"Finally." Sherlock closed the door behind Molly, who was shyly standing in the doorway.

"Um, oh, sorry." Molly stuttered, moving her dropped purse onto the floor. "There was a bit of traffic on the bridge."

"It's fine." Sherlock glanced up and away awkwardly, biting his lip.

Molly gave a tiny smile. "Hello, John." She waved to him across the room. "I suppose there's a reason I left lunch for this?"

"Um yeah, actually there is." John said and walked over to where Sherlock was standing. "We were just wondering if you could inspect this lady. There appears to be no likely signs of death here besides falling of course."

Molly looked confused. "Isn't that your job?"

Sherlock stood up. "Yes, but I was just wondering if you might have a second opinion." He pulled out a chocolate chip granola bar. "Here's lunch if you, uh, want it."

Molly raised her eyebrows, but didn't bother saying anything. She had been around Sherlock Holmes too long to expect anything other than abnormal.

Molly stooped down and used the magnifying glass Sherlock had provided. "Her neck is broken for one thing."

"Yes, yes we know. But anything unusual?" Sherlock impatiently tapped his foot.

"Well hold on a second!" Molly rolled her eyes and kept searching the woman. "We probably should have taken her to the lab and reported her death before doing this." She sounded worried for breaking the law. "I don't want it to look like we murdered her."

Sherlock scoffed. "Oh please. If I wanted to murder someone, I'd do it better than this."

John looked at the ground, unsurprised. "Thanks Sherlock, we needed that right now."

John was almost back to his regular old self by now. He took the incident with the statues just to be a trick of his eyes. Statues couldn't move on their own anyway. "I'm getting old," John laughed at himself, even though he was not nearly old enough to be seeing things. But whatever excuse, John had cast aside the experience and decided to focus on the case.

"That's odd..." Molly muttered, pulling on plastic gloves and inspecting Ophelia's neck. "It actually looks like..." She paused, "as if she was strangled!"

Sherlock smiled and stood up, but Molly kept talking. "But these hand marks are unlike any finger marks I've ever seen before. And oh-" Molly gasped. "Look at the depth, this attacker must have had an iron grip!"

Sherlock held out his arms. "Molly Hooper, you are amazing, you are fantastic!" He smiled.

Molly raised her eyebrows, but her cheeks flushed. "What did I do?"

"You just uncovered a large piece of the puzzle!" Sherlock yelled, pulling up his sleeves.

"But wait...couldn't you just figure that out yourself?" John asked, skeptical.

"No..." Sherlock looked a little uncomfortable. "Well I'll tell you later. Let's just say I've had ... problems lately." He frowned.

Molly asked about the elephant in the room. "Well what now?"

"Oh c'mon Molly you've done this long enough." Sherlock started walking toward the front door. "Call Lestrade and get fish and chips."

"Oh right," Molly blushed like that was an obvious answer, picked up her purse, and followed Sherlock out the door like a lost puppy.

John took one last look at Ophelia Diann. She had platinum blonde hair, and was wearing a college sweatshirt with a neon blue t-shirt underneath and black vans. Before, John hadn't had that much of a good look. But now he could see broken round glasses lying next her, and noticed that she probably wasn't accustomed to this particular outfit in the way that it was loose and just looked to be a casual outfit. He had learned from Dolly that Diane was an accountant, so she probably usually wore heels and a dress.

John felt his heart weight down a little as he noticed she was a lot younger than John, and had practically just started out in her career. And now here she was dead as a doornail in some lonely haunted house, with no family or close friends besides crazy Dolly to mourn her.

"Sentiment." Sherlock suddenly spoke from behind him, startling John.

"Oi!" John whirled around, just a little jumpy. "Don't scare me!"

Sherlock eyed him. "What's the matter John. A little on edge today, yes?"

John shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Where's Molly? And what do you mean 'sentiment?'"

Sherlock ran a hand along the wood stairwell. "She's outside calling her team to come pick Ophelia up." Sherlock waited for a reply, and when there wasn't any, he continued. "Are you still up for Fish and Chips?"

"Sherlock." John groaned.

"Alright fine." Sherlock paused to go on one of his long lectures. "What I mean 'sentiment' is that there really no advantage to it. What do you get from being sad or mad or angry? Does it help you make decisions or make you live better? No, and mourning someone you don't even know is simply irrevocably full of sentimentality. What does this help with? Will her spirit be happier because you felt sorry for her? I think not." Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"How did you 'observe' that I was feeling sorry for her?" John slowly asked, careful of his word choice.

"Obvious really." Sherlock retorted. "When I walked outside with Molly, you stayed behind, so there was obviously something that was bothering you. When I came back in, you were looking at Opelia at rubbing your knuckles. I've known you so long that you're guilty or upset when you do that. You do it everyday when you forget the milk at the shop. I guessed the latter, because you obviously did not kill Ophelia Diann. And what else could you be upset about, besides that fact that you were not able to save her?" Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets with a smug expression that he always got after his deductions.

John sighed. "So you could tell all that from an itch on my ring finger, but you couldn't tell that Ophelia was strangled?" John asked, rather confused.

"I um...well..." This time, Sherlock was uncomfortable. "I need g-"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade walked in, papers and files in his right hand, saving Sherlock from an uncomfortable truth. "Hurry up and get her out of here, this place is creepy." He told two officers who had come with him. They rushed over to take Ophelia to St. Bart's where Molly worked.

"Sherlock, you've been quiet lately. No new cases?" Lestrade asked, hands in his pockets.

"Well we're trying to solve this one first, Gavin." Sherlock smiled fakely. John could tell he just wanted to go.

Lestrade frowned. "Greg."

Sherlock patted his shoulder. "Right. So you up for fish and chips?" Sherlock started to walk to the cab that he could see Molly was already seated in.

"Sherlock, you okay?" You're acting weird." John frowned.

"Yes, John I'm perfectly alright. Let's go, ALLONS-Y!" Sherlock had his "acting" voice in use, and John knew that somehow the "fish and chips ruse" was actually part of the case. "It's French for "let's go," Sherlock said before anyone could ask.

"Coming, Geoff?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

Greg sighed and followed. "It's the middle of a case, why are we going to eat?" He signaled to his team that he was leaving, and left them to take care of Ophelia.

"Well you know it isn't always crimey-solvey." John remarked.

"I see." Lestrade rolled his eyes and followed his companions into the cabs that awaited them.

But no one saw the strange stone faces peering out of the second story window, seeming to be weeping at the departure of the detective and his companions