Author's Notes:

This is AU as of Season 3; I do not own or claim any rights to the characters, I simply enjoy borrowing them from their series occasionally.

This was originally published when I had no idea how to work and I wound up uploading an old, outdated version. I recently corrected it and formatted it to better fit the site.

I am afraid I do not have a Beta/editor and if you see any mistakes, please leave a note and I'll change them all while praising your sharp eyes.

"No, please, I really couldn't," Molly choked out, edging away. She looked down, coloring slightly as years of shy insecurities bubbling up threatened to choke the air out of her.

The chill of the morgue had no apparent effect on the statuesque woman before her and as on cue Molly shivered. She wore turtlenecks and cardigans and warm wool trousers, never took of the white coat of her profession and she was always sniffling. This woman had on only a sheath dress and was coolly regarding Molly as if this was her office.

"Ms. Hooper," the black clad figure in front of her purred, literally purred, " I'm afraid that's not an option."

Who actually spoke like that, Molly wondered to herself. The woman quirked an eyebrow at her, almost as if in response to Molly's silent question.

Oddly disquieted, Molly felt her breaths coming in shorter faster spurts. She attempted to find something to do with her hands which she had suddenly become very aware of. She crammed them in the pocket of her lab coat, crinkling the cough drop wrappers discarded there.

"Sorry," she hedged," But I'm afraid I don't understand why you need me-"

The figure in front of her continued on, "It is a black tie affair for the hospital and as you are… associates, shall we say, with Mr. Holmes- you will be attending as the representative of the hospital's morgue."

Molly flexed her fingers, rubbing her fingertips across her knuckles, trying to think of something to say but as usual, anxiety robbed her of her vocabulary and left her a silent, clumsy mess. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the microscope in front of her and drew a deep breath, gathering herself to be firm.

"Actually Dr. Cooper is the head of the department and attends all galas and events as a representative for the morgue," she reached out to center the petri dish on the scope and bent her neck down to examine the dish under the microscope, effectively cutting out the interloper as best she could. Molly could still feel her standing there, watching her, and rambled on, "It's said he's often the life of the party which is awfully funny, you know- considering…"

Molly offered a tentative smile at her joke. The woman in front of her raised her brows at Molly in silent commentary at the failed joke. Ah well, Molly thought, that's what I get for making a morbid joke.

She felt oddly resentful of the stranger- and of him. This was the second beautiful and intimidating woman who had crashed into her work space and made her feel insignificant with hardly a word.

The other one had been dead for god's sake and still had made Molly feel all of a clumsy fifteen. It had taken her forty minutes to clean up post autopsy. She had to conduct a running mantra of "Molly, you idiot" the entire time to prevent herself from crying into the body cavity during autopsy.

"I believe," Molly continued, "that you will find he or one of the board directors will be more than adequate to represent our division." She adjusted the lens and the slide bloomed to life before her in the microscope, bursts of lines and colors where before all had been blurry, disjointed and fuzzy.

After a beat, Molly felt she had been a bit more curt than necessary and she turned back, adding, "Thank you for the invitation but I will not be available to attend."

"Ms. Hooper, you misunderstand. You will not be in attendance at to your own pleasure." Molly glanced up hesitantly, found the woman staring at her, calmly.

She continued, "You have worked here since your graduation and have been regularly written up for various misdemeanors and hospital rule violations. Your last review- did you know that Dr. Cooper and the board had voted on ending your tenure here?"

Molly sat down, hard. The stool screeched a bit at the suddenness but Molly didn't hear it. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears.

Of course she had known she was breaking hospital policy. She knew the second he first had shown up with a scientific question and no name tag. She had known full well she was violating heath codes the time he took his first body part away in a glass container.

But St. Bart's was a teaching hospital, she had rationalized. And Sherlock had been doing such important work….

Lies, of course. She wasn't capable of saying no to him. He had blown in through the door and she had frozen like a deer in the headlights, staring at him. He had cocked his head at her, narrowed those eyes in thought and gave one sharp nod.

"Right," he said. "I'll need a middle age man who died of cardiac arrest, no cancerous tissues or diabetic history."

She had blinked furiously, coloring and her mouth had opened and closed on its own violation but all words had abandoned her in his entrance. She felt the blood coloring in her face and her eyes widened at him as she tried to get control of herself in the face of this…perfect male specimen.

He didn't notice. He was staring around the lab in obvious interest, before strolling over to the nearby microscope table and lifting his trench coat tails, seating himself on it. He started to unwrap his scarf before looking back at over at her and asking, "Well?"

She hadn't gotten his name until the fourth visit. ("Why would you need to know my name to give me the manifest of yesterday's corpses?")

And she didn't realize he was in no way connected to the hospital until the tenth when a furious Dr. Cooper and an older man with silver hair and a younger woman entered asking for the on duty pathologist.

The older detective, DI Greg Lestrade, was surly and rude at first but he softened when he realized she was scared out of her mind. The younger detective seemed bored by the whole proceeding and tapped her foot impatiently for the duration of the meeting. When they left, Dr. Cooper had sent her home and she had been sure she was going to be sacked.

But she had come to work the next day and Sherlock was back at his station, acutely expressing his annoyance at her not having proper tools for exhumation on hand.

She had never asked why he needed exhumation tools and Dr. Cooper had never spoken to her regarding the matter again. She continued to allow Sherlock access to the lab and any specimens he showed interest in.

"Ms. Hooper, my employer was the one who contacted Dr. Cooper and the hospital board and intervened on your behalf. This is not an invitation, suggestion, or reward." Molly's gaze grew fuzzy and she felt her headband pressing against her temples, a headache building.

"Ms. Hooper," the voice deepened from its usual purr to a commanding tone. Molly straightened from her usual slouched position at the microscope to look at the woman in black. Her name had not been given….

Molly was suddenly so very tired of people with commanding presences barging in here and intimating her to the point she didn't even ask for their names… John always made a point to say hello, ask how she was doing, how her mother was getting on-

"Ms. Hooper, you will be performing a duty for the party who is responsible for your continued employment at this particular hospital, the very one who prevented you from being thrown out and discredited for your role in helping an unlicensed "consulting detective" by allowing him access to hospital property and evidence in criminal proceedings."

Molly continued to blankly stare at the visitor. The unbidden thought of "I wonder how old she actually is" floated across her mind before her guest took a sudden step forward and leaned down into Molly's space.

"Do we understand each other, Ms. Hooper?" She asked, but it wasn't really a question.

Molly felt ill.