"The direction of the fracture highlights the height from which he fell, and give direct insight as to the nature of his leap." Her voice was as it always had been. He smiled and faced her. She grinned back. Her hair was pulled into the same ponytail, her colors bright and patterned.
"I gather he leapt unwillingly, so that he landed with arms outstretched towards the source of his fall. His back would have been curved, shoulders up. The first point of impact would have been—"
"His shoulder. Followed immediately by the skull. Death on impact."
"Yes." He didn't have to tell her he was impressed. She knew it because he knew it.
He pushed the body back into the cooler, the drawer closing with a click. He checked over the clipboard, affirmed his observations, noted they had the one detail wrong and moved on.
This one was recently sewn up. Not as neat as she usually did it, and he hears her tsk behind him.
"The new girl doesn't do very neat work yet. She'll learn."
"I don't want her to learn." He shot her a look. She laughed. "Come back to work."
"You know I can't, Sherlock. Besides, you like having me along with you."
"I also like having you at work." She giggle, softer than before. He ignored it.
His magnifying glass over the fingertips revealed stains, a thin line of black in the hollows of the prints. He's have to gather samples and do testing. It wasn't ink, it was too flaky.
"Could be paint?" He shook off her suggestion.
"No. Not quite." She paces around him, thinking it over with him. He knew he'd find it soon.
"How many cases are we going to do today? You're tired Sherlock."
"Well, I'll just keep at it until they're gone."
She smiles, reaching over to him. This is where it always starts to fall apart.
"You're so tired, just stop for the day. You need to." He shakes his head at her.
"Not right now. I'm enjoying this with you." He ignores the sad light to her eyes. There's something not quite right to the sigh. It's not exasperated like it should be. He knows Molly. She should be exasperated at his stubborn ethics.
"I enjoy it too. I've loved today, but we need to go home."
He bites his tongue. He wants to tell her he is home, but she would just point out that that's not healthy either. "Come with me then."
"Sherlock." Her voice is strained, but she caves. "If I go with you, will you go home and take a rest."
He nods.
"Even from this case, even in here?" A light caress against his curls. He's come to enjoy her playing with his hair more than ever.
"Yes. I'll take a break." Bart's fades, the cooler breaking into Baker Streets familiar hues and smells and textures.
Molly leans against his back, warmth seeping through his coat. She doesn't speak, just runs her hands over his chest as she wraps her arms around his waist. She's small, perfectly sized to press her cheek into the space below his shoulders.
"You can't stay long, can you?"
"No, but I did come back with you."
"Goodbye, Molly." The press of her against him fades. He's alone, in Baker Street. Where he never really left. He'd promised her he'd not go back, but he's tempted regardless.
After all, Molly has ruled his mind palace since she passed. It's the only place he still had her.