(ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL; STILL Alice’s POV: )

 Sherlock, Mycroft, and I walked to the morgue and went inside. Molly was waiting inside wearing her lab coat, and a body was lying on the table covered with a sheet. I sighed because I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be at the Christmas party... or at least with John. And my legs were cold. Bl**dy skirt.

 “The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.” Mycroft started.

 “You didn’t need to come in, Molly.” Sherlock said softly, still affected from the earlier... mistake.

 “That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with... Christmas.” She said awkwardly. She gestured to the body. “The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.” She pulled the sheet down to reveal the face.

 “That’s her, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked, looking at Sherlock and me.

 “Show me the rest of her.” Sherlock said to Molly. Grimacing, Molly walked along the side of the table, pulling the sheet back as she went. I looked at the clock, pulling my coat tighter around me. Sherlock looked along the length of the body once, then turned and started to walk away. “That’s her.” He confirmed.

 “Thank you, Miss Hooper.” Mycroft said.

 “Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from... not her face?” Molly questioned Mycroft and I. Mycroft smiled politely at her, then turned and followed his brother. I lingered behind for a moment, staring at Miss Adler’s face. I followed Mycroft and caught up. He stood in a joint of the hallway watching Sherlock, who was standing in the corridor outside, looking out of the window. Walking up behind him, he held a cigarette over his shoulder. I sighed and shoved my hands in my pockets, standing next to the elder silently.

 “Just the one.” Mycroft clarified.

 “Why?” Sherlock asked, not looking away from the window.

 “Merry Christmas.” The British Government answered dryly. Sherlock took the cigarette and Mycroft dug into his coat pocket to find a lighter.

 “Smoking indoors – isn’t there one of those... one of those law things?” Sherlock asked. I smiled softly at his recognition of a law. Mycroft lighted the cigarette for him.

“We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.” I reasoned. Mycroft looked fondly at me as Sherlock inhaled deeply and then blew the smoke out again. I wrinkled my nose and looked out the window, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.

 “How did you know she was dead?” Mycroft asked.

 “She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.” Sherlock revealed, taking another drag. I held in a cough.

 “Where is this item now?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock and I looked round at the sound of sobbing. A family of three people were standing on the other side of the doors at the end of the corridor, cuddled together and clearly grieving the death of someone close to them. Sherlock and his brother turned to look at the family. I looked at them pitifully.

 “Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?” Sherlock asked, for the first time since I had known him, contemplating himself. I chuckled quietly.

 “All lives end. All hearts are broken.” Mycroft began. He looked round at his brother and then at me. “Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” He finished. He glanced at me for a moment, but didn’t say my name. We all knew what each other were thinking. Sherlock blew out another lungful of smoke, then looked down at the cigarette in disgust.

 “This is low tar.” He complained. I smiled smugly at him.

 “Well, you barely knew her.” Mycroft reasoned.

 “Huh!” Sherlock huffed. He walked away down the corridor, signalling for me to follow, and I did, but much more slowly.

 “Merry Christmas, Mycroft.” Sherlock announced.

 “And a happy New Year.” Mycroft returned. We walked through the door at the end of the corridor. Sherlock continued, but I pressed myself up against the door. Mycroft got out his phone and hit a speed dial. “He’s on his way. Have you found anything?” He asked. I wasn’t sure who he was talking to, and I didn’t have enough dialogue to figure it out yet.  “Yes.” He said again.  “No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.” He said after a minute. I narrowed my eyes. What was John doing with Mycroft? And Mycroft had John on speed dial!? I sighed and walked away, breaking onto a run shortly after. To my surprise, Sherlock had waited for me in the parking lot.

 Sherlock and I came up the stairs to John sitting in his chair and reading. Sherlock stopped in the doorway of the living room. John looked round at us.

 “Oh, hi.” He said nonchalantly. Sherlock stood there, his eyes roaming all around the living room. I broke through his side and put away my coat. “You okay?” John asked. Sherlock continued to scan the room for a long moment, then turned and walks back to the kitchen door, heading for his bedroom. I sighed and flopped down on the couch.

“Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.” Sherlock announced, slamming his bedroom door shut. I chuckled and took my converse off, throwing them on Sherlock’s chair.  John put his book down and sighed heavily.

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