It was a late and particularly cold end winter night. Sherlock poked the fire, it crackled happily and he heard Freddie walk into the room. He heard heels clicking rather than her usual squeaky trainers. He turned to her. She was wearing a long red dress with purple gloves and a long red wig that covered one eye. He felt the twinging feeling again except this time more... twingy. Like it was reacting to seeing her in this new light. More observations were needed.

The dress she was wearing was tight and clung to her figure as if it was made for her, showing off her chest and shoulders, except the length of the wig was covering her back. He couldn't stop himself before he made a note of her measurements, so he chose to look at other aspects of her. Her long gloves went up just higher than her elbow except one had slipped down a little revealing six small tally mark scars on her arm. She noticed him noticing and she quickly pulled the glove back up her arm.

Sherlock decided to take his mind off of the scars for now, as he knew it would somehow upset her and he found himself not wanting to upset her as the feeling made itself more prominent again…

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me that over the phone?" she replied.

"Am I?" he got up and looked out of the window.

"It's a costume. I am going to a costume party."

"Who are you supposed to be?" he turned back to examine her.

"Oh come on, you don't know?"

He shrugged.

She put on a low, sensual voice and batted her eyelashes at him, "I'm not bad... I'm just drawn that way."

Sherlock stared blankly as the twingy feeling pounded in his head.

"Jessica Rabbit?" she said.

He looked up and down her, "You don't look much like a rabbit"

"Well, I should get going..." she turned to leave, "Oh, I almost forgot." She rummaged through her bag, "I got you something." She smiled and handed him a small otter toy, "Just as a little moving in gift, cute isn't he?" she looked up at him. "Kinda looks like you." She quickly left the flat. Gone before he could even say anything about it.

"Oh don't you look lovely dear!" he heard Mrs Hudson say.

Mrs Hudson came in and looked over the flat, sighing at its dusty state. Sherlock watched Freddie from the windows, then stared at the small otter in his hand. It was small and brown, as otters were, with large cartoonish eyes and a slightly cheeky grin.

"She's very nice Sherlock, however did you find her?" Mrs Hudson said.

"She works with the police." He replied dismissively as he examined the otter for any clues as to why she would give it to him.

"You and her are a lot alike, meaning no disrespect to her of course– You'd do well to keep her around."

He put the otter in his pocket and went back to his thoughts on her scars 'Six tally marks, what could they mean?' he then remembered how she had reacted when he spoke about her family 'Trouble talking about family, interest in developmental psychology, tendency to act out– of course... why didn't I see it before? Daddy didn't want a girl... she's a foster child with multiple families. Previous habits would suggest drugs were one of the reasons she was sent back. Probably left some of her own accord...' he felt the twinge in the back of his mind again. He felt sorry for her and didn't like the fact that people treated her so badly 'Probably for her intellect, they didn't understand her...' and on some level he felt that he understood her, how it felt to be outcast– not necessarily by family, but by people in general. He found he had a desire for her to not be hurt again.

He checked the time, took out his phone and texted John.

"Molly, did you find anything?" asked Sherlock.

"She was drugged, not poison, but uh, Flunitrazepam." Molly replied, "They drugged her, shot her and–"

"Bashed her face in." Sherlock finished abruptly, "She has a tube ticket, she was going from Waterloo to Euston. It's either not a regular journey or not regular enough to warrant paying for a season ticket. She also had a return, unchecked so she didn't make it back. She also had a key... to a bike lock. If we can find the lock, the bike shouldn't be too far–"
John entered the room.

"Bit late for an autopsy? Have you found anything?" he said.

"Hi John, sorry it's late, but this is as soon as I could do." said Molly, a little flustered, "How's Mary?"

"She's good thanks." He smiled, "How about–"

"John, what do you see?" said Sherlock, not taking his eyes off the body.

John sighed and joined Sherlock, "'A woman, with her face bashed in... Sherlock why am I here?"

"You're usually here aren't you?"

"Right..."

"Why did you start that blog?" he looked up at John.

"Because my therapist told me to."

"What does it mean to you...? Is it sentiment?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"But, what does it have to do with her?" asked Molly.

"She was dressed up like the pink woman from our first case." Said Sherlock.

"So, if I hadn't written it up... she might still be alive..." said John, looking down.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous. She is a message, making her up like that only makes it personal to me."

"Or me..."

"No, chances are it's probably me."

"Did you come up with that then?" John raised his eyebrow.

"No... Freddie did..." Sherlock examined the body closely.

"Who's that?" Molly whispered to John.

"A psychologist." said John.

"He's seeing a psychologist?" she said with a worried look on her face.

"No. I'm not. Doctor Jones works for Scotland Yard." Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, ok." said Molly.

"I found something else, in her hair," he picked the fibres out with tweezers and placed them in a petri dish, "Rough fibres, like thatch, but small, cut short. Traces of dirt... Brown and black fibres mixed with dirt... welcome mat? Likely..." he picked out a small piece of what looked like thin red plastic, "Nail varnish?" he placed the scraps in a separate dish.

"What?" asked John.

"There's nail varnish in her hair."

"She could have just ran her fingers through her hair before it properly dried?" suggested Molly.

"No, the shapes of the pieces show they were chipped, it was placed there."

"What about these tally marks on her arm?" asked John, pointing them out.

Sherlock froze, recognising them as the same ones Freddie had.
"They could mean anything... Lovers, suicide attempts. Or..." he took out his phone and sent a message to Freddie 'Autopsy. St. Bartholomew. Come if convenient. SH'

"So, she was dragged?" asked John.

"What?" Sherlock looked up from his phone.

"Through a welcome mat?"

"Unlikely, the way its scattered is too precise, this and the nail varnish, is the message."

"I'm going to get some coffee, would you like anything?" Molly looked expectantly at Sherlock who stayed silent, looking at his phone.

He sent another message to Freddie. 'If inconvenient, come anyway. SH'

"Ok then..." Molly shrugged, looking down at the floor.

"I'll have a tea, thanks." Said John, "Milk, no sugar."

Molly left and John walked over to Sherlock.

His phone beeped and he read the message from Freddie

'Couldn't keep me away' with a winking face. Sherlock smiled.

"So how is Freddie?" asked John.

Sherlock thought for a moment, "She's... interesting. Her mind works differently."

"To yours? Hardly different." John scoffed.

"To everyone else's. But she's... different."

"Oh right... I get it." John smiled.

"What?" he looked up "No you don't... there's nothing to get."

"Of course." He said, like he knew something.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and then went over to examine the fibres under a microscope.

"Here's your tea John." Molly said as she came back in, holdin two paper cups.

"Cheers Molly." He took the tea from her and wrapped his hands around the cup as it was quite cold in the lab.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out the otter that Freddie had bought him.

"She bought me an otter..." he said.

"Who?" asked Molly.

"What?" asked John.

"A real one?" asked Molly.

"No... a toy" He showed it to them.

"Awh!" Molly said sweetly, "It's so cute."

"She said that too... then she said that it looked like me."

John laughed, "It does kind of look like you."

"Do you think I'm cute?" asked Sherlock.

John laughed again. Sherlock stared, waiting for him to answer.

"Oh..." John shook his head, "Uh– no... Sherlock I– I don't think... you're..." he trailed off.

Sherlock put the otter back in his pocket and quietly examined the fibres under a microscope.

"So if she thinks the otter is cute," he said examining the otter, "And that the otter looks like me, surely that would logically mean that she thinks I'm cute? Why would she think that?"

John looked up, he had been asleep at the desk next to a few paper cups as Sherlock had spent a while examining the fibres in silence and then the otter also in silence.

"Who knows..." said John.

"Well..." Molly was about to speak, but thought otherwise.

Freddie came in to the autopsy room, startling everyone awake.

"How can I help?" she asked.

Molly and John stared at her.

"I didn't know we were getting help from cartoon characters... did uh, did somebody get framed?" asked John, laughing sleepily.

She laughed, "Hello John, it's only me... Freddie. Sherlock asked me to come. I was at a costume party, I don't just dress like this randomly."

"Of course, I hope Rodger doesn't mind?"

"Oh, no Rodger, only me."

"Sorry, but who exactly are you?" asked Molly.

"Oh sorry." She put her hand out to shake, "Doctor Frederick Jones, you can call me Freddie. You must be Molly."

"How do you know that?"

"Sherlock told me, I mean not directly, but he said he wanted Molly to do the autopsy and well, here you are." She smiled.

"She's just showing off, it's written on your jacket." Said Sherlock.

"He thinks highly of you, even if he doesn't say." She whispered to Molly.

"Oh, really?" Molly smiled, blushed and shook Freddie's hand.

"Don't do that, come here." Said Sherlock.

Molly stepped over to him, looking a little dazed.

"No, not you. You." He pointed to Freddie, "Can I see your arm please?"

Freddie walked over to him, past a slightly perturbed Molly, and rolled her glove down showing six similar tally mark scars.

"What do they mean?" he asked.

"Like you don't know..." she raised her eyebrow at him, "They're families, different foster parents..."

"So the victim is an orphan?" asked John.

"Not just an orphan, but one who was past around from home to home, probably having trouble with the different families for one reason or another... and the parents couldn't handle her... usual stories are drinking, drugs, fighting..."

"Which was it for you?" asked Sherlock.

John and Molly swapped bewildered looks.

Freddie grinned, "Don't you already know? Adoption agency would have records on her... But without a face there's not a lot we could do. They've done a lot to destroy any evidence to who she was... no dentals or anything?"

"No..." said Molly.

"Have you worked out the message yet?" Freddie asked Sherlock

"Welcome something... the only other thing I've found is nail varnish–" replied Sherlock.

"What colour is it?"

"Dark red."

"Why would that matter?" asked Molly.

"Everything always matters, when it comes to messages like this. Can I see it?" asked Freddie.

Sherlock handed her the dish with the nail varnish. She examined it closely.

"Welcome, lover." she said looking up at Sherlock.

"What?!" Molly almost shouted.

"The colour," she turned to Molly, "The colour of the nail varnish is called lover. If the message is welcome, something... it's 'welcome, lover' I guess it would appear that our killer has a crush... or an obsession. They want you to know they're out there and they're willing to do anything to get to you... you could be in a lot of danger..."

"As per usual then?" said John.

"No, not usual. I mean you guys may have been in some pretty serious situations, but this is different. Stalkers can be very... difficult."

"How do you mean?" asked Molly.

"Well, they often have their own definitions of events, anything could have set them off... I mean it's safe to say they can't get a date... but they could have read about you online and created a fantasy of what you're really like, then that could have grown into an obsession. They might have tried to meet you for real. It's likely to be a fan... one you may have met once, a small moment that would have meant nothing to you. But everything to them..."

"What do you suggest I do then?" asked Sherlock.

"Well, you just needs to lay low for a bit, don't take on any high profile cases, and try to stay away from the press."

"Think you can handle that Sherlock?" John laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Not exactly possible right now." His mind snapped to Moriarty, all the cases he'd been taking on. This one was just another in a long line. Freddie didn't need to know.

"No, I'm serious. If they see something that disagrees with their perception of you they could lose it... Oh and definitely try not to be seen with anyone they could see as a... threat I guess. Someone they might think could hurt you, a girlfriend... or boyfriend."

John choked on his tea a little.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"N...nothing" he chuckled.

"So what happened to her?" Freddie asked.

"She was drugged, shot and her face smashed in... in that order." replied Sherlock.

"Drugged with what?"

"Rohypnol." said Molly.

"I assume she wasn't..." she paused for a moment, Sherlock looked up at her a she looked a little frightened. The feeling flared up again, he didn't like seeing her like that.

"She wasn't what?" asked John.

"Well, I mean it would give DNA to identify the killer... we would be able to check for... donations."

"Wait, what?" asked John.

She looked over at Sherlock, like she didn't want to actually say what she was trying to say. Realising what she meant,

Sherlock spoke.

"She's asking if the victim was raped." the words almost seemed to cut through Freddie.

"Yeah." she said, shaking the thought from her head.

"Oh." said Molly, "No, I didn't find any evidence of that."

"Right then, I should get back to my party. I won't stick around too long and I'll see you back at the flat." She left quickly.

John and Molly stared at him. He stared back.

"So, who doesn't need a flat mate?" asked John.

Sherlock grumbled quietly.

"How... long... have you been... together...?" Molly asked almost crushed, her words barely squeaked out of her mouth, "You've never mentioned her before..."

He looked confused "What...?"

"They only just met today, since they'll probably be working together I suggested he ask her to move in, since he desperately needed a flat mate." John said.

"Not desperately..."

"You were talking to the skull, what was I supposed to do?"

"Oh... right..." said Molly.

Sherlock looked over the key.

"If she had the key on her, the bike is locked up somewhere..."

"Can I see it?" asked John. He looked over it, "It's to one of those large metal ones, like big pad locks... I guess that narrows it down a little–"

"If we find one of those tying a bike to... anything across the whole of London... or just around Euston underground station..." said Sherlock, "You said she was drugged?" he turned to Molly.

"Uh yes with–"

"Then she had to have been somewhere for the killer to spike her drink, easiest way... she could have gotten off the tube and cycled to a place to get a drink after work... if she was taken from there, the bike must still be there..." he got out his phone and texted Lestrade.