Shelock, chapter two. A study in pink.
An adaptation of the BBC's take on Sherlock Holmes, based on the original books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock is an incredibly intellectual woman, her life revolves around helping out Detective Inspector Lestrade solve cases that the London police fail to solve in time. She has the attitude of a high-functioning sociopath, but she knows this and is not willing to change. She takes no interest in men or women – for that fact. All she cares about is keeping her constantly active mind occupied. But is there more to this sold-hearted woman?
An adaptation of the BBC's take on Sherlock Holmes, based on the original books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock is an incredibly intellectual woman, her life revolves around helping out Detective Inspector Lestrade solve cases that the London police fail to solve in time. She has the attitude of a high-functioning sociopath, but she knows this and is not willing to change. She takes no interest in men or women – for that fact. All she cares about is keeping her constantly active mind occupied. But is there more to this sold-hearted woman?
Staphylococcus, Coffee and Chocolate
As she relaxed into the bath, submerging herself under the water to wash her untamed hair, she could just imagine the disgruntled Donovan chasing Lestrade into his office, evidently peeved about the texts that Sherlock had so perfectly timed. She laughed, causing a bubble of air to escape her lips and ripple though the water as she closed her eyes.
Once the novelty of a quiet bath had worn off, Sherlock wandered around her flat in nothing more than her towel, picking up items she would need for her trip to the shops – she was out of milk, bread and any form of vegetation. She threw her phone, wallet, keys, a tiny concealed magnifying glass to check the condition of fruit, latex gloves so she didn't have to handle the goods and her leather notebook into her satchel before sitting at the breakfast table that was covered with all manner of biological research equipment. She drummed her fingers to Beethoven's fifth symphony as she admired her strand of staphylococcus aureus she had been growing.
Staphylococcus aureus, warm temperatures – 37 degrees centigrade, reproduce and respire much faster than in the cooler climate of 31 degrees centigrade.
Just as she found a pen that worked, her phone started to ring, the blipping causing a lapse in her focus, her mind abandoning the Petri dish... the phone, which was in her bag which sat inconveniently out in the hall by the stairs, kept ringing and ringing; she sighed and rubbed her temple, putting the pen down before sliding off the stool, holding up her towel and making her way to the bag.
"Sherlock; make it quick." She drawled down the phone, using her shoulder to hold it to her ear, not paying much attention to the call to start with – being too busy trying to recover the strand of thought that had escaped her only moments ago,
"Sherlock! Good morning, I have something for you. At my office. Fresh in this morning! But don't get too excited... I mean, it's just the usual – well, not the 'usual' but..." The voice of Molly Hooper rang in her ears,
Ten thirty in the morning, very bubbly – more so than she would be at twelve... Coffee, two sugars with milk. Probably a snack on the way to work, something high in sugar, bound to have worn off by lunch though – conclusion, chocolate cereal bar and coffee for breakfast.
"Molly..." she started, hoping to question her a little further into what she had to deal with, but the ever eager to please, Molly took the pause as a chance to interrupt,
"I've only got it a few hours, so you best come down straight away; I've put it in your preferred lab, like you always ask – keeping one step ahead!" Miss Hooper chirped, most likely as she sat on the rotating stool in her office,
"I'll be there in twenty three minutes." Sherlock added on the end before hanging up quickly and dropping the phone back into the satchel.
Seeing as she was chirpy, it's unlikely to be that gruesome, so that rules out mutilation, deception, amputation or 'customisation', as Molly puts it... Shirt and smart black jeans it is. With a slight delay, Sherlock headed into her room to change into her cotton black shirt and jeans.
Stepping from the cab, the cold air hit her; she pulled the neck of her coat up to shield her before she entered the hospital. The automatic doors opened with a smooth whoosh of air, the sterile smell overwhelming her – Mike Stamford was stood, casually leaning his large arm on the reception desk in the foyer
"Morning, Stamford." She greeted him with a nod,
"Any luck with that flat share?" He called after her, causing her to come to an abrupt stop, almost a skidding halt.
"No... I must be a difficult woman to find a flat mate for..." with a smile lasting only a second, she took off back down the corridor, the same purpose in her stride, as she made her way through the halls down to the morgue, taking the steps rather than the lift, feeling doubly confident – the people here knew her, and what she was capable of.
"Morning Joan, new hair cut." This wasn't a question, merely a chance to flaunt her skills as she passed the morgue receptionist seconds before bursting through the doors into the 'cooler' room.
"Make my day, Molly Hooper." Sherlock called, tossing her coat onto an empty slab and pulling her latex gloves out before discarding her bag with her coat. Molly appeared shortly after - chewing what Sherlock could only assume was cherry bubble gum judging by its pungent aroma and unnatural colouration,
"Morning Sherlock." She beamed, passing with a gentle brushing against Sherlock's arm, "it's the one in the body bag." handing Sherlock a ruler to take measurements. Sherlock unzipped the black body bag, stood at the head of the table as she looked inside, seeing a middle aged man with severe lacerations across his chest, arms and face,
"How fresh?" she asked, her head cocked to the side as she took in every detail, noticing the slight discolouration to the left side of the man's receding hairline, smoker, fifteen years plus – held the cigarette in the left side of his mouth, hence the dried, chapped lip corner and stained canine.
"Just in. Sixty seven natural causes... used to work here, I knew him, he was nice..." Molly rambled as she hovered at the foot of the slab. Sherlock spotted a small green fleck of... paint? In the victim's hair, she carefully brushed it free using the ruler Molly had given her, guiding it into a small plastic bag she had grabbed from Molly's lab coat when she brushed against her.
"Right, we'll start with the riding crop." She smiled at Molly, not a nice and friendly smile – more one of thanks, this was enough to rid her of boredom. Molly, who was wearing a faint look of concern nodded, leaving the room to find a riding crop – leaving Sherlock to prepare herself for the brutal attack she was about to conduct on a pig corpse – the only thing close enough to a human corpse, seeing as it was 'unethical' to bludgeon a cadaver; rolling up her sleeves and trying her hair back with a small elastic band, she turned her back to the body, closing her eyes to focus.
Thin and narrow blunt instrument, forceful and aggressive blows to the face – evidently a personal attack, first few strikes were hesitant to start with, they became more aggressive as the attacker became more confident with their blows. Jealous ex partner? With that amount of force, attacker would have to be male – much broader shoulders, capable of applying strong downward blows repeatedly. Ex boyfriend? She turned to look at the body, clear tan line on the wedding figure, consistent with the width of a 1980's wedding band – thirty plus years of a happy marriage, affair – unlikely. As soon as her train of thought came to an end, Molly re-entered the lab holding a riding crop, she knew it best not to interrupt with Sherlock's mind so she just placed it on the table next to the corpse, exiting to go and watch Sherlock work through the window on the next floor up – the observation room.
Having spent the past seven minutes – the average length of time a personal attack with repeated movements like bludgeoning or stabbing lasts, Sherlock struck the final blow to the pigs corpse before pivoting on the ball of her foot to look away and recover, catching her breath,
"So, bad day was it?" Molly laughed nervously as she made her presence apparent upon re-entering the cooler.
"I need to know which bruises form in the next twenty minutes; a man's alibi depends on it. Text me." Sherlock added before Molly could continue after her nervous laughter, her eyes fixated on Sherlock's flushed cheeks. A sudden blurt of words leaked from the young M.E's lips,
"Listen, I was wondering, m-maybe later when you're finished..." Sherlock looked up, her glaze falling onto Molly's newly pink tinted lips,
"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." Her brow furrowed in thought and slight confusion,
"I uh... I refreshed it a bit..." she laughed nervously again, her hands behind her back and a gentle sway in her stance, Sherlock barely raised an eyebrow before grabbing her notebook,
"Sorry, you were saying...?" She took out her pen and started to record her experiment details for future reference,
"I was wondering if you would like to have coffee." Molly asked, more monosyllabic this time around,
"Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs." She smiled briefly before striding to retrieve her coat and bag, floating out of the room.