disclaimer: BBC Sherlock is the property of Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. No infringement of copyright is intended.
summary: ey girl, are you coccidioidomycosis? Cos baby, you're to die for.
notes: so I finally contributed to the Sherlolly ship. If you need me I'll be sobbing at my utter failure.
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Biohazard
In all of her wildest fantasies, this definitely was not what Molly had pictured whenever she had imagined herself sharing a shower with Sherlock Holmes.
After all, a decontamination shower isn't the most romantic of locations. And Molly wasn't particularly fond of the possibility of being infected by some unknown pathogen.
"Oh stop frowning Molly," the very naked consulting detective spoke up "Once we finish up with the quarantine procedures, we'll be out of here in no time."
The equally nude Molly could only clench her fists in frustration. She would have spun around and given him a piece of her mind, had they not already been dangerously invading each other's personal space. They had their bare backs to each other in order to conserve what little privacy they had left in the small, cramped decontamination shower.
"I swear to god Sherlock, if I've been infected by some flesh-eating bacterial disease-" the pathologist hissed.
"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock interrupted "flesh-eating bacteria is a complete misnomer, bacteria does not eat flesh. Although there have been cases recorded of bacteria releasing toxins to produce superantigens which cause the destruction of skin and muscle."
"Thank you Sherlock, that makes me feel so much better."
Molly had known the moment the detective had strode into the morgue that afternoon, escorting a severely decomposed corpse, that the whole situation would lead to no good.
It had been the end of her shift. Ten more minutes and she would have been free to go home to prepare for the date she had with a handsome ambulance officer named Ian later that night.
But no. Sherlock bloody Holmes just had to waltz in with his stupid coat billowing behind him and demand that she complete an autopsy on the putrefied corpse that had accompanied him. After Sherlock had returned from the dead, he had stopped manipulating Molly into doing his bidding by falsely complimenting her. However, her assistance with faking his suicide did not seem to prevent him from pulling out the guilt card.
"Come now Molly, there is a deranged killer out there, possibly already looking for his next victim. Do you really want some other innocent soul to die because we delayed the process of putting this mad man behind bars?" Sherlock had questioned, already physically dragging her towards the corpse.
Molly glanced at the clock. Almost half past three. Her date with Ian was at seven.
"Alright, fine Sherlock." Molly relented "But I can only help you for an hour, two at the very most. Mike will be here at six o'clock, so he can help you then."
Sherlock simply made a dismissive grunting sound and handed her a pair of latex gloves.
Sighing Molly began her cursory examination of the corpse. The remains were in a very late stage of decomposition and was mostly skeletal, save for the few traces of flesh and muscle covering the victim's left femur, torso and nearly a quarter of the face. The tissue was covered in a greyish white, waxy material. Using a scalpel and forceps, Molly carefully peeled away the tissue, taking a small sample on to a petri dish for later examination.
Sherlock stood behind her, only half examining the autopsy and mainly observing Molly as she worked. As much as she was a shy and socially awkward woman, Dr Hooper was a brilliant forensic pathologist, easily the best in London.
Oblivious to Sherlock's staring, Molly examined the skeletal remains. "With this level of decomposition, time of death is at least three to four weeks." She manoeuvred herself to get a closer look at the lower half of the skeleton, "the size of the pelvis suggests a male victim. The clavicle appears to be completely grown and most of the cranial sutures are gone. I'm not a forensic anthropologist, but my best guess of age at time of death would be early to mid-thirties."
Sherlock nodded silently, he understood the importance of not interrupting her concentration.
Delicately picking up the skull, Molly examined it more closely. After removing the waxy flesh from around the face, she found a small hole on the right side of the skull. "Internal bevelling found in hole on the right temporal bone, most likely an entrance wound from a bullet." She rotated the skull and found a corresponding but more irregular hole on the left side "Tangential gunshot wound on the zygomatic bone shows it to be a through and through gunshot. With the trajectory shown by the bevelling, the bullet would have completely severed the brain stem which would have led to immediate death." Molly blinked thoughtfully for a moment, then placed the skull back on the autopsy table. "The trajectory would also suggests that the killer was angling the gun down on the victim."
She picked up the long leg bone and examined it, "The length of the tibia suggests that he was roughly two metres in height, which is considerably tall for someone his age. The killer would have needed to get the victim on his knees in order to achieve this angle of trajectory. With the right calculations we could probably estimate the height of the suspect…" Molly muttered to herself.
"Excellent reasoning Molly." Sherlock finally spoke up, flashing the startled pathologist his signature smirk. The woman was full of surprises.
Molly blushed and adverted her eyes, "Yes, well…um...I'm just going to collect some core samples from the, um…bones…"
She could have smacked herself. One little compliment from Sherlock Holmes and she went from sophisticated professional to a blubbering mess in two seconds flat.
Molly quickly bustled over to the medical supplies station, attempting to put some distance between herself and the devastatingly beautiful man. She needed to breathe. She needed to recompose herself. And she needed to get back to work. God dammit she was a competent forensic pathologist and she would not let that man affect her. Molly grabbed a couple of surgical masks and placed them on the metal cart next to the circular bone saw she had collected.
After securing her own mask and safety goggles first, she tossed the second one to Sherlock, who had appeared to have lost interest in her after she had finished with her deductions, and was now furiously texting on his phone.
"Put that on Sherlock," Molly commanded "I don't want you inhaling any bone dust."
"Yes, yes Molly" he replied dismissively, not looking up from his phone.
"I'm serious Sherlock."
He rolled his eyes and sardonically lifted the mask up to his face, giving her a 'are you satisfied' look. However once she had turned back to the corpse, he immediately dropped the mask and returned to texting. Selecting the femur, Molly started up the circular bone saw and began cutting out the core sample.
She hadn't even gotten a quarter of the way through the bone before the alarm sounded.
Molly and Sherlock stared at each other with wide eyes, they both recognized the biohazard alarm. The automatic doors of the morgue slammed shut, locking off the contaminated area from the rest of the hospital. Oh good god, was there something in the bones? Was she infected?
Before Molly could react, she felt the bone saw swiftly being taken from her and strong arms steering her away from the corpse.
"Sherlock? What are you doing?"
"We need to follow procedure for biological contamination, Molly." he said sharply, pushing her into the decontamination shower.
Molly understood the importance of following protocol and preventing the spread of any potentially deadly pathogens, she had gone through all of the safety procedures vigorously when she had first arrived at Barts and was fully prepared to carry them out. However she was not prepared for Sherlock Holmes to rapidly strip her of her clothes as well as his own and toss them into the biohazard waste bin. He worked so quickly she barely had time to process it.
"Sherlock!"
"Oh do hurry up Molly!"
She was naked. He was naked. Absolutely every inch of their bodies was exposed to each other.
Naked.
How exactly was she supposed to react to that? She futilely attempted to cover herself up with her arms and silently cursed the hospital for only installing one decontamination shower in the morgue. She knew that it was imperative that they were disinfected, but would it really be so bad if they took turns in the shower?
He silenced any of her further protests by pressing the button that activated the heavy downpour of water. Spluttering, the stunned pathologist gaped at the infuriating man. He had already turned around in the tiny cubical and was briskly washing his hair.
Molly knew one thing for certain, if Sherlock fucking Holmes wasn't infected with some horrible, painful, lethal virus, then she was definitely going to kill him herself. She let out a frustrated groan and began scrubbing herself.
In all of the chaos, Sherlock's unused surgical mask lay forgotten on the morgue floor.
Mike Stamford had been happily enjoying his afternoon. He wasn't scheduled to be at Bart's until six o'clock and was treating himself to lunch at a quaint little cafe. It was shaping out to be the most perfect, stress-free day he'd had in months.
That was, until he received a call from the Health and Safety department of St Bartholomew's about someone setting off the biohazard alarm in the morgue.
Wait. Wasn't Molly the pathologist that was rostered for the morgue today?
Mike Stamford had never run out of a cafe faster.
After stepping out of their extremely uncomfortable shower, Sherlock and Molly had managed to find two sets of spare scrubs and were awkwardly drying themselves off in separate corners.
The detective sighed, "Honestly Molly, I don't understand why you were so embarrassed to go into the decontamination shower with me. You work with naked bodies every day."
"I know." she spun around, snapping at him
"So you agree then, your behaviour is completely irrational."
Molly could only groan in irritation. It would be no use trying to explain it to him. The sound of the automatic doors opening alerted the pair to the arrival of the Health and Safety Department.
Decked out in a huge, white biohazard safety suit, and rolling in a metal cart with various needles and pills, strolled in a very familiar face.
"Mike!" Molly exclaimed in relief.
"Hey there Molly. Oh and Sherlock too" Mike said, noticing the consulting detective, "I guess I should have known."
"Oh please tell me you have some good news." the young pathologist begged.
Mike smiled sympathetically at the two, "I'm afraid not. We've identified the pathogen as coccidioidomycosis. It was detected by the scanner in the discharge vent near your station Molly. It must have been in the human bone. It's actually quite strange, there've been no recorded cases of coccidioidomycosis in the entire UK, it's usually found in Central and South America as well as Mexico. "
"Ah yes, that would be because the victim had recently been to Mexico, where he was most likely working with one of the various Mexican drug cartels in smuggling illicit substances into the UK." Sherlock finally spoke up, "His wallet is made out of Santa Catalina Island Rattlesnake skin, unique to only Mexico, Lestrade should still have it with the rest of the evidence."
Molly glared at Sherlock. She really couldn't care less about his stupid case, "What else is there Mike?"
"Well, coccidioidomycosis, or as it is commonly called, Valley Fever, is a fungal pathogen and its symptoms mimic a common cold. Valley Fever can lead to cases of pneumonia, skin ulcers, bone lesions, heart inflammation, urinary tract problems, meningitis and um…death."
"Oh my god!" Molly gasped.
"No it's alright Molly," Mike assured, "If you were both following autopsy protocol, there is absolutely nothing to worry about."
"Of course I was!" she exclaimed, relief slowly washing over her.
Mike turned to the consulting detective expectantly, "Sherlock?"
The tall man had a blank look on his face and refused to make eye contact with the two other people in the room. "There is a possibility that I may not have been wearing a surgical mask." he spoke without breaking eye-contact with the wall.
Mike sighed and shook his head in dismay.
"Sherlock! I told you to put your mask on!" Molly yelled.
"I was busy Molly, it was for the case."
"I don't care about your bloody case! Oh god, do you think he's been infected Mike?"
"There is a high chance that Sherlock may have inhaled the spores, so yes."
"Oh god," Molly groaned, "This valley fever, what happens if it manifests?"
Mike shuffled his feet uneasily "Um… first treatment protocol is a rather large injection into the base of the brain. But first we'll need to give you a cocktail of antifungal drugs," he said gesturing to the injections on the metal cart.
The female pathologist backed up slowly. She wasn't awfully fond of needles. "Right, um, I know that it sucks for Sherlock to be infected and what not, but I'm free to go right. I mean I followed protocol and everything."
The detective shot her a harsh glare, which she chose to ignore.
Mike gave her another tight-lipped, apologetic smile "I'm so sorry Molly. Sherlock might have exhaled the spores over you. You may be infected as well."
Molly stood stock still, completely gobsmacked. Sherlock at least had the decency to look somewhat repentant.
"There's more." Mike continued, "Due to the potentially fatal nature of the pathogen, we can't risk a pandemic and the Health and Safety Department have had no choice but to impose quarantine. We won't know for a couple of days if the fungus has taken hold of your system."
Molly nearly passed out after hearing Mike's next sentence.
"I'm afraid you two are going to be in here for a few days."