First, let me apologize to those who followed this story. You have amazing patience and I really appreciate that. I've been very busy lately, and the more I worked on the story the more I hated it, I had to re-write a lot, including this chapter so please be sure to re-read this before going to the next one because a lot has changed. Let me also say that the next chapters won't take nearly as long because I've got most of it written, I just have to hash out some of the details and the dialogue. Thank you for keeping with me!
Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door of Sherlock's flat at 221B Baker Street. Molly stood beside her, muscles tense, glancing often down at her feet as if to check if they were still there.
"Sherlock? Is the doorbell in the freezer again?" The land lady called through the door, knocking twice.
The two women could hear the sound of muffled voices from inside, but neither could make anything out of it, except for the tone, which clearly painted a portrait of two men arguing almost. The door opened to reveal John Watson looking rather annoyed. Inside Molly saw Sherlock and Mary, the latter positively beaming from her comfortable perch on the sofa, her large belly revealing the lateness in her pregnancy.
"I'm sorry, you're busy, I can come back later," Molly said.
"No, no, of course not! There is room for one more," Mary motioned for her to come in, her smile warm.
"Well, I best be on my way," Mrs. Hudson excused herself.
"Thank you," said Molly, taking a step into the flat
"Yes, thank you, Mrs H," John called back as he closed the door.
Mary patted the empty seat next to her, "Sit down, Molly, make yourself at home. John was just about to fix us a cup of tea."
"What?" John said, incredulously. "Me? Sherlock is the one who lives here."
"Yes, dear, but you used to too, remember?" Mary teased.
"Yes but-" he hissed, glaring at his wife, "-but not anymore."
"Come on, John, the tea!" Sherlock insisted.
John looked from his wife to his best friend, his mouth open in protest, but he forced himself to swallow his words. "Since when were you two best mates?"
"Since you married..." Sherlock stopped and glanced at Molly from the corner of his eye, not wanting to admit to her Mary's previous employment. Not yet anyway. "...such a charming and skilled woman."
Mary couldn't hold in her laughter.
"You two make me ill," John yammered.
"The tea, John," Mary reminded.
"Of course," he muttered, and went off to the kitchen.
"How have you been, Molly?" Mary asked, turning her full attention upon the pathologist in sincere interest. "Sherlock been bothering you lately?"
"Fine, I'm fine," Molly replied, ignoring the last part of the question. She cast a quick glance at Sherlock, thinking back to the last time she had seen him. He had just gotten back from what was supposed to be his exile. She remembered the way he looked at her, eyes filled with as much emotion she had only known him capable of because of one pervious encounter. Now, Sherlock seemed completely normal.
Well, as normal as can be expected of him.
"I had an unusual day at work," Molly changed the subject, "that is why I'm here."
"Unusual, how?" Mary prodded.
"Well, to start, there has been a recent spike in pneumonia fatalities," Molly said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Peak influenza season," Sherlock remarked. "Not exactly what I would call unusual."
"Sherlock," Mary sighed and shook her head. He lifted an eyebrow, confused as to what he had said wrong.
John came by and handed his wife a steamy mug.
"Thank you." Mary took a sip as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading back into the kitchen. John, without thinking, scratched his upper arm, a detail that did not go unnoticed by the consulting detective.
"Vaccines?" Sherlock asked Mary.
"Flu jab," she nodded. "He gets one every year, doesn't even need to book an appointment, they know he's coming over at Bart's, they probably set their watches to it. You know, Sherlock, it is suggested that you get one too, or anyone who plans on being near the baby," she instinctively rubbed her protruding belly.
"Sorry," started Molly, "but back to what I was saying..."
"Molly, how do you like your tea?" John asked from the kitchen.
"Two sugars, thank you," Molly replied, then gave another attempt to telling her story. "There was a recent spike in deaths-"
"You've said this already," Sherlock interrupted, clearly not interested.
"-caused by pneumonia-"
"Thank you John," Sherlock said as John handed him his tea.
"-I didn't-thank you," Molly paused as she took the tea from John before continuing, "I didn't think-"
Sherlock suddenly spat out the tea he had just sipped, coughing as if he were choking "John, what is this? You of all people know how I like my tea!"
"If you don't like it," John said, annoyed, "you can make it yourself."
Sherlock muttered something incoherently; John shooting him a nasty stare.
"May I PLEASE get back to what I was saying?" Molly shouted uncharacteristically, succeeding in grabbing the full attention of the room. Nobody moved, except Mary, who went back to beaming.
"As I was saying," she sighed, "I didn't think anything of it, not at first, but, on a hunch, I decided to further examine the bodies."
"And what did you find?" Sherlock ask, almost bored.
"Well, to be frank, nothing."
Sherlock didn't seem to register what Molly said, not at first. He blankly stared off to some corner of his room, until John interrupted the uncomfortable silence.
"You found...nothing?"
"Yes, but I have a feeling that-" Molly started.
"Why did you come here?" Sherlock interrupted. "Surely there is someone else you can bother with your feelings, Molly, the police, perhaps? With such incriminating evidence as you have surely you'd have an arrest within minutes if you went to George."
"Greg," Molly corrected halfheartedly.
"Sherlock, really, you can be a real d-" John hesitated, glancing at the two women in the room, "prick."
"Molly. You expect me to help you investigate into a murder, to which you cannot even be sure the victims are victims. You have no evidence, no cause of death, and very possibly, no murder?" Sherlock asked, completely serious, with increased intensity as his eyes bored into Molly's.
John looked put off at his comment, but Sherlock didn't notice. Molly pressed her lips together, holding back a few choice words.
"It's not like I came to you to help me find those things!" her voice raised a hair above the acceptable indoor level. "You don't have to help me." Her last statement struck a chord with Sherlock, who's face softened as he straightened his back.
"My apologizes, Molly, of course I will help you," Sherlock's tone deepened, replacing it's sarcasm with genuine kindness. Decidedly, he stood up, walking right over the coffee table toward the front door, majestically swirling on his signature Belstaff coat, then turned to face his company. "It was getting a bit dull, John. Mary, you have my sincerest apologies, but I must cut our afternoon short."
"Dull?" John spat.
"Where are you going?" piped in Molly.
"With you, of course," Sherlock replied. "To Bart's Morgue to examine the bodies, obviously."
"Mind if we join you?" Mary asked.
"Mary, don't encourage him," John asked, purposefully standing up. "Sherlock, she already said she found nothing."
"Yes, she found nothing, doesn't mean nothing is there. Come on then, Mary. Molly," he nodded to each woman as he said their names, handing them their coats. "John?" He held out the doctor's coat. John hesitated for a moment, gripping the arms of his chair. Mary caught his eye.
"Fine."
In Bart's morgue, Sherlock and John stood hunched over the first of six bodies Molly had pulled out for them.
"When I first began to suspect, there were just five, one more died since Dr. Culver didn't show up to work today"
"Failed to mention that detail," Sherlock noted.
"Of course," she ignored him, "technically speaking, COD is pneumonia, HAP, but of course they needed to have their immune system suppressed first."
"HAP?" asked Mary.
"Hospital-acquired pneumonia," whispered John.
"Ah."
"You have double checked for anything suspicious of course, any poison?" Sherlock asked, looking through his magnifying glass at the bodies, examining carefully.
"Yes," Molly nodded, "tested for all the ones I could."
"John, what's wrong with this picture?" Sherlock muttered, his nose practically touching a cadaver's foot as he peered through his magnifying glass.
"How do you mean?" asked John.
Sherlock ignored his lack of answer. "Mary?"
"Unlikely these are victims of a serial murderer," Mary mused out loud.
"Mmmmm, yes," agreed Sherlock. "What's the one thing these people have in common, John?"
"Well, they are all dead?"
"Dead?" Sherlock looked almost surprised, taking a moment away from his magnifying glass to glance back at John.
"They are all here, at Bart's," Molly blurted out before Sherlock could continue.
"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock gave her a slight smile. "Serial killer wouldn't be so careless to have all of his victims at the same hospital, too easy to be discovered, especially when he went through all that trouble to make their deaths seem natural. No, much more likely there is something else that connects them." He turned toward the pathologist. "Tell me, Molly, is the hospital suspicious of an outbreak?"
Molly pressed her lips together, not liking where this was going. "No."
"And why is that?"
"Though they have all died in rather close proximity to each other, and all in the ICU, they were all in different rooms, scattered about, no connecting vents or such of the usual culprits that would lead to suspicions of an outbreak."
"Then, please do tell, what is the basis to your hunch?"
"Well," she fiddled with her rubber gloves, unsure of how to say it. "I was coming off the lift when I quite literally bumped into Dr. Culver. He was out of breath, like he had been running. I didn't think anything of it until I got back to the morgue, once I opened the door, immediately I knew someone had been inside. Someone had been in here and disturbed some of the bodies, specifically, these ones."
"How could you tell?" John asked.
"John, trust me, I know my morgue, I know how I left it," she said, drawing out a grin from Sherlock. "I thought it rather odd that he would be looking at seemingly normal deaths. That's when I decided to re-examine the bodies. Their lungs were full of discharge, consistent with the pneumonia, indeed they all died of HAP, they all were in the ICU previous to contracting the HAP, all with unrelated immune suppressing conditions."
"One HIV, three with varying types of cancer, one recovering from heart surgery complications, and finally COPD, on a ventilator support," Sherlock observed from the corpses. "Am I right?"
John begged Molly with his eyes not to respond, but she nodded anyway, causing the doctor to sigh loudly.
"So seemingly unrelated patients," started John, "all who have nothing in common except Bart's, all die normal deaths caused by a disease that isn't at all uncommon for people in their , not murder?"
"Wrong," Sherlock said. John waited for him to continue, but he didn't.
"How am I wrong?"
Sherlock only looked at Molly, as if waiting for her cue.
"D-Dr. Culver," Molly stammered.
"Who?" asked John.
"These patients all have someone in common, Dr. Culver," Molly explained.
"Rather jumping the gun, sorting out a suspect when you can't be sure of the murderer?" muttered John. "How can you be so sure we are handling a murder case after all?"
"Intuition, John," Sherlock lifted his coat collar, "Molly, check with the other hospitals, run a cross examination of all the pneumonia cases, I want to know of all other similar cases out there."
Molly nodded as she glanced down at her mobile as it buzzed with a text.
"John, you need to find Dr. Culver and talk to him," Sherlock instructed. "Details, John, I need details."
"Wait," Molly mumbled,
John paused, hand frozen on the door of the morgue, handle turned a quarter ways.
"Sherlock," she gasped, unable to tear her eyes from her mobile, "I know where Dr. Culver is."
"Oh good, where is he?"
"He's...he's dead."
Thanks for reading, I'll have the next chapter up very soon, I pinky swear!