself a boyfriend!

Personal request: I need two Fan Fiction members for my next chapter! Two females, preferably! They will be involved in helping Chase and the DMP (a.k.a. Mycroft, a.k.a. Demented Mary Poppins) find out that Moriarty is alive. All I want is permission to use your Fan Fiction names in the next chapter. One time only, I promise! No dialogue needed. Anyone who is interested, please let me know!

Disclaimer: I don't on the show "Sherlock." Or any of my other favorite shows! How sad is my life!

Molly Hooper-So, what did you want to talk to us about, Peaceful Defender?

Peaceful Defender (looking disgusted)-What is with you and Clarky? Can't you guys kiss somewhere normal! You two have to make out in the morgue!

OC Clarky (looking confused)-What's wrong with that?

Peaceful Defender-It's unsanitary! It's disturbing! It's sick! My readers already know I'm mentally imbalanced! That's no excuse for you two to prove that!

Molly Hooper (blushing)-It's not like that! I mean, I see Clarky, and we just...connect, I guess! It's not like we mean it to happen! And get your head out of the gutter! We have only kissed, nothing more!

Peaceful Defender-Yeah, but the morgue?

OC Clarky-Yes, yes, we have already established that Molly and I make out in the morgue! Why do you care? Besides, you lost control of the story a long time ago!

Peaceful Defender-Still, what can possibly bring out romance in a place like the morgue?

OC Clarky (smirks)-Nothing like the smell of death to make one feel alive!

Peaceful Defender-(turns green, gags, then runs away to throw up in the bathroom).

Molly Hooper (looking guilty)-Do you think we should go after her? She didn't look well!

OC Clarky (shrugs)-Maybe if she gets a review or two, she will feel better!