"I think I've met somebody," Molly said, more to herself than to her friend.

"Oh my God!" Jane exclaimed, loud enough that it caused others in Bart's cafeteria to turn their heads. Molly frantically motioned for her to lower her voice, which she did. "Who is it?"

"He's a detective of sorts," she said, shaking her head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you're 31 and in desperate need of a shag," Jane said, unable to contain her excitement.

"Not that desperate," she said, although the thought of sex with Sherlock Holmes constantly crossed her mind. Molly took a deep breath and tried to regain control of her senses. "He works cases with the police and I've been helping him. He's very interested in ... pathology."

"But is he very interested in you?" Jane asked, spearing a tomato from her salad with her fork. She pointed it at Molly before popping it into her mouth.

Molly took a bite of her pasta to avoid answering that question. He'd spent her entire shift examining and studying the disembodied and acid-burned hand he'd brought in the bag. She'd offered to do a full work up on it for him but he wanted to do it himself. Molly had been rather disappointed he preferred to work alone, only asking her to confirm some of the results when he was finished.

"He's interested in what I know," Molly answered, remembering the intense way he'd listened to her. It was as if his brain was recording and storing each and every word for future reference. When there was no more information to obtain, Sherlock packaged up the hand and left without so much as a thank you.

That was almost a week ago.

"You're smart, Molls," Jane said, smiling at her. "Some men find that sexy."

"I guess," she replied, knowing she wasn't anywhere near the level he was. He'd called her "brilliant" the first night they met but he didn't really mean it. How could he? She was beginning to wonder about the flirting as well.

"Molls?" her friend asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Jane gave her a knowing look. "You were just thinking about him, weren't you?"

"No," she lied, looking around the cafeteria. It was decorated for Christmas, which was only days away. "I've just got a lot work to do. I'd better go. Three bodies tonight."

"They're not going anywhere," Jane said, taking another bite of salad. "Come on, stay. You haven't even told me his name."

"And I'm not going to," Molly replied, standing up. She picked up her plate and Jane smiled again.

"You're hoping he comes in, aren't you?" she said.

Molly left without answering, which was an answer in and of itself.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" asked Adam, the evening clerk in the break room. "I thought you were on holiday this weekend?"

"Cooper didn't show up for his shift," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was all set for her Boxing Day evening out with the girls when the call came. She didn't even have time to go home and change out of her skirt and heels. "And Cooper always shows up."

"That is unusual," he agreed, pouring himself one as well. He held the door open and waited as she gathered up her clipboard and coffee. "See you later."

"Okay," she said, then headed down the hall. Her heels clicked loudly, echoing as she reviewed the list for tonight. She was so absorbed that she almost didn't see the figure suddenly step out in front of her.

Molly stopped just short of Sherlock, her coffee sloshing everywhere. They both took a step back to avoid the deluge.

"Sorry," he said, taking the cup from her as she regained her composure. Molly shook her hand out and somehow avoided getting coffee on her clothes. He set the cup down on a nearby cart.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "It's the holiday."

"Working a case," he explained, stepping aside for her.

"Oh," she said, her heart sinking at knowing his visits to Bart's weren't limited to her shifts. Still, she was glad to see him. They walked in silence for a bit, his steps paced perfectly with hers.

"You're wearing a skirt," he said, his eyes flickering down her body. "You should wear them more often. You have nice legs."

Molly bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile. He was flirting with her again. She didn't really care if he meant it or not. It was nice to hear.

"You're lucky," she said, entering the mortuary. Sherlock followed her in, letting her go on ahead. "I'm covering for Dr. Cooper tonight."

"Yes, I know," he said and Molly stopped in her tracks. He was behind her now, his lips close to her ear. "Sorry about your girls night out but I needed you here, not Cooper."

"Seriously?" Molly said, realizing what he'd done. She turned around and stared at him.

"Seriously. I need you to perform an autopsy on Andrius Valdas," he said, staring right back at her. Molly flipped through her clipboard.

"He's not on the list," she said, searching some more. I have an Andrius Valdas, but the cause of death is a gunshot wound."

"He was shot because he's got 700 grams of cocaine in his stomach," Sherlock said. "He's part of a Lithuanian smuggling ring."

"I can't do that," Molly said, her brow furrowing. He was taking things entirely too far this time. "I can't perform an autopsy without authorization."

"Authorization I will get you after you extract the cocaine," he said, as if it were that simple. It wasn't.

"I can't," she said again, closing her eyes to avoid his. "I'm sorry but I just ..."

She felt his hands on her upper arms.

"Trust me," he said, his voice low and steady. "My brother will take care it. This is his case, not mine. I'm just consulting. You need to trust me, Molly."

"Why should I?" she asked, opening her eyes again. "I don't even know you. Not really."

"You know me enough to know I'm right," he said, his eyes searching hers. It was true. She knew it in her heart and could feel it in her gut.

"Okay," she finally said and he let her go. Molly motioned toward the observation window. "But you're going to have wait out there. I'm not going to have you in here ... distracting me."

"Done," he said, immediately heading for the door. His head was held high, stride arrogant as he exited the room.

Molly stared at the door for a moment.

She'd worked hard to get this job. She followed the rules. She was used to being in control. What was it about him that made her forget all of that? He had the ability to turn her into an absolute mouse within seconds. Who did he think he was?

But Molly already knew the answer.

He was Sherlock Holmes.

And she was falling in love with him.

It was nearly four o'clock when Molly finally left Bart's.

There were exactly 102 latex packages of cocaine in Andrius Valdas's stomach. Within minutes of extracting them, Inspector Lestrade and half a dozen agents were on hand to seize them. Molly was certain she would be suspended on the spot but wasn't. In fact, no one seemed to pay any attention to the fact there was no authorization for the autopsy and in all the confusion, Sherlock had disappeared. Again.

She decided she had earned herself a taxi home. She stood outside, wrapped tightly in her coat as she waited for the next one to drive by. A dark luxury car pulled up to the curb and a beautiful woman got out, dressed in an equally luxurious coat.

"Molly Hooper," she said, coming up to her. "I need you to step in the car for a moment. There's someone who'd like to thank you."

"I'd rather not," Molly said, taking a step back instead. The very last thing she was going to do was get into a strange car at this hour. The night had been strange enough already.

The woman looked back at the car and the window came down just a bit. The man who was sitting in the back leaned his head out slightly.

"I'm afraid you know my brother," he said, then opened the door. "I can assure you it will only take a few minutes."

Against her better judgement, Molly stepped inside. The woman shut the door behind her and she found herself sitting beside a man who was impeccably dressed and groomed.

"Thank you for your assistance tonight," he said, smiling politely at her. The smile faded as he stared at her. "I must say, you are not what I expected. Did you owe him a favor?"

"No," Molly said, unsure of where this conversation was going. "He's a ... friend."

"That's impossible," the man said, shaking his head. "Sherlock doesn't have friends. He does, however, need somewhere to work and on occasion, someone to work with. I worry about him, you see. He can be quite self-destructive if left to his own devices. Best to keep him busy. Can you manage that?"

"I'm not sure I understand," Molly said, wanting desperately to get out of the car. There was something unsettling about his demeanor. He didn't really resemble Sherlock much either.

"Whatever this 'working relationship' is you have with my brother, it needs to continue," he said, his smile returning. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hooper."

He held out his hand. Molly looked at it, but did not take it. Instead, she got out of the car. She exchanged a look with the woman, who stepped back inside. Molly watched as the car drove off, disappearing down the street and into the dark.

What had she gotten herself into?