And here we go again... I think I will do a three chapter update this time, instead of the usual two. How does that sound? Sounds like a great idea to me. And this one is longer, too. Woohoo! Here is where stuff starts going kinda crazy, so bear with me. As always, I would love it if you could shoot me a review.

Disclaimed.

Chapter 17

It had been three days since a drunken Sherlock had left her flat, and Molly was still having trouble believing that it had actually happened. But she couldn't have imagined it. There were the cans in her recycle bin, the food left over in her fridge, the film sitting on top of her television.

But the biggest change was that the box was gone from the top of her fridge. Her kitchen was noticeably quieter without the ticking pocket watch, a silence that had become disturbing quite quickly. After having sat through only two meals in the newfound silence, Molly had caved, buying the first tacky clock she had come across. It was much louder than the watch had been, but for some reason it still couldn't quite fill the void.

Molly shook her head. She needed to get out more often. Staring at dead bodies and mind numbing paperwork all day gave her far too much time to think.

She started from her thoughts and turned back to her paperwork, jumping as the man himself strode into the morgue. He was followed closely by John and Greg Lestrade.

The case, then. She went over to one of the cupboards and pulled her out, a 32 year old female who had been found covered by a tiny sheet and nothing else.

"Cause of death, asphyxiation, approximately 48 hours ago. Found naked with the same symbol burned into her neck as the victim last week in the lake." She moved the woman's long brown hair, revealing the character. Someone was signing their work, making sure to get the credit. It made her sick to see the enjoyment that someone had obviously taken from making the mark.

Sherlock, however, had no such aversion. He smiled almost gleefully as he inspected the handiwork, a triangle stacked on top of a cross. The murderer had slipped up now in continuing the pattern, and it would cost him dearly.

Each of the victims so far, all petite younger women who lived alone, had been killed in a different manner, but the mark was the same.

One body had been slashed to pieces. One had been forced to ingest caustic agents that had burned her from the inside out. The next had been drowned, her body left in the lake for a week before coming their attention. And now a suffocation. All different, but with the same pattern. Each had been found completely naked, and with the mark burned somewhere onto her skin.

"Ah, brilliant, an unharmed victim. He's finally slipped, killing her like this. The evidence was destroyed in all the others, but not her. Oh this is good. This is very good. Molly…" He stopped when he saw the look of unabashed horror on her face, followed quickly by anger.

He backed away quickly, running into one of the tables, but he couldn't escape her shouting.

"Sherlock Holmes you insensitive GIT! 4 women have been murdered, and one of them was pregnant with twins, not that she ever lived long enough to tell anyone. No, the only person on earth who knows is me, the woman who did her autopsy last week. That's 6 lives, 6 futures, ripped out of the world by a psychopath, and you are excited? You have no idea who these women were, and you don't even care."

She was positively fuming now, her face bright red, with tears streaming down it, but she kept shouting. She came towards him, gasping for air as she ranted. She had snapped at last, and was screaming at him, but she didn't care. She was finally having her say, and she was far from being finished.

"And that isn't even all. There was a rare sense enhancing drug in this woman's system, and adhesive residue on her mouth. She was violently raped and that mark was burned into her skin while she was still alive, and then strangled to death in drug made her hypersensitive to every touch and all the pain to levels you can't even begin to understand, and the whole time her mouth was taped shut so she couldn't even scream. And here you are, using her death so you can get off on the adrenaline rush of chasing a madman. Don't you dare come into my morgue and treat my patients as pieces in your stupid game, you heartless BASTARD!"

Molly had cornered him now, tears clouding her vision as she screamed at the shocked detective. She pounded her tiny fists against his chest as she ranted, but once the words were finished, she collapsed against him, overcome with exhaustion.

Sherlock looked at the two other men in the room, unsure what to do, and gingerly placed his arms around her. She held him even tighter, making it practically impossible for him to move, her sobs shaking against him.

After several minutes, the pathologist calmed down somewhat. John had disappeared, and when he returned he brought a fresh cup of tea and gently pried her off of Sherlock, who was white with shock and still seemed too stunned to move. She sat down and sipped her tea as the doctor spoke in a soothing voice, calming her even more.

She started to be embarrassed, but decided against it. It wouldn't have changed anything, seeing as the detective wasn't even there anymore.

After being released from her, Sherlock had quickly walked over to the body again and sifted through the personal belongings that had been found in a discarded backpack alongside the victim. Suddenly he disappeared, only stopping to murmur something to Lestrade, who had nodded in response, before he left.

She sighed, and decided that the only way she could fix this train wreck was to go home and unwind with a bottle of wine and a hot bath. She could deal with the already tangible consequences of their latest interaction later.

John seemed to approve of this, and escorted her out to a waiting cab, stopping only to explain to her boss that Molly had taken ill and would be taking the rest of the day off. She could hardly stay awake the entire way home, exhausted as she was from so many emotions.

She shivered as she walked in the door after finally arriving at her flat. The room was much colder than it usually was this time of day, but maybe she had left the window open. Yes, that was it. She remembered having burnt her supper the night before and opening the window in the front room. It was a bit wider than she remembered though…

She was distracted by the constant, quiet buzzing in the room. After a bit of investigation, Molly discovered the source. Apparently, the cable had been turned off, but the actual television itself hadn't. That was strange but she shook it off. Toby did have a habit of playing with the remote control, after all. She walked into the kitchen, Toby flitting in between her legs, to get that well earned wine.

I kinda like angry Molly, although I'm not quite sure she's in character or not. Let me know what you think!