Chapter One

AN: I love Halloween! So I thought, why not a scary story! I hope you enjoy, please tell me what you think!

Her eyes fluttered open and she was shrouded in darkness. Attempting to get her bearings, she gingerly began to try and move only to find that she could not do so. Her ankles were bound as were her wrists as she was strapped down to a table.

She tried to cry out, but was only able to make muffled noises with the gag in her mouth.

"Oh good, you're a wake." He said from the corner of the room. She heard him come to stand beside her. "It's always better when you're awake. I like to make my molds more life like you know."

Slowly he worked the blind fold from her eyes and she blinked as her eyes absorbed the light painfully. "You have such lovely eyes." He said smiling. "I think I'll have to remove them. They're just too pretty to waste..."

She whimpered through the gag and shook her head no, pleading with the man with her eyes.

"It's so hard to find natural beauty these days don't you think?" he asked her moving away to grab something that was lying close by on the floor. "Everyone is so obsessed with youth and beauty. People undergoing ridiculous surgeries to try and stay looking young and only end up looking like something out of a freak show." He turned back to her holding a bucket. "And why is it that we always tell them how nice they look or that they look twnety years younger which is such absolute bull shit, you know?"

He sat the bucket down on the wooden table beside her head. "Why can't even just one of us be honest and say, hey you look ridiculous? Oh well, I suppose it's the media's fault. That and pop culture. Always telling young impressionable girls how they should and shouldn't look, giving impossible standards for the poor things to live up to. Whatever happened to classic beauty? You know, like Marilyn Monroe and Rita Haywood. Did you know that Marilyn was a size 16?"

He moved away from her again to grab something else from the floor. "You're too thin. But it's not your fault. I'm sure that this is how you think you are supposed to look. But at least you're a natural beauty and that is rare. In fact, that's what made me notice you and what made me chose you. I took one look at you and knew you were special."

He took the putty knife that he had just picked up from the floor and began to mix the substance that was in the bucket. He looked over at her and wiped at the tears that spilled from her eyes. "Now don't you worry. I promise that I'll take good care of you. And I'm a real professional. I'll capture your true beauty as it really is. And you're already so close to perfect, I won't have to do much to fix you."

He pulled the putty knife from the bucket. It was coated with a large glop of plaster. "Now hold still."

Her eyes widened in horror as she watched the putty knife begin to descend towards her face. She began to scream through the gag and struggle violently against her bonds. "Now you stop that." He said with an edge to his voice. "You're going to make me angry and that might cause me to make a mistake."

He tried to place the glop of plaster on her forehead when she bucked against her bonds and knocked the putty knife from his hand. "Not nice!" He screamed at her. "And I thought you were such a nice girl."

He bent down and retrieved the putty knife and laid it on the table. "I can see that I was very wrong about you. Your beauty is deceitful too, just like all of the others. Now I'm not going to take as much care with you because you don't deserve it. "

He stomped away but returned in less than a minute. He grabbed her head holding it still while he worked a leather belt through a slit on the right side of the table. Once pushing it through, he laid the belt across her forehead and worked it through the second slit on the left side of the table. He pulled the belt tight and she could not longer move her head.

She started sobbing and pleading through the gag. "Oh no, it's too late for that missy. You showed me your true colors and I'll have to discipline you." He chastised softly.

He scooped up another glop of plaster onto the putty knife and started spreading it over her forehead. She screamed when she felt the heavy thick substance on her skin. He scooped another glop onto the knife and spread it down the side of her face and over her chin.

"You don't deserve it, but I'm going to go ahead and make the mold of your face. You are so pretty." He said humming pleasantly as he covered more of her face. "Oh! I almost forgot your lovely eyes. I can't waste those." He laid the putty knife down and turned to his left picking up something from a small work bench. When he turned back to face her, she began to beg and plead. In his hand he held a surgeon's knife.

He grabbed her chin and smiled at her. "Now hold still." She screamed loudly through the gag as the surgeon's knife slowly descended towards her left eye.

Lestrade looked down at the body of the dead girl and sighed. This never got easier, no matter how many years that he had been doing this. And it didn't help that this was the third dead girl found over the last three months. One a month so far and for the most part it was always the same with the exception of how the girl was actually killed. She was always laid out, dressed and posed with such care. Her skin was always alabaster white as if some skin bleaching agent had been used and her makeup was always fresh and lovely. One eye was also always removed before death. But perhaps the most interesting thing about the corpses was that the freshly manicured hands were always folded over her chest and there was always a paper doll in her hands.

"Lestrade." John Watson called as he made his way over to where Lestrade stood and where the body laid. Sherlock followed closely behind with his eyes already sparkling with excitement. Lestrade could actually see the wheels turning in Sherlock's mind and he didn't know whether he was glad that Sherlock found such delight in a case like or if it made him sick.

But if Sherlock was delighted, it meant that the world's only consulting detective, the absolutely brilliant Sherlock Holmes was devoted to solving this case. It would mean that hopefully sooner rather than later, a very evil and sadistic killer would be off the London streets. So Greg Lestrade felt it more prudent to ignore his discomfort at the fact that Sherlock looked like a little boy opening his Christmas presents as he knelt down beside the girl's body.

Sherlock had been looking over the body for less than a minute when he drew himself back slightly and peered into her staring, shockingly white dead face.

"What is that" Sherlock asked in a detached voice.

"A crystallized tear." Lestrade snapped unable to keep the irritation from his voice at the lack of emotion from Sherlock.

"Oh Jesus." John mumbled softly. "Poor girl."

"Yes poor girl, but there's not much we can do about that now is there?" Sherlock said as he began looking over her body again. "Except find her killer and give her parents some peace."

Sherlock stopped again after a few moments and looked up. "Where is Anderson?"

"Vacation." Lestrade said. "Molly is on her way."

Sherlock's face contorted. "Molly? Why on earth is she coming?"

John groaned. "Because she's a bloody brilliant pathologist and could be of assistance at a crime scene you idiot."

Sherlock looked at John. "I know she's a bloody brilliant pathologist. You're the idiot." He sniffed.

John pursed his lips. "Then why did you ask if she was coming?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Because this is Saturday my dense little friend and Molly Hooper does not do weekends."

Lestrade sighed. "I called her from home, can we please get back to the crime scene. Now John, how long would you say she's been dead?"

John knelt down to his knees and touched her body gently. "Less than ten hours."

"She was laid out with a paper doll." Lestrade said running his hands through his hair.

"Of course she was." Sherlock said. "Left eye taken this time. Green, same as the others."

"Why did he do that to her skin? Her skin looks as if she's been soaked in bleach. What's the point?" John asked Lestrade.

Sherlock lifted her hand and sniffed."She hasn't been soaked in bleach." He said turning her small lifeless hand over in his. "Although her skin has been bleached to give it this stark white pigmentation. And I should think it's obvious why he does it John."

"Well it's not obvious to me." John said.

Sherlock sighed. "My God John, look at what's right in front of you. Look at the pink and white frilly dress. The girl's hair in plaits with pink ribbons. The pink ballet slippers and look at her makeup. She's a doll John. A life size doll, made perfect in death."

Dr. Molly Hooper stood behind the yellow crime tape and watched the three men who had become a constant steady in her life working over the body of the dead girl. Sherlock and John were on their knees looking over the body while Lestrade stood back, his chin resting against his hand while he watched Sherlock work asking questions here and there.

Molly felt her body tremble slightly. She had not wanted to assist with the crime scene, but Lestrade had been desperate. With Anderson on vacation and his fill in Dr. Morris refusing to help on any case that included Sherlock Holmes, Molly was just about the only other person that Lestrade could have counted on.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help; it's just that these particulars murders were bothering her more than usual. She had been called out on the first murder because Anderson had been sick with terrible stomach flu. She had been called out to the second murder because Sherlock had pissed Anderson off so badly that he had walked away from the dead girl, hailed a cab, and drove him without so much as a backward glance.

And then it was the bodies themselves. The way they that had been placed and dressed made Molly's skin crawl. The girl's looked like life size china dolls with one green eye and one glass blue eye. It was just beyond creepy and it made her blood run cold. She had also been having nightmares off and on over the past three months, the first one starting the very same night that she had been called out to assist with the first body. And her dreams as of late were becoming more frightening and real to her. She was barely sleeping and when she did manage to fall asleep, within moments she was screaming herself awake due to the night terrors. She honestly didn't know if she was cracking up or just needed a vacation.

She could feel her body tensing at the thought of going over there and having to look at another dead girl, but she had promised Greg that she would help. She also wasn't looking forward to facing Sherlock on the chance that he actually paid any attention to her and noticed how terrible she looked. She didn't think she could deal with his insults or him picking her part as he deduced what was wrong with her.

She sighed. Might as well get this over with. She lifted the yellow tape and walked underneath it making her way slowly towards the three men.

Sherlock watched Molly as she talked to Lestrade discussing what she had found and what she would be looking for when she performed the autopsy in the morning. He noticed how pale she was and how her hands shook slightly as she spoke. She had deep purple circles under her eyes and she was too thin. Her shoulders hunched slightly, as if she barely had the energy to even stand up straight. And she seemed to have a difficult time concentrating when she was examining the body. Her movements were jerky and anxious and she was very careful to not actually touch the body, having John to move the body if she needed to inspect something in particular or more closely. If Sherlock didn't know better, he would say that Molly was frightened by something.

Molly finished talking with Lestrade and watched him as he walked away from her towards some other policemen that were standing close by. She pulled her jacket tightly around her neck, put her head down, and began to walk away. She had taken no more than three steps when she found her path blocked by the very man she had been trying to avoid.

"Molly." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock." She said barely glancing at him, moving to step around him, but he moved with her blocking her path.

"Molly you aren't sleeping and you've lost eleven pounds." He began. "You barely looked at the dead girl's face and you didn't touch her yourself, not once which is rather odd behavior for a woman who tends to the dead for a living."

She swallowed hard and forced herself to look at him. "I'm tired Sherlock. I don't feel like talking."

"I know you're tired, didn't I just inform you that you haven't' been sleeping." Sherlock regarded her shrewdly. "I want you to tell me what is wrong."

She sighed deeply. "Why?"

He blinked in surprise. "What do you mean why? We're friends aren't we?"

"Are we?" She asked. "Is that what we are?

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Of course we are Molly. I am your friend and I care about you. Why is that so hard to believe?"

She snorted. "Did you really just ask me that Sherlock? Look, I'm fine. I've just been having a hard time sleeping as of late. I'm stressed at work and…"

"Please don't insult me by lying to me. There is nothing going on at work and you are not fine. You've been acting different for three months now and…" His eyes widened and he looked at her. "Oh I see…yes…of course…since the first dead girl was found."

She let a long slow breath out and fidgeted nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about Sherlock. I am tired and I would like to go home. Now please let me go." She demanded trying not to look at his face instead looking over his shoulder into the darkened alley way. "And I really don't see how it's any of your business what is…" The words caught in her throat.

"Molly?" Sherlock said her name as he noticed the change come over her face.

She didn't respond instead quickly stepping around him and walking towards the alley. She stared ahead as if transfixed.

Sherlock moved to stand behind her and stared into the darkness. "Molly, what are you looking at?"

Molly took another step towards the alley way when Sherlock took hold of her arm. "Molly!" He said a bit more forcefully.

"What?" She said as if in a daze.

"I said what are you looking at?" He asked shaking her arm to get her attention.

"I'm not…" She said softly before she shook her head and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry what did you say?"

He groaned. "I asked you what you were looking at. What is wrong with you Molly?"

"Nothing. I just…" She looked back towards the alley. "I just thought I saw someone…" She looked back at him. "Nothing is wrong with me Sherlock. My eyes are just obviously playing tricks on my due to my exhaustion which you are prolonging by keeping me here. Good night!" She snapped and walked away from him.

Sherlock watched her go. When she disappeared in the crowd he turned back to the alley and walked to the edge of the walkway. He peered hard into the blackness and strained his ears listening. He saw and heard nothing. "There's nothing there." He said under his breath and turned walking away.

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