Struggle (Pre-John RP)
Sherlock didn't really know where to go. He'd be damned if he went crawling back to Mycroft. His brother would be allowed to handle the putting of his possessions into storage, but that was it. He had no friends, no one to turn to in London who would be willing take him in. He had been evicted from his flat and now he was homeless again.
The temptation to fall back into old habits was growing stronger with his headache. He desperately needed a distraction, something, anything, that would relieve his pain. The first thing that came to his mind that wasn't the needle was that little pathologist at St. Bart's. She would be working now. A few flattering words and she'd be putty in his hands. She'd let him have a look at any cadaver he liked.
Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, Sherlock set off into the night. About a half an hour later, he was at the door of the morgue. He put on a smile to distract from the dark circles around his eyes and burst into the room.
"Molly! I'd like to see a body!" he greeted.
