One: Mr. Henderson

Molly Hooper ushered the grieving family into the lighted hallway just outside the morgue. There was never any good way to do this… no parent was prepared to see their child lying on a stainless steel slab in a morgue and no wife prepared to see her husband that way either. The fact that Daniel Henderson had been decapitated made this even harder. Molly had laid the poor man's head as close to the neck as she could without destroying any potential evidence. Sherlock had said he'd be in today to take a look at it, but she hadn't seen him yet. Strange…the man did fancy a good decapitation.

"What will happen to Daniel's body?" the mother asked, her voice choked with tears.

"Dan wanted to donate his body to science," the widow answered. "He always did say he'd be of no use to anyone…rotting in a coffin." She squeaked out the last part, but the mother gave a choked laugh.

"Dan never liked being idle," she mused.

Molly spoke up. "Because Mr. Henderson donated his body, the hospital will appropriate it. We can assure you that his donation is appreciated and that his body will be treated with respect."

The father, clearly shaken but silent, finally spoke. "Thank you," he whispered.

Molly nodded and opened the door of the autopsy, ushering in the family. Here comes the hard part, she thought. "Daniel was unfortunately a victim in a rash of murders that were…quite brutal in nature. I do have to warn you that his head and his feet have been removed." She paused while the widow hiccupped and the parents paled. "I've put him back together as much as I could so you could identify him. You don't have to look if you choose not to, but I need at least one of you to ID him."

The father stepped forward. "I will do it. Mary, Hannah, please look away. You don't need to see him like this." Neither woman argued, turning their backs and leaning into one another. The father swallowed hard and then lifted his eyes to Molly, giving her a nod of readiness.

Molly lifted the sheet. She heard the father's gasp an instant before her own voice made the same noise. She snapped the sheet back in place, walking quickly around the table to escort the family out. The father ran to the wastebasket in the corner and promptly threw up.

The man's head was missing.

When Molly came back to the morgue minutes later, she threw the sheet off, staring at the man's headless corpse. The head had been there when she went up to retrieve the family! She looked at the bottom of the corpse. His feet were gone too! She checked all of her freezers and little cabinets where the dead lay. There were no heads and no feet to be found. Who would make off with a man's head and…

Molly's eyes narrowed and she pulled out her mobile. Sherlock bloody Holmes!

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John Watson had finished with his last patient of the day. He washed his hands at the sink and tossed his head from side to side, cricking the bones in his neck. It had been a long and exhausting day. Apparently all the mothers in the neighborhood had decided to bring their children and their paranoia on the same day. The clinic had been a wash of tetchy toddlers and patronizing parents all afternoon. John loved children, but not today. Today he would have been satisfied to punt all of the smallish humans over the backyard fence.

His mobile started to chirp at him. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Molly Hooper. Huh. He pressed a button and answered the call. "Hello, Molly."

He frowned as he heard the usually reticent woman erupt in a tirade of high-pitched yelling. After a full day of high-pitched noises coming from the wee ones, it was instantly maddening.

"Molly," he said in his Captain Watson voice, "please slow down and calm down at once." He heard her take a deep breath and steady herself. "Now, what seems to be the problem, Molly?"

He listened. And then he frowned. Sherlock bloody Holmes!

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Sherlock Holmes inserted the cotton swab into the mouth that was sitting in front of him. This head had been the perfect solution to the experiment he was currently attempting to perform. How lucky it had been that he had stumbled upon it in the morgue! Sherlock allowed a small, evil grin to encompass his face as he rubbed the swab on a slide. He filled a pipette with the proper solution and squeezed it gently onto the slide. Rubbing his hands in glee, he put the slide under the microscope and bent over to look.

He didn't hear John enter the flat, but he did hear the doctor march into the kitchen and come to stand right next to him. Sherlock pretended not to notice.

"Sherlock?" Ooh. That was not Dr. Watson's voice. That tone belonged to one Captain John H. Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. That tone did funny things to Sherlock's insides.

"Yes dear?" he drawled, intending to draw this out as long as he could.

"You stole a man's head. And his feet. As if that weren't bad enough, you stole his head right before his family came to identify him. His father looked at his decapitated corpse."

"I needed it for an experiment, John. I'm measuring…"

"I don't bloody care what you're measuring or calculating or anything, Sherlock. You stole Mr. Henderson! You have to go put him back, right now, and apologize to Molly and the family."

"But Johnnnn…" Sherlock whined.

"But John nothing. You will take this man's head and his feet and you will march right back to Bart's and give them back. Now." His tone brooked no arguments.

Sherlock scowled but stood and retrieved the carrier he'd used to fetch them. John was watching him, the soldier's glare still plastered on his face. Sherlock couldn't resist.

"Anything else I can do for you, sir?" Sherlock put a low emphasis on the word 'sir'.

Sure enough, the sentence had the desired results. John swallowed hard and his pupils dilated ever so slightly. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at Sherlock.

"Hurry back," he said. Sherlock grinned.