As i've mentioned in another fic update, I've got my world coming down around my ears and truthfully it's all I can do to have a single coherent thought. But hopefully these scribbles of mine put a smile on someone's face and to all out there, kisses little Darcy's.

Chapter 11: Where there's smoke

Watson had been expecting a call from Sherlock pertaining to his evening, possibly moaning over being forced to sit through dinner and a show with his parents. Instead, he'd been sent for to join the detective at a crime scene. When he got there, one of Lestrade's men let him through to where the body and his best friend were.

"You know, I was rather enjoying my night in-"

"Be quiet John, how am I supposed to think with all your dithering?!"

"Oi! I'm not gonna-"

"John, a word?"

Lestrade motioned for him to come over, visibly shaken. The body was blocked off and a lone technician was taking samples behind the screen that had been set up. A peek behind the curtain left John sighing grimly, the body was once again posed as though the victim were having a night in. This was the third body and still, there were few leads. Crime scene photos were being taken, officers lingered outside but John was confused by the lack of police presence in the actual room.

"What's going on?" He asked. Lestrade's fingers touched his breast pocket, patting it down and searching for the cigarettes he'd been trying so hard to quit.

"It's.. I think Sherlock's afraid."

At this, John could do little less than scoff. Sherlock wasn't afraid of anything. The only time he seemed to have been, it turned out he was under the influence of a man made pathogen.

"Could be he's just in a pisser of a mood-"

"You're not hearing me John. This case.. This case is different. Victim's name is Haley Moore"

Really confused now, he looked back towards the screened off kitchen. Sherlock was pacing, head darting back and forth as he processed the scene. He joined them as John was still trying to catch up to what the problem was.

"I know there were a great deal of facial similarities to Molly bu-"

Sherlock cut in, voice like ice in it's intensity.

"John, her hair has been dyed. Her makeup the same brand Molly uses but the tube of gloss and the other containers are all fresh. Even her clothes, the clothes she's wearing were just purchased from a consignment shop! He's sending me a message, he's playing a game with us now John!"

He paled, just as concerned for their friend as the others but trying to remain levelheaded.

"So what's the fascination with Molly? If you're right-"

"Of course I'm right John you'd be idiotic to think otherwise."

He folded his arms, putting on his best "stern daddy Watson" face as Mary liked to call it.

"Calm down. Flying off the handle won't help you think straight. He's trying to send you a message you said, so what's he saying?"

"I need to look at the body again, I'm missing something-"

Lestrade shook his head, finally successful in bumming a cigarette off one of the men on scene. He took his lighter out, ready to light up but paused to inform them:

"Sorry Sherlock, it's already being sent to Barts-"

"What, why?! Molly-"

"She's the best Sherlock. We all know th-." He sighed, not bothering to finish his reassurance as the genius dashed off to his next destination.

"I got nothing from the clothes or makeup in preliminary but I'm still waiting on results." Molly was mostly the same, the only sign of her nerves the occasional shake or pause in her work. She was still the height of professionalism and she still referred to her victim by the woman's name. The body on the slab was alarmingly similar to her own but she was beginning to see minute differences to help keep a mental distance. Most importantly, Haley Moore was dead. Molly Hooper was not. Carefully she removed organs and offered her boyfriend a pair of gloves.

"Why this one? What ruined the fantasy?" She inhaled sharply but continued taking her tissue samples while John hauled him back.

"What?"

"Maybe don't talk shop like that in front of the missus."

His brow furrowed and he glanced back at Molly.

"She's fine."

"She's scared."

"Molly loves solving mysteries just as much as I do John, surely-"

"But not when they hit this close to home. Surely that is something we understand, hmm?"

Their eyes connected, Sherlock's softening into yet another guilty apology for the pain he'd caused and John's accepting said apology.

"Oh. I.. I suppose you're right."

"Good. So we understand one another, yeah? Just.. reign it in a little."

He nodded and returned to the tiny pathologist's side. When she looked up, he was busily pulling on the offered gloves.

"Molly, I recognize this case holds an upsetting significance. I apologize for any insensitive comments on my part in the process of solving it. Also, I think he killed her because she smoked and that ruined the illusion he was caught up in during the process of wooing her. Contusions to her throat would suggest this caused an outburst of anger from an otherwise calculating assailant. So he's no professional which means I will catch him that much sooner."

Little speech over with he bent back over the body, gleaning all he could from the corpse. John clapped a hand to his forehead but Molly was comforted all the same. And what better to keep her mind off her troubles than to be proactive and help solve them?

"Haley hadn't smoked for very long or perhaps she'd only just begun."

"How can you tell that?" Lestrade asked, borrowed cigarette still twirling in between his fingers.

" I see none of the usual effects on the esophagus lining...I thought you quit?"

"It's been a long day." He replied. She smiled with a little shake of her head, a response that left Sherlock glaring at the tired inspector.

"Yes well.. You just be sure to dispose of the rest of the pack inspector."

"No problem, Jared from homicide gave it to me."

"Just che- wait a second."

Sherlock looked up at her "aha!" tone.

"What?"

"Whoever did this, they didn't plan for it. This man is smart, he has patience which we know from how carefully he studied his victims. The time alone it takes to pose them, that's no spree killer. But he missed something, Haley was dabbling in smoking-"

"Obviously, do catch up."

If his instinctual snap bothered her, she didn't show it. Instead, she frowned and went to look at the personal effects she'd also be testing. John leaned forward, curiosity peaking.

"What is it Molls?"

"If she hadn't made a habit of smoking, we shouldn't find any cartons among her things. She would get them off someone else, maybe a coworker or a friend. Or in this case-"

"The killer's own package." Sherlock finished for her, a note of pride flooding his voice. She blushed at the praise, determinedly fighting the urge to kiss her handsome detective.

"Here, hang on.. Here we go." Greg fished an evidence bag out of the box, labeled and marked with the cigarette inside.

"Give you ten quid the ash we found at the first two scenes will match it, eh?" John crowed. Finally, some good news. Smiling, Molly readied two samples for testing and then a third on a slide for Sherlock to compare to the ash found near the first two bodies. John went to text Mary an update about the discovery while Lestrade took his smoke outside. Left alone, Sherlock's sole focus was on his examination until thin, cool arms wrapped themselves about his waist.

"I'm going to find him." He murmured.

"I know you will." Her cheek rested on his back, her words whispered.

"I won't let him hurt you Molly Hooper."

"I know that too."

She closed her eyes, let her breathing match his own and inhaled deeply to shake off the chill of the morgue. She was afraid, no matter how she fought her fear. And he was worried, the tense muscles of his shoulders saying what he would not.

"We can do this. Together Sherlock."

"I would have it no other way."

-In an undisclosed location-

"My name is Melody!"

"NO! YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG AGAIN!"

He was seething, why wouldn't she just do it right?! She was going to ruin all of his hard work if he couldn't get her back under control. The teary eyed young woman jumped at his outburst, frightened into silence once more. He took a breath and let it out slowly. She didn't respond well to anger. He could do this. They both just needed to calm down. Carefully he prepared a needle and injected it into her bloodstream, ignoring pleas and protests. Her eyes grew heavy and her body limp, soon floating easily as he put her to bed.

"There's a good girl. Your name is Molly sweetheart. Repeat that back to me. My name is Molly."

"My name is Molly."

"My name is Molly Hooper and you're going to die Sherlock. Repeat that for me sweetheart."

"My name is Molly Hooper and you're going to die Sherlock."

"Now. Say goodnight Molly."

"Goodnight."

"That's my lamb. Tomorrow is a new day, get some rest so we can start on your next lesson."

He tucked the covers in a little closer, kissing her forehead tenderly and stepping back to admire his handiwork. He was still internally debating if he wanted to keep this one or not but she had a tendency to be argumentative so perhaps not. Decisions, Decisions.