Author's note: Another chapter! I'm trying to get as many down as I can before going camping on Monday – no internet for a week, unless I come across a random wi-fi hotspot. Thanks for keeping on reading everyone. All the follows and reviews are really appreciated.

Disclaimer: I did not invent any of these people. I'm just playing with them for a little while.

CHAPTER FOUR

"The who?"

"Really, Lestrade? I assume you can read? Very well… Anatole Huret, dubbed by the French press as 'l'assassin de boulevard', has been decimating various teams within continental Europe's power structures. He seems to blend in seamlessly in crowded areas, working from a centralised location for a few weeks before fading out of the picture again. Uses a variety of methods, all very difficult to detect. But apparently strangely principled, I must admit, a rare novelty in the criminal classes: he always admits culpability at some point, to prevent false prosecutions, and he freely admits that these are political killings. To catch him, apparently, is to try and catch smoke with a net. I'd say this is who we are looking for…"

"Oh, its we now, is it?"

"Well I assumed you would want to at least try and help me? For starters, someone needs to go and talk to the French, find out which of them is suddenly missing three agents, and John has insisted on taking this ridiculous holiday. Although I told him that he and Mary would be able to carry on having sufficient coitus in England while still assisting m-"

"Right. Right, French people. I'm on that then. You two, carry on with… sciency stuff, and I'll be in touch."

Looking bemusedly at the door, still slightly swinging in the wake of the fleeing detective, Sherlock gave his head a slight shake to clear his confusion. "What happened there?"

"You made him uncomfortable, Sherlock. You can't just talk about sex in mixed company, some people don't like that."

"But you did."

"What! When?"

"Before the wedding." At her continued look of blank incomprehension, he pressed on. "You must remember. We were having that afternoon of calculations in the lab, for the stag do, and you told me all about the volume of intercourse that you and mea- … Tom were having."

"Oh. Well, me, jokes, you know how it goes. But how did that make you feel, then?

Hmm. Was storing calculation for biochemical data after integration with practical knowledge (potential use for casework), when new data… conscious brain activity ceased for approximately 2.5 seconds, followed by a rapid increase in the rate of deductions (confusion?). Then addition to data stored about the fiancé (negative – potential risk to quality of data from Molly – to monitor). Series of mental images – long fingers entangling in long, brown, unbound hair; the arch of a back (minimal clothing); the slow close and flutter of a pair of brown eyes. Associated rise in body temperature and elevated pulse rate. Perceived danger? Wrong. Illness? Wrong. Attract-

"Yes, fine. Point proven. I suggest that we both totally refrain from doing it in future then. Agreed? Good. Now how do we go about gathering the evidence to prove this theory of ours to a court then? A pity there is no test for the different brands of insulin."

"Erm…" At Sherlock's appraising glance, Molly shifted her feet awkwardly. "Well, that may not strictly be true…"

"Read something interesting recently, Molly? Not like you not to share."

"Oh, it's not something I read. I may have, well, sort of… invented one."

"Invented one? That works?"

"Yes, of course it works. Thanks for the vote of confidence there. Well… it doesn't give a totally definitive answer, but it can eliminate 50% of the current brands either way, and place the balance of probability on one of the four main brands used in Europe."

"Well why on Earth haven't you published then? Explain."

"Well, I needed it for an internal autopsy, potential medical negligence. One of the student nurses had potentially administered a different brand of insulin, containing a known allergen for the individual. And I was able to prove that she hadn't. Saved her career." Molly frowned at Sherlock's non-reaction to one of the most satisfying moments of her career, before continuing. "But then I had a really full list over the next few days, nearly managed to carve out a working lunch to pull it into some semblance of order to pitch for the study time, but… well, there was a case. I think John called it 'The Blind… something. With the foot tattoos. And I just never got round to writing it up."

.

Invented a test to fill a major gap in Forensic pathology – further proof of superior intellect and lateral problem solving skills (added to: Molly). Lack of publishing is concerning though, considering duty to advance field. Modesty? Wrong. Molly published nine articles, all in reputable journals, between 2003 and 2010. Understaffing? Wrong. Bart's maintains high levels of teaching time at Imperial and currently has 15 students working in the pathology department. Involvement with my cases? Ridiculous.

.

At the sudden twitch of his fingers to the left, Molly started collecting muscle biopsy samples from the latest addition to her list. Mind palace sessions in the lab could go on for minutes at a time, and there was no point standing around pointlessly waiting for him to re-join the conversation. And despite what some people might think of her, there was a lot more to Molly Jane Hooper than pointless waiting around for Sherlock Holmes…

.

Although… longer lists than all her colleagues, mostly at my insistence in working with the best pathologist available to me. 70% probability of her accepting unpaid overtime during an active case, application of complements no longer needed. 'Whatever you need'. Possible. Reason? Interesting cases? Well obviously; usually brought in on cases in the 7-10 range. But she has stayed to assist on those in the 3-4 range, and for that (godawful) 2. Outside of the bounds of friendship, unless at a superior level (see: John).

.

"Molly. Am I… your best friend?"

"What?" I need to get on with this, before the samples start to degrade…"

"As you pointed out earlier, you are certainly capable of multi-tasking without a decrease in the application of your pathology skills. So… am I?"

Scrutinising him for any signs of scorn or derision, Molly contemplated her answer. Seeing nothing but open curiosity (and perhaps… was that a air of vulnerability buried in his eyes, to go with the slightly plaintive note he hit on the repetition of his question?), Molly felt the deep blue hazy cloud that had been hovering over her for the past week start to clear, just slightly. "No, Sherlock, you're not my best friend. My best friends are called Meena and Lucy – we all lived together at uni. Paeds and surgery, if you're interested. But you, you're my… well… I mean, we are really good friends, really. You're just… something else to me. Now, what you want to do with these samples is…"

In a matter of minutes, the two of them had their heads bent together over the workbench, long honeyed strands mingling with the tumbled black curls occasionally, as she leaned over the table to correct his technique. When she was satisfied that he could perform what he was insisting on referring to as the 'Hooper protocol' to her satisfaction, the two of them worked in parallel. Processing the samples in silence, their minds free to reflect on Molly's earlier speech.

Status: something else. Different from a good friend, or she wouldn't have bothered to clarify. Are there more subclasses of acquaintance than previously noted? Intolerable – bearable – colleague – client – friend – best friend – something else? Note: ask John. Unable to solve crimes in the field with me, due to the presence of the fiancé (already ascertained post-return)…

"How… quaint. It's almost like couples chemistry." Lost in their respective thoughts, neither had noticed the sweep of the door or slight tread of footsteps that signalled a third person in the lab, tilting his head to regard the pair like some exotic specimen.

"What is it? I'm busy."

"I can see that. Do you need to be standing quite that close to Miss Hooper to perform your reactions satisfactorily, or are you just craving the companionship after only, lets see, four days alone?"

"Doctor Hooper has been instructing me in the new protocol she has devised, but anything more than that is purely in your sordid imagination. She is, you will remember, affianced."

"Not any more, Sherlock. Do pay attention."

Turning to regard the small woman at his side, suddenly ashen faced and withdrawn down into herself smaller than he had ever seen her (even that Christmas – no, DELETE IT), he was suddenly filled with a towering rage.

"MYCROFT!"