A/N: Thank you all for reading, following, favouriting, reviewing, … You are all such a great bunch of people!

The chapter heading (as was the one of chapter 1) is the title of a film by Alfred Hitchcock. And there will be others throughout this story. Of course I do not own them.

Notorious

"Of course it was wrong to want to change people, but what else could you possible want to do with them?" – Edward St Aubyn

On the next day, Sherlock went to New Scotland Yard to pick up the copy of the police report Lestrade had promised him. Wincing inwardly, he had to admit that he had become so used to having an assistant that he had forgotten how annoying such errands were. He made a mental note to send someone of his homeless network next time.

After that he went to St. Bart's, for a talk with a certain pathologist was in need.

When he entered the lab (the morgue had been empty), Molly was sitting at a microscope looking at some samples. Sherlock always deliberately pushed the swinging doors hard enough so that his entrance was sure to be noticed.

A gust of wind hit Molly and she knew, without turning around that Sherlock Holmes had entered her lab. He had perfected dramatic entrances – and exits for that matter. She could feel him standing by the door, impatiently waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Slowly she sat up from her hunched position over the microscope and turned around in her seat to greet the consulting detective. Her eyes landed on the lean frame of the consulting detective.

"Hello Sherlock. What brings you here today?"

Her voice sounded cheerful, although she did not feel that way. She felt better than last time he had paid Bart's a visit, but was still far away from being fine. And she was certain that it would take some time until she would feel fine again. She knew she would, one day. After all, she had gone through such a situation before. But "one day" was still a long way to go.

Instead of greeting her as well, or answering her question, Sherlock merely stated, "I know what happened Wednesday night and why you were upset."

The knowing smile on the detective's face made Molly's blood run cold.

For a second the pathologist looked absolutely horrified, and Sherlock found her reaction a bit exaggerated. But then again, Molly Hooper was a very emotional person.

The expression left her face almost as soon as it had appeared, and had he not been Sherlock Holmes, he would have probably missed it.

She got up and walked over to the other side so that the table was now between them, and Sherlock had the distinct feeling that she was putting some distance between them on purpose.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

Sherlock gave her a look that clearly transported his annoyance at her daring to play dumb on him. She cast her eyes down and drew a nervous breath.

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was definitely accusation in his tone.

Molly felt alternately hot and cold and her palms became sweaty. It had been pointless to try to hide it from him – she had feared as much. She had wanted to avoid this, because she did not know how he would react. Even after knowing him for years, he was still unpredictable, an enigma. It was part of why she had been intrigued in the first place, but now Molly wished she knew what she was in for.

She kept her eyes on the floor. "And what would you have done?"

Sherlock had to strain to hear her, her voice was so low. He wanted to answer, but found that he lacked a response. What would he have done? He had asked himself the same question and had not come up with an answer so far. Would he have comforted her? Would he have dared to? Probably not. Would he have said the right thing? Definitely not. Would he have said something spiteful or hurtful to cover up his uncertainty about the situation? More likely. He did not want to admit it, but that made him feel a bit… sorry.

So instead of giving her an answer – simply because he had none – he told her, "Meat Dagger's parents have paid me a visit."

Molly's head shot up to meet his calculating gaze and again her eyes widened.

Sherlock took it as a sign that she considered it rude of him calling her ex-boyfriend by his infamous nickname. He searched his brain. Luckily he had finally stored Meat Dagger's name in a new room in his mind palace – after all, he was a case now.

So he rephrased his earlier statement, "Tom's parents don't believe that he's committed suicide or that it's been an accident. Hence they've asked me to investigate."

Now the pathologist cocked her head to the side and eyed him curiously, as if trying to figure something out, as if she was looking for some clue that was hidden behind his pale eyes. Somehow Sherlock felt like a specimen under a microscope, and he did not like it at all.

It seemed like forever until Molly seemed to have found what she had been looking for and stated, "I see."

She nodded and her eyes left his and her stare became vacant, as if remembering something.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to study her face more closely. Somehow her behaviour seemed off. He had suspected her to have more to say to his admission than, "I see." Then again, he should probably be grateful that she had not broken out in tears again at the mention of her ex-boyfriend's demise. He needed to get back to business, so he could wrap up this annoying case as soon as possible.

He cleared his throat in order to get Molly's attention, who seemed to be miles away. His action had its desired effect, for Molly's eyes focused on the consulting detective again.

Having her attention again, he asked, "You did not perform the post mortem, why?"

Molly gave him a look as if she thought he was mad.

"Seriously? He was my ex-fiancé. I think you will understand that I didn't want to do his autopsy."

"No."

"No?!" Molly could not believe his nerve. Even Sherlock Holmes could not be that thick when dealing with emotions, could he? But obviously he was, because he did not bat an eyelash.

Instead of reacting to her outburst, he added, "I am not sure if ex-fiancé is an existing term."

Molly crossed her arms in front of her chest and only stared at him.

Sherlock took in her posture and concluded that it was probably time he explained his surprise about her not performing the autopsy.

"You are a perfectionist. You'd want the best to do it, and you are the best. Subsequently it would only be logical for you to perform the post mortem."

Molly wondered how it was possible that he had somehow – with his strict rationalism – managed to turn this into a compliment. Sort of…

For a moment the pathologist was too baffled to speak. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, which seemed to be spinning. She tried another approach, "After your not-death I was not allowed to do another post mortem on someone I knew."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side as if contemplating her statement. Then he said, "I am sure we can arrange something."

Molly sighed and let her hands fall to her sides. She did not really know what to do. Could she stand doing the autopsy? Could she bare it? She was no Sherlock Holmes, she could not compartmentalize her feelings like he could. She lacked the skills to lock them up somewhere in the back (or cellar) of her mind. She had learned over time to push some of them away and ignore them, but was she ready for this?

Sherlock's demanding voice stopped her musing, "Investigate with me."

He did not phrase it like a question, but more like a command.

"What?" Molly could not help but ask taken by surprise.

Molly could see that Sherlock had trouble holding back rolling his eyes, for he hated to explain himself. He was used to people not questioning his demands, especially not her. But she had become bolder and braver. She dared to pick holes in his arguments nowadays, and she had even dared to contradict him on one or two occasions.

"John's not here and I need an assistant," Sherlock replied annoyed and as if the reason why she should be part of his investigation was the most obvious thing in the world.

Molly raised her eyebrows. "I should help you investigate? Don't you think that would be a bit of a clash of interests?"

"Why? You and Meat... Tom were not together anymore when he died and you never really loved him. He was just a substitute for me. A silly notion. You thought he'd help you get over your infatuation with me. So, you cannot be too devastated by his demise. Hence I don't see any problem."

Molly could not believe how nonchalant he had said those words, without any emotion, whatsoever. As if he was telling her that he had bought a new pair of shoes.

A well-known lump formed in Molly's throat, and she was not sure if she was more angry or embarrassed by his statement. Be that as it may, she was hurt.

Her small hands balled into fists and she said through clenched teeth, "I thought you have changed since the fall and then you say things like this…"

For a second Sherlock was taken aback. Molly's stance told him that he had said something very bad that had hurt her. Her cheeks were red and her breathing shortened. She was embarrassed and that made her angry.

He did not know why, but her statement had felt like a slap across the face. He had changed since the fall. He knew it with absolute clarity. Even though he had not wanted to admit it at first – he had been enraged at himself for letting feelings enter his mind – at some point he had had to come to terms with the fact that he was not the man who had died anymore. After his death another Sherlock Holmes had resurrected. If that was a good or a bad thing was yet to determine.

But he was sure Sherlock 2.0 was more considerate of his friend's feelings and that they were to value that. Now hearing Molly say she doubted his change for the better, stirred something inside him that he did not know how to name. That was why he detested feelings – they were so complex, almost impossible to label.

The detective refused to go into her statement, therefore he said, "So I take it you refuse to help me."

Molly sighed deeply, "Don't give me that, Sherlock."
She refused to let him guilt trip her.

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "John is gone, and I need an assistant."

"Well, then ask someone else."

"There is no one!"

They stared at each other for a moment. Somehow Sherlock's statement made Molly ache for him, for she knew that he felt lonely inside, even if he would never admit it. She thought about suggesting to ask Wiggins for help, but she had not seen him for some time now and was not even sure if they were still in contact. Hence she refrained from it.

She closed her eyes for a moment to escape Sherlock's intense gaze that threatened to make her feel slightly dizzy.

When she opened them again, Sherlock's look had changed. He was still looking at her intently, but the stubborn determination in his eyes was gone. It had been replaced by a calm and collected look.

When he spoke his next words, his voice mirrored his state, "Would you at least do me the favour of looking at the autopsy report? That is all I'm asking of you."

Molly held his gaze. She appreciated his offer of a compromise, for she knew how hard it was for him to give in and meet her halfway. Still she did not feel confident enough to decide on an answer right know. She needed a bit of time to evaluate the situation.

Therefore she answered him, "I'll think about it."