KTG, Yeah that would have been funny too...unfortunately it never even crossed my mind!

Murdoch approached the admittance desk at Toronto General. A fresh faced nurse glanced up from some papers.

"Hello," he said, "I am De...Dr. Ogden...and I am here on behalf of the constabulary."

"Oh?" the woman said mildly surprised, suspiciously eyeing his rather fancy yet dirty attire. "In what capacity might I ask?"

"Suffice it to say, there is an ongoing murder investigation. As such I need to know if you have had any gun shot victims in tonight."

"Not that I am aware of. But I just arrived. Let me check the records."

"Thank you," he said pleasantly.

The sound of pages being flipped for a couple of minutes followed. He knew what that meant even before she next spoke and felt himself becoming moody again. "No, there have been no gun shot victims tonight and haven't been any for over two weeks."

"I see," he said. "If any should happen to present themselves..."

"I'll let you know, doctor." She picked up a pen. "How can I reach you?"

"Telephone station house four immediately."

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you for your assistance in this matter," he said with a slight smile. Then he attempted to tip his hat to her, grasping thin air instead and garnering a strange look from the nurse. "Good night," he muttered and left.

On the way to the station house, a drunken lout started to tail him. He ignored the man's cat calls until he got closer and slurred, "What's a pretty lady like yourself doing out so late?"

"Go home and dry off, sir," Murdoch said tersely.

"Whoa honey, I just asked a simple question. No need to be so rude."

Murdoch sighed and turned around to confront him. "Please go home and dry off, sir."

The man's smile disappeared completely. "You're being a bitch, you know that? I just wanted to have a nice conversation with you but now I'm not feeling so friendly."

Murdoch smiled grimly. "Neither am I, sir." He clenched a fist tight.

The drunken man laughed. "Is that supposed to scare me, little lady?"

Before the man could take two steps towards him, he had hit the man in the face. He was surprised at how much it hurt his hand. The man staggered slightly but not nearly as much as he was expecting. Now the drunk was really mad and grabbed his wrist painfully.

"I'm going to teach you some manners now," the lout said dangerously.

Panicking he did the only thing he could think of, that he had seen Julia do on many occasions. He punched the man in the throat as hard as he could!

The drunk let go to clutch his throat, making a horrible choking sound, and Murdoch took the opportunity to flee.

He went straight to the morgue and stormed up to Julia who had just begun the autopsy. She had removed the tuxedo jacket, rolled up the sleeves of the shirt to her elbows and strapped an apron on for good measure. It should have been an odd sight for him to behold but he was too put out to notice.

Julia put down her scalpel and gave him a puzzled expression. "William, what's wrong?"

"When we are married, you are never under any circumstances permitted to go walking at night by yourself. I absolutely forbid it."

She was outraged at first until she noticed the knuckles attached to her own body were very red. Julia put a hand to his (her) chest. "Did someone bother you?"

Murdoch continued to glower.

"Are you all right, William?" she asked bringing his hand up to her face.

Needless to say, looking into your own eyes while comforting your betrothed was about the most surreal experience one could have.

"I'm fine," he huffed. "But you have to give me your word that you will always take a carriage at night if I am not there to escort you home for whatever reason."

That is common sense, she thought privately. I've always known to do that.

"If it will make you feel better, you have it."

He sighed and took her hand. "Thank you, Julia."

They leaned in for a kiss but were too bewildered to go through with it and instead awkwardly parted and got back to work. While Julia cut the man open, Murdoch busied himself with retrieving the bullet from his brain. It had lodged itself almost too far into the man's skull for tweezers to reach so that he just barely succeeded in grasping it.

He held the bloody bit of compacted metal under a magnifying glass. "It looks to be a .38, likely from a Smith and Wesson."

"Popular choice. Not likely to help you much then." She glanced up from her rib cutters when he didn't respond. "What is it?"

Murdoch was frowning. "The gun the killer was holding...it wasn't a revolver of any kind."

Julia snorted which coming from Murdoch's body sounded very bizarre and gave them both pause. "Obviously not, William, or we wouldn't be in the predicament we find ourselves in."

"But then how did he kill Mr. Fairfax?"

Julia gave him a piercing look which unnerved him. "Who says he did?"

Shortly after she had removed the ribs, she stood back and stared. Murdoch was curious too and took a look. He frowned. Then they stared at each other.

"What does it mean, Julia?"

"I'm not sure...I've never seen anything like this before."

His internal anatomy was mirrored!