Molly had wanted to work with the dead since she was a young girl. Most people would probably think that odd, but Molly didn't care. She had become interested from watching those crime shows on the telly, the ones that tried to figure out who murdered the victim and how. She had thought that it was really interesting how someone could figure out all those things even though the victim wasn't able to communicate anymore.
To Molly, each body told a story, and she prided herself on being able to read it. The stories were never complete when she got to them, but she helped to finish them. She would figure out their cause of death, and then either the story would end there or would continue on until the reason they were dead was sorted out, depending on the type of death. Not many seemed to share this way of thinking, though; they all just looked at it as facts, never with a greater picture in mind. At least, that's what Molly thought until she met Him.
She remembered the cause of death, too: asphyxiation after vomiting while unconscious. He had been injected with a sedative and had had a bad reaction to it. The police were completely stumped, and Lestrade had called her to warn her about someone he had called in to help with the case. He had barely hung up when the man in question had burst into the room, his coat billowing around him. The man had immediately gone over to the body she had left out on the table and started examining it, just as Lestrade ran into the room, panting. He chastised the man for running off without him, but the man didn't seem to be listening.
She took the time to observe Him now, as she hadn't taken the time to do so before. He was certainly interesting looking; tall and unnaturally thin, with curly black hair and piercing bluish-grey eyes. His eyes astounded her, actually. They were so familiar that she had a hard time keeping the shock she felt off of her face. They had a glint in them, a knowing look, as if they were reading a magnificent story that few people had the privilege of ever reading.
It was the exact same look her own eyes had held countless times before.