A.N- A little 3 part thing i cooked up when bored and taking cold meds. Unbeta'd because my usual beta is having issues of her own (i love you sweetie). So any mistakes are mine.

Also if you haven't already please head over to the SAMFA's and nominate some sherlolly writers and their fics. It's where I found my Sherlolly muse and deserves love just for that.

Chapter 1

John Watson was well aware that his best friend was a bit of a git. In fact it was fair to say that, at times, Sherlock Holmes was a right bastard.

This would be one of those times.

A case of theirs had coincided with an ongoing investigation at Scotland Yard. However, this time, the lead in the investigation wasn't the affable, competent, Detective Inspector Lestrade, but the quite hostile Inspector Claude DeMille.

Sherlock had gone to the morgue with the express desire to see the remains of one of the victims. Inspector Claude DeMille refused to let a civilian near his case and was, reluctantly, backed up by Mike Stamford who was onto the second half of his double shift and wasn't in the mood for infighting, bickering or anything that didn't involve a feather mattress and a solid ten hours of sleep.

With the two of them against him it looked like Sherlock wouldn't get his own way and so Sherlock, with his amazing ability to annoy everyone around him, called Detective Inspector Lestrade.

DeMille hadn't taken that well and had cursed a blue streak at the Consulting Detective, ending up letting a torrent of swear words stream from his mouth.

Sherlock replied in French and then the whole thing descended into chaos.

DeMille's second in command, the ginger-haired Welshman Sergeant Alex Dimity, showed remarkable foresight and ingenuity by pulling a packet of Hobnobs out of his pocket and offering them to John and Mike as they watched the abuse fly back and forth.

"Thanks," John said amiably as they snacked. "This happen a lot?"

"Well," Sergeant Dimity said with his sing-song accent. "He's French, they are a bit fiery. He breaks into it all the time," he sighed. "It gets a bit tiring after a while to be honest."

"A Frenchman and a Welshman together?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"I know," Sergeant Dimity grinned, "sounds like a bad joke doesn't it? But honestly I think I was the only one willing to work with him."

"Why's that?"

Sergeant Dimity gave him a look. "He's French."

John laughed. Personally he had no problem with the French, but then he had been a soldier and had realised that under the blood and uniform everyone was the same.

Except possibly the Belgians.

"Good point."

They watched as Sherlock started gesturing wildly, deducting the Inspectors habits, personality and defects. DeMille suggested Sherlock do something that wasn't possible without a pineapple and a vacuum.

Sherlock's reply made them all feel a little nauseous.

"Your boy seems to be holding his own." Dimity said with a mixture of respect and disgust.

"Oh, that's Sherlock for you. You know," John mused, "I think I could drop him in the middle of the Sahara Desert and he'd still manage to annoy someone. Probably a camel."

At least a camel wouldn't be able to arrest him, although John did wonder whether a night in the cells would be beneficial for Sherlock, it would teach him that he couldn't go around annoying law enforcement without repercussions

Although, now that he was thinking about it, Mycroft would never let his little brother spend a night in jail. For all that the two of them acted like worst enemies they really were protective of each other.

"I suppose we could step in a stop this." Dimity offered.

"Nope," Mike suddenly relaxed. " We don't have to."

The two men stared at him and he pointed to the door. "The Cavalry has arrived."

"Let's hear it for reinforcements." Sergeant Dimity said with a sigh.

The silver haired form of Detective Inspector Lestrade strode through the door with the heavy air of someone who was not looking forward to what would happen next. He probably felt less like reinforcements and more like the last line of defence against Holmesicide.

Lestrade headed straight for the slab, his hands in his pockets and a resigned look on his face.

"I was in the middle of a meeting, Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yet you came."

"Yeah, well, I was told to stop disrupting the agenda. How the hell you got my phone to keep playing when I switched the bloody thing off I'll never know."

"That hardly matters. I need access to the corpse."

"And I said no. It's my case!"

"A fact which alarms me greatly, considering you have several unsolved open cases currently on your desk. Your interpersonal skills have resulted in two sexual harassment suits and a broken marriage, you can't stick to your diet and your dog has worms. You are hardly what I would call Inspector material."

Lestrade held up a hand as the Inspector pulled back his fist.

"Really, mate, as much as I'd love for you to plant him one, I can't allow it in front of me. Now if you want to jump him in an alley, that's fine by me."

DeMille bristled. "Just who does this jumped up little shit think he is? He is a civilian and this is a Police investigation."

Lestrade was rubbing his head with what they fondly referred to as a Sherlock-Headache. It involved a clenched fist, a rubbing of the eyes and a sudden desire for Vodka.

"Wrong, Mrs Aspen's husband hired me to look into her death. Since I am the one being paid, it's my right to be here."

"But not to have access to the corpse. Mr. Stamford even said so."

Sherlock heaved a sigh and looked up at the clock. "Ah but Mr. Stamford's shift is now at an end and I now have access."

They all frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

He just smirked as the door opened again. "Hello Molly."

Molly Hooper jumped and looked confused at seeing so many live bodies in her morgue.

"Uh, hello. What's going on?"

"Hello Molls," Lestrade said. "Nothing to be worried about."

"Right." Molly shrugged off her coat and hung it behind the door before picking up her lab coat and pulling it on. She gave Mike a baffled look and he gave Sherlock a long stare and then just shrugged.

"Sod it, sorry but I am too tired to deal with this crap. I'm off home."

"O-kay." She said hesitantly as he grabbed his coat and hurried out of the door.

"Coward," muttered Dimity.

"Just jealous," John said with a grin. He knew he was. If he had any idea that this evening would have turned into such a pissing contest he would have stayed home with a good book. But that was life with Sherlock for you.

Molly took a deep breath. "Now, what's going on?"

John looked around and realised that he was probably the best one to answer her. "New case clashes with Scotland Yard. Sherlock hasn't learned to share."

Sherlock bristled and gave John a glare.

"Ah." Molly was caught up. She gave the room a general smile before grabbing the file off the table.

She flicked through the chart. "Mrs Aspen." She read aloud.

"And who exactly are you?" DeMille demanded. "And where did Doctor Stamford go?"

Molly looked up. "I'm the pathologist in charge and Mike... well, I think he'd had enough. And you are?"

"I'm in charge of this case. This is my corpse and I don't need anyone to tell me that this bloody civilian can look at it. He can't."

Molly frowned and looked at Lestrade who just shrugged. "I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Well," Molly straightened, "technically now Mrs Aspen is under my jurisdiction. And as attending pathologist, I have the rights to say who is allowed access to the body."

John grinned. He really did like Molly Hooper. Well, the Molly Hooper she was when she wasn't blushing around Sherlock Holmes. She was a strong confident woman who just happened to have appalling taste in men.

"Look, just let him look at the corpse, I swear to you it's much less hassle." Lestrade said.

"No, I have no idea who any of you even are!"

Sherlock sighed heavily. "Oh introductions; that's always fun. Fine. I'm Sherlock Holmes the world's only Consulting Detective. If you stopped interrupting me I could have solved this case already. This is Doctor John Watson my blogger. Detective Inspector Lestrade. This is Inspector DeMille- Scotland Yard's answer to Inspector Cluso. Sergeant Dimity, mildly less annoying than Anderson. And Doctor Molly Holmes, pathologist. Now can we please focus on the corpse?"

There was a moment of silence in which three people stared at Sherlock.

Sergeant Dimity bounced on his heels. "Nice to meet you all. Any relation?"

Sherlock eyed him. "What?"

"You two," he gestured between Sherlock and Molly. "Any relation?"

Sherlock frowned, "Why would there be-"

"Sherlock Holmes, Molly Holmes."

Sherlock looked like he'd been punched in the face. "Hooper, Molly Hooper."

"You called her Molly Holmes."

"I did not."

"Oh." Sergeant Dimity looked confused.

"Yes, you did," Lestrade was less confused and far more amused. He exchanged glances with John.

Sherlock glared at them both "No, I didn't."

"You did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." Lestrade insisted with a smirk. "We all heard you."

"It's okay," Molly's face was bright red. "You misspoke. It happens. No big deal."

Sherlock pulled himself up to tallest. "I do not misspeak."

"No, you don't, do you?" John found a huge grin making its way across his face. He folded his arms across his chest, enjoying the way that Sherlock was avoiding everyone's eyes. This was gold. Pure gold. Sherlock Holmes embarrassed and trying to hide it. The blush that was hiding just under the collar of his Belstaff was worth every inch of annoyance this evening had dealt out.

As Sherlock cleared his throat and began to make deductions about the corpse Sergeant Dimity leaned in to John.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not at all," John beamed at him. "In fact, mate, I owe you a pint."

It was quite annoying that Sherlock turned out to be right. Again. No sooner had he examined the corpse than he had solved the murder.

Sergeant Dimity looked impressed, Demille looked murderous and Lestrade had simply looked exhausted and asked if he could go home now.

Sherlock shrugged once and exclaimed that he hadn't even wanted Lestrade there in the first place.

John, earning himself brownie points with everyone, suddenly realised that it would a good time for Sherlock Holmes to leave. He dragged him out of the morgue by the arm, throwing goodbyes over his shoulder as he went.

Once outside they hailed a taxi and slid inside.

"You didn't have to rub his face in it, you know," John said.

"Well, he was being very tedious. It was obvious that the killer was left handed by the attack marks and the lacerations on her palms. Added to the other evidence-"

"Her shoes and the fact that she ate thai food?"

"Yes. It was clear as day who the killer was."

John shook his head. No matter how often he heard it, he still marvelled at Sherlock's deductive abilities. He was equally blown away by the sheer arrogance of his best friend.

Speaking of.

"I'm surprised at you though, Sherlock. I thought you were big on manners and all."

Sherlock turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you didn't say goodbye or give her a kiss. You're gonna catch hell from the missus for that." John grinned at the clenching if Sherlock's jaw.

"Very funny."

"Oh right, girlfriends are not your area. Maybe you were thinking Molly and Mycroft?"

Sherlock recoiled."Don't be disgusting. " He turned to face the front of the taxi again. "Besides Molly has far too much sense."

"But no taste," John muttered. "So, come on, then. What was it? Were you making sure we were all paying attention?"

Sherlock ignored him.

"Or does your mind palace have its own princess?" John chuckled. "It's just like a fairytale. Hooper and Holmes. Sherlock and Molly."

"Do shut up."

" Sherlolly."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, John."

"Oh, I think it's lovely. A modern day Beauty and the Beast."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "I hardly think calling me a beast is amusing."

John smirked. "I love how you automatically think Molly is the beauty."

The blush appeared under the collar again. "Shut up."

"I think it's great, Sherlock. My blog could do with a little romance."

Sherlock groaned. "Please stop."

"I don't know, Sherlock, I think the 'Consulting Detective and his Pathologist' has a nice ring to it."

"Sounds like a torrid romance novel." Sherlock scoffed, folding his arms over his chest in classic defensive mode.

"Doesn't it just?" John sat back. This was great. He could have month's worth of teasing material out of this. Maybe even blackmail material.

The two men sat in silence for a while in the back of the taxi just staring at the lights as they passed.

"Do... you think she minded?"

"Hmm?" John turned towards Sherlock.

Sherlock continued to stare out of the window, his head slightly ducked. "Molly. Do you think she minded?"

If it had been anyone else John would have said that they sounded shy, hesitant, almost wistful. But this was Sherlock.

"Being called Molly Holmes?" John shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Why should she? It was an accident. It's not like you've ever thought of her like that really. And she knows it."

Sherlock traced a pattern on the window. "She does."

There was something in his tone that made John take a closer look. Sherlock was looking very casua, his words almost matter of fact. John knew that when Sherlock was truly disinterested in something he was very vocal about it. The fact that he was attempting to act casual meant that he was anything but.

"She probably hasn't given it another thought." John licked his lips, fighting back the grin.

"Good," Sherlock said quietly. "That's good."

John put a hand over his mouth, masking his smile.

Well, now this was interesting.