Author's Note: Hello friends! Shorter one today. But I'm working on the story everyday!

St. Bartholomew's morgue was so white it was blinding. Sam had to squint as she struggled to keep up with Sherlock's wide stride. Every three steps she took was one of his. Her head snapped in all directions, she'd been to St. Bart's before but never to the morgue, actually she'd never been to a morgue at all. No one in her family had been close enough or died in such a way that required it. Then again, how many people actually need to go to a morgue?

They turned a corner and entered a room covered in shining stainless steel, Sam thought she could she her reflection in every surrounding surface. They were greeted by a mousy young woman about Sam's height in a jumper and lab coat, her dirty blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Hi Sherlock," she said nervously, then saw Sam and became more nervous, "who's this?"

Sam gave her a friendly smile, she'd learned from past experience to always let the stranger know you're friendly, more of chance they'll be friendly back.

"Molly, this is Samantha, my new...blogger."

"Blogger? I thought Dr. Watson was-"

"Married life I'm afraid has swallowed dear John up into the void he and now he has other responsibilities. Samantha writes for a living, this is just mere practice."

Sam stood floored. Blogger? It was true, when she'd read the blog there hadn't been a new entry since the one titled "I'm Deleting This" and that was three years ago. But this had never come in discussion.

She saw that Molly was staring at her, she quickly pulled out her tiny notepad she kept on her and scribbled.

Call me Sam, nice to meet you Molly.

Molly read the scrap of paper and looked at Sherlock who had already taken the sheet off the corpse on the table in front of them and was examining it with a small magnifier. He looked up and said,

"Oh she's a mute by the way."

Sam felt heat rise to her cheeks. She shrugged at Molly with a smile as if to say "What can you do?"

Sam saw her relax and she immediately calmed too. They both watched Sherlock hover around the body like a mad man, measuring and picking, and touching. Molly tried to make conversation.

"So, where did you meet Sherlock?"

Dr. Watson found me, he was looking for a new flat mate for him, and I needed to get out of my sister and her fiance's hair so I applied.

Molly waited patiently for Sam to stop writing and then read what she had written.

"Is he as much of a nightmare as Dr. Watson said he was?"

She didn't write anything, she looked at Sherlock, who was examining the dead man's toes, and gave an amused smile. She shook her head, he wasn't that bad.

Molly was studying her carefully, Sam could feel it so she turned back to her and tried to make conversation of her own.

Are you two friends or...

Molly shook her head and made her voice low, so she wouldn't be heard.

"No, I mean, we're just friends but..."

Sam scribbled quickly.

But you wish you were?

Molly smiled brightly, "Yes, but I'm trying to get over it, I know he won't ever go for...anyone. Anyone like me at least. I'm not interesting enough for him."

Sam smiled, Molly was a wonderful girl, she couldn't imagine anyone saying no to her.

"You might be though."

Sam's head snapped back to her, what?

But Molly couldn't continue she was interrupted by Sherlock,

"Are you two going to sit there trading secrets like a couple of school children or are you going to take notes?"

Sam waited until he'd turned his back again then gave a melodramatic salute, making Molly giggle, which made Sherlock turn again so Sam put on a poker face, got up and walked over next to him.

"Whoever shot the gun that caused these bullet wounds was a terrible shot."

She scribbled, How do you figure that?

"There's a bullet wound to the chest, the ankle, and the arm. The oldest wound is the one in the arm. And the newest one is in the chest. All shot by the same gun, it took this man three tries to kill his victim. One shot to the arm, panicking over his miss, he accidentally shot the victim in the ankle, then while the victim tried to tend to his new ankle wound the killer managed to hit him in the chest. Officially killing him."

Sherlock looked back at her seeming to expect a huge reaction. Instead a note was pressed into his palm.

Nice.