Hello all, sorry for the wait, I'm currently under a pile of work and it takes a long time to write. Normally I try to write a little ahead but now I don't really have time so I'll publish anyway. We're back to the case (this and next chapter will wrap it up). In this chapter, Donovan feature prominently, I hope you'll like her and she's not too OOC.

Thanks a lot to my great beta Blood-sucker 1428.

Of course, I don't own any of this.

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As Sherlock was sitting in a chair in Lestrade's office reviewing the different suspects in his head, the DI was currently chewing off one of his officers that had let slip to the press that teenagers were being interrogated by the police on the gruesome murders of the Lover serial killer. At some point, the noise was such that Sherlock was taken out of his mind palace:

"And you glib to pretty girls about the job so as to get your little piece of fun? That's your officer of the law integrity?" Lestrade was shouting at a gangly man in front of him.

The man was looking at the floor and had turned red in embarrassment at the fact that his colleagues were probably hearing the whole thing. Otherwise, he didn't seem very apologetic to Sherlock.

"Actually, it is a piece of fun and some very pretty 50£ bills." Sherlock said.

When both police officers turn to him, he shrugged and opened the mouth to explain how he deduced it:

"Actually, I don't want to hear it." Said the silver-haired man. He then turned to his team member and ordered "You! You'll be on administrative leave as of now. Go to HR and see with them that I don't see you within a week. Without pay, of course"

The policeman then scurried out of Lestrade's office under the heavy glares of the entire team and Sherlock couldn't help but admire his friend's skill at handling the man. It seemed that despite his shortcomings in terms of actually really observing a crime scene, the man had managed to lead a tight-knit team that worked well together and showed both loyalty and integrity on the job. However, his mind soon turned toward the subject at hand. The teenagers. Yes, one of them was their murderer, he was sure of it. Yet, it seemed that each and every one of them had some alibi for the time of the murders, which most conveniently took place at some time or another during a party between some or all of the group. And it would take time to check all of them before the end of their time in custody. And after that, the killer would only have more time to build up his story and persuade the others that he'd been with them at the crucial moment and it would be impossible to get to the truth. No, they needed something to quick-start the investigation and prevent their little eel from getting away with it. Some part of him admired the cleverness of the scheme, its simplicity the crux of it. While at first he had loved serial killers he'd found after some time that they weren't very smart and the only thing driving them was their unnatural fetishes. After a few cases, they all felt the same for him, eventually. Except the cabbie, of course, and now, this one. Right now, his mind was soaring, trying to find a way to confound the killer. Data, he needed more data.

Lestrade looked at him, cleared his throat and said: "Want to have a look at the boys again, Sherlock?"

Sherlock realised that he was standing up pacing. He must have said the last words aloud given the strange look that Lestrade was giving him:

"No, Gavin, I don't have the time for playing around." He said as he searched for a solution in his mind. However, lately, he'd been fighting against some unresolved feelings and it clouded his mind, preventing him from keeping everything ordered neatly in his brain.

At the officer's look, he explained:

"They all have the same story and our boy is too clever not too know exactly how to blend in the herd. Most of all, he seems to have been able to gather a group of friends while still clearly a psychopath. That means he knows how to fake emotions well enough so that nosy and obsessed by the others' opinion teenagers did not see that they harboured a mad man in their midst. No, their interviews will reveal nothing at all. We need hard evidence." The words were pouring out of Sherlock's mouth with a frenzy.

A knock sounded on the door and as the two men turned, Donovan entered the room.

"Sir, the press is here and they want to know more. They can't stop going on and on about the Lover thing." Said Donovan begrudgingly.

"How do they even get those kind of names? It's utterly ridiculous." Spat Lestrade, visibly not pleased at all at having to go and hold a press conference.

"Don't know, just sprung on the Internet. Some bad joke at him being quite the lover, the way he burned through hearts." She shrugged and at Lestrade's questioning look, she replied "I'm the one leading the team that is going through the Internet chats about the case, remember? So, that we can trace anyone who's gloating about being the killer?"

Sherlock had to admit that this was quite a good idea or would have been if the murderer was just another serial killer with a thirst for media attention. As the aggravated DI sighed and made his way to the conference room, Sherlock remained in the office and paced around. Sally sat on the edge of the desk, looked at him and finally seemed to remember something:

"Molly told me to give you this." She clipped, and as the detective met her eyes, he saw a very disapproving look in hers. Oh, Molly must have told her, he thought, his stomach churning at the idea.

Nonetheless, Sherlock took the file he was handed. He opened it and started to peruse the content and had to stifle an annoyed groan at the poor attempt at style and flourish. He looked at the signature.

"It's Robertson who's made the analysis, you know. You might as well get used to it." Sally cut in.

"Why should I get used to it? Robertson is quite afraid of me and happy to stay out of my way and Molly is the best. I don't see any reason why I'd stop working with her." He said, trying to sound confident and bored by her insinuations but he could feel something akin to acid build in his stomach.

"Well, she might consider a career change." Said pointedly Sally. Sherlock had to stop himself from freezing and kept his eyes firmly on the file. As ever, Donovan's remarks cut deep into him. This time it was worse because she didn't call him a freak or insult him. She just put his awful words back in his face. "Especially, if it comes in the form of an offer from a hotshot American doctor." She kept on, twisting the blade in. At that Sherlock's eyes rose from the files and zeroed on Sally.

"What did you say?" he asked softly. Sally felt the air freeze in her lungs. So, this was what being the recipient of Sherlock's whole attention. It wasn't a good feeling. His eyes were razor sharp on her and she could almost feel his stare dissecting everything that was going on in her head. She took a deep breath and went on.

"The doctor. I know he wants her to come and work with him." She said, trying to keep her voice from trembling by stating her answer in clipped, brief sentences.

"She's a pathologist. His patients are alive, not dead. He doesn't need her." Said Sherlock, trying to get at this rationally. And yet, he remembered the infuriating way the man had said 'my pathologist', the way he'd asked Molly for diagnosis and he himself, trying to replicate a false positive. He looked at Sally, trying to deduce whether this was just another rumour or bad extrapolation or if there was some truth attached to it.

Sally shrugged, trying to hide her discomfort. "I heard him, he was discussing it on the phone with his boss back in America." She curled her nose in distaste as she remembered the conversation.

"What did he say?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper, a sense of dread coursing in his veins the like he hadn't felt since Magnussen's laugh at Appledore.

"He said 'You test-drive a car before you buy it, you have sex with a girl before you marry her. I can't hire Molly based on you wanting someone else in the team. I need more time. Not sure yet about her diagnosing skills. Though, I do like having sex with her.'" Once again, she didn't seem very pleased by the G.P.'s words.

"Hardly a frank and shining endorsement." Said Sherlock, pretty shaken even if he was doing his best not to show it.

"No, you don't understand. It's not just his words. It's what he did at the end of the call. He smiled. As if he had one up on his boss. I know those smiles, it means that he had already made a decision but he was enjoying jerking his boss' chain. And from what Molly told me, he has included her more and more in his job. He's going to offer her to come with him. I'm sure of it." She said the last words with a finality that could only been brought by genuine belief in one's words.

And then, as Sherlock entire being froze in a posture that she knew John called the buffering pose, Sally felt her heart ache for the detective for the first time in all the years she'd known him. Moreover, since she saw something akin to anguish delicately etch itself on the features of the arrogant man. Sherlock was processing what the departure of Molly Hooper meant, and the effect of it was devastating. Then, after a few more seconds during which Sally hovered not knowing whether to comfort him or not, Sherlock just shook off the entire thing. He then went back to the file as if nothing had happened. Yet, Sally, could see a slight tremor in his right little finger. She didn't say anything, knowing that at the moment, Sherlock Holmes was doing whatever he needed doing to deal with the loss of his maybe-more than a friend. And also for the first time on her life, she decided to give him a helpful hand:

"Anything interesting in the report?" she said, hoping that her voice conveyed a business-as-usual stance.

The detective, who had resumed his pacing suddenly stooped once again and said: "Actually, there is."

He then flew out of the office without sparing even a single look in Donovan's direction. And as she stood up, she muttered to herself "And that's what I get for my generosity. What a git."

As Sherlock furious strides resonated on the floors, heads turned toward him but he paid them no attention at all. He took a turn and then irrupted into the conference room. As soon as Lestrade saw him, he stood up:

"Anything new?" said the DI without noticing the cameras flashing on and on, alternating between the two men.

"You're going to love this." Said Sherlock cheerfully and exited the room.

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If you caught it, the quote from Case is from House MD (a show that I loved and which main character served as a model for Case, even if Case is way younger than House, since he studied at Hopkins with Molly). I just tweaked it a little so I could have it applied to Molly. Hope you like it.