A/N: Thank you all so much for your constant support. Sorry to not PM everyone this time.
I hope you'll have a wonderful 2016 full of everything you wish for!

Oxford calling

Love is… never having to bury the bodies alone.

Sherlock sat on the couch in his living room studying the police report of Tom's death Lestrade had provided him with. The photographs of the crime scene lay scattered around the table and floor. The consulting detective thought that it was one of the few good things about living by himself again: No flatmate to complain about him decorating the sitting room with gruesome pictures of crime scenes. More than once John had asked Sherlock to take off those photographs, for his dates found them disturbing. The consulting detective had presented his best friend a pragmatic solution, "Well, then just don't take them to Baker Street."

Sherlock looked intently at the photographs of a lifeless Tom on the floor of his sitting room: His dark handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in a terrible fiendish expression. Beneath his head was a pool of blood, which looked more black than red in the pictures. The setting suggested what Lestrade had told him: Tom falling and hitting his head on the coffee table while being drunk and under the influence of medicine. As simple as that. The photos of the rest of the flat supported this hypothesis: A bottle of wine, anti-depressants, sleeping pills and all in all an untidy bachelor's flat. But from the pictures alone it was hard to draw a conclusion if the victim had committed suicide by overdosing his medication and then hit his head while falling, or if it had been an accident. But so far Sherlock could not detect any indication of third party negligence. They were still waiting for the tox screen, which would probably answer any remaining questions.

Hence the detective again doubted his decision on taking up the case, for in his eyes there was not really a case. But it was too late to dwell on that now. He had told the Hopkins he would look into it and that he would do. He was a man who stood by his word.

If only he could convince Molly that it would be so much easier if she agreed to help him. He tried to come up with something that would get her 'round, but he did not really know what. Three years ago he would have taken advantage of her infatuation with him and tried to sweet-talk her into doing it, complimenting her hairstyle or giving her a "meaningful" look and an enigmatic smile, but those times were gone and oddly enough he could not find it in him to shed a tear over it.

Sure it was more frustrating now at times that Molly did not fall for it anymore (although he was sure if he really tried he could still do it) and even talked back from time to time, but after coming back he had thought about how he could show his gratitude for what the pathologist had done for him, and he came up with the conclusion that it would be best to show her he respected her and that meant no more manipulation.

Of course he came up with some loopholes – after all it may be necessary to manipulate her in order to keep her safe – but he was determined to be as honest as possible with her from now on. Subsequently manipulating her was out of the question.

To his annoyance Sherlock's musing was interrupted by his phone going off. He grabbed it from the armrest. The caller ID told him it was his former flatmate. The consulting detective was not surprised. He had been fairly sure that John would call him today to check up on him. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock leaned back on the couch and picked up.

"John."

"Hey, how's it going, mate?"

"Small talk, seriously, mate?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, as opposed to you some people still try to follow conversation etiquette."

"You've known me long enough to know that I don't care about those kind of things."

There was a small pause, and then Sherlock added, "But then again, you've never been exceptionally quick in thinking."

John growled on the other end of the line already asking himself why he had even bothered to call in the first place.

"And still I am your best friend. Maybe you should think about that," the former army doctor added for consideration.

"I didn't become friends with you because of your stunning intellect," Sherlock clarified.

"Are you calling me stupid?" asked John incredulously.

"No, I'm just saying, that there are people I know that have a higher IQ than you. Like…," the consulting detective took a moment to come up with a name, "... for instance Molly Hooper. Still you are my best friend."

"You are saying I am stupid!"

"I am paying you a compliment!"

"By saying someone else is more intelligent than me? How is that a compliment?" John shook his head, although he knew his best friend on the other end of the line could not see it.

Said person went on with his justification, "Objectively speaking Molly is more intelligent than you are."

Had Sherlock been near, John would have given him a death glare. But since he was not, he did not have much of a choice than to make his irritation known my exhaling loudly.

The man sitting in 221B explained further in order to sooth his friend, "You are more intelligent than the average person, but… You have other character traits I value."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line and Sherlock was tempted to ask if John was still there, but he could hear his breathing, so he figured he was.

John had fallen silent, because he was busy convincing himself that it was better to let it slide. He knew Sherlock had not meant to be insulting. Or at least he hoped so. Therefore he took a deep breath and spoke up again, "Speaking of Molly, there's a reason why I called."

"I know, to check up on me."

"No." Both knew that this was only partly true. Still Sherlock did not contradict him and let John continue, "I wanted to tell you that Tom died. Molly's ex boyfriend, you remember?"

"John, as usual, you are way too late. I am already on the case."

Now John was confused, "Case? What case?"

"Tom's case. His parents paid me a visit. According to the police it is not clear if his death was an accident or suicide, but they are convinced it was... something else. You know how parents are. So... sentimental."

John held back a comment that he was now a parent as well.

Sherlock continued, "Mrs Hudson forced me to take the case – which is not really a case to be honest. I was just looking at the photos of the crime scene when you called and so far everything seems to point to the logical conclusion the parents will not acknowledge."

"I see." John needed a moment to take in all this information. He was only gone for a few days and Sherlock took up cases that demanded careful handling of grieving parents and empathy. In his mind different scenarios played out – one worse than the other.

"How is Molly handling it?" John voiced one of his many concerns aloud.

"She cried a bit, but tries to put up a brave face, which makes her a bit... irritating and irrational. I told her to help me with the investigation, but she..."

But Sherlock could not finish his sentence, for John interrupted him, "You did what?!"

"Didn't you listen? I ..."

"You insensitive bastard!"

Sherlock's tone took on an angry edge, "I don't see why you are getting all emotional about it. I need a competent pathologist and Molly Hooper happens to be one."

John took a deep breath in order to calm down a bit. And reprimanded, "There are other competent pathologists at Bart's, Sherlock. Why drag Molly into this? Tom was her fiancé, for God's sake!"

Sherlock got up from the couch and started pacing in order to vent his spleen. His voice raised as his agitation grew, "She has the potential to become important to me… I mean… for the case."

He stopped dead in his tracks and took a deep breath.

John on the other end of the line had raised both eyebrows at Sherlock's outburst and unintentional slip of the tongue.

When the consulting detective went on, his voice was monotone, "Molly Hooper could become important to the case. She is practically the only one of us who knew Tom."

"We all knew Tom," John interjected.

Sherlock waived a dismissive hand. "Well, not really."

"You mean you did not know him. But we did," the doctor chastised.

Sherlock remained silent and went over to stand by the window. His blogger tried another approach, "Listen Sherlock, I've noticed that you're trying to make an effort lately, and..."

This time it was the doctor who was interrupted by his best friend, "How? You are barely here."

John felt himself getting worked up again. "Oh, how dare you! I've just spent a whole week with you in Oxford – away from my family. We've talked about this, Sherlock, I have another child to look after now. It is time for you to grow up."

Sherlock growled and was about to reply, when his mobile indicated an incoming text. He took a look, John remaining silent on his end of the line.

Sherlock's eyes flew over the text. He held the phone towards his ear again and told John loftily, "Seems like Molly's not as touchy as you about the whole thing. I just got a text from her. She's in."

John groaned, "God, Sherlock, promise me to at least try to show some empathy. Even if you have to fake it."

Sherlock was only listening with one ear anymore. When he did not reply, John said more urgently, "She has a good influence on you, don't hurt her. Sherlock, did you hear me? Be nice to Molly, or I'll send my wife after you!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Alright." And before John could berate him anymore, he had hung up.

The consulting detective scrolled back to Molly's text.

I'll help. What do you need? MH

Sherlock typed back:

I'll arrange for you to get a copy of the files. Meet me at Tom's flat tomorrow at 10 a.m. SH

Her reply was almost instant:

OK. See you then. MH

For a second Sherlock considered replying "Thank you," but dismissed the thought instantly. What had gotten into him? He had never bothered with such useless niceties before. Shaking his head in irritation he went downstairs to see if Mrs Hudson was willing to provide him with tea and biscuits.