A/N: I just told you that this chapter would be longer, didn't I? I apologize once again. It was going to be, but I shorten the second section re: writer's block. Chapter six is quickly on it's way.

"Describe the last time you saw Sherlock Holmes."

The corners of Molly's lips turn up. Her eyes look up. Her left eye twitches and squints.

"I saw him in the morgue the day he died. He walked in to the lab quickly, seemed distracted. I thought at the time that he was probably just thinking about a case. I tried to say hello and make small talk, but he waved me off dismissively."

Good, same cover story we discussed. Now, what would a normal officer ask?

"Is that very abnormal behavior for him?"

"No. It isn't. So I didn't think much of it."

"What happened after that?"

"Nothing really. I remember he kept rolling a small ball in his fingers. I had to go file some papers, so I left. He was gone when I came back."

"To the roof?"

"I don't know. I suppose."

"What about the jump? Were you not present for that?"

"No, I left the building before it happened."

She's blinking a bit longer than normal, but she's not fidgeting or touching her face. For once, I'm glad she's a better actress than I supposed. I don't know what else to ask. I guess I'll leave.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper. I think I have everything I need."

She's relaxing her shoulders. She looks a bit relieved. I guess that's normal behavior after any interrogation.

"Of course. If you have any more questions..."

"I'll be sure to ask. Good day."

"Good day...Mr. Cheveux."

It's so quiet here. It's a bit distracting. I don't think I've ever especially noticed quietness before. It most certainly has never bothered me before. What's wrong with me? There. My crime wall map is finished. I don't know why John always called it that. He had the weirdest ways. His chair, those ridiculous, silly, warm, beautiful jumpers. "Timing" "Bit not good, yeah." "Amazing!" "Extraordinary!" "Sherlock!" I remember his voice so clearly. Curse my almost perfect memory. I've definitely never cursed my memory before. What is getting into me? It must be playing this role. I'm taking it too seriously. I'm becoming almost ordinary.

Shake head. No. I need to clear these thoughts. I have a crime wall map to study. Moriarty. Molly. Irene. Professor. Moriarty. Molly. Irene. John. Irene! Where is she? I'll text her. I wish Mycroft had just given me the same model I had before.

Mrs. Adler, this is Detective Inspector Cheveux. I would like to talk to you. When could we meet?

Phone hits the rug. I should play the violin. That will organize my scattered thoughts. Twenty-four rips in this blasted rug. Violin fits my chin perfectly. I should be careful not to scratch it so much. Why would I care about it? Sherlock, focus. F-sharp-C-D-A. Stayin' Alive. "I'll burn the heart out of you." "I don't like getting my hands dirty." Ding. Violin carefully on coffee table. Phone on the rug.

Talk to me about what?

What would bait would bring her out of the woodwork? Probably the truth.

I need to talk to you about Sherlock Holmes.

The silence expands and retracts. Kick the rug. Twenty-five rips. Ding.

221B Baker St. Come alone. Could be dangerous.

A/N: If you're reading this fic, please comment! Comments motivate amazingly! I just got my first comment, and here I am, writing two chapters in one day! The more you comment, the more chapters you'll get! I know I'm shamelessly bribing you, but I do need the motivation. If I feel like no one's reading, I don't especially want to write. Thank you! xx