Sherlock's Broken Heart

Blood ran along the floor of the mortuary at St Bart's Hospital. There was no sign of a murderer, but a murder there was a sign of. Lucy Isole, fiancée of Sherlock Holmes, lay face down on the floor, neck snapped, blood running from her abdomen.

Since he was bored at the flat, Sherlock had decided to go to the mortuary, express his anger on a dead body. His riding crop was behind the sofa; Mrs Hudson had found it there. He took it with himself, ran out of the flat into the streets of London. He was waiting for a cab. After a few minutes a cab pulled up next to him and twenty minutes later he was in the lab. First he went to check his iPhone; he had left it there last night. Nothing interesting. He decided not to wait for anything and go downstairs to let his anger out on some poor dead man.
He went downstairs in the mortuary with a rather large grin on his face. That grin slowly disappeared as he had seen a body lying on the floor. Not anybody's body, but Lucy's. His mouth open in shock the riding crop fell out of his hand. He ran to Lucy, slowly lifting her up in his arms "L…Lu?" his voice was shaky as he was moving hair away from Lucy's bloody face, glancing his look down from where her blood was coming from. Then he looked back at her "Lu!" he called again, through a whisper.

Obviously, there was no response. Lucy's eyes were open, final tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes no longer shone, but one thing was obvious, she'd been scared, very scared, before she'd died. She must have grabbed the weapon too, for her hands were bloody. Her mouth was open from her final breath. This wasn't an accident, someone had killed her.
Whoever killed Lucy had escaped quickly. Sherlock saw a tear that was rolling down her cheek; he lifted Lucy up in his arms, placing her on the mortuary table. Blood was dripping off his hands as he carried her. No sign of life, this was exactly how Lucy had felt yesterday, and it was awful. There was no potion to save her. Sherlock grabbed his phone, scrolling through his phonebook. First, he called John, then Molly. His hand was shaking as he did, and so was Sherlock. It was Molly who arrived first, she'd come to Bart's as soon as Sherlock had called. She walked in and went pale "Is she?" and she pointed. She couldn't really say much else.

By that time, Sherlock was sat down on the floor, in a corner, biting his knuckle. He nodded to Molly, fighting with his emotions. He didn't want to cry, not in front of her.
Molly looked Lucy over "Stab wound" she told him, being in the medical area, which didn't help "Looks like her abdomen was ripped open, but the killer didn't want her dying slowly, so snapped her neck" she sighed "You need to call Lestrade, I can…do it?" typical Molly, nervous around Sherlock and making suggestions.
"Don't" Sherlock said through his teeth "You know him. He'll say that I killed her"
Then John burst in. "What is it now Sh-.." John started, but stopped, first glancing at Lucy's dead body, then at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes were slightly red, slowly filling with tears. He couldn't fight it off, even his knuckle started to bleed. "Oh fuck…" John mumbled "Did you…?"
"What? Kill my fiancée?" Sherlock shouted, it was echoing around the mortuary
"No I thought…"
"Why would I want to kill her? She's the only woman who understood me John"
"I wanted to s-.."
"I'll kill that bastard who killed her. Who did that to her…"
"DID YOU FIND HER!" John raised his voice since he couldn't finish, Sherlock nodded and he sighed.

Molly flinched as he shouted. She bit her lip "You know who killed her?" she asked. She didn't blame Sherlock. She liked him. She found a white sheet in the cupboard and went to cover Lucy's body with it. Sherlock closed his eyes; he refused to answer that question. He stood up, walking to the door.
"No…Sherlock..." John followed him "Where are you going?"
"To find him" Even though he didn't know the sex of the killer, he was sure it was a male. As he thought, women were too sensitive to do it. John pulled his shoulder "No you're not.."
"I AM LOSING TIME JOHN!" Sherlock shouted again, which was understandable to John "SHE'S DEAD. THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO!"

Molly covered Lucy's body and looked at John, then at Sherlock. She'd be given more bodies later; the police would soon discover Lucy up there "Should I move her? Somewhere else? Somewhere private? So you can be with her?" this was aimed at Sherlock, she looked at Lucy's body again and sighed. Someone who understood Sherlock didn't come around very often. What had Lucy done to deserve this?
Sherlock opened his mouth again, wanting to shout, express the anger. But Molly stopped him with her questions "It'd be nice…Thank you Molly"
"Yes, but killing someone else won't help either" said John
"That other person deserves to be dead. Not her!" Sherlock said, tilting his head towards Lucy's dead body.

"Also so Lestrade won't find her" Molly said as she lifted Lucy carefully, taking her into the side room where family members usually stood, and laid her on the sofa in there, uncovering her face. She walked back into the mortuary "She's there if you want to sit with her" she looked at the two men, her phone beeped, meaning she'd get another body soon and bit her lip.
"You're not going to…" while John was saying that Sherlock already went towards the room, passing next to each Molly. A single tear was rolling down his cheek. It was heart-breaking to watch, John sighed again.
Sherlock walked in, shutting the door behind him carefully. He glanced his look at Lucy, at her with her eyes and mouth open. Now he sighed, pulling up a chair next to her. "If I can talk to a skull I can talk to you too…" he mumbled as he sat down, giving a small smile at his own joke, even though it wasn't the time to smile. Molly looked at John "She must have been special…to be loved by Sherlock Holmes" she sighed. Her crush on Sherlock never went away; she even wanted to name a cat after him. "What will you do?" she asked John. She pulled out her phone while waiting for his answer "Lestrade's coming in with a body, I'll be working late again I guess…" she tried to make a normal conversation.

John nodded as she was talking. "I'll probably wait. I've got nothing smart to do" said John, scratching the back of his neck. "He first said that we are losing time and look at him, talking to a dead body" John complained.
Sherlock placed his elbows on his knees, resting his head on his hands while looking at Lucy's face. If he knew that this is going to happen he'd have waited for the Doppelganger to go away. In front of him he had a fresh, new case. But this time it wasn't 'brilliant' as some other case.
"He's grieving. Leave him" Molly said "Coffee?" she asked John, glancing at Sherlock. Her heart went out to him, it really did "I've never seen him so emotional"
"I know. Neither did I…" After Molly had glanced her look, John did too. Then he sighed "No, I can't right now. Thanks anyway"

Molly nodded and prepared herself for when Lestrade and the team appeared.
"Who'd do that to you?" Sherlock whispered, asking the dead Lucy. Eh, if only the dead could talk. It'd be so much easier. On of Lucy's hands fell limp and opened, Molly looked over and her blood ran cold at what fell out, a baby's dummy. Alex's. "Oh…."
Lucy was still ice cold, no response. Whoever killed her had frightened her so much; she'd died with the fear still there on her face.
Sherlock picked the dummy up, it hurt even more now. Alexander. Sherlock has to take care of him, raise him up on his own…or with the help of Mrs Hudson. Sherlock couldn't look at Lucy's shocked face anymore. By passing over her face he closed her eyes, by stroking her cheek and lifting her chin with him thumb he closed her mouth, the last thing he did was that he kissed her forehead. His lips felt her cold skin, after a few minutes he lost all his hopes, he had to get over the fact that she's gone, and that everything was going to change now.

Molly blinked, she couldn't say anything. He was a father. Whoever did this must be heartless to not think of a baby "Sherlock?" she said softly "Lestrade's on his way up is there anything I can do?"
"Kill me?" partly sarcastic, Sherlock answered her question. He clutched the dummy in his jacket pocket then he glanced and covered Lucy, mumbling "Rest in peace…"
Molly looked at her feet in respect and fell silent, letting the silence pay respects to Lucy. It was short-lived of course when Lestrade and Co. brought Molly's next body in. What no-one saw, was Lucy's ghost, watching, silver tears on her cheeks "Sherlock…" she whispered, like that would work, Sherlock didn't believe in ghosts.

"Alright boys leave the body there" Lestrade pointed at the table, pushing John out of his way. John frowned, saying "Watch it"
Lestrade apologised. "If you're here, that means Sherlock is too. I need him too…"
"It's not the right moment" John whispered, looking at Molly and Sherlock. Lestrade raised an eyebrow and asked "Who died?"
"Lucy" John answered, Lestrade rubbed his chin.
"Damn it..."
Molly started to work. The ghost Lucy looked at Sherlock, and reached out for him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and then stroked his cheek, before turning and stepping back into her body. Molly was discussing Lucy's death with Lestrade "She was murdered" she told him, not caring about the body she was meant to be working on "In here. He found her"

Sherlock heard that someone was calling him. He raised his head and looked up and stared at one point for a few minutes, and then he shook his head. There's no such thing as ghosts, he knew it. "I…I have to go, really." Sherlock mumbled and rushed out of the room, passing Lestrade.
"I'm sorry for your l-.." Lestrade said as he was passing next to him, and he accidently hit his shoulder. This time John didn't say anything or try to stop him.
Molly watched him go "So...what do I do with her body?" she asked. She didn't want to move her, but usually the bodies once finished with were give back to their families.
"Just.." Sherlock sighed, turning to Molly "Leave her if you can. Please"
Molly nodded paying full attention to the body in front of her. Not saying a word.