Three Months Later

For once it wasn't gunshots or the obnoxious playing of a violin that woke John at five in the morning. It was the landline phone ringing, held about thirty centimetres from his head. Sherlock watched blankly as his friend groaned and flailed his arms in misery, tossing the blanket over himself further in the process.

"John. Answer the phone."

"Piss off Sherlock I'm asleep."

The phone continued its shrill assault, and the detective huffed out his irritation.

"But you're obviously awake. You just answered me in a perfectly awake manner. The phone, John!"

The blankets were ripped away and the doctor snatched the device from his friend to stop the horrific noise.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment before the timid voice of Molly Hooper stuttered in shock.

"I'm sorry, should I just call back later?"

John's head sank further into his pillows. "No, sorry, Sherlock's just being a prick."

A grunt of indignation was heard from above.

"Oh. Well, could you ask him to come over to Bart's? There's a body here that he might want to see, you know, if he needs some parts..."

"Molly Hooper, I cannot believe you are willingly assisting this menace in ruining my kitchen."

Sherlock mouthed an annoyed my kitchen? and crossed his arms, staring maliciously at John.

"Heh, um, he threatened that if I didn't give him parts he'd steal my cat, so..."

John held the phone away from his ear to glare at his flatmate without interruption. "Seriously?"

Sherlock shrugged at him.

oOoOoOoOo

"Is that... God, Sherlock it's-"

"I know. Your notes, if you would, Molly."

Glancing between both men, the pathologist handed Sherlock her clipboard. His eyes skimmed her writing before he thrust it into John's hands to double check the medical side of things. He gripped the sides of the slab and leered at the body before him. His expression was static, but John saw the subtle signs of distress- whitening knuckles from such a strong grip on the table, left foot tapping against the white tiles, and his tightened posture.

John thumbed across the notes and took in every word with hardly suppressed disappointment. "She was discharged from rehab early. The hell? Does Lestrade know about this?"

"He texted me this morning to tell me a woman was shot in the head and he might need me to come in. Then he texted again saying they had everything under control. I didn't bother inquiring further, I was in the middle of sorting out hair samples. I assume he was talking about this."

The doctor rubbed at his eyes before searching his pocket for his mobile.

"I'm ringing the centre. There's something deeper than a simple shooting going on here, I can feel it."

"Hmm."

Before dialling the number, John looked up at his friend expectantly.

"Nothing?"

"Sorry?"

"No deductions to share before I ring these people up? I don't want to waste credit."

Sherlock stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and he rolled on the balls of his feet.

"She was after going shopping. She had a friend coming over. She hadn't touched any kind of drug apart from painkillers in the last week or so."

Molly leaned closer in fascination but wasn't graced with any further induction.

"That's it. All I can get. Which answers another question- yes, you should ring the rehab centre, John. This wasn't a mindless killing. Somebody knew I would get involved and cleaned up, but they must have been clever enough to know what details were important... Excellent..."

"Excellent?" John scoffed in disgust. "It's Isobel, Sherlock. How is her death excellent?"

The detective's face flashed with guilt for a split second before regaining its neutrality. He made a show of observing Isobel's fingernails closely and opened his mouth to retort, but shut it tight after some consideration. John shook his head and sucked in a deep breath.

"Just... Please shut up while I talk to the receptionist. Actually, never mind, I'll just go outside." He tossed his phone between his hands and left without a look at the others.

Molly watched his retreating back until the door swung closed after him. Cautiously her attention returned to Sherlock, who was prodding the dead woman's collarbone.

"Who is she to you? You and John both seem pretty... Tense."

It took a whole forty seconds for the detective to answer in an uninterested voice.

"She stayed in Baker Street with us for a couple of days a few months ago, before we brought her to get help. I don't understand why John is upset; he didn't like her all that much."

"Did you?"

Sherlock gave her a shadowed look.

"No."

"But...?"

The detective made a show of unclenching Isobel's jaws and didn't answer straight away. Molly shuffled on the spot, unsure of whether or not she was prying into dangerous territory.

Ah screw this. I deserve some level of trust at this stage!

"Look, you don't have to tell me, but I'd appreciate some-"

"She was an addict, I sympathised. End of story."

"But it isn't, is it?" Molly rounded on him. "I'm not stupid, Sherlock. This act you're giving off, caring about people, I know it's for his benefit." She waved a hand at the door. "I can see it in your face."

Sherlock had frozen in place; his brain rattling with the pressure of admittance or denial of everything Molly said. Damn sentiment is always so obvious to everyone else! It's an absolute nuisance.

"Molly, I don't think-"

The door swung open dramatically to a flustered John Watson.

"They discharged her on the twenty fifth. Said a Simon Miller came and signed her out, and they actually let him. She was showing good progress or some rubbish. She was barely in there two months!"

Sherlock flashed a warning eye at Molly before sweeping out of the morgue, leaving his friend to give a rushed apology and a thank you. The pathologist hardly suppressed a worried giggle as the door shut behind them.

I really need to start uploading faster. Sorry.

This chapter was Beta'd by FlameTempest (I am unsure of whether or not that is her username but it's apparently something along those lines.)

Yeah, I lied about going back to the namesake. Next chapter...Hopefully. Oh hey, did you notice how I killed off my own character? I don't like having OCs. And oh, is that a major plot I see in the distance? IT'S COMING UP FAST OH SHI-