Author's Note: To be honest, this is mostly plot (as well as probably the shortest chapter within the whole story), though I do promise that Sherlolly goodness is coming soon. For some reason though, this was the hardest chapter to write without having either Sherlock or Molly massively OOC. I've lost count of the amount of times I've written and rewritten this to stop that from happening.
However, please don't forget to leave a comment telling me your thoughts. I'd love to hear what you think!
For an immortal creature like him, time was rather meaningless. Cases came and went, and his enemies barely lasted a month—if he could be bothered. Any acquaintances he made were soon forgotten, and if he deigned to involve himself with a woman, the affair would last little more than a week. It contented him not to make attachments; such things distracted him from his work. Occasionally, he would attend a social function or two, but none ever really captured his interest.
Yes, nothing really caught his attention. Nothing except the small and brown-haired former governess whom he had not seen since their encounter that evening so many months ago.
It was his current case that reunited them. The case he had taken had been provided to him by Scotland Yard. They had been uselessly chasing down non-existent leads in an attempt to find the man that the media had so unimaginatively nicknamed "The Butcher". Many theories had been bandied about in newspapers and through salacious gossip, but none of them ever held true. But Sherlock continued his work. He may have been a monster himself, but he was a monster out of need. This was a monster of the very worst kind; this was a monster driven by the desire of a sick mind.
It was midnight when he visited the morgue that evening, and on entering, it was to his pleasant surprise that he found the body of the fifth victim. It was her mutilated body that betrayed the full vulgarity of the killer's mind. But Sherlock was not squeamish, and nor was he a coward. He would not have accepted the case if he was such a thing. He took a step forward and gently leaned over the body.
"What are you doing?" a crisp, female voice asked.
Oh, such a coincidence as this was far, far too delicious. With a low chuckle, he straightened himself up and turned to face her. She was as beautiful as he remembered.
"Miss Hooper," he said, bowing his head slightly.
"Mr Holmes." Her crisp demeanour was slipping now that she had recognised him.
He stepped forward, his footsteps echoing. "I thought you might be a little more delighted to see me."
"I'm afraid not. Now, if you'd kindly leave—"
"I can't do that. You see, I've been assigned to this case."
"Scotland Yard? They—they gave you the case?"
"Why so surprised Miss Hooper? You work here; surely you know the difficulties London's police forces are facing?"
Her expression darkened. "Do not patronise me, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock smiled a little to himself. It was not just her beauty that had remained unchanged.
"I suppose," he said after a moment, "that you were the only one who could stomach the sight of this poor young lady?"
"No. The workers of this morgue are all well-seasoned in the art of dissecting a body. I wanted to work on this case."
He had to admit, that didn't really surprise him; that a woman of her somewhat... complex nature could stomach the sight of her gender being abused in such a way was only a logical assumption.
"So, Miss Hooper, enlighten me. What is your opinion of the man who would create such horrors as this?" he asked, gesturing towards the body on the slab.
"He is certainly not a creator, Mr Holmes." His silence caused her to continue. "He is nothing but a vandal. Without thought or remorse, he kills these women because he believes them to beneath him. Such vandals should be brought to justice."
When she looked at him, her eyes were steely.
Sherlock smiled. "Five pounds a week. That is my charge."
"Pardon?"
"You wish to see this murderer brought to justice, as do I. I suggest then that we do not tally. If you will become my assistant on this case and do the duties I provide to you, I will provide you with five pounds a week and a room at my lodgings. The landlady, Mrs Hudson, is perfectly amiable and will service you with any domestic needs you may have. You shall only have to stay for the duration it takes to bring the killer to justice. If you wish to stay on for longer however, you may. Of course, whilst you are living there, we shall have to pose as brother and sister in order to avoid any gossip that may do your reputation damage. Aside from that, I see no real problems. After all, you will be always on hand to assist, and my lodgings are only a short cab ride away from the station."
She was quiet for a moment as she considered her answer. "In concern to your offer of becoming your assistant, I accept. As to your other offer, I must respectfully decline. My own lodgings are fine enough." She smiled and turned swiftly on her heel, moving past him and towards the body.
It was only at the last moment that she turned back to face him. "Do not mistake me, Mr Holmes. I'm perfectly willing to assist you in any capacity on this case, but considering our previous meetings together, I think it would be better for both of us to live apart."
She continued on with her work without another word, and for a moment, Sherlock remained where he stood as he watched her. Ever so slowly, his lips twitched into a content smile.
He had never looked forward to a case more than he did this one.