Molly stares down at the murder victim on the table. Veronica Lyle, late twenties, 5'6, 120lbs, brunette female. She has strangulation bruises around her neck and some flesh under her fingernails from presumably fighting for her life. As devastating as this case is, Molly can't help but be a little excited to put her forensic skills to good use. Hopefully, she can shed some light on the brutality of it so that the police can capture her killer. "Most likely a spouse or boyfriend", Molly thinks to herself. What a terrible thought, but a lot of times, that's the horrific truth.

She performs the autopsy, and it is revealed that Veronica's trachea was crushed, and the sclera of her eyes were bloodshot from ruptured vessels. She definitely asphyxiated to death. Her brain showed signs of a chronic hypoxic state (specifically a prolonged lack of oxygen), which also showed as inflammation in her chest, and an empty spleen. Whoever killed her must have had some sort of anger problem because it was absolutely brutal, they held her down as she struggled, then once unconscious they most likely held the position over her nose and mouth for many more minutes to cause this much damage to her organs. Molly puts the body away then goes back to the lab to examine the tissue samples from under her fingernails.

Approximately a half hour later as she peers intensely into her microscope, until she hears someone clear their throat. She looks up quickly and sees a middle-aged gentleman in a long coat standing there.

"Oh…I'm sorry, how- how can I help you?"

"Hello, you must be Doctor Hooper. I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade, head of the Detective unit at New Scotland Yard. I was told that you are one of the head pathologists now."

"Y-", she clears her throat. "Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand but..erm.."

Lestrade chuckles. "Understood. I'll be the contact person for NSY when it comes to homicide cases. Looks like we will be working together in an official capacity for these types of cases. I'm actually here for information about the autopsy of one Miss Charlene Tremont."

Molly nods. "I was just examining the skin samples from under her fingernails. It seems that it was a defensive move. My findings were definitive asphyxia, someone strangled her to death. I'll give you the skin samples to give to your department so they can match them with the perp. I know the NSY forensics team has access to the database in case they're already in the system."

"Thank you. You're very diligent in your work Doctor Hooper. I heard many good things about you from Doctor Stamford. I think this will be a very productive relationship going forward. I'm glad I got the chance to pop in and meet you", he smiles handsomely.

Molly smiles back shyly and nods. "You as well Detective Inspector. I hope my work will be able to help your department with its cases. Justice and closure are always the best thing for the families." She places the skin samples carefully into small plastic containers and twists them closed, sealing them with orange evidence tape, then handing them to Greg.

"Ah, thanks again. These will be very helpful in finding the horrible man responsible. The poor girl...it's just awful. I- I have three girls myself, and a boy. My oldest is a teenager now. I always teach her ways to be safe and to protect herself. Sometimes it's sad what the world comes to, how evil human beings can be. It's my greatest fear seeing her hurt or worse. Seeing badness every day shakes your confidence, but I also see lots of good being done which keeps me going. Take you for example. A young woman who went through probably years and years of schooling to work with the dead and in some cases with victims of terrible, unspeakable crimes. You see them in their absolute worst state, you people in states that most people would not be able to stomach, and that are sometimes the things of nightmares. You have innate courage and strength to do this work. Some may think that's odd, but your work is some of the most important. You can make or break a case; you can singlehandedly prove innocence or guilt in some instances. Furthermore, you must have a huge heart for dealing with all the grieving families. It takes a lot of heart and a lot of brains to do what you do too, Doctor Hooper. I admire you for that."

Molly blushes and tosses her gloves in the bin. "You can call me Molly if you like. And thank you, that means more than you know. I do this work to give closure to families too. I know what it's like to grieve for a loved one, and if I can help people get justice in order to grieve for theirs, I will. Also, your daughters and son are in good hands, you seem like a great father from what I heard."

Greg smiles softly and nods. "Well keep up the good work, Molly. Thanks again. I'll get these samples over to Scotland Yard. Have a good day."

"You as well Detective Inspector."

"Call me Greg."

"Right then. See you around, Greg."

He nods and places the samples in a small evidence bag, leaving the lab.

{The Blog of Doctor Molly Hooper – November 26, 2008

I had an autopsy today that was really difficult to see. It was a young girl, and she was killed (most likely) by a male acquaintance. This girl no longer has a chance at a full life because some evil bastard decided to take that from her in anger. He strangled/asphyxiated her to death. I knew nothing about her, but I know how her family reacted when they came by in the evening to identify her body. It was absolute heartbreaking...they sobbed so much. She had two sisters and her parents. I can't imagine seeing someone you love more than anything in that horrific state. She was bruised badly, bloodshot eyes, so much internal damage from the lack of oxygen. I made sure that only her parents could ID her, that her siblings were not in the room. No use scarring them ever further.

Anyway, my point is that life is unexpected. This can be in the good ways or the bad ways. Do what you want to do while you can, and don't let anyone dissuade you from being content with yourself. I went through a chunk of my childhood and adolescence absolutely hating myself. I had sunk deep into illness brought on by the loss of my dad, by being a victim myself, and by losing a child that lived inside me for nearly five months. The moral of my story is that even when things seem absolutely impossible, frightening, and incredulous, there is always hope. When I was at my lowest, I was forced to get help. If I didn't, I would have lost custody of my brother. That motivated me to be a better person, to want to become a healthier person. I found that strength within myself and I made that happen. I did what I had to do.

So for anyone out there reading this that thinks there is no hope, find that one thing you love more than anything in the world, no matter what it is, and cling to it. Use it to motivate you to ask for help. Use it to do what it takes to get better and turn your life around. My situations weren't preventable; I was thrust into them and abused which caused my severe depression, and anorexia. The loss of my child on top of that made we want to leave this Earth. But I had my incredible little brother who happened to forget a schoolbook, and who happened to find me in time. He saved me enough for me to realize I had to save myself.

While life is unexpected, sometimes cruel, sometimes at an all-time low, it's still life. It's still another day to change, another day for another chance, another day to realize that not everyone gets another. If you do, you're one of the lucky ones, regardless of your situation. There are days where it is still a struggle, but I have faith that I'm strong enough to make it through now. Because I was given that chance, and I am given that chance every day I wake up.

Of course, I would love to be one of those people whose life changes for the better unexpectedly. Maybe a gorgeous, intelligent, deep voiced, sexy man sweeps me off my feet, or something even more unexpected makes me even more happy to get up every day. LOL! You never know what can happen. But it's important that you try, and you keep trying. It always gets better!

Remember, if you aren't on my slab, you ARE a lucky one. Use that chance every day that you can.

XXX Molly }

Sherlock sweeps through the NSY precinct, flipping his hood off on his curly mop, and heading towards Lestrade's office. He flops down in the chair opposite him and watches him as he finishes a phone conversation. Lestrade hangs up the phone and looks at him.

"Ah, good you're here. What, no donuts and coffee to suck up? You were doing so well the first couple weeks."

"Yes, well then I realized I could probably do the job of everyone here single handedly and without supervision, so..."

"Oh don't get so cocky Sherlock. We haven't had a case that was super interesting yet! Just wait until we have a nice juicy mystery, hm?"

"And when will that be exactly, when I'm eighty?"

Lestrade rolls his eyes and motions to him. "C'mon, what did I tell you about the sweatshirts. They don't look professional."

"Would you rather see the skull t-shirt I have on underneath it?"

Greg groans and rubs his face. "Look, Sherlock. You're the brightest guy I've ever met, but you act like such a child. This is a professional job, and you're my responsibility. I can't have you running around after me wearing loungewear. You need to start to dress more appropriately, alright?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and shrugs. "That would require shopping, which would require money. I refuse to ask my brother for any more money, as I dislike him enough as it is and already can't wrap my brain around why he is so set on helping me out anyway. I assume it has something to do with my parents though. My brother never does anything out of the goodness of his heart; in fact, he doesn't even have one. He's more monstrous than me if you can believe that. Always claims to be the "smart one" out of the two of us."

"Well, then how about we go after work. We can get you a few button downs, some dress trousers. Maybe even a haircut, it's getting quite long. I have a feeling you probably clean up nice, though."

He furrows his brow a bit and looks up at him. "Why would you do that for me? I'm just some druggie you found in an alley."

"No, you're a genius I found in an alley, that was down on his luck and needed help. You're doing well now. I think it's the least I can do to congratulate you for that."

"Well..." Sherlock sighs, as to try to seem irritated, even though he's grateful and touched on the inside. "I suppose if I'm going to be working with you, I'll need to act the part like you said."

"Good. It's settled then. But for now, how would you like to go down to the forensics lab with me? You can meet Philip Anderson; he's been here a couple years. He's your age. He takes all the samples that we receive from the St. Bart's lab, or DNA samples the pathologist takes from the autopsies, to help us solve cases. Last night there was a girl who was murdered. Her boyfriend has an alibi, but he's our prime suspect. The lovely Doctor Hooper, the in-house pathologist at Bart's, recovered some skin samples under the victim's fingernails. When I give them to Anderson he can check to see if we have a DNA match in our system for the killer. However, the bad part is that if he doesn't have a previous record, he won't show up and we will try to get a DNA sample from her boyfriend another way. I doubt he will just give us one though."

Sherlock nods, his interest very piqued. "Sure, let's go down to the lab. Also, do you have a crush on this woman at Bart's?"

Lestrade raises an eyebrow. "Woman? What woman?"

"The Pathologist. Doctor Hooper. You described her as "lovely". A man doesn't call another man lovely, so she's a woman. A woman you seemed quite impressed with, since you pointed out that she's the one who recovered the skin samples for you."

"Ah." Lestrade chuckles. "No, I don't have a crush on her. She's a bit young for me. She's also around your age. I'd say maybe twenty-six, twenty-sevenish. However, she's a pretty girl. Brunette, petite, soft-spoken. I'll introduce you to her the next time I go to Bart's." He winks at Sherlock and smirks a bit as they make their way down the concrete stairs to the lab.

"Why...why...would I care what she looks like or sounds like?"

Greg laughs softly. "Because you're a man, Sherlock. Surely, you've had some sort of relationship in your life, right?"

Sherlock stays awkwardly silent and clears his throat. "So...this, Philip fellow. Is he a basic idiot too?"

"My God...you've never been on a date before have you?"

Sherlock clenches his jaw and blushes just slightly. "Why does that make a difference, maybe I prefer not to."

"It doesn't make a difference. You're just a good-looking young man, I figured you've probably had many prospects in your life."

"Yeah well, being a weirdo doesn't bode well for that kind of stuff. People don't like me. I know their secrets, I expose their lies, I see right through people. They despise me."

"I can see that being tough when you were school aged at least. Kids can definitely be cruel. University can be even harder. But Sherlock, if I can see the potential in you, I know I'm not the only one who will. Plus, maybe there is a girl out there who compliments your unique personality and talents. You never know."

"Mmh, doubtful. Don't expect anything from me. I'm heartless. Nobody wants a guy with no heart. I don't feel the way ordinary people do. I don't express it, and I never will. It's a weakness. Caring is always a weakness, a fault, a glitch. It stands only for human error. Errors that I cannot afford to make if I am going to succeed in putting my mind to good use. For all intents and purposes, I am a sociopath. Rather, a high-functioning sociopath. I don't have emotion, but I'm not crazy either. I'm just...dormant. Except for my mind. That's all I need. That's all I'll ever need."

They stop in front of a gentleman with dark hair and a sort of disgusted look on his face. A look Sherlock is all too used to seeing, and it reminds him of University all over again. Lestrade sighs, and the pale man speaks up.

"So you're the psycho that's been freaking everyone out for two weeks. I can see why. A sociopath? Aren't most of your type like...in prison for crimes, yet you're working with a Detective Inspector?"

"Anderson, play nice", Lestrade warns, then turns and hands him the sample containers. Sherlock's eyes cast downward for a moment when their backs are turned, feeling like he was punched in the gut. This feeling only gets worse when a beautiful young woman comes down the stairs from where they came and smiles at Greg.

"Hey Boss...oh. Hey, freak", she snorts.

"Donovan, come on, give him a break." Sherlock thinks back to a couple weeks ago when he first met Detective Sally Donovan and he deduced her entire life story, as well as some very embarrassing details about her personal life. She was livid and has called him "freak" ever since, as backlash.

"Why? He doesn't deserve anything; he doesn't even work here. Honestly, I think it's wrong to even give him access to confidential information. It's like you picked him up from the "broken genius" pound and made him follow you like the puppy he is."

Anderson laughs and nudges her, then begins examining the skin samples. Sherlock blinks slowly, keeping an unamused face and forcing himself to swallow the hurt squeezing at his chest. Lestrade sighs and mutters a sorry to him under his breath, then brings him over and shows him he software, but Sherlock is more interested in the lab equipment.

When no results come up as a match, they go back upstairs towards Lestrade's office and Lestrade sees the suspect in the lobby. He had been questioned again and released.

"Damn it", he curses quietly. "Why can't they catch him in the lie? His friends have been covering for him. His alibi seems strong."

"That's the murder suspect?"

"Yes."

"Wait here."

"What? No. Sherlock anything you get him to say is inadmissible because you're not a cop."

"I'm not questioning him. Just...wait in your office. I'll be back soon." Sherlock loops around the cells and comes out down that corridor, pretending to be texting on his phone and bumps into the perp."

"What the f-!"

"Oh shit, sorry man. My bad. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Clearly", he snarls angrily.

"Hey look..." Sherlock looks around erratically. "I'll make it up to you, hm? I'll buy you a drink from the vending machine. Long day of questioning, huh...me too."

The guy's face changes a bit, and he crosses his arms. "Yeah...what do they think you did?"

"Housebreaking. I mean, they take one look at me and assume I'm a robber, can you fucking believe their gall? They suck."

"Yeah, fucking dicks. Alright, just get me a water then."

"Sure mate. So, what do they think you did?" Sherlock questions as he vends two waters and hands him one.

The man shifts on his feet a bit and chugs some water. "Uhh...well, er, they think I killed my girlfriend."

"Holy crap. Murder? Did you do it?"

"What!? No! What the fuck!"

"Sorry, sorry, I figured you didn't. I was just conversing."

"Are you a cop?"

"Me!? No!" Sherlock snorts and laughs. "Are you serious? Do you really think a cop would look like this? Or even be questioned by other cops? No, man." Sherlock drinks some of his water.

"Right…right. No, I just...freaked out a bit. I'm just on edge, y'know?"

"Oh yeah totally. Like, how do you /prove/ you /didn't/ do something, right?"

"Yeah." He chugs the rest of his water and throws it away then looks at his buzzing phone. "My ride's here. See ya."

"Yeah, see you."

The man leaves and Sherlock smirks, glancing over at Lestrade in his office. He rushes over and burst into the office. "You have gloves, I presume."

"Huh?"

"Latex gloves. For collecting evidence. You have some, I assume."

"Uhh yeah, why?"

"Because I just got you some DNA evidence. Now, hurry!"

Lestrade jumps up and snaps on some gloves and grabs an evidence bag. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I'm also a very good manipulator. In other words, a good actor. All it took was for me to play "mates" with him, get him to drink something, and then as morons do, he threw it away in the bin. Now you have saliva. You're welcome."

Lestrade laughs and pats Sherlock's back, then goes over to the bin and retrieves the water bottle, placing it carefully into the evidence bag. "Well I'll be damned, that was a clever trick. Why didn't I think of that?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and smirks. "Because you're an idiot, remember?"

{The Digital Journal of Sherlock Holmes – November 26, 2008

I hate Anderson. I hate Donovan. Sometimes I wish my mind were a lethal weapon where everyone I hated just dissipated into air. Anyway, I helped catch a murderer today. I didn't have to deduce much other than he was a total prick, but in pure moronic he was easily tricked into giving us his DNA, which will now be used against him since the victim's fingernails had his skin under them. Honestly, criminals are the dumbest class of people I have ever met. I have yet to meet one intelligent criminal, but I'm sure there is at least a couple out there.

So the sad story of the girl that was choked to death by her boyfriend has a somewhat happy ending. Isn't that what everyone wants?

Justice. It's the kind of word and action that makes you feel more powerful than you already are, if you are. Just saying it gives a sense of strength and power. But while justice defines a good outcome, it does not erase the fact that a person was murdered. If I were a normal man that would sadden me or make me think of the family, but unfortunately, I am not. In my mind, death is just a part of life. Hardly anyone knows when the end is near, and I suppose that's one of the best things about life. Regardless of whether you are murdered or whether you die naturally or of disease, everyone dies. In fact, that is one of the only things you can truly count on in this life. Yes, I suppose it's horrible for the family. But dwelling about it isn't going to bring her back. It'll only make their own time on the Earth worse.

Yes, I know, I'm a dickhead.

Putting that aside, Lestrade took me to get new "professional" clothing today. I have some fresh button downs, black trousers, as well as black shoes. Unfortunately as payment for this, he also forced me to sit through a haircut. So maybe I did need one, and maybe my untamable curls are a lot more doable now, but I dislike the barber. He never fails to keep droning on and on about the most trivial things that frankly, I don't give two shits about. Maybe I should be polite and pretend that I'm listening or that it even interests me, but I don't. I let him do his job, and I get out of there as fast as possible. I hate people touching me. Getting my hair washed by another man just makes my skin crawl for some reason, so I'm just glad that it is done with. I'm not exactly thrilled to have to be dressing like I have a job when I really don't, but this is the first chance I've had of figuring out what I am going to do in my life so I have to try at least. If I don't, I will stay a junkie loser for the rest of my life. And that doesn't seem much fun to live through.

SH }