A few days after Christmas, Sherlock floats into New Scotland Yard, making a beeline for Lestrade's office. They had been texting back and forth about the possibility of Sherlock freelancing for the homicide unit, and him branching out on his own since he had no desire to be employed by anyone but himself. He has been solving nearly all of Lestrade's cases since he began looking at the evidence Lestrade would provide when visiting him in rehab, around July. Most of them were simple, revenge or love fueled murders; quite easy to solve even without going to the scene.

Greg looks up and takes his feet down from on top of his desk as he pops the last bit of his croissant into his mouth. "Sherlock! I got a good one you may be interested in. Today will be a great day for ya!"

"Good, I was hoping you had something for me, I was bored out of my mind."

"Male, early twenties found dead in the park this morning, one bullet to the chest. No witnesses that we have found, and no sign of foul play other than the shot. Though get this, there was a switchblade found at the scene as well. No cuts on him though."

Sherlock nods and scoops up the file, briefly looking through it. Greg smirks a bit then clears his throat.

"Hm?" Sherlock looks up confused.

"Nothing, just...we should probably go to the morgue and take a look at the body. If you want to freelance, you'll have to have connections there as well."

"Yes, that seems pretty obvious. I don't know why you were so adamant that I haven't needed to go to the morgue before now. I know you're the contact and all, but I am a graduate chemist and I know my way around a body."

"Well, aren't you a charmer then."

Sherlock scoffs and crosses his arms. "Is this about that cadaver girl?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"Always."

"Yes, it is about Dr. Hooper. She seems like a real sweet girl. A bit shy, sensitive, but very smart. I don't want you saying or doing anything to put her off. Especially because if you want access when you create your own…agency, she's the one that will have say as to if you are granted access. She's held in very high esteem by her higher up, Dr. Stamford, who you'll also meet."

"I'm a pretty good actor as well, as you've witnessed many times."

"Yeah, well again, she's smart. Not a stupid criminal, I'm sure she'd be able to sniff out an act. Just...be nice."

"When am I not nice? I'm nice, I'm just very blunt and to the point, I'm not going to skirt around something obvious in fear of someone's feelings being hurt. That's ridiculous."

"Sherlock."

He groans. "Alright, fine. I'll be...toned down."

"Good. Shall we go then?"

"I suppose now is as good a time as any."

Lestrade nods and gets up, grabbing his own billowy coat before they head to St. Bart's morgue.

Molly sighs softly, looking down at the young man on the slab. It's not really fair how most of the people who end up in her morgue are her age or younger. Tragic really. One bullet wound; of course he died from it, but he had a few things wrong with his brain as well. Maybe NSY could help her piece some of the missing information together to solve this one. She hears the door of the morgue open and she looks up as she re-covers the body. Her eyes fall first on Detective Inspector Lestrade, then on the gorgeous young man who follows him in. Molly can't help but stare at how utterly -beautiful- he is for a man. It's nearly breathtaking. "Blink Molly, blink!", she scolds herself internally. She blinks and clears her throat, plastering a too eager smile upon her face.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade! How may I be of service to you today? Come for info on John Doe from this morning?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I have, though I wanted to introduce you to my protégé, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He's been shadowing me and wants to dive into a crime focused career of his own someday. He's a proper genius, despite his many flaws."

Molly swallows a bit and can feel herself sweating as she looks sweetly at the stone-faced man in front of her. She could nearly drown in his gorgeous, oceanic eyes, and the need to wrap her fingers in those incredible dark curls of his sneaks into her mind. "My God, he is one gorgeous man", she thinks. "Oh, hello Mr. Holmes. I'm Dr. Molly Hooper. I-I'm pleased to meet your acquaintance." Molly internally scolds herself for stuttering, a bad habit that rears its ugly head when she is nervous. She holds out her hand to him, lucky that the morgue is cold, so her palm isn't sweaty.

Sherlock looks over the petite woman, deductions flying into his head. {single, alone, dead parents, victim, shy, brilliant, distant from relatives, miscarriage, broken, self-conscious, organized, loving, kind, acquainted with death, helpful, good baker, loss, focused, neat, beautiful…} Sherlock blinks slightly astounded by that last one, but realizes some of them nearly makes him pity her, or even feel slightly protective of her, which is utterly ridiculous as he just met the woman. He extends his hand and takes her smaller one into his own, shaking it briefly, before yanking it away when it begins to tremble slightly, a known sign of his need for some sort of stimulant. "You as well. Er…please, call me Sherlock."

Molly nods, noticing his trembling hand. Before she can say anything, Lestrade glances at him oddly and clears his throat, then takes her aside. Sherlock can hear them begin to discuss the victim in the background, but he isn't quite catching their words, too distracted by the buzzing need in his veins. Rehab was one thing, but the addiction never truly leaves you.

Looking for a distraction, Sherlock begins to circle around the morgue like a piranha, familiarizing himself with the placement of everything, and taking in the way Molly's desk is neat and tidy in her little office off of the morgue, which leads to what looks to be a laboratory. For some reason, his eyes seem to settle onto the face of one Doctor Molly Hooper for what seems like minutes. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Sherlock spins around to face Greg. "Hm?"

"I said, did you catch any of that?"

"Oh…um…sorry, I was a bit distracted. Just, taking in the...just looking around."

Lestrade raises an eyebrow but doesn't question him. "Molly was just taking us through the autopsy findings. He was identified earlier by his fingerprints as Shane Lawson. Had a record for petty crimes as a teen. His mother is coming to properly identify the body in a little while."

Sherlock nods and looks back at Molly. Molly blushes profusely, noticing Sherlock's eyes on her. Clearing her voice she repeats her findings. "Right, erm...one bullet wound, but he also had a high amount of alcohol in his system." She moves around the autopsy table and slips latex gloves on, lifting up the victim's hands. His fingers are nearly blackened. "Horrible frostbite on his fingers and toes, though his fingers are much worse, it appears he wasn't wearing any gloves. There is also slight damage to his frontal lobe. That can be caused by excessive drinking. I'm thinking he was in the beginning stages of alcoholism. Most heavy drinkers and people with a longer history of alcoholism have much more damage to the frontal lobe, and they can usually come off as a functioning person. I just don't see that with this man, though the damage was certainly beginning on his brain when I examined it."

Lestrade nods. "Also, it turns out, his fingerprints were the only ones on the switchblade. But there was no gun found at the scene or in any of the surrounding areas. So how does this young kid with a knife end up with a bullet hole inside him?"

Sherlock soaks in all of the information and moves over to the autopsy table, examining the victim and making mental notes. "Mhh...you said he had slight frontal lobe damage from drinking?"

Molly nods, her ponytail bobbing a bit. Sherlock smirks, pleased with himself. "I'm quite surprised even you couldn't work this out, Lestrade."

Greg groans. "What? Just tell us..." He turns toward Molly and rolls his eyes. "It's quite incredible how he can paint such a clear picture and solve a case. So, go on then Sherlock, impress us", he exclaims, turning back to Sherlock.

"With pleasure." Sherlock circles around the body, pointing things out as he speaks.

"Young man, budding alcoholic, goes out for a drink at one of the local bars. Takes a cab because he is used to drinking. Maybe he goes with friends, maybe alone, doesn't really matter. Ends up drinking way too much, as he has become accustomed to doing, though his body isn't totally used to it yet. Gets drunk out of his head, and undoubtedly got kicked out when the bar closed. Being an inexperienced alcoholic in the first stages, he is more than a bit compromised as he stumbles out of the establishment, most likely forgetting his coat and gloves. By the time he notices, the bar is closed and locked. It was below freezing last night, wouldn't take too long for frostbite to set in. Assuming his wallet and phone were in his coat, he can't call for a cab, so what does he do? He decides to walk home because he doesn't have any other option. He obviously doesn't live to close to the bar, or else he wouldn't have needed a cab to get there, so in his attempt to get home he goes through the park. Maybe he sees it as a shortcut in his drunken stupor. I assume he came across someone in the park, and there was an altercation of sorts. Drunk and stumbling, he takes out the blade from his pocket. Maybe he was trying to threaten them for a coat or for money or anything else to get home. Getting closer and closer with the knife, and clearly unpredictable due to his compromised nature, as well as the effect the frostbite is having on his desperation, I have no doubt the other party felt his life was threatened and just happened to have a gun on him. Most likely they warned him, and the man kept advancing with the knife, so they shot him in self-defense. It's not usually an easy thing, killing a person, so I assume they ran back from wherever they came from with their gun, pretty terrified. This young man died there, dropping the knife when he was shot and bleeding out. Although, frostbite would have killed him if he had been out there a few hours more anyway."

Molly gapes, in awe of his abilities. Lestrade has a look of shock on his face as well. "Well then...I suppose it's no use trying to find the owner of the bullet then."

"Not really, it would be a waste of police time. Plus, I've no doubt this man would have drank himself to death by the time he was forty so really, this was a quicker way to go. Much cleaner too. God only knows the trouble he would've caused the next twenty years if he weren't on the slab now."

"Sherlock", Greg scolds. "He was a young man. He has a grieving family. Remember we discussed…softness?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Just the truth, hard to hear or not. Softness won't change the outcome, and honestly the family should have cared when he were alive and maybe this could've been prevented. Funny how most people mourn only once someone dies, yet fail to help them when they are alive, most times having the knowledge that they desperately need the intervention. It's like they wait for them to die, just to incite pity."

Greg sighs a bit and rubs his face. Molly chews her lip, knowing that he may feel that way about his own family. She may not be a genius, but she knows the human body, and Sherlock Holmes is or was definitely an addict of sorts himself. The trembling in his hands and the inability to stand still gave it away almost immediately to her. This may be why this case riling him up so much. Molly bets that most people see him as this terrible harsh, brash, rude man. But it's overwhelmingly obvious to her that he has been through a lot of things that most likely made him this way, just as she has. They just handle their inner battles differently.

Lestrade collects a copy of the findings from Molly, and heads towards the door, "You coming?"

"I'll meet you back at Scotland Yard. I think I should acquaint myself with the way Doctor Hooper handles her morgue, just so that I can prepare myself in the future as well."

Greg smirks a bit and nods, cradling the files to his chest as he leaves through the double doors. Sherlock can feel the nervousness and the tension emanating off of the petite specialist across from him.

Molly swallows hard, trying to conceal how she reacts to him, scolding herself for even being attracted to an addict. She does not need any more horrific relationships, or self-destructive men. She is past that part of her life. Crushing on this man would not do her an ounce of good. But damn, she can't exactly help how her entire being reacts to their proximity.

Sherlock snickers. "Well?"

"Huh?" Molly's head shoots up, meeting his kaleidoscope eyes again.

"Well, aren't you going to explain to me the rules or whatever? I don't plan on shadowing Lestrade for long. I am branching out. I'm going to be a consulting detective. I'm sure there will be rules since I don't work for the Yard in an official capacity."

"I'm sorry a-a consulting detective?"

Sherlock grins. "Yes. The only one in the world, I've invented the job. For myself."

"Oh, well that sounds...interesting. What exactly is that though?"

"Basically when the police are out of their depth or over their heads and can't give a good case the attention it deserves, or they're just stupid enough to have no idea how to go about it, people can consult me to solve their cases instead."

"Wow. Like a one man show?"

"Yes, but not completely. Obviously, I need vital resources such as NSY, and of course you."

Molly can feel her face burning red again. "M-Me? Wh-…what do you mean me?"

"You have a laboratory. I'll need use of it fairly regularly, I'm sure. Also, your morgue is the place my victims will end up most the time, so I'll need access to this place as well. You are in charge of the morgue on a daily basis, so in the simplest terms, yes, I'll need you. You'll be a great asset, and I don't doubt you will have to sign off on any of the paperwork or information I am to take out of this building, so I don't find myself arrested for having confidential information in my possession. That would really put a damper on things."

"R-right...um…well, yes I-I suppose you could use the lab sometimes as long as I'm there to supervise. Lestrade mentioned to me a few days ago that you've met Mike and er...he's my boss so I'll certainly have to clear it with him too but it's not a problem for me. Though like I said, I'd have to supervise, since you're not an employee with an access badge."

"I'd have no problem with your supervision, Doctor Hooper. I can assure you I'm used to people looking over my shoulder."

Molly nods slowly, putting the body away and tossing her gloves, then shyly wringing her hands. "Can I ask you a question?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, sending a text on his mobile, then pocketing it. "I suppose."

"Well...I...I apologize if this seems too personal, but...I noticed your hands shaking earlier, and other signs of addiction. I was just um...wondering if you were okay?"

Sherlock stares at her in awe and shock for a moment, not used to anyone else being quite as observant as himself, as he thought he hid it fairly well. "Wh-why...wouldn't I be okay?"

"You just seemed a bit jittery and I know addiction is a lifelong struggle, that it can really change a person and...you're very brilliant, Sherlock Holmes. I'd hate for your mind to go to waste, I'd hate for you to fall off the wagon so to speak. With whatever it is..."

"Why would you care?", Sherlock questions slowly, genuinely puzzled.

"Like I said, you're a brilliant man. I just witnessed what you're capable of, and I believe you can bring closure to many, many lives and families, in a different way than I do. Plus, I know what trauma looks like too. I can tell that something has...brought you to be who you are today, in the way that it has for myself as well. Maybe I'm being too presumptuous, but if you ever need to talk to someone...I don't have anyone to spill your secrets to. So...that's an offer if you ever feel like it."

"Right...", Sherlock drawls a bit, confused, but inwardly moved by her words. "Anyway, I best be going. Oh and by the way", he mutters, grabbing a sticky note from her desk and scribbling his number onto it. "Here is my number, I'd appreciate it if you'd text it, so I have your contact info when I begin taking cases. It would be much easier than coming down to Bart's every time I have a tiny question."

Molly takes it carefully and nods shyly, their eyes meeting for a few seconds again. Sherlock nods politely in acknowledgment, a boyish smirk upon his lips as he turns to leave. He swiftly pulls out his mobile into his right hand as he sweeps out of the morgue for the first of hundreds of times, thus beginning the long, arduous relationship between one Doctor Molly Hooper and one Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, unbeknownst to both parties.