Sherlock was absolutely, positively, giddy. His body tingled with anticipation. It had been simply too long since the last serial killer he had come toe to toe with. And had to be a serial killer. Everything he had deduced so far pointed in that route. His comeuppance, for begrudgingly following John's instruction and behaving for the past month while the little one was born, had finally arrived. His blue eyes gleamed in the night as he stood underneath the lamp post. The woman's body laid several feet away from him. Purple nail polish and black pigtails easily displayed from behind the mingling of chatty police officers.
Honestly, too many. They are so useless. But oh what a case to have! And they don't even realize it-
Sherlock hissed as the sharp pain stung the side of his shin. He looked down and squinted at the blonde man next to him.
"What was that for?"
John sucked in a breath and shook his head sharply. Best friend or not. Best man or not. Sherlock Holmes still didn't know proper etiquette. He leaned over and whispering harshly in the air so only Sherlock could hear.
"You were smiling."
The World's Only Consulting Detective quirked his eyebrow at his friend.
"So?"
"It's a murder. A crime scene Sherlock! You. Don't. Smile. At. Bloody. Crime. Scenes."
Sherlock scoffed.
"It's hardly bloody. This was a dump site." His hands gestured wildly to where the corpse was sprawled on the cobblestone. "Obviously. I mean look at the boots. Do pay more attention, John."
John clenched his fists. He loved his friend. He truly did. But there were times when he wanted to just beat the living shite out of him.
Sherlock hunted for the familiar face in the crowd. His eyes brightened when they landed on the intended target. "Ah, there's he is! I want to take a look at the body. You need me. " He felt John kick his shin again and he rolled his eyes.
"Please."
Lestrade paused. His jaw ticked and he pushed aside his rain coat to shove his hands in his trouser pockets. He slowly turned around, surprise and slight irritation written all over his face. How the hell...
"-Did you get here, freak?!"
Sherlock sighed again. Did he always have to deal with so many people with such tiny minds? Really, he should enforce a daily limit. He pulled his hands behind him, latching them over one another and letting them rest against his lower back. He laid his eyes on the brunette, easily deducing her day.
"Ah, Donovan how is Anderson's rug? Not burning your knees anymore, I see? Too sick to use you while his wife is away?"
Sally looked down at her knees in a instinctive reaction and huffed. She sharply turned her gaze at the infuriating man behind the police tape. He had no right to be here and her cops certainly didn't need him to solve this case! She pointed a finger aggressively in his direction.
"Shut it, you creep. What do you think you're doing here? We didn't call you. And we don't need you!"
"Actually, Donovan, we do." DI Lestrade stepped in between them before anything else could escalate his irritation with them both. Like little kids, Jesus. He pointed to the officer in front of John and Sherlock. " You. Let them through." The officer nodded his head and moved to the side to make enough space for Sherlock and John to walk through.
John released a chuckle and looked at Lestrade, gratefulness apparent. "Thanks, Greg."
"Not a problem, John. So Sherlock, this is an odd one. Did you..."
Sherlock waved him off and attempted to walk over to the body. John and Lestrade shared an exasperated look before promptly following the billowing black coat leading them in the right direction.
John looked over from behind Sherlock's shoulder and grimaced. "Oh, god. Her eyes are gone." He shuddered internally. The girl didn't look younger than 20 and was missing half her clothes. He couldn't imagine anything like this happened to his own daughter. There wouldn't be a chance in hell. Mary would just have to understand why he would lock Emily up for life. Right?
"Well done, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes again and focused on the task in front of him. His brain adjusted to the bright headlights lights from the police cars that exposed the body.
Fresh Lipstick. Boots laced yet untied. Wet ground. Dry shirt. Underwear is expensive. Hair combed. And the eyes...yes...the eyes...
Sherlock adjusted his stance and leaned down. Pulling out his magnifying glass, he hovered over her face.
No hesitation marks.
His lips pulled into a frown while the hands at his side clenched. He stood up and twirled around, setting his glare on Lestrade.
"This is not the first body."
Donovan scoffed. "How the hell do you know that? I bet someone told you!"
Sherlock opened his mouth about to the spill the utter brilliance of his deductions when another, softer, voice chimed in.
"No hesitation marks on the scooping of the eyes. He had practice."
Molly Hooper walked through the crowd accompanied by an officer. She adjusted her medical examiner supply bag as it slipped on her shoulder from the smooth material of her white lab jacket. Any other day she would have grinned at the boys she found standing in the crime scene. But her face was drawn in, her hair a wet mess from showering haphazardly at the hospital. A bloated body was ripe enough to rupture on her table and she had the pleasure of performing the autopsy right before she was called by Greg. The hospital was way understaffed this week due to a horrible flu buzzing around and it was taking a toll on everyone. Molly was hit by it the most, as there wasn't a lot of qualified pathologists in the area that weren't sick. And a fourth victim of a serial killer wasn't helping matters. She winced. I didn't mean that. Oh god, forgive me. I'm just tired.
John smiled at Molly, relief flooding him. He might be able to go home now without having to tirelessly referee for Sherlock. He's noticed over the past couple of months, Sherlock behaved just a little more like a...well...less like a prick around the auburn haired woman. He didn't understand it but he welcomed it like a baby finally getting her pacifier. Dear god, Mary was right. Having a baby does take over the brain.
Molly attempted a small but brief smile at John before setting her eyes on the body. A sigh escaped her mouth. Every victim was sexually assaulted and her findings found that the eyes were removed while they were still alive. Normally, she was strong enough to handle cases like this. But they usually came into the morgue to her not the other way around. With Anderson out of commission due to the damn flu, Greg needed and secretly really wanted Molly on the scene. For some reason, seeing the body laying there in the street bothered her. It wasn't just scientific anymore. It was a gap in time. She was here. The killer had been there. Molly couldn't help but think of the pain the woman was put through and how utterly close it felt. Yes, I definitely miss my lab now. Her muscles tensed up in agitation and she couldn't help feel a desire to be in her bed curled up. A million miles away from murder and violence. But she became a pathologist for a reason. She wanted to give the dead a voice. She inhaled another deep breath and exhaling loudly. After dropping the kit to the side, she walked past Sherlock. Sparing him a glance, she leaned down to study the poor girl.
Sherlock watched Molly in barely disguised interest. His eyebrows furrowed. She was tired. No. Exhausted. She was dead on her feet and a peculiar thought pop into his head. I should take her home. This could wait. His eyes widened a fraction. What the hell...Yes, he knew she needed her rest. But this was a murder. A case. Since when did anything put that on hold? He shook his head lightly and turned back to watch her work. He always liked playing this game. It was fun to see if he caught everything Molly, with her extensive medical expertise, would see during examination. He felt a little annoyed though. She had a head start.
"Sherlock, you know I would have told you if I could. But Greg had forbidden it. He does have the say after all. Legally."
Molly peaked another glance at the man who had a pretty obvious place in her heart. He looked quite annoyed and the muscle under his left eye twitched as it always did when she caught him just a little unguarded. She hid a smile. She was actually glad to have him here. He always could bring the element of science to a case. It made it manageable and a little less painful. Oh, she still had it bad for him. She had a type after all. But thankfully her feelings weren't embarrassing anymore. They were almost...comforting.
She lifted the wrist to examine the nails and peered down at them carefully. No skin cells. Cleaned up, just like the others. She was disappointed, she was hoping to have some DNA samples for the police to compare to suspects. Her eyes jumped to the face. She found herself absently pushing the hair back and her heart clenched. I am so sorry this happened to you.
"Oh my god. She's petting the body. Seriously?! We already have one ginormous freak do we really need another one? "
Sherlock's head snapped to the brave soul. His eyes narrowed in on the brainless twit that was Sally Donovan. Sherlock could feel Molly tense up next to him and a strange feeling washed over him. It was familiar. It was how he felt whenever John was in danger. But...odd...it wasn't the same. He was having an urge to hold Molly and soothe the embarrassment that he was sure Donovan's comment triggered. Again, odd. He never felt the need to hold John. Thank god for that. Not appealing to me at all. He paused, confused. Did that mean holding Molly was appealing? He growled inwardly at himself. Focus. He took very deliberate steps towards Donovan, his eyes glowing with loathing and anger. This he could deal with. Insulting someone who counted in his life was not acceptable. Especially someone so sensitive and vulnerable, like Molly Hooper.
Sergeant Sally Donovan knew it was a mistake as soon as she saw Lestrade glare at her with disappointment. For god's sake she knew her DI was friends with these people, but did he seriously not see anything wrong with this woman petting a corpse or the man who had faked his death!? Whatever. They both are down right weird and you know it! She looked away from her supervisor and was surprised to see the consulting detective make his way toward her. Oh, so you heard me? Alright, bring it on. She squared her shoulders and pushed out her chest a little more. Prepared for the fight she was sure was to come. She nodded her head in Sherlock's direction. "Yeah, I said it. You're a strange and a creepy freak. Got a problem?"
No one. Not even Molly was prepared for what happened next.
"Oh my god. She's petting the body. Seriously?! We already have one ginormous freak do we really need another one? "
Molly's hand paused in mid-air. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. She was used to people calling her weird. Even the nickname Morbid Molly, had hardly any affect on her anymore. She actually found it a little funny.
But not her friends. She had so few friends and she never could stand someone insulting them. She would always come to their defense. No matter who it was throwing the bitter words around. The only time she was able to hold her tongue was while Sherlock was gone. Oh, it was hard to go through all the speculation and demeaning things people said about Sherlock while he was supposedly dead. It took all of her energy not to say a word those two years. The only thing that prevented her from doing it was Sherlock. He made her promise she wouldn't.
But that was then. And hearing someone insult him was taking her back to all those horrible months she had to spend listening to people call him a fake and saying good riddance. Especially since she was still so much in love with him. And the fact that it was happening at a crime scene of a girl who went through so much...terrible pain. Molly could feel her anger burn over her. She was tired and overworked. She came out here because she knew it would help Greg. And maybe...just maybe she could help these victims tell their story. Expose their murderer. Having Sherlock and John here was suppose to make it even easier. She trusted them to help her and Greg prevent another death. Most of all she knew Sherlock trusted her. How dare she insult him?
"Yeah, I said it. You're a strange and a creepy freak. Got a problem?"
Molly's anger instantly snapped at the second bout of insults. She found herself moving quickly, her lab coat flapping behind her. She ending up intercepting Sherlock, walking right in between him and the offender. A beat passed as the two women's eyes met; one in contempt the other in surprise. Molly's jaw clenched and her right arm swung faster then she could process. Her closed fist connected squarely into the woman's face.
First, Molly was quite aware of pain that jarred her knuckles and she grabbed her right fist. I think I broke one. Groaning, she shook it out. "Oooh...that hurt! " She turned around trying to focus on controlling the pain. "Not like the movies! Definitely, not like the movies!"
John watched the scene before him. Eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. Oh, he knew Molly had a violent streak in her. But that was at Sherlock and they were only slaps. Hard slaps, but slaps none-the-less. Molly just decked an officer of the law. Sweet, Jesus. John made a step in the pathologist's direction in an attempt to tend to her hand when he got the second surprise of the night. He gawked as his best friend moved closer to Molly and grasped her injured hand with a look of deep concentration on his face. Sherlock?! Tonight was not good for his heart. His mouth dropped open. No, certainly not.
Sherlock's eyes widen as he witnessed Molly's hand collide with Donovan's smug grin. He felt...pride swell up in his gut. Pride? What for? She turned around facing him, staring intently on her quickly bruising appendage. He could make out tears forming in her eyes and something inside him stirred. He stepped forward and delicately took her injured hand in his left one. He assessed the damage quickly. She would need ice and it was going to swell, but nothing was broken. Good. He was briefly aware of his aware of his fingers brushing her skin. Smooth. He tried to push aside the thoughts and let go but he saw her shoulders instantly relax at his touch and suddenly his discomfort wasn't important anymore.
"You crazy bitch. You broke my nose!"
Sherlock glanced over Molly's head to watch a disoriented Donovan try to stand up at the assistance of some nearby policemen. His lips twitch in amusement at the blood gushing from underneath her hand that was awkwardly trying to stop it from spilling onto her leather jacket.
"God damn it, don't help me. I got it. Go on, arrest her! She just assaulted an officer!"
Lestrade shook himself out of shock as he registered the situation. He straightened his back and looked sharply at the injured sergeant. "Donovan, I warned you to watch what you say around Sherlock." He rounded his glare at the officers that were walking toward Molly. He made a noise as he watched, amused, as Sherlock's arm hook around the pathologist's shoulder at they approached her. "You are not going to arrest that woman. She is the leading pathologist on this case. End of story. Return back to your posts at the tape." The two officers eyes grew large at the sound of his voice and quickly retreated to the background.
"Seriously? You just watched one of your own get a broken nose and you aren't even going to let me press charges?" Donovan was furious. For one, she got clobbered by a lab rat. Secondly, she was bleeding for Christ's sake.
Lestrade turn towards John, whose mouth seemed permanently unhinged. "Doctor Watson, will have a look at your nose and fix it for you." John snapped out of his daze and whipped his head to where Greg stood. "Uh...right. Sure. Um..." His eyes scouted around for a first aid kit.
Lestrade nodded toward his own squad card. "There's one in the back of the trunk in mine. Go have at it." He watched as the blonde doctor walked towards the car slowly coming out of his daze. Greg rubbed the back of his neck trying to release some of the tension. Bloody hell, this case wasn't easy to begin with. Sherlock really brings out the best in every one. He sighed again. He was doing that a lot these days. As Donovan walked past him to follow John, she glared up at him. He reached out and grabbed her arm firmly. He leaned his head down as his whispered. "Sally, I warned you. Next time think again before insulting either one of them, yeah?" She yanked her arm out from his grip, grumbling a "yes, sir." He turned his gaze on the pair a few of feet away. His lips twitched into a grin. Well, don't those two look nice and cozy. A few jolly strides their way and Greg was in front of them.
"As much as I would hate to break this up. We do have a dead body lying in the road."
Molly immediately stiffened. Oh my god. I just punched his officer. At a crime scene. Mortified she closed her eyes and attempted to pull her sore hand from Sherlock's. She felt a slight resistance from the warm and calloused hand as she removed it. She absentmindedly noted that the callouses must have been from playing his violin recently. Her heart stopped for a beat and she dared not look at him. Her auburn hair swirled with her as she turned to the DI. "Greg, I am so sorry for the trouble." Rubbing pain-filled knuckles, she eyed him with wary.
Sherlock felt the loss of her warmth and his hand tensed slightly trying to hold her hand in place as she moved away. What was he doing? He forced his muscles to ease their grip, both arms dropping so she could turn and face...George...or was it Grant? He cleared his throat and adjusted himself as he saw the other man eye him with unsung mirth.
Greg chuckled at Sherlock's uneasiness. The blazing gaze from Sherlock forced Greg to cough and place his eyes on Molly.
"No worries, Molly. "
Molly tried to smile. Sherlock's timber voice spoke up behind her.
"Donovan had it a long time coming, Molly Hooper. That I can assure you."
Her eyebrows furrowed.
"Does she go after you a lot then?"
Sherlock scoffed.
"She has no other prospects, I suppose."
Molly turned around and faced him. Her eyes lite with fury.
"Well, I don't like it. Not in front of me at least. My friends don't get teased around me. People can go after me all they like. But not the people I love. That's the rules." She nodded and turned back to Greg. "Again, I'm sorry for the trouble and probably won't do it again. But..." Molly pulled back her shoulders and looked Lestrade right in the eye. "I'm not sorry about her nose. "
Sherlock looked at her in wonder. She didn't attack Donovan because of what she said about Molly, but about him. She tried to protect him of all people. For the third time. He reached out to her shoulder and twirled her around to face him once again. His eyes searched her face. Hoping to see something he could not name. Not yet, anyways. He felt his eyes soft and he allowed himself to smile. Not yet. But...perhaps I can research this further. Filing away the thought for another day, he leaned down and quickly pecked her on her right cheek.
Molly closed her eyes for the brief kiss, burning it into her memory.
"Sherlock, she needs ice you know."
Sherlock glanced as John approached with a bag of ice and a cloth. He scowled.
"Obviously."
John wiggled his way past Sherlock and tended to Molly's hand. After he finished, he took a step back and regarded the small woman. "You know Molly, next time don't hold back on Sherlock. He should have been punched not slapped. It would be a shame to waste such a good right hook." He winked at her and grinned merrily.
Molly laughed. It felt good and she couldn't remember laughing in the last two or three weeks. As the energy returned to her body, she looked at Greg.
"Can I return to examining the body now?"
Greg nodded.
"Go on ahead, Doctor Hooper. She's all yours."
Molly moved, once again, towards the unfortunate victim. Half-way back, she looked at Sherlock. "Aren't you coming? I'm sure I can name at least 3 things you missed about the body's state already." Grinning, she continued to walk away. Did he really think I wouldn't notice?
Sherlock stared at the retreating back and smirked. The game is on...Molly Hooper. He followed after her, his messy mop of curls blowing with the sudden wind.
John looked at Greg. "Are they..."
Greg watched Molly and Sherlock converse over the body about their deductions. "Looks like it." He turned and quirked the corner of his mouth. "Betting pool?"
John gave the pair once last glance and then grinned at his friend.
"Oh, god yes."