Chapter Two
Sitting on a bench in the hospital, Helena pulled her phone from her jacket pocket. She stared at her background picture of Ben, Nina, and herself. She took a cleansing breath, composing herself. Now dressed for the day, she didn't want to ruin her makeup with more tears, or worse, let anyone see her cry. She scrolled to her Favorites. With a deep sigh she selected Nina's Number, placing the phone to her ear.
"Hey!" Nina's voice answered excitedly.
"Hi honey, look, I have no idea how to say this so I'll just spit it out. Ben was found murdered last night. I'm so sorry." Helena said with as much control as she could.
"Psych! You've reached Nina Night's voicemail. Leave me a message after the beep, love." Nina's voice giggled until the beep.
*Beep*
" I HATE THAT VOICEMAIL! Look, you need to call me, Nina. I'm at St. Bart's. I love you. Bye." Helena felt extremely cross after Nina's voicemail. She sat up straight though when she heard footsteps, no reason not to keep up appearances.
Two men walked down the hall. The shorter one was handsome, nice posture, light-ish brown hair. It swooped to one side. The other was much taller, handsome in a completely different way. He had dark brown hair, a head full of curls. She wished someone would need a job pulled over on him. She briefly mused over the possibilities. As they came closer she could make out their conversation.
"No! It is never appropriate. That's not something people do!" The short one spouted.
"People? No. Me? Yes. You need to relax, its for research John. Would you prefer I did not secure Mr. Delacroix's alibi? Anyway, I may need this knowledge for a future case." The tall one rattled off, matter-of-fact-ly. The pair reached the mortuary door, turning the handle to enter, the tall one looked confused. The handle wouldn't move. "Molly!" He shouted at the door.
"Sherlock! Don't yell at the door. You can just knock, you know." John said, rolling his eyes.
"Molly!" Sherlock shouted again. A Petite brunette appeared behind the window on the door. A caring look on her face. She smiled and opened the door.
"Hi Sherlock.." The brunette spoke softly.
" Why is this door locked? It's never locked. Has someone been meddling with the corpses again? Are my experiments alright?" Sherlock asked, rather self-centered.
"I was told I had to. Donnovan complained about you.., well, uh, meddling with the bodies…. Again." Molly bashfully admitted.
"Absolutely absurd! I do not meddle!" He scoffed.
"Sherlock," Molly whispered. "she found your toy!" Sherlock's lips turned up in a smile. John's mouth opened in surprise.
"You have GOT to be kidding me! You idiot! This is why people do not leave rubber phalluses in a dead man's rectum!" John blurted out, exasperated, throwing his hands into the air.
"Research John. RESEARCH!" Sherlock bellowed with a wide grin. " I would have loved to have been here to see her face when she found it."
John crossed his arms, as if speaking with a child. "I guess that will teach you to leave your toys laying around."
"Actually," Sherlock corrected, " I borrowed it from your ex. She said she figured you and I would need it eventually anyway. I'm not sure what you had to do with any of this.."
Helena burst out laughing. She couldn't help holding it in any longer. "Look, I assure you, that was the highlight of my day, however I'm here to identify my brother and I'd appreciate a little decorum on your end." John and Molly looked shamed. Sherlock studied her.
His mind races: Short. 5'5". Short hair, dark brown, angled haircut. She's clearly on trend. Black pumps- expensive. 5" heel makes her 5'10". Unconventional heel size to identify a dead brother. She must wear her shoes often when dressed for a different purpose- a professional of sorts. Black stockings- only one reason for that. Full makeup, slightly smudged around the eyes. Crying. Black pencil skirt. Because that screams I'm here for my dead brother and not I woo men on a regular basis. Black trench coat. Its nice, I'll give her that, nothing wrong with a good over coat. No jewelry, no one to give it to her, no heirlooms, no wedding ring, no family. Unlikely for a woman in her tax bracket. So rags to riches. She did not say big nor little brother. So she sees him as her equal. Siblings rarely have that mindset. Adopted? No, adoptive parents want and often spoil the child. Foster? Yes! Neglected, a child bonds with anyone they can, I.e. another foster child. Got it.
Sherlock stepped toward her. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective" He offers her his hand. She shakes it. " That must mean that you are Helena Wells, foster sister to Ben Cummings." Helena eyes him, unsure of how he knew that.
"How?" She tilts her head, a stern look in her eyes.
"Its his thing." John said apologetically.
"Care to let me have a go at the rest?" Sherlock asked seductively?
"Excuse me?" Helena asked in disbelief of his frankness.
*Sigh* "Would you like me to tell you what else I know about you." He explained, exasperated with dealing with simpletons.
"We've never met and I know you have found no other information than my name. So, yes, go on. I'm intrigued Mr. Holmes." Helena felt back on her game. She was thankful, she could play mind games all day long. A nice distraction.
A wicked grin rose straight to his cheeks. "Lets see. The most obvious detail, you do very well monetarily. You are a professional.. Of sorts," He moves closer to her. "Since the police took so long to find you and found nothing more than an address, I will presume your work is not exactly on the legal side of employment. You like your job, it makes you feel powerful, especially over men. But you don't sleep around for money, that would never pay for your expensive taste. Not alone anyway" He winked at her, knowing full well how impressive he must seem to her. " You have no family, except for Mr. Cummings, who we both know is not your blood brother. You are a foster child." Feeling triumphant, he turns away, but then turns back and says " Oh, and you didn't shave your legs today. Sorry I nearly forgot that part."
"You had my attention, now you have my interest Mr. Holmes. Impressive. Consulting Detective? You wouldn't happen to be the one who realized Ben was murdered, would you?" Although he had impressed her, she didn't give him near the reaction his ego was hoping for.
"Mrs. Wells, I am the only consulting detective. Yes, it was I." He said, full of himself.
"I hate to interrupt," Molly said sweetly, "but they are ready for you to identify the body now."
"Gentleman, it was a pleasure to meet you. Have a nice day." With that she followed Molly into the mortuary.
"What the hell was that Sherlock?" John asked confused.
"Hmm? What was what?" He played ignorant.
"I know, very well, that you never miss a detail. I know you saw she had no ring and no indicators of ever wearing one. However, you still, SPECIFICALLY, addressed her as Mrs. Wells. What was that about?" John accused Sherlock with more than his tone of voice.
"More importantly, did you notice that she didn't correct me? She wasn't phased even a little." Sherlock giggled. "John, I need to run the dildo home. I need to look over Ben Cummings folder some more. I get the feeling I can be quite useful."
"Oh brother." John said running after him.
