Hey, thank you so much for all your comments and reviews. I am so glad that so many of you are on board with this fic and I just hope it lives up to expectations.

Anyway, we're back with the latest chapter so shall we see how Molly is getting on.

Chapter 2

It was past five o'clock when the police finally turned up at the pub to collect Molly and drive her back to the cove where she had found the body. She wasn't surprised to see that the tide was fully in and that they couldn't even see the rock that the body had been on let alone any other sign of the death. The two officers were very polite and showed an interest when she gave them her collection of evidence, but she could tell that they weren't really engaging with the case.

The female officer shrugged and smiled. 'Maybe he was just asleep, injured but not dead. He probably came too after you left and got himself to safety.'

Molly couldn't help but bridle at this and she mentioned her job for the first time. 'I'm a senior Pathologist at Barts in London. I think I can tell the difference between a dead body and a living one.'

This earned her a disbelieving look from the older officer, a white guy, who looked to be in his mid-fifties and whose stomach was starting to overhang his trousers. 'You...a pathologist. You don't look like a pathologist.'

Molly had endured comments like this all through her career, and she had no problem turning to him and challenging him. 'Oh right, and what exactly does a pathologist look like in your mind?'

He obviously realised that he was taking himself down a path that could get him into trouble, and he swiftly changed the subject as he walked back towards the parked police car.

'Well, it was probably a suicide. We've made a note of the details, but there isn't much we can do without a body or an identity.'

Molly felt deflated, but she knew they were probably right. Somehow though she'd expected more.

As the guy dropped into the driver's seat with a huff, the female officer gave Molly a sympathetic look. 'We can drop you back at the pub if you'd like.'

Molly accepted the lift, and, as it turned out they were heading towards the same town as she was, she ended up being dropped off outside her hotel. She had to admit she was grateful that she hadn't had to walk from the pub. The adrenaline of finding the body was wearing off, and she just felt incredibly tired. All she wanted to do, was get to her hotel room and take a long soak in a hot bath.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

After her bath she spent a relaxed evening in her room, tucked up in bed with room service to eat and trash on the telly, but it didn't stop her mind returning to the events of the day. Finally, she picked up her partially charged phone and hesitated before phoning Greg, wondering as she did if he'd be at work or home.

'Molly? Is everything alright? I thought you were on holiday.'

'Hi yes, I am, but something's happened and I just wanted some advice.'

'OK, shoot.'

She talked him through how she had found the body, her dilemma over what to do, and how she had finally left the body in order to find a phone so she could contact the police.

'Honestly Molly, I think you did everything you could. When the body is finally washed up, or someone comes forward to report him missing, then the police will act. They haven't really got much to go on at the moment.'

He hesitated and Molly could just tell what he was about to say.

'Have you called Sherlock?'

'No...no, just you. I...umm...didn't want to bother him. Anyway, thanks for that. You've put my mind at ease.'

'Good, I'm glad. Listen, I'll keep an eye on reports, and when something happens that looks connected, I'll let you know.'

'Thanks Greg.'

'Enjoy the rest of your holiday.'

'I will...bye.'

She hung up and put the phone back on charge, then she leant back onto the pillows. She was glad she'd phoned; it really had eased her conscience. She tried once more to get into the show on the telly, but it just wasn't engaging enough; in the end she turned out her light and tried to sleep. As always as soon as she closed her eyes she thought of Sherlock. He still haunted her thoughts and her dreams, and not for the first time she wished there was an antidote for love because when it was unrequited it was just a burden; one she felt she had already carried for far too long.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

When the morning came around Molly felt refreshed and much more upbeat, ready to rejoin the world. She showered and dressed before heading down for breakfast, wondering just what she should do that day.

She accepted a complimentary newspaper as she made her way into breakfast, and she was soon tucking into a full English with a piping hot cup of tea to accompany it. The advantage of all the walking she'd been doing was the fact that she could indulge a bit more without having to worry about the effect on her waistline...if anything she'd lost a bit of weight on this holiday rather than putting it on.

As she finished off the feast with some toast and jam, she picked up the paper so she could catch up on some of the headlines. As ever, the paper seemed to be filled with stories about politics and royals and she flicked through looking for something more interesting to read.

She found an article on some recent medical breakthroughs and was fascinated by some of the methodology described; she lost herself in all the detail until she suddenly became aware of someone sliding into the seat opposite her. She glanced over the top of the paper, and then stared in utter shock at her new companion, barely believing what her eyes were telling her.

'Morning Molly.'

Sherlock Holmes was sat in the seat across from her smirking, no doubt at her dumbfounded reaction. He snagged a piece of toast from her plate, and then turned his attention to one of the passing waiting staff.

'Coffee, black...anything for you Molly?'

'I...err no.'

'Just that then...thanks.'

He turned his bewitching eyes back to her, and she let the paper fall onto the table; the story she had been so immersed in already forgotten.

'What the hell...how...why are you here?'

He rolled his eyes as he chewed on the toast. 'Really? Ask me a question you don't already know the answer to.'

'Greg told you.'

'If you mean Lestrade of course he did. He rang me last night with a tale of how you had found a body; how there was nothing much the police could do because the body had been washed away. The real question is, why you didn't phone me yourself?'

'I don't know...it just seemed a bit trivial for you...I didn't think you'd be interested.'

'A body on a deserted beach, throat slit, and no weapon on or near the body. You do know what that means don't you Molly?'

'Oh, I hadn't thought of that...but you're right, I didn't see any knife...and I would have done, I know I would have. How did you know there was no knife?'

'Greg told me about the items you'd gathered. If there had been a knife you would have retrieved it. So, no weapon means it wasn't suicide...it was murder and murder is right up my street; especially at the moment, there was nothing of interest in London...nothing, it was driving me mad. So, here I am, I'm all yours.'

Molly's heart skipped a beat at that last comment, even though she knew he hadn't meant it flirtatiously. He continued.

'Come on then, tell me everything...from the start.'

Her head was still reeling with the realisation that he was actually here with her, but she ran through the events of the day before, trying not to leave anything out...no matter how trivial.

'So, you're absolutely sure that the only footsteps to the rock were your own and one other set.'

'Yes, those of the victim.'

Sherlock's face scrunched up slightly and he gave a dissenting noise.

'What? Who else's could they have been?'

He glanced at her and smiled, and it warmed her heart. 'I'm not saying they weren't the victims, but without proof I'm keeping an open mind.'

Molly frowned. 'It can't have been murder though...I know there was no knife but maybe I missed it...I mean how could someone else have got there without footprints.'

Sherlock sat back and slipped on the coffee that had recently been delivered to him. He shrugged. 'I can think of at least eleven ways...no hang on... twelve ways the killer could have arrived without leaving footprints. Not only that but it's likely the killer was still there with you.'

Molly's blood ran cold. 'What?'

Sherlock wasn't looking at her, but off into the distance...she could tell he was lost in his own thoughts. 'You said the blood was still liquid so it had to have happened in the previous half hour. You were woken by a yell and started walking down to the beach shortly after...no more than two minutes later, according to your narrative, the rock was in your sight and remained so the whole time. There just wouldn't have been enough time for the killer to leave without you seeing them. So, they hid...but hid where? We need to go to the beach; I need to see the location myself.'

He finished his drink and put down his cup before standing, buttoning up his perfectly tailored blue suit jacket. 'Are you ready then?'

'Oh right...yes, I suppose so.' She stood and started to follow him out of the restaurant, trying not to bump into chairs and tables as she went. He was moving quite fast and just seemed effortlessly graceful, whereas she felt like a lumbering elephant behind him.

'But how will we get there?'

'Easy.' He raised his hand towards the manager; a man who was maybe late forties or early fifties, past his prime but still good looking, and very smartly turned out. Molly thought he might also be the owner of the hotel along with his wife.

'Mr Holmes, your bags have been taken to your suite as requested. How may I help you now?'

'I need my car bringing round.'

'Certainly, it will be out front in less than five minutes.'

Molly intervened in the conversation. 'Wait, so you have a room here?'

'They didn't have any standard rooms left...but luckily for you, Molly, the top floor suite was available.'

'Why luckily for me?'

Sherlock started to walk towards the entrance, but he cast a quick smirk over his shoulder. 'Because otherwise I'd be bunking in with you. Now are you ready?'

For a split second, Molly imagined sharing a bed with Sherlock, and she almost had to shake her head to rid herself of such an attractive and distracting image. He started to walk towards the main doors, but she begged for a couple of minutes to freshen up and grab her things, and she quickly made her way back to her room.

When she got there, she sat on the edge of her bed for a moment and tried to get to grips with the turn of events. How had she gone from a solo walking holiday to a murder investigation with Sherlock? She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help the smile of delight which spread across her face. Sharing her holiday with Sherlock seemed like the strangest, but most welcome thing, in the world.

I'm assuming Sherlock's appearance is not the greatest surprise in the world. Don't we just think Molly should have called him herself? Anyway, let me know what you think of his arrival xxx