Chapter 2

Findings

Thank you so much for the reviews. I hope you're going to enjoy this story. Now on to chapter two. I have a feeling this story will be a long one, so bare with me please.

English is not my first language so excuse me if there is any wrong spellings or wrong grammar.

Disclaimer: i do not own BBC's characters. I do own the dead character of Tucker McCreary though.

Molly managed to trick the alarmsystem. It was easy. She knew exactly what to do and how much time it would give her. The lack of security in a brittish government building surprised her. Especially this one. It was where Mycroft Holmes worked and she knew him well enough to know that this could not be an ordinary government building. And then it hit her.

"I am so fucking stupid!"

She knew what was going on. She was led in to a trap.

"Off course it's a trap." She said to herself.

It had to be. Or did Mycroft think that nobody would be stupid enough to even try to break in and steal something, that he had pulled back on the security? There was only one way to find out. And Molly didn't have a choice anyway. The lives of the people she cared about was at stake. She hooked herself up to the climbing gear, looked down the elevator shaft and jumped.

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Molly swallowed nervously. How was she going to explain this?

"Well..." she began, searching in her mind for a logical explenation.

Damn, she was rusty. She used to be very good at coming up with lies on the spot. And then she remembered.

"...The McCreary clan HAS been on the news a lot lately. I recognized the name from the telly."

Lestrade seemed to accept her explenation. She was relieved and let out a quiet sigh before she realized that Sherlock was watching her. He didn't seem so convinced. Once again he narrowed his eyes, looking suspiciosly at her as Lestrade continued his briefing.

"Yes, well, the clan has eluded us, being on a rampage all around London and we still haven't found their secret underground lair. That is why I was surprised to find McCreary himself, dead, down by the industrial rail road track. I can't think of anyone who would be powerful enough to take him down. Every god damn criminal in this town are afraid of him."

"And you're concerned that someone even more dangerous is making their way up the food chain." Sherlock concluded.

"Yes."

"It's a logical assumption." Sherlock said. "I'm in."

He gave Molly a last suspicious glance before he abruptly turned around and started to walk away from them.

"Hold the body. I need to examine the crime scene." He shouted before he disappeared out the doors.

"We better go after him" Said John and rushed after Sherlock.

"Yes, we better." Lestrade gave Molly a look and she nodded to answer his unasked question.

"I will call if I find anything interesting." She said.

Lestrade rushed after Sherlock and John. Molly was left alone in the cold examination room with the dead body. She was used to it. She actually prefered it. This time she did, anyway.

"That was a close call, my dear McCreary." She said, looking down at the dead body. "Lucky for me you've not been lazy since the last time I saw you. And lucky for me I get to cut you open. I said I would do that one day. You didn't believe me."

She used to talk to the dead bodies. The only difference now was: she knew this one.

"Well, let's see what you've got for me, Tucker."

He was still wearing his clothes and it was up to the pathologist to take them off. As she struggled with his pants she noticed something falling out of their pocket. It was a note. She picked it up and out of habit she put the note in an evidence bag before she looked at it. She almost stopped breathing when it became clear to her what the note said.

Golden Hawk

It was a code she hadn't heard for at least 8 years. Without hesitation she put the evidence bag with the note in her lab coat pocket. Then she looked at the dead Tucker McCreary on her examination table.

"Why did you have that code on you?" She asked, not really expecting an answer. "Let's hope that was all you had on you that could connect you to me."

She was interrupted by one of the crime scene investigators coming through the doors in to the morgue.

"Miss Hooper?"

"Yes."

The man was carrying a box with evidence.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade asked me to give these evidence bags for you. He wants you to examine them."

The man did not look happy about this. And she understood him, because usually she wasn't the one who got to examine the evidence from a crime scene. She was usually the one who took care of the dead body. But apparantly Lestrade needed her eyes on this. And it was a perfect opportunity for her to look for more evidence that could be disastrous for her.

"Thank you." She said politely. "Have you already catalogued these?"

If they were already catalouged it would be harder for her to hide it if she found something.

"No, we just bagged them." The crime scene investigator answered.

He seemed a little reluctant to leave the evidence with her but she gave him a nod and took the evidence box from him. He walked out from the morgue and Molly rushed to an empty table and poured out the contents. Her heart was racing. After so many years she didn't think she'd stand in the morgue trying to look through evidence that she could hide from the police.

She looked through every evidence bag carefully three times, at least, before she concluded that there was nothing there to hide.

"Thank god!" She thought out loud.

She put the evidence bags back in the box and decided to concentrate on Mr. McCreary. When she had stripped him of all his clothes and carefully examined the body she was ready to dig in.

"This could have turned out very badly for me." She said picking up a scalpel. "Well, I think it's going to end up badly for you, you know, me cutting you up and all."

While doing the autopsy, she couldn't help but get a little worried. The evidence bag with the note was still in her lab coat pocket and she didn't care a bit that she had stolen it. It was necessary for her to hide it. To protect herself.

"Found anything?"

She was startled by the deep baritone voice, which she knew belonged to Sherlock. Well, he always startled her. He had a tendency to show up when she least expected it. And now she was a little annoyed. The stress of old things, and old (now dead) acquaintances, popping up to the surface had got her blood pumping really fast. And the presence of Sherlock was not helping the cause.

"Please Sherlock, can you stop doing that!" She said, raising her voice a little more than she intended.

He gave her another one of his "You're puzzling me"-looks and then leaned in to look inside McCreary's stomach.

"You didn't answer the question." He said.

"No, I haven't found anything yet. I told Lestrade I would call if I did and I'm not finished yet. So please go away Sherlock. I'm not in the mood for anything that involves you right now."

She surprised herself. She wasn't usually this bold around Sherlock. She had almost forgotten how it felt to be confident and bold.

"Is it that time of the month?" Sherlock asked suddenly, and Molly looked up from the content of the dead man's stomach and torso.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"Are you menstruating? Because usually you don't bite my head off like this. I have actually never experienced you being so...feisty."

Molly took a deep breath. Pulling in the smell of death in her nostrils. This was not good. She was starting to lose her cover. If Sherlock started to suspect something then all would be lost. She had to keep her act together.

"N-no." She stuttered. "It's been a long day, that's all."

They stood there, on opposite sides of a dead body, looking at each other for a couple of seconds that felt like an eternity for Molly. She let her eyes wander to his lips and imagined what they would taste like. But before she could let her thoughts wander further away, Sherlock cleared his throat and interrupted her train of thought. Abruptly he turned around and left the blushing pathologist standing alone with a dead druglord she just had cut open.

I know, she's a pathologist. A pathologist handles tissues and diseases but I made an exception for this story. She is a doctor, after all.

We'll see when I get the chance to update next time.