"And that is how I know it was the brother." Sherlock finished up a long-winded rant. John shifted the weight onto his other hip as he watched Lestrade's puzzled face.

"So... because of the holes in his backpack? That's how you came up with this?" The DI clarified.

"Obviously. Didn't you hear what I said?"

"If I listen to it again, will I be able to follow you?" Lestrade asked.

"Probably not," Sherlock said, cocking his chin upwards a tiny bit.

Lestrade let out a long breath. "Fine, then go ahead and have a look at the body, and get back to me. I need decent evidence before I can arrest him."

"Of course," Sherlock turned towards John, and the two took a step towards the door.

"Sherlock," They froze. Lestrade swallowed. "Do you really think the two of you should be back to work so quickly? It's only been a week since..." The DI's voice trailed off. Sherlock became instantly defensive.

"Moriarty decided to live and let us off unscathed to keep on with his little 'games'. So what's the point of waiting around when there's work to be done?" He snapped.

He didn't respond, just looked from Sherlock, then to John with a bit of sympathy. "Alright." He paused for a little bit then spoke up again. "If you go to the morgue, be sure to treat Ms. Hooper delicately. It's her first day back."

"We will," John piped up in his partner's silence.

"Sherlock," the Detective Inspector got his attention again as he went to leave. "It would be good if you would say something to her. She needs the help."

There was a pause, but Sherlock said nothing, turning away and off into the hall. John rushed after him.

After a few quiet steps, the doctor spoke. "So?"

"So, we go to the morgue and see if there are any marks that will prove the brother killed her." He said coldly. None of Lestrade's words seemed to even be in his head.

John rolled his eyes. "I mean, what are you going to say to Molly?" He said sharply.

Sherlock's steps grew slower. "Something like 'Good day. The cadaver of Sarah Goldsmith, if you would.' Why?"

"Sherlock," John said. "I mean about... what happened."

The man's voice was confident. "I don't see any reason I should be held responsible for coddling the girl, if that's what you mean."

"She was with a psychopath!" John snapped. "Don't you think she might need some help right now?"

"If she does it isn't my problem," Sherlock said, giving his colleague a glare. "She fell for a murderer, she went out for coffee with him and she needs to get over it. I see nothing in those events that requires me to assist her. If it wasn't for her Moriarty may never have been able to do all that he did." He took a short pause. "It's her fau-"

John suddenly grabbed his partners arm, and Sherlock stopped dead, turning to look down at him.

"How can you say that any of this is the poor girls fault?"

"She made a stupid mistake."

"Oh, she did?" John said, suddenly becoming frustrated. "Pardon me, but I don't see how that's fair. If you couldn't tell that he was a criminal mastermind then I don't see how you can expect Molly to have guessed."

For a moment Sherlock didn't speak. "I only spent a few minutes with the man, she went on a date with him. I don't understand how she could have just not noticed the act he was putting on," His voice was filled with pent up frustration.

"My god," John said. "You are blaming her, aren't you?" Sherlock didn't respond for a moment, and John fixed him with a hard look. "He put on an act and had you convinced he was an innocent gay man. If you fell for it, a 'genius,'" He held up his fingers in the ditto sign for emphasis. "Then how do you expect Molly to have figured it out?"

There was a long pause. The two just looked at each other until Sherlock his eyes to the wall, avoiding John's.

"...and she didn't even know," Two girls walked by that Sherlock and John didn't know, probably on the way to a lunch break.

"How can you not know that you're dating a serial killer?" The other chimed in, rather loudly. "What's wrong with her?"

Sherlock let out a long breath as the pair disappeared into the hallway.

"If someone doesn't make sure she's okay," John said, his voice calm but forceful. "I don't think anyone will."

Sherlock looked at him, then towards the double doors to the morgue they weren't too far away from. He glanced back to his friend. "Can't you say something?"

"I've known her a few weeks, I'm not even sure she knows my last name." He said. "Being polite to her will mean nothing from me. You need to."

He looked around, as if considering a way out like he had that night at the pool. Then he finally gave John a look of defeat. "Fine. I'll talk to her."

John let out a breath of relief. "Thank you." Sherlock turned without a word.

They grabbed the doors together and stepped into the morgue. Molly was turned around, staring at something on the counter. Her brown hair was disheveled and in a loose tie, and her head looked low.

Sherlock cleared his throat, rather loudly. Molly jumped, turning around. A look of surprise was painted across her face, and the mascara she had on had was worn onto her lower eyelid. Either she's had that on a while, or she's been crying. Must not be a waterproof brand, and her hair signifies that she hasn't been spending much time on personal grooming. Also, she's put on a pound or two. Sherlock thought.

Her mascara is smudged, she's been crying. John thought.

"Oh, Sherlock, John," The startled girl said. "I, uh, didn't see you there."

"Of course not," Sherlock said as Molly moved something in her hand to on the counter behind her body, out of view. He made a note of her eyes often flicking to the ground, signifying shame or embarrassment.

"Sherlock here wanted to see the body of Ms. Goldsmith, if that would be alright." John said, his voice soft.

"Oh, right," Molly abandoned the counter and walked slowly over to one of the tables where a body lay with a blanket across it, a woman in her twenties. "This is her. I was just finishing up the, um, preliminary tests."

"Standing against the counter is an interesting way to perform tests." Sherlock said, his voice suave and relaxed. John reached his hand up to his face. Molly's jaw dropped a little bit.

"Well, I just had to-"

"Trying to justify it is a waste of time," Sherlock snapped, looking over the girl's body. Taking a particular interest in her left shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice a tad unstable. "I only meant to take a moment." She put her hands together, taking to playing with the latex of the gloves without looking up.

"That's alright, Molly," John said from his position near the door, taking a few steps into the room. "Things have been hard on all of us recently, no reason to pass judgment." If Sherlock noticed his emphasis, he showed no sign of it, taking out his magnifying glass swiftly.

"Oh, right," Sherlock shut the glass with a click, straightening up. "Lestrade wanted me to see if you were doing alright."

"Me?" Her voice was quiet. John rubbed his hand through his hair. He hadn't wanted Sherlock to talk like that. Then again, with Sherlock, what more could he have expected? He brought his arm down to his side.

"Sherlock, why don't we take a little lunch break and finish this later." John offered.

Sherlock turned towards him, fixing him with an expert you-got-me-into-this-don't-you-dare-try-and-stop-now glare. He turned back to Molly.

"I saw that picture in your hand." He said, referencing to a crinkly piece of paper lying on the counter, the one she'd hidden behind her back. "Creases around the edges but no real damage means that you've been spending a lot of time with it in your hand and pocket as well as looking it over, and the rip across the middle clearly means at one point you were angry and done with it. Tape over those parts means you changed your mind." He took a pause. "A picture of you and 'Jim', wasn't it?" Molly's silence answered for him. "So either you aren't over him or you just haven't gotten over what happened. And I'm guessing it's not the first part. Unless you're just lonely."

There was a pause, then a sharp "I am n-not lonely!" and she accidentally hit the clipboard on the edge of the table down with her arm. Before she could get it Sherlock bent down, grabbed it, and raised his hand up with the clipboard in between his thumb and index finger.

"Defensive, frustrated," He straightened up as she took the clipboard. "Lonely."

Molly's face turned a shade of red as she replaced the clipboard on the table. She didn't make any sounds as Sherlock shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I'm just..." Molly shook head like it would do something for her. "Upset."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but John cut him off, stepping towards the two. "Anyone would be, Molly. The important thing is not to blame yourself."

Suddenly the floodgates opened, and the woman began to cry, bringing her sleeve up to her face. "I should have known."

"Yes, you should have," Sherlock said. John fixed him with a glare, and he rolled his eyes. "Look, Molly," Sherlock tried to fix his answer. "Moriarty could have tricked anyone."

"He sure tricked you," John said, this time on the receiving end of a glare from Sherlock.

"It's just that," She wiped away a few tears. "I spent so much time being lonely..."

"I'd bet you did." Sherlock whispered. John had had enough, and elbowed him sharply. Molly didn't seem to notice.

"We all feel lonely sometimes, Molly," John said.

"I didn't even think to do a background check," She said, her voice frustrated.

"If you had, all of his data would probably have been falsified anyhow." Sherlock said. "It would have been pointless, really."

"I didn't even see it coming," She said, looking down. "And then to hear that... That he tried to..." She let out a few quiet sobs.

Sherlock shot John a look, but John just raised his eyebrows, waiting for the consulting detective to make a move. He looked to Molly and, using all of the information he'd gathered in his life about comforting and consoling, did what he'd seen so many people do. Gathering information and putting it to use, it was something Sherlock had been doing for years. So he reached out his hand and put it, stiffly, on Molly's shoulder. He looked to John, as if asking him if he was doing this 'caring' thing right. John gave him a nod of encouragement, so Sherlock turned back to the girl.

"It isn't your fault," Sherlock said to Molly. Somehow he almost felt like he was speaking to himself at the same time. "Sometimes mistakes are made, and Moriarty... he made people make a lot of mistakes."

For a moment Molly just cried, Sherlock's hand on her shoulder, and then she did something neither of them expected her to do. She moved forward, grabbing Sherlock in a tight hug.

"I'm so, so sorry," She said, her head against Sherlock's shoulder. Tears were getting on his shirt, but he tried to ignore it. He looked to John, a look of shock on his face, his arms stiff and in the air as if he didn't know what to do. John couldn't help but wonder when the last time he'd been hugged was. "I never knew he would d-do that... I should have known, I should have been able to stop him."

"No one could have stopped him," Sherlock said, his voice tense and uncomfortable, looking to John again. The doctor simply shrugged, leaving Sherlock to decide what to do. "You should just... not worry."

"I was lonely, and I found what I th-thought was a friend." She clutched tightly to Sherlock. John wondered when the last time she'd been hugged was. "I was so wrong."

"We are all wrong sometimes," Sherlock said. "Now please," He made his voice soft in a way John hadn't thought possible for the cold person. Then again, Sherlock had never been bad at manipulation. "Let go of me."

Molly's eyes popped open, like she hadn't realized what she was doing. She jumped back, releasing Sherlock. "Ah, sorry," She said, her face turning red as she looked down. Sherlock's arms lowered to his sides, and his shoulders relaxed.

"Alright," He said. There was a long silence as Molly regained her composure and dried her eyes. John shifted his weight as he waited. "We should be going."

"What about the body?" Molly said.

Sherlock spoke, looking away from Molly. "I saw what I needed to earlier."

"Then... why did you stick around?"

Sherlock didn't answer. "Good day to you, Ms. Hooper."

"Ah, right, you too." She said, jumpy as ever as Sherlock headed to the door.

"Good day," John said as he turned to follow Sherlock. Outside of the door Sherlock's discomfort was obvious on his face. John almost smiled. "That was good of you."

Sherlock ignored the comment. "I am never speaking to you again."

"Oh, come on," John said. Sherlock took a turn to the left, and John turned sharply to keep up with him. "The break room is that way."

"I'm going home. I need to play the violin."

"That frustrated, are we?" John asked. Sherlock didn't respond still. "Oh please, Sherlock, you can't ignore me forever."

"I can very well try," Sherlock said.

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're an idiot." Sherlock couldn't see John's face, but a small smile had come over his features.