It probably wasn't seemly to be humming a happy diddly while stitching closed the chest of a 57-year-old proctologist whose proclivity for extramarital affairs led to an early demise at the hands of his vengeful lovers. But no one was around and Molly honestly didn't care one jot for social etiquette.

Finishing with a snip of the scissors, she put Mr Whitehall in the assigned cooler and shut the door. With a snap of her gloves, she tossed them in the hazard bin and set about cleaning up, pleasantly tired after a long shift and ready to call it a day.

Her phone pinged from the other room while she was sterilizing the tools. She smiled, knowing it was probably Thomas letting her know he was on his way to pick her up for their usual Tuesday evening date. A quiet dinner followed by a stroll through the park. Simple and sweet.

Just like Thomas.

Molly scowled at herself for the thought. Thomas was a dear, perhaps not brilliant, but that was no crime! She had met brilliant, intelligent men before and been burned badly. Thomas was the balm; a nice, albeit dim, man who liked her and made her feel wanted, special. And she would much rather be with someone like him than…

Stop!

Annoyed with herself for the direction of her thoughts, Molly abruptly shook her head. She renewed her cleaning efforts and was nearly finished when the doors opened behind her.

"Just a mo'!" She called over her shoulder.

"No rush, Molly," DI Lestrade replied, his tired voice loud in the open room. "The dead aren't going anywhere."

Molly laughed softly. "I thought I was the bearer of bad jokes…"

Her voice trailed off and her smile faded when she glanced over her shoulder. Her hands stilled and an almost surreal calm washed over her. Standing beside Greg was a tall, curly-haired man in a long black coat. His pale features were sharpened by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows under his prominent cheekbones. His eyes, piercing and bright, were focused directly on her with heart-stopping accuracy.

"Hello," she said coldly.

Greg turned around and sighed heavily. "Shoulda known you wouldn't wait in the hallway. Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes," he waved a hand between the two. "Sherlock, this is Doctor Hooper. Sherlock is giving us a hand with our investigation, a special favour by the DCI for his brother."

"How nice," she said evenly, turning back to her work. Purposefully, she placed the final scalpel on the tray and slid it into the metal drawer for the next pathologist on duty. She took the moment to center herself.

She felt Greg's eyes on her, curious and a bit surprised by her coolness, a marked difference from the burning gaze of the man behind him.

"Did I miss something?" The DI asked.

Molly slowly turned and crossed her arms, meeting Sherlock's stare with her own.

"Always," Sherlock replied dryly. His voice, deep and rich, reverberated around her. She saw the tick in his eye when her gaze turned colder at his slight toward her friend. "Doctor Hooper and I are…previously acquainted."

"Oh?" Greg looked between them with interest.

Sherlock looked her over, his gaze stopping for a moment on her left hand. Upon seeing the small diamond ring adorning her finger, his demeanor grew agitated and a scowl marked his face.

"You're engaged."

Molly tilted her head. "You're not usually one for stating the obvious, Sherlock."

That damn deducing look of his wouldn't stop. "It's recent, you're having doubts, unsure about your compatibility and wondering if he is the right choice-"

Molly raised a hand and stopped his deducing ramble with a single, "Enough!"

Remarkably, he shut up. And just in time. A ping sounded from her office again, breaking the tense air; no doubt Thomas letting her know he was waiting outside.

Gathering herself, Molly crossed the room and picked up her bag and jacket. "Dr Gumpta is on shift in 10 minutes, Greg. If you and your…friendwould wait here, I'll let her know you are here and she can assist you."

Though still looking between them curiously, Greg nodded. "Sure, Molly. And hey," he reached out and caught her arm as she strode past. His eyes softened and he looked at her questioningly. "Pints on Friday?"

Feeling a rush of affection for the man she loved as much as her own brother, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, ignoring the way Sherlock's nostrils flared in anger. "Meet you at the usual place around 7."

He nodded and let her go with a reassuring smile.

As soon as the door swung shut behind her, she leaned against the wall and breathed out sharply, feeling the numbness leak out of her and the adrenaline crash hit. Her heart raced and her limbs shook, a rushing sound filling her ears.

Suddenly the ring on her finger weighed her down and she looked down at it as if she had never noticed it before.

What a strange predicament to find herself in, she mused in silent hysteria. Engaged to a man, a sweet and kind man, waiting just outside to take her to a nice romantic dinner.

While her ex-husband stood just on the other side of the wall, staring at her as if he knew he still held her heart in his hands.