The Devil on the Isle of Dogs
Chapter One
Author's Note: This is a bit of a different thing for me since I started back with fan fiction. The characters of Lewis and Holly are mine and they're pretty well established and developed elsewhere. For those who don't know a diener is a person who works in a morgue. This all takes place sometime after the show's first season.
The pitter patter of the rain against the windows of the morgue wasn't ample distraction from her thoughts. Molly raked her trembling pale fingers back through her unkempt brown hair and tapped her feet, paced the floor, did anything to take her mind off the anticipation. Odd enough, she felt no fear from the impossible man that lay on her examination table.
Sherlock was coming and she had actually rang him herself. Something that she'd never done before. It was too much for her to even think about initiating conversation with him most days.
But he needed to see this. More than anyone else in the world he needed to see what she had here. A true mystery and one that she felt only he could solve. Despite her nervousness and unbearable need to have him notice her, she knew this was something grander.
And she wanted to find out what this was.
Molly smoothed her skirt down. Why had she bothered to wear a skirt today? Her legs were simply too skinny and he might notice or even make some comment. That's what Sherlock did, he noticed things and he commented on things and he turned her into a little mouse. Without having arrived yet he'd already reduced her to acting like a stupid little girl in sixth form.
She hated herself for it.
The victim of this killing, however he had died, was all wrong. Molly concentrated on the little that she knew about this man to get her mind off of Sherlock. She hadn't gotten past the Y-Incision and opening him up. He had died mere hours ago and maybe there had been some extenuating circumstances that explained the state of his skin and hair. But inside he was rotten, a rolling, terrible funk wafting up from his opened up carcass.
In an attempt to combat the smell she tossed an body bag over him and threw open all the windows. It had done a fair bit, but it wasn't enough. Molly took to residing on the other side of the room while she waited for…
"Sherlock…" she looked up when he came through the door the light sparkle of rain drops in his dark, thick curls. "Sorry if I disturbed something," his face was plain for a moment as if he were searching for something in her, looking at even the un-seeable.
"I was having a go at the violin," he smiled and obviously fake, light smile. "I didn't expect you to call, Lestrade lost his mobile?" he asked as he stripped out of his gloves and came to a pause near the middle of the room.
"No I—"
She was cut short as he spun and sniffed at the air sharply, his face crinkling with disgust. "The body over there is possibly two weeks old," he pointed. "You're usually more thorough than that," he crossed the room toward the body. "This one was just found, no…the time of death, this man died just twelve hours ago?" he mused as he neared the table.
"It's why I called," Molly said nearing the table again and forced a half smile. Sherlock tore back the covering to reveal the splayed open form, its insides blacked and rotting. He drew back, as if the sheer power of the odor were too much for even him.
"He was a day trader, very posh, well manicured and a smoker by the looks of it," Sherlock studied the corpse's hand and looked around his face, his neck, his ears, tracing a path back up his arm in the process.
Molly nodded. "They brought him in a few hours ago and he looked fine then…there was a backlog and I couldn't…I couldn't get to him right away and by the time I did—"
"He had looked like this?" Sherlock said. "You did the right thing calling me."
And then he touched her, he honestly placed a hand on her shoulder and she could have sworn he squeezed it tenderly.
"Aren't there…chemicals that could cause this kind of thing, rapid decomposition?" Molly said trying to shake the sensation of her stomach doing cartwheels. She knew the truth of it but she felt the need to keep saying something, saying anything. She couldn't believe that she was speaking with Sherlock Holmes alone for this long.
"Chemicals? No…not to this degree."
"Then what…?"
Holmes was concentrating on the body for some time and it was as if he forgot to answer her question. "I don't know yet, I'm working through it…but some quiet would be nice," he said drawing his hand back from her arm. It was more like a warning than a personable suggestion.
And it was too good to last. Molly couldn't have expected to have him be nice to her for too long. He never seemed nice to anyone when it came to long term communication and when she thought about it, this felt good. She was fitting in with the other people in his life, what few there were, and he was interacting with her. She stepped back to watch him and as soon as she wasn't talking it was like he had forgotten her presence in the room. He muttered to himself in short phrases and leaned against various things between bouts of digging at the body of the deceased. As she stood at the other end of the lab she stopped wondering how a decomposing man had been walking around a few hours prior and started staring at Sherlock's lips, at the coil of curls sticking out over her forehead.
His lips parted and he spoke. "A yellow granulated substance is on some parts of the body, sulfur…"
"Wait...where?" Molly rushed over, adjusting her hair and stepping in next to Sherlock. For a split second she searched for the crystals of sulfur on the skin but then she noticed that she and Sherlock were pressed together at the side. His leg gliding lightly against hers. "I…see," she managed.
"The victim obviously worked in a production plant of some kind. There are at least two plants that produce Sulfuric acid in this area; we should just cross reference his name with any names on the list of workers in those places. Of course he could work in a fertilizer plant too…or a pesticide or herbicide one…but he's too posh for that…"
"Why are you trying to find where he worked? And did you say we?"
"Because when we find where he worked, we're going to be able to find out who he was and how he got like this. And yes, I did say we…Watson, despite my wishes, is out of town with Sarah," Sherlock said with an aura of disgust in his tone.
"I like Sarah, she's sweet," Molly said before she could stop herself.
A snort escape Sherlock, he was looking down at his cell phone now. His eyes flicked side to side as he scanned some web page or saved document. Molly craned her neck to try and get a better look but she couldn't. There was a long silence and he wrapped away on the touch screen for a moment and then suddenly locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "May I borrow you Mobile?" he asked.
"Well…sure," Molly handed hers over, blushing when she realized how embarrassing it must be. It was a small touch screen thing with a snap on case that she'd had made with Toby, her cat on it, the background was also a picture of Toby and herself. Her arm outstretched to get them both in the shot. She waited for the inevitable comment about the picture, even if it was something about the impracticality of the angle or lighting, but it never came.
Sherlock spoke again. "I needed yours, there's always the chance that my number could be recognized, but I just wanted to see something," he said
"Who are you texting?" she asked.
He never answered her. When he tossed the phone back to her it almost fell and by the time she looked at it the only thing on screen was a picture of a waste bin with the words messages deleted flashing next to it.
"I don't understand…why did you do that?" asked Molly.
"Didn't want you reading it."
"But it's my phone," she quipped.
Sherlock made little acknowledgement of her last statement. "Seven PM sound good?" he asked. "Yes that should be enough time, be at my flat by seven PM and we'll start from there—" he was breaking for the doors already, slipping back into his gloves as his heels clicked at the tile floor.
"Time for what? Why do you need me at seven?"
"We're going to conduct an investigation, bring your things," he said and then he was gone out of the door with a soft rustling sound. Molly stood in the room with the fresh rotting corpse, unable to smell the stench of death or hear the pitter patter of the rain all because Sherlock Holmes had waltzed into her mortuary and noticed her, spoken to her and even asked her, specifically to help him.
She didn't know how long she stood there with a dumb smile on her face.
It was a little after nine AM central standard time, locally it was just past three in the afternoon. Lewis had never been one to get used to the jet lag quickly and it was no puddle hop from Texas to the United Kingdom. But at least the flight had been excessively short. There was an aura of urgency with this case, he had been lucky to come across the small, subtle clues in the paper when they were mentioned
The electrical storms coupled some of the crime in the city had tipped him off. It was a subtle science and he admitted it was mostly luck. Until he received the call that something was being delivered to a Hospital in London that he needed to see. He wasn't given any information on how the caller came about this or who the caller was, but he chased the lead further.
Local time was three thirty when their taxi pulled up in front of Saint Bart's Hospital. Lewis's expression softened as he regarded Holly, her huge green eyes were searching brick façade even before they stopped.
"Glad to be back?" he asked her.
A wry smile crept across her face and she nodded. "I'd say I'm feeling shattered more than anything else," she said.
"Must be hard to come home and feel like your time is off. All you want to do is sleep right?" he asked.
"Sleep and go by a nice authentic pub…maybe have some Sheppard's Pie or a roast with some Yorkshire Pudding…oooo or a Pork Pie…"
"You people are disgusting," Lewis said as he helped her out of the cab. "Putting fucking pork into a pie doesn't even sound edible."
Holly rolled her eyes. "Maybe it's like other things…you'll like it once you've had a taste," she said.
A short chuckle escaped Lewis. "That's not suggestive in the slightest," he said as they were going through the doors. It was drizzling, there had been a perpetual drizzle since they touched ground and Holly hadn't mentioned it. The little droplets clung to her jacket and the edges of her hair, in the florescent light of the hallways he caught a glimmer and Holly wanted to kick himself for noticing it. But that sensation soon passed and he was left with anticipation.
"Did you find out where the body was?" he asked.
"There's a mortuary a few floors up," she said pointing to a floor layout sign. It was a short journey up to the morgue and for whatever reason there was total silence in the lift. They found the room, numbered M105, halfway down a hall full of other mortuaries and labs. Before Holly could lift her had to knock Lewis went on and pushed through the door with a brazen gait as he stepped into the room.
A startled woman looked up from a bowl of pot noodles. "Oh, I wasn't expecting—may I help you?" she got to her feet and wiped her hands on a napkin that sat near the edge of an empty counter top.
Lewis flipped his badge out. "It's come to our attention that you've got something of interest to my division under your care, Miss…" he said taking a pause to read her badge, "…Molly Hooper."
"Oh," she said seemingly slightly taken aback. "An American," she smiled warmly. "I'm not sure what I could have in here that the FBI would be interested in…and I've never heard of Eden division."
She'd read the badge, Lewis thought, smart girl.
"Not many people have," Lewis said. "I'm Special Agent Lewis Reynolds and this is my partner," he regarded Holly. "Officer Holly Prescott."
Holly came forward slowly and gave a curt nod. "We're sorry if we disrupted your tea," Holly said.
A smile crept across the woman's face. "Holly and Molly that's cute. You're from around here?" she asked.
"Born in Manchester, I transferred to the US as…kind of an agent exchange program," Holly trailed off. "But would you mind if we took a look around—promise to ask before we remove anything from the lab…" Holly said.
"It seems like something is always being removed from the lab," Molly giggled nervously. "But sure, by all means have a look around. I have to be somewhere later tonight…so I might have to tell one of the ward assistances to keep close…"
Holly was always so personable; Lewis had to admit that it helped in situations like this that could have easily gone badly.
"Doctor Hooper," Lewis started. "It's a little unusual to have a diener with a Doctorate?" he asked noticing her badge.
Molly gazed down at the plastic encased badge clasped to the breast of her lab coat and smiled what would seem to be her first honest smile. "It's not required…I just…I don't really think I'm best for treatment of the living. There's no more mistakes to be made with the dead and they need someone who knows what they're doing to care for them…" she might have said more but something called her to a stop.
Lewis smiled at her. "Just something I noticed," he said strolling out a way from where she stood. "Speaking of which, have you seen anything particularly strange come through here in the last few days?"
"No," Molly said. "Nothing that would interest the FBI, anyway," she added.
"You'd be surprised what would interest the FBI," Lewis winked.
"Oh," Molly said. "Well you're welcome to a look around the place and I'll have them lock up when you're done if I'm gone," she said picking up her bowl and spoon. "Don't let me get in the way of your investigation," she was out the door and headed down the hall before Lewis could ask her for any more information.
"That woman knows something, she might not know something relevant but something interesting definitely crossed her path…" Lewis said.
"Why did you flirt with her so shamelessly, the poor thing, you should be ashamed of yourself," Holly said.
Lewis rolled his eyes. "I didn't flirt with her, I was being nice. You're just jealous."
Holly's cheeks flashed a shade of red and she bit back something. Lewis could tell she was holding her tongue. "Help me look through these lockers, please," she said in a small submissive tone.
"I'll start down here," Lewis pointed to the far corner of the room. "You get that side."
"Is that a British Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
"Both," Sherlock responded and he was aiming the gun at Jim from across the pool. Molly watched from her hiding place with Sarah, peeking up over the top of window sill. Jim was there with Sherlock and Watson and it looked as if there was a bomb strapped around Watson's body. It was hard to believe, she couldn't even bring herself to start to think it but all those bombings and there was something about Jim and the way he was speaking now. It was so unlike him, so unkind and heartless.
"Jim Moriarty," he introduced himself and the gun was still trained on him.
Sherlock's motions were different, they weren't as cool and were far less frantic and as Molly tried to piece this all together and held her breath for fear she'd be noticed she couldn't help but feel strange to see him like this. He had always been so collected and this was something that truly made him nervous. She had heard his house was partially blown up and then hours later he was in the morgue like nothing had happened.
This was different, Sherlock looked like he had been taken down some and furthermore he looked insulted by it. She had never seen the contempt in his face he was showing for Jim. And then Jim explained himself, loud and clear and Molly couldn't help but feel the wind go out of herself. This man had been in her home, played with Toby and she had even thought about letting him sleep with her and now every little time they had touched raced through her mind and she just felt tainted.
Playing gay? Playing Jim from IT?
Jim saw it all as a joke but it wasn't funny. He had set himself up with Molly just for this reason. Or had he? Had he spend weeks talking to her on her blog, talking to her about television shows and music and laughing with her and teaching her things? Before she realized it she was crying. Sarah was locked on the sight of Watson wrapped in the bomb and there was no way she could have noticed Molly's tears.
Molly missed much of the next part of the conversation; she was looking but couldn't process what she was seeing. But there was an audible sigh of relief in the air when Jim just seemed to let them go. He walked out of the room just like that. Sherlock rushed up to rip the bomb vest off Watson and it was flung halfway back up toward the door Jim had left out of. Both of the men were frantic, Sherlock pacing up and down, checking different areas of the pool and with Watson collapsed down onto the floor.
As the room was searched, Molly wondered if Sherlock had noticed her and Sarah.
It was unlike him to miss anything but given the high concentration a situation like this would have taken Molly would understand if he did. He was checking around the room just when she looked at Sarah and as if on cue Sarah mused. "We shouldn't let them know we saw this…" she said. Molly nodded her agreement.
The door to the pool room burst open and Sarah and Molly hunkered down as Jim walked back in the room with such a jolly gait that he might have been coming to make friends with Sherlock and John…
But there were sniper sights trained on them, maybe half a dozen and Jim was explaining himself. "You can't be allowed to continue…"
Molly didn't know what crossed her mind, the next thing she knew Sherlock was aiming his gun down at the bomb pack where Watson had thrown it off and she moved for the door. The snipers wouldn't be looking for her, wouldn't be waiting for her and if she was right the cops would be there soon, she had called them and that's how Sarah and she had found Sherlock…that's how they followed him.
Sarah was somewhere behind her, lost in her running and she knew that if she could just get there she could do something. She could stop Jim or grab him or something. She didn't know where these thoughts came from, she might never know but when she dashed out of the door behind Jim, Sherlock glanced up, his eyes locking with Jim's and then both of them turned toward her.
"Molly! How good of you to join us, you remember, Sherlock—don't you?"
She froze and Jim walked over, grabbing her at the arm and shoving her forward. She stumbled down the poolside until she was off to Sherlock's side, between him and Watson. And she could literally feel them, the little red dots from the sniper rifles zeroing in on her. Suddenly they weren't on Watson and Sherlock, they were just on her.
"You dumb bitch, you occupied your purpose already and your act is over. You should have never…been…here," Jim said.
Molly was frozen, rooted in place by the small pin points of crimson light.
"I may have my reservations about killing my little playmate and his pet here," Jim said and then he turned to Sherlock, "and believe me I do, but you can die just as easily as this, right here…" a smile crept over Jim's face and he strode forward. "No more episodes of Glee, no more of your pathetic attempts at a real friendship with that god-awful cat Toby, no more Molly…"
Watson was fast. He lifted his leg and kicked her in the hip, hard. She careened into Sherlock.
But something else happened. There must have been some unseen signal, some procedure that they were following to protect her. Because Sherlock took over the motion that Watson had started…and Sherlock was faster.
He pulled her close, hugging her tight to his person and twirling toward the pool. A gunshot went off and then three more shots closer by. The bullets can't get them under water—Sherlock would know that, he did know that.
Hitting the water took what seemed like an eternity and Watson was right behind them. The moment before they splashed through the surface of the pool there was a blinding flash of light. Moriarty fell back, the bullet burning against the vest he wore. It seemed that he had thought to wear this even though he didn't expect to be shot. He was planning, always planning.
The dim ambience created by the pool's soft yellow light shimmering off the surface would have been romantic if it wasn't for the situation. The water was clouded with blood and by the time they dragged Sherlock's body from the water, Jim was gone and Sarah was rushing in to help them.
A pair of bullets had hit Sherlock, one dangerously close to the heart and the other in the stomach. Her mobile was wet and she couldn't call for help and here she was holding Sherlock Holmes, who had just saved her life and now he was dying…all because she had been stupid. She knew that if he could have been more coherent he would have pointed it out. He would make some quip about her looking fatter or having a small mouth or about her 'I Love the 80's' side ponytail but he didn't.
He just lay in her arms with that glossed over look in his eyes.
Molly awoke in the darkened on call room with tears in her eyes and her lunch next to her on the table. Her phone was vibrating against the wood next to her and when she looked down at the number it was Sherlock. Why was he trusting her, she had messed up before. She had almost gotten him killed and here he was bringing her along on a case?
It was growing dark outside and when she read the message she couldn't believe that she was going through with this, she was going to Sherlock's flat on Baker's Street.
She threw the remainder of her food out, knowing she couldn't eat. But if she was going to go over there she had an hour to go home, change clothes, grab some things and get the Tube back to where he lived. She might as well not reek of pot noodles and dead people when she goes over there and his message had said to dress up.
Author's Note: I felt it important to mention this: water does stop gunshots. Because a bullet is so hot and traveling so fast they shatter after going through so much water, though how far the go in depends on the caliber of bullet. But you can't rapidly cool something that hot and not affect it.