AN: Hey guys!

Chapter 4. Sorry I didn't update before but I lost my job yesterday… not something I expected so as you can imagine I am kind of bumped right now. Leave me a little review or something I have to admit it will probably cheer me up a bit. Once more let me thank Georgia for proofreading my story. You are fantastic.

Are you enjoying the story?

Chapter 4:

"So, Toby, what do you want us to do today?" Molly asked the cat which was lazily sprawled on the counter as she washed the breakfast dishes. "It seems our friend Cujo has already figured out his day." She chuckled, looking at the dog snoring by the fireplace.

"This is tremendously unhygienic." She heard a baritone voice come from beside her.

Molly squeaked and jumped backwards, breaking a cup and cutting her hand in the process. "Sweet baby- God! Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?" She asked angrily, reaching for a tea towel and making a pressure point on her hand.

Sherlock walked in from the open bay window. "Well if you're so jumpy maybe you shouldn't leave this house so easily accessible to everyone. Let me see that." He said, extending his hand.

"Yes, well, I don't know anybody who would want to access it."

"Obviously you're wrong since I'm here." He sighed when he saw Molly still standing with her hand clutched to her chest. He reached up and wrapped his hand around her wrist pulling her towards him. He took off the towel and inspected the cut. "You should be more careful Molly Hooper, with your natural attraction for sociopaths, you should maybe make it more challenging for people to access your home undetected."

The butterflies in her stomach started to go crazy, butterflies she thought were now desensitized to anything Sherlock related and yet, just having his fingers wrapped around her wrist and his hot breath on her palm was enough to make them go crazy. "Well Tom isn't a sociopath and we have sex, a lot." She blurted, not even understanding why she would say something like that.

Sherlock completely ignored her comment. "It's okay, just a shallow cut. You don't need stiches." He added looking up to meet her eyes.

Molly snatched her wrist away, she hated him at that moment. It was like he was taking a sadistic pleasure to torture her but she knew he was just too oblivious to do something like that. "I know what to do Sherlock, I'm a doctor remember?"

"A pathologist."

"What are you doing here? In my home?" She asked reaching for the first aid kit under the sink and starting to treat the cut. When Sherlock didn't answer she looked at him. He was looking down, head tilted to one side and eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"What?"

"Why are you wearing those ridiculous things?"

She looked down at her bunny sleepers. "What's wrong with them?" She asked defensively. "They're warm and soft."

"They're also rabbits. It's one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen! I never thought that your inadequate fashion style was also strong concerning your nightwear choices as well."

"If you came all the way here to insult me, Sherlock, then you're wasting your time. Next time you think of an insult just send an email okay? It'll save you a trip."

"Well I wouldn't have had to come all the way here if you had been at St Bart, where you're supposed to be. Why aren't you there?"

"Are you serious?" She asked, putting the first aid kit back in its spot.

"Always."

"Maybe because somebody called me on my day off and I worked on the autopsy and the report until way after midnight." She said angrily throwing away the pieces of her broken cup. When she had come home Tom was already asleep but she knew he was beyond mad and she couldn't blame him. This morning he had left without a word and she knew that the conversation tonight would be painful.

"It's not a reason to miss work."

"Actually yes it is, St Bart doesn't allow overtime anymore and you aren't a good excuse."

"I should be."

Molly rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Your brain."

She raised an eyebrow. "You know, you might want to be more specific."

"John is busy and I need to think. You are the second best."

Molly chuckled. "You really know how to make someone feel special don't you? And what makes you think I'm not busy?"

'You're still in your pajamas and your ridiculous slippers, I don't feel the rush here. I won't need much of your time."

"I'm still in my pajamas because it's barely 8 o'clock, Sherlock, and again… I. AM. OFF. Today."

"Yes, I heard you. We're not going to bother…" Sherlock trailed off. "I want to say Tom."

"Yes Tom! Why can't you remember a simple name when you can know the London A to Z off by heart?"

"Because I need space in my drive and your fiancé is very irrelevant to me."

Molly threw him a wounded look. What hurt her most was not that Sherlock didn't care about Tom (she never expected otherwise) No, what hurt was that he didn't care enough about her life to even try to remember his name.

"Tom is at work." She raised her hands in surrender. "Fine. You win. Tell me what's wrong." She sat on the sofa.

"Aren't you going to offer me tea or coffee?" He asked taking his coat and scarf off.

"What?"

"Well, when one has people over isn't it customary to offer them a beverage? And since it's the morning, I believe the offering of a hot beverage is to be expected."

Molly shook her head. "Well it's a good thing I didn't invite you over, isn't it?"

"I am here all the same; your acceptance of my presence is a tacit invitation."

"You're unbelievable," she grumbled, getting of the sofa to make him some tea; "maybe I will just spit in it."

"No you won't. And I'll talk while you make tea. It's called multitasking."

"I'll multitask you something alright…" She grumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway, I know what our victim has been strangled with: a rosary. This instrument is very evident if you think to where the body has been found" Sherlock said, pacing the living room back and forth, his arms locked behind his back. "Now the question is, why use a rosary?"

"Maybe it's a message, someone being mad at God or maybe someone thinking he was doing God's work."

Sherlock sighed. "But if that's the case then why change the weapon right in the middle of the murder? If the rosary was such an important part of the puzzle…"

"There are many reasons to that."

"Are you even living here?" Sherlock asked mid-sentence.

"What?" His irritating habit to change the subject in the middle of a conversation was always getting to her.

"Except for the photos on the shelves, the gardening magazine on the coffee table, and the few forensic books… There is nothing in this room that suggests you live here. Why is that?" He asked clasping his hands behind his back.

"What do you mean? Everything here is ours, I live here." She replied, serving him a cup of tea.

"No it's not, everything here is his. It's too clinical, too modern, and too ordinary. You moved in his house and didn't take anything with you, why is that?"

"You never came to my flat. How do you know it's not mine?"

"Really, Molly? Do you think I need to see your flat to know what you like? I've seen your office, your terrible choice of clothes and accessories and especially what you consider art. If you had anything to do with this room there would be purple somewhere, maybe even everywhere! And flowers, God you seem to like everything to be decorated with bloody flowers." He shook his head, making his curls bounce. "No, this is not you, and I wonder why?"

"Maybe I just liked this place so much I thought it was perfect just the way it is?"

Sherlock twisted his mouth in incredulity. "So what's your theory?"

"'bout what?"

"The rosary! Molly, focus!" He shouted, exasperated. He moved towards the shelves, studying the pictures there.

Molly glared at Sherlock's back. She shook her head; she knew better than to antagonize him, because firstly she would never win and secondly she would never hear the end of it. "I have three hypotheses for the rosary. First it was just a weapon of opportunity…. Maybe the victim was going to church; she had her rosary... the killer took it and –"

"No, she was agnostic. Next!" Said Sherlock, turning toward her while holding one of picture frames in his hands.

"Ok well maybe it was taking too much time with the rosary, the killer was struggling. It may have even broken and he reached for something and hit her with it."

Sherlock nodded. "Why do you say he?"

"The force of the blow, it required a great force to cause such damage."

"You're quite smart, Molly Hooper."

She smiled. "Coming from you, this is quite a compliment."

Sherlock smiled. "The best there is, yes. And what is your third theory?"

"I-" Molly shook her head negatively. "You will find it absurd."

"Humour me."

"Two killers, unrelated, but targeting the same person. "

"Why would you say that?" Asked Sherlock, resting his fingertips under his chin, a clear sign he was intrigued.

"Well the strangling marks are here but faded as if the force used for strangling her was different than the force used to hit her." Molly shrugged. "It might be nothing but I still find that strange."

Sherlock walked to her, so close he towered over her. "You have keen instinct Molly Hooper, which is the reason why you're my pathologist."

"I...umm… yeah… Well… you know…. Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out."

"You're rambling again."

"You seem to have this effect on me." She blushed.

Sherlock let his eyes wander behind her and frowned. "Is this the invitation for Johns' and Mary wedding?"

"What?" She asked turning around to look at the countertop. "Yes it is."

"I thought you liked weddings. Aren't you women crazy about these frivolous events?"

"We're not all the same Sherlock, but yes I do like weddings. I got it in the post yesterday and I didn't have time to send it back."

"I'm the best man, you know." Sherlock said with evident pride.

Molly couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's reaction. He was like a child given something so precious. He loved John and wanted to make it perfect for him. However she couldn't help but cringe at the idea of Sherlock giving the Best Man Speech.

"Don't worry for me Molly, I'm doing a tremendous job. I am good at everything, there is no doubt I would be the best for that too."

"You are an amazing man Sherlock and I saw you do thing I didn't think anybody could do but as far as feelings are concerned, I'm not sure you're… you're…ummm"

"What Molly? What don't you think I am? Do you think I can't feel a thing?" He asked with a cold edge in his voice, but she didn't miss the hurt in his eyes.

"No that's not what I mean. I know you can feel, I've seen it! But expressing your feelings might be more-"

Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't matter what you might think. I'm here for work."

"You're the one who brought up the subject."

"And I am now ending it."

Molly sighed. She was about to reply when she heard the key in the door. Both she and Sherlock turned toward Tom.

"Moll I'm sorry, I shouldn't-" Tom stopped with his keys in hand. "Oh, you have company." Molly didn't miss the slight flicker of anger flashing in his eyes.

"I wasn't expected. I invited myself. Molly has just been kind enough to let me in." Sherlock replied.

"Is there anything Molly wouldn't do for you?"

Molly caught the sarcasm but Sherlock seemed to ponder the question seriously.

"I don't know. She's never refused me anything yet, but this is quite an empirical question."

"I didn't expect an answer."

"Then don't ask the question."

"Do you have mental issues? Are you crazy?"

"I am a high functioning sociopath."

"You're unhealthy."

"Tom, stop it!" Molly hissed.

"I have to stop it?" He asked with disbelief.

"Yes you! Sherlock is not doing anything wrong and-" Molly sighed, turning toward Sherlock. "Do you still need me for the case?"

"No but the pregnancy-"

"You're pregnant?!" Shouted Tom, dropping his keys.

"Molly pregnant with your child?" Sherlock chuckled. "Now that would be a shame."

"Sherlock…" Molly trailed off. "No Tom I'm not pregnant. The victim was."

Tom grimaced.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't like hearing about my job."

Sherlock shook his head, putting the photo he was holding back on the counter. "It's alright Molly, I will find John. Good day, Tim." Sherlock swirled around and left by the bay window again.

"Why didn't he take the door?"

Molly laughed "That's Sherlock." She sobered when she met Tom's angry face. "I didn't know he was coming."

"Why are you always humouring him?"

"He needed help."

"Oh he needs help; professional help."

"Listen Tom. I love you, but Sherlock is an important part of my life. He needed help with his brainstorming."

"I don't like him and I'm sure he doesn't like me."

"Sherlock doesn't like anyone."

"He likes you."

"He's my friend."

"He's a big part of your life."

"Yes, he is."

Tom phone rang. He looked at his screen. "I have to go, but…"

"But?"

"Why did you take his side?"

"I didn't take his side… Well maybe I did, but he's Sherlock, conflict is in his blood. I know from experience that antagonizing him will only put oil on the fire."

"And for that I should just ignore his comments."

"Yes."

Tom shook his head. "Unbelievable! Will he ever do anything wrong in your eyes?"

"Sherlock does plenty wrong in my eyes believe me. I've wanted to physically hurt him more times than I can count, but in the end-"

"You love him."

"No! In the end he is my friend."

"Is he? This is a very one sided friendship. Tell me what he ever did for you, anything that didn't serve his interest in the end."

Molly remained quiet, what could she say, really? Tom was right.

Tom sighed as his phoned beeped again. "I have to go, or I'll be late."

"Tom, nothing happened."

"I know."

"But-"

"I have to go."

"No, let's talk about it! You can't always make me feel guilty, put the blame on me and then walk away. You do it all the time."

"What is there to talk about? Sherlock Holmes will always come first in your life, even if you try to deny it. There's no point talking about anything until you're ready to be honest with me and with yourself."

Molly sat heavily on the sofa, and growled in frustration. How could things get any worse?