A/N: Once more thanks for all the encouragement and lovely comments on that story. It means a lot to me! You are all fantastic!

Woman to Woman

"A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward."
― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings

"Some nice friends you have."

Sherlock's sarcastic voice made Molly almost jump while she was busy documenting some findings. She finished the sentence she was writing and replied, "They are not my friends."

"But they used to be."

Molly laid down the pen and turned around to face the consulting detective who had sneaked into the morgue without making any noise. Sometime Molly wondered if he could float.

Molly leaned against the counter and explained her relation to the group of people they had met in the pub yesterday, "They were Tom's friends."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side and regarded her for a moment as if contemplating her words and trying to find some hidden meaning in them. It was hard to tell if he found what he was looking for, because neither his voice nor expression gave any indication when he went on, "So Stuart and Pete are brothers."

"How would you know?"

Sherlock graced her with his trademark it-is-oh-so-obvious-look, "Typical genetic markers, same surname, ... Do I need to go on?"

Molly did not answer, she knew it had been a rhetorical question.

Slowly Sherlock crossed the room until he was standing a few feet away from her. It was not so close as to be intimidated by his presence, yet Molly instinctively pressed herself against the counter. It did not escape the detective's perceptive gaze, and he could not help the slight satisfaction he felt in knowing that he still had an effect on her. Outwardly he seemed to be absolutely detached of course.

He folded his hands behind his back and said, "And Theresa Wright is Tom's ex girlfriend."

He made a small pause in which Molly only nodded and then went on looking almost a bit confused, "I thought it was a myth that one can be friends with heir ex girlfriends."

A second later his eyes focused on Molly, as was his habit when he was deducing someone, and he stated, as if provoking her, "And is it very common that ex girlfriends and ex fiancées get on so well?"

Molly had enough and pushed herself off the counter and past the consulting detective that was not surprised by her flight in the slightest. He had aimed for that, although he still was not sure why exactly.

Molly went over to one of the slabs where a file lay and clarified while walking, "Theresa and I had a lot in common."

Sherlock followed her with his eyes but remained in his spot.
"I just had not expected her to be the one that sympathised with you. Tom's friends not being overly fond of you was surprising, given the fact that you are generally considered as a very likable person who wants to be on good terms with everyone."

Now it was Molly's turn to give him a challenging look, "Every person has a dark side."

Sherlock's initial response was to chuckle at the absurdity of her statement, but something made the sound stuck in his throat.

The pathologist shook her head to get rid of her anger, drew a long breath and then stated, "The Randalls are like Tom's parents. They blame me for his depression. He was truly devastated by our break-up." She shrugged.

Sherlock approached her slowly.

"Was the break-up that bad?" The disbelief in his voice angered Molly once again. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Sherlock, you know nothing about relationships."

That made Sherlock pause a moment in his stride.
"Why are you getting defensive? Why do you act so secretive about your past relationship?"

Molly put her hands on the slab before her and leaned on it, her body language telling the consulting detective that she was now up for confrontation. "Maybe because I don't want to talk about it with you?"

For a second Sherlock was taken aback by her words and he felt his jaw clench. But before he could reply, she ranted on, "How would you feel if I were to question you about your relationship history? About your drug addiction, about the dead, naked woman, who happened not to be dead all of a sudden,…"

The consulting detective clenched his fists at his sides and his look made Molly feel cold all of a sudden. But she was not finished yet, "You don't tell your friends anything about your past, and I reckon you don't want to share it with me, do you?"

The knuckles of Molly's hand had turned white where she was gripping the metal of the slab. The coldness of the steel stood in stark contrast to the heat that was radiating off her body.

Sherlock's face was a mask and his voice lacked any emotion when he said, "I've never been in a relationship…" There was a pause in which his words hung in the air, until he finished, "... with The Woman."

Molly did not really know what to say to that. But there was not really time anyway, for Sherlock continued not only with talking but also with approaching her, "Additionally that's something entirely different: My past is not relevant, whereas yours is. I don't see why you're uncomfortable talking about a past relationship that you ended."

Molly threw her head back in frustration. "Sometimes you really have no idea about… Wait, how do you know it was me who ended it?"

Sherlock came to stand on the other side of the slab. He shrugged carelessly, "I'm me. Observing that it was you who ended it was hardly a challenge."

Leaning slightly away from the metal barrier between them, the pathologist put her hands on her hips. "So you know everything about me by just looking at my shoe laces and I know nothing about you."

"So?"

"It's not fair."

"It is not my fault that you lack my deductive skills."

Molly Hooper could not believe his nerve. She drew a breath to start another rant, when the swinging doors of the morgue opened and in went DI Greg Lestrade. He only went a few steps before he saw the position the two other people in the room were in and instinctively stopped. The air was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. The DI glanced at the pathologist, thinking that she was in need of help, when the consulting detective sighed and said, "Lestrade, it seems you make a habit out of interrupting me."

Greg raised his eyebrows and refrained from replying. He nodded towards Molly, who responded in kind, and went over to stand next to the pair. He cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, after we talked yesterday, I have sent forensics to Tom's flat again. Seems that there really has been someone else in the flat."

"Really?" The detective's voice was dripping with sarcasm, while he folded his hands behind his back again.

Lestrade shot him a look and then went on, "Yes. We have found dog food and a dog leash but no dog. And someone has made a sailor's knot into the dog leash. And as far as we know Tom has never been on any boat."

A humourless laugh escaped Sherlock's mouth and even Molly drew up her eyebrows in disbelief.

The detective rolled his eyes. "Wit and you are strangers, George."

Lestrade's cheeks blushed with rising anger, but Sherlock told him, "Of course Tom had a dog. It is with his friends and as for the sailor's knot, anyone with internet can learn to do a sailor's not nowadays. Never heard of YouTube tutorials?"

The DI opened his mouth to retort something, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead he drew a calming breath and then turned towards the petite pathologist to his left.

"Since this is now officially an open case, I will need to ask you some questions, Molly. Strictly routine, of course. Just to cross you off the list of... You know..." He looked apologetic.

Molly smiled kindly at him. "I know. Shoot."

Lestrade nodded clearly relieved by her understanding and asked, "Where were you on Wednesday night?"

Molly answered immediately, "At work."

Lestrade nodded. "Okay. Can someone confirm that?"

Now the consulting detective joined in the conversation. "Come on, Lestrade, this is ridiculous!" The exasperation in his voice was clear.

But before the detective inspector could defend his actions, Molly answered his question, "Yes, Sherlock. He was here to check on his cultures."

Lestrade seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and tried to sound light-hearted, "I guess there's hardly a better alibi."

Molly smiled at him and Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"Now, are you done detective inspector?" Sherlock asked mockingly.

Lestrade glared at him for a second, then nodded towards Molly.
"As for now, I guess so. Keep me posted." The DI felt a bit bad for leaving Molly alone with the git that was their friend, for it seemed they had been in an argument when he had entered the room and Lestrade knew all too well how obnoxious and cruel Sherlock could be. But then Molly and Sherlock's acquaintance had changed since after the fall and John told him that Molly had even slapped him – more than once. So maybe it was Sherlock who needed protection from Molly and not the other way round. So he thought it was safe to leave. And with that he exited the morgue again.

For a moment Sherlock and Molly were left standing there, the remains of their earlier argument still hanging in the air between them. But the detective decided he was done with arguing today, so he pointed towards the file that lay on the slab between them.

"I figure you have gone through the autopsy report."

Molly could not deny that she was glad that they were talking about work again. She reached for the file and answered, "Yes. James Mortimer did the post mortem. He is not the best pathologist, but good enough. The cause of death was pretty obvious, though, routine. He died of a broken neck."

Molly surprised herself at how detached and professional she sounded, as if she were talking about a random victim, not someone she once planned to spend the rest of her life with. Until death do you part... it seemed like the ultimate cosmic joke now.

She handed Sherlock the file who took it and scanned the pages, while Molly kept on reporting her findings, "We've got the full tox screen; there was a high dose of alcohol as well as anti depressants in his blood."

Sherlock's eyes flew over the page of the toxicological report and added, "But no traces of sleeping pills."

"No," Molly confirmed.

The detective nodded and handed the file back to the pathologist.

"In this case the hypothesis of intention of suicide is obsolete. People have seen enough TV to know that sleeping pills are the drugs to go for and not anti depressants if you want to kill yourself," Sherlock stated matter of factly.

Molly took the file from him and nodded in affirmation.

"What about the half-empty bottle of wine?"

For a second Molly was confused, "What about it?"

Sherlock barely refrained from rolling his eyes, "Were there fingerprints on it?"

"No."

"None?"

"None, whatsoever."

A sly smile formed on the detective's lips. "Interesting."

The pathologist regarded him with interest. "Why is that interesting? I would say it is rather sad for us."

Sherlock explained, "It is unusual that there are no fingerprints at all; usually at least Tom's should have been on the bottle. But no fingerprints on it leads to the conclusion that someone wiped the bottle, and I find it highly doubtful that Tom would wipe a wine bottle clean off his own fingerprints, especially in the state of intoxication he was in. Subsequently it had been done by the killer who was getting rid of evidence."

The detective's eyes had that certain glint which Molly still could not decide if she found it exciting of disturbing.

Before Molly had time to decide on an emotion, Sherlock came up with another question, "What about that animal's hair?"

It took the pathologist a moment to come up with an answer, "Sorry, there was no time yet."

"I'll do it then," Sherlock stated and looked like he was about to make the analysis right now.

Molly held up a hand. "What? No! I will do it, but you'll have to be a bit patient."

Sherlock regarded her and was about to contradict her, when he suddenly realised that he did not want to start another argument with her. What had John told him? He was supposed to show empathy, to be nice to her...

Molly was prepared for another fight, when Sherlock's answer took her by surprise, "Alright. Let me know as soon as you have the results."

Molly eyed him suspiciously, for she was not sure if this was some kind of manipulation. But she could not detect any sign of deceit, so she only said, "Sure, I will."

So they stood there for an awkward moment. Molly was wondering what was keeping him here and Sherlock was trying to come up with something... he did not really know what.

"Maybe your choice in a fiancé was not so bad after all, at least there would not have been a need to change your initials." The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he had had a chance to stop them.

Molly only stared at him befuddled, clearly not knowing what this was all about.

While slapping himself mentally, Sherlock tried to clarify, "Molly Hooper and Molly Hopkins... same initials."

The woman in question blinked a few time, opened her mouth, but closed it again for lack of something to say.

Sherlock had to admit that this had probably not been what John had meant when he had told him to be nice. So he went back into his comfort zone and talked about something he felt comfortable with - work.

"This Theresa Wright, she does not fit in. There is something about her... We need to take a closer look."

Molly could hardly follow Sherlock's sudden change of topic – from her initials to Theresa.

"We?"she asked feeling totally stupid.

To her astonishment Sherlock did not give her a look or roll his eyes, but answered in a neutral voice, "Yes. I need to gather some more information and I think a stakeout is in order. Presumably tomorrow night. I will text you the details."

Molly's mind raced while the consulting detective passed her to exit the morgue. She could only follow him with his eyes, as he stopped just as he was about to push the doors open and turned around once more.

His face showed something akin to kindness, and for some reason it made Molly's breath hitch.

The next words felt awkward on Sherlock's tongue, "John said you had a good influence on me."

And although Molly's look was one of utter confusion, Sherlock noticed the faint blush traverse her features, and it felt as if its warmth somehow crept into his chest. Finally he had managed to say the right thing to Molly Hooper. Obviously.