Author's note:

Hello everyone.

100 REVIEWS! THANK YOU!

As renaissancebooklover108 posted the 100th review, she will get a one-shot with the prompt of her choice, if she wants it.

I have other such rewards planned for the future, because I am like that.

In other news, as someone asked: yes, I watched "the empty Hearse". OMG.

I am grateful I never specified the time in which these events take place. Hopefully they will not clash with the series as it unfolds, or I will have to write AU in the description. We'll see.

As for today's chapter: simple blood tests can be done in a few hours, but DNA tests take longer. If things are sped up because it is a very important case, they can be done in 3 days.

Warm thanks to:

Renaissancebooklover108, roisinkk, NicoleJacobs, Rocking the Redhead, Arcoiris, Mrspencil and SammyKatz for their reviews!

On to the story...

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Sherlock walked out of the lab to see John and Ascanio in lively conversation. Apparently, they had both been in Afghanistan and were sharing memories. For the first time since they met, Ascanio was smiling.

John had originally stayed behind to keep an eye on the Italian, but seemed relaxed nonetheless.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment. His friend was so good at making others smile, talking to them. Even though, deep down, John wasn't quite as normal as everybody else…He understood people. Sherlock couldn't.

Ascanio's phone beeped and the Italian officer's customary frown returned as he answered. "Pronto? Si? E chi l'ha deciso? E che gliene frega a loro, scusa? Ma che ci lasciassero fare il nostro lavoro! Va beh. Capisco, però…Ok, dai…"

Ascanio Rigamonti sounded ever more agitated and annoyed as he spoke, gesticulating animatedly as Italians tend to do. Finally he hung up, shaking his head.

"Teste di cazzo." He swore through gritted teeth. "They should shut up and let us do our job…"

"What happened?" John cocked his head in commiseration.

"New orders." He growled. "Some high-raking government pig has decided that you guys don't need a scorta." Ascanio shook his head. John's eyes flew to the consulting detective, who nodded while the officer continued to speak. "I have orders to return to the consulate to help protect the Ambassador. Apparently someone important doesn't think we have enough resources to offer you protection, too." His frown deepened as his dark eyes turned to the lab door. "Bastardi." He muttered.

"Very well, Ascanio. Do you have to leave straight away?" Sherlock took off his coat and hung it on a hook by the door.

The man shook his head. "I can wait a few minutes. Half an hour, even. Since nobody comes to replace me, I say it was my coffee break." He shrugged, and Sherlock smiled.

Giolitti, a great leader of the newborn Italian state, once said: "To govern Italians isn't difficult, it's useless." Considering that, during the Second World War, Mussolini had ordered there to be no more coffee breaks during office hours, but everybody continued to have their pausa caffé, including the workers in the dictator's own offices, one can say Giolitti was right: never try to make an Italian do what he doesn't want to.

"Ascanio." Sherlock turned to the officer. "Has the ambassador been informed?" John smiled a flash of understanding in his eyes.

"I will ensure he is, right away." Agente scelto Rigamonti said, dialing the phone again.

Sherlock took a deep breath, then opened the lab door and walked in.

Molly had tied her hair up in a bun, held in place by a pencil. She turned and took a step back when she saw him.

"I've finished for now, but the results won't be ready until…"

The consulting detective strode purposefully towards her, then held his palms together.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, but I have to do this." He apologized earnestly.

She blinked. "What… Sherlock!" She cried as one arm pulled her to him, his hand on the back of her head, her palms against his chest.

He reached around her and took the pencil away, so her hair fell about her shoulders. He looked at her, just for a moment.

"What…" She tried to ask again. "Ouch!" She cried when he pulled a hair out.

She rubbed her head, confused, while Sherlock held her single hair carefully in a tissue and coloured it black, using a marker.

"Label this as the evidence." He said urgently. "Give a different name to the real tissue sample; hide it among the routine hospital tests. Your life may depend on it."

Molly carefully held the hair in her hand and did as she was told.

After all, she did still trust him.

At least on this.

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Ascanio was still there when Sherlock walked back out. The consulting detective pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Mr. Holmes!" Bonlieu exclaimed. "The final DNA tests are not complete, they will be later today, I believe."

"I understand." Sherlock nodded. "That is not why I have called. I wanted to know if you have any of the tissue samples left."

Silence.

"Well, no, I'm sorry…There was hardly enough for the tests…" Bonlieu sounded concerned. "Why?"

"Don't worry." Sherlock said. "I still have a hair."

"What?"

"I found a hair on Paten's coat. I decided to have it tested here and not in France."

"Why on Earth not?" Bonlieu's concern held a hint of indignation.

"I suspect someone in the hospital was working with the killer, maybe the very guards, like you said, Bonlieu." Sherlock replied. "So I decided to be on the safe side and have the two samples tested for DNA in different hospitals."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bonlieu asked.

"I didn't want anyone to overhear us and try to destroy the evidence."

"I understand." The Frenchman seemed calmer. " So the results will be ready in a few days, then we shall compare them, right?"

"Yes." Sherlock said. "In the meantime, keep an eye open for any women with long hair."

"Long hair? How long?"

"A little over shoulder length." Sherlock mused. "She has brown hair but it's dyed black."

"Long, black hair, a dye job. I will pass the information to my men."

"Be cautions, this might not be our killer; however she was in contact with doctor Paten on the day of his death, so she might know something."

"Very well. Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Bonlieu hung up, and Sherlock put the phone in his pocket.

Suddenly they heard footsteps and loud voices echo down the corridor.