The Body Unknown

It was the early hours in the morning and Sherlock was sitting by a desk in one of St. Bartholomew's Hospital's laboratories. With a microscope in front of him, Sherlock was looking at samples from the dead girl in Camden Town. He had been there for most of the night and most nights for a week, taking sample after sample and examining them in silence. John on the other hand found himself falling asleep in the nearest seat after giving up trying to stay awake. Sherlock did not seem at all tired from researching the dead body and continued to stay wide awake.

John found himself being violently woken up after hearing a loud smash. Nearly toppling out of the seat, John shook his head as he gripped hold of the desk for support. Sherlock was on his feet pacing up and down the lab. His hands resting against his lips in prayer position liked he did a lot when in deep thought.

John closed his eyes tightly before opening them to survey the room. On the floor not far from him was a petri dish smashed into a million pieces which Sherlock must have thrown.

"Problem?" John groaned.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath which John did not understand yet he didn't bother to ask Sherlock again. The look of frustration in his eyes made it clear to John that he wanted to be left alone. John, groaning with tiredness again slid out of the chair.

"Well I'm going to get some more coffee," He said. "I'll be down in the canteen if you need me," He headed for the double doors, stretching his legs on the way. "Of course, it would be nice if you could at least allow me to help once in a while. It'd be a privilege, Sherlock." As he opened the door, he bumped into Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, who nodded before stepping aside to allow John out. In silence, Mycroft walked into the lab and closed the door behind him. He looked at his little brother who was back on the stool, looking into the microscope.

Mycroft cleared his throat before slowly approaching his brother.

"Funny," He started. "Never have I imagined that my brother would be so stumped over one small case."

Sherlock did not move, nor did he respond.

"A seventeen year old girl being murdered on her walk home from a night out and you can't even find any reasons as to why it happened and who killed her."

Sherlock leaned back and looked at Mycroft. "Would you like to do the honours?" He asked, folding his arms. "Clearly you believe I'm incapable of understanding what this bloody thing is about." Sherlock's anger and frustration took over as he smacked his fist onto the desk.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock's fist before raising his eyebrows. "Haven't you thought that it's just an out-of-the-blue murder?" He asked. "Sherlock you spend all your time trying to pin-point exactly what's going on with everything, trying to find reasons to every dead person."

"There's always a reason to murders," Sherlock grumbled. "Usually because there was something wrong between the victim and the murderer, revenge maybe. But this case has no links. None whatsoever," Sherlock picked up another Petri dish and placed it under the microscope. "The murderer left no marks on her body and no clues so I can't figure out who the hell he is."

Mycroft placed his hand over the eyepiece of the microscope just before Sherlock was about to look through. "Take a break, Sherlock," He said calmly. "You need it; you've been up all night long doing this for over a week now."

"And you think I haven't done this before?" Sherlock snapped, waving his hand away.

Mycroft sighed as he took a step back and put his briefcase on top of the desk.

"Just a question." He said as he opened it. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he watched his brother take out a file from his case. "Judith Harris," Mycroft continued. "You believe her to be dead."

"I know she is dead. Ten years since her disappearance. It's clearly impossible that she is still alive. She killed her mother at the age of eleven and ran away. At eleven years old there's no way you can survive on your own."

"What about her older brother?" Mycroft asked as he passed the file to Sherlock. "He disappeared a day before her mother was killed."

Sherlock sighed. "This case that you and Lestrade have been waffling on about for the past decade is not of my concern. She is dead," Sherlock scowled at Mycroft. "This is more important." He gestured to the microscope and petri dishes.

Without another word, Mycroft left the file on the desk, picked up his briefcase and left the lab. Sherlock glanced at Mycroft as he walked off before looking back through the eyepiece. It was the first time he was completely bewildered over a murder.

On the way out of the hospital, Mycroft passed John who was walking beside the lab assistant, Molly Hooper, who was struggling to keep up with John's long strides. As they passed, John met Mycroft's eyes and gave him a tired nod.

They both walked into the silent lab where Sherlock was still studying the case. Molly gave John a nervous look before they both approached Sherlock. John placed the cup of coffee on the desk beside him, not expecting a reply from Sherlock as he turned to return back to his seat. To his surprise, Sherlock muttered "thank you."

Molly hesitated before she stood beside Sherlock. She opened and closed her mouth a fair few times but she wasn't able to say anything. Quickly, she turned as if to leave.

"Have you got the body, Molly?" Sherlock asked his eyes still fixed down the eyepiece.

Molly turned around to face him again, a smile forming on her face. "Yes," She said. "I uhh, she's out in my lab do you want me to-"

"Come on, John," Sherlock said as he slid out of his seat. "I may need you." On the walk out, Sherlock picked up his long coat and put it on. John scrabbled to his feet, picked up his coffee and followed Sherlock with Molly not far behind him.

They walked down the hallways of the hospital and took the stairs that led down to the laboratory holding dead bodies. Sherlock stood to the side and waited by the double doors as Molly swiped her key card on the scanner to open the doors. Once they were open, Molly directed them to a table where the body of the seventeen year old girls was. Unzipping the sack which covered her, Sherlock leaned in to examine her face again. He gestured to John to join him.

"Tell me what you see." Sherlock said in a low voice.

Squinting his eyes, John looked at the girl's face closely. He examined the marks on her stone cold skin. He looked at her unkempt hair, almost like straw.

"There's something that this girl has which we haven't seen." Sherlock said as he stood upright, allowing John to find it.

Raising his gloved hand, John gingerly touched her hair until he realised. "Her hair is not real," He said, slightly tugging on it. "Sherlock her hair is not real."

"Exactly." Sherlock said, smirking.

John stood upright and looked at Sherlock. "And what's the significance of her having false hair?"

Sherlock's smirk vanished as quickly as it had arrived. "I don't know," Sherlock then started to jump around the table like a mad bean, pointing at different parts of her body. "She's only seventeen years of age and being that age she has a lot of insecurities about the way she looks, her hair, her body her clothes and her personality. And from this, she…doesn't have her real hair to cover up her on insecurities…she wanted to be someone different…" Sherlock trailed off as he knew that he really didn't understand what this murder was about.

John watched him as he stood there with his mouth open and one hand resting on the table. He blinked a couple of times as he shook his head.

Mycroft was right. It is just an out-of-the-blue murder. There were no connections to it or any reasons as to why.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked warily.

"Yeah, I uhm," Sherlock paused a moment as he frowned. "There's nothing to say about this case," He continued. "Just a random murder."

John raised his eyebrows in shock. Was Sherlock giving up on solving a case?

"Do you need to talk to Lestrade about it?"

Sherlock shook his head and took John by the shoulder. "Let's go out for another date. We haven't visited our little café in over a week."

As Sherlock started pulling John out then door, John looked at Molly and thanked her.

The evening had arrived again and both Sherlock and John were sat in the café at the same table as before by the window. John had ordered a full sausage and mash with onion gravy meal whereas Sherlock stuck to slowly drinking his coffee. Unlike last time, it was the young woman with the long auburn hair who served them rather than the black waitress. She had a sweet yet nervous smile and Sherlock wasn't entirely sure as to what she had to be nervous about. She continually walked in and out of the doors at the back and serving other customers. Occasionally he would catch her sneaking a glance over in their direction.

"We still need to find out who murdered her," John said in between mouthfuls of sausage. "He's still out there."

"I know," Sherlock said softly as he turned his attention to his friend who was happily eating away. "I just can't seem to find anything that will fit. It's just random. It makes no sense." Sherlock seemed to hesitate at the word 'random' as if finding it hard to believe himself that this case indeed was rather sporadic.

John nodded as he swallowed his last piece of meat. "We need to get Lestrade into this. The police would be able to help."

"I don't need any help." Sherlock grumbled as he folded his arms.

John rolled his eyes as he looked down at his plate. "Clearly." He said aloud before continuing his dinner.

As Sherlock looked out the window he saw a police car park outside and out stepped Greg Lestrade.

"Speak of the devil." Sherlock muttered.

John looked out the window just as the door opened.

"Ah, Lestrade, how nice of you to join us." Sherlock said as Lestrade pulled out a chair from the nearest table and sat with them.

"Somebody's told me that you've given up on this case." Lestrade stated as he leaned forward clasping his hands in a firm grip.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I haven't given up on the case; I just said that there was nothing much about the murder other that it was out-of-the-blue."

Lestrade watched Sherlock before shifting in his seat. John silently carried on with his food.

"Well," Lestrade continued. "Do you have any idea as to who the murderer was?" Lestrade helped himself to a piece of bread that was sitting in their bread basket.

"No." Sherlock said flatly.

"No idea whatsoever?"

Sherlock shook his head.

Laughter came from the doorway and a male's voice was heard. A voice Sherlock least wanted to hear.

"Well this is exciting, isn't it? The great Sherlock Holmes can't even understand a simple murder." Anderson laughed as he walked towards the table, followed by Sergeant Donavon.

Sherlock groaned at Anderson's presence. "Your opinion on my abilities are completely irrelevant right now, Anderson, nor will they ever be, so why don't you leave your opinions back with the rest of your mates back at the station and see what they make of you?"

"Don't try to outsmart me." Anderson snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm not trying to outsmart you. I outsmart you easily without having to try."

"Okay, ladies, I think it's about time you put down your handbags." John said, stopping the petty argument. Sherlock eyed John before smirking and leaning back in his chair.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Sherlock asked.

"To make fun of our favourite psychopath as he struggles to understand the case-"

"I'm offering you some help, Sherlock," Greg cut in as he leant his elbow on the table, blocking the view between Sherlock and Anderson. "The thing is, there's a murderer out there who we have no idea of and we need to find him before he does anything else."

Sherlock let out a loud sigh and opened his mouth to speak but Greg stopped him.

"And don't be the usual Sherlock that does everything on his own without consulting us."

John gave Sherlock a 'told-you-so' look. One corner of Sherlock's lips curled upwards into a grin and John returned one.

Anderson took a step closer to the table. "I'm not working with this freak!" He hissed pointing a finger to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked over Greg's head at the auburn haired waitress who had been watching them.

"This is why you were hired into this job, Anderson," Greg said indifferently as he pushed Anderson's arm away. "We need to catch him before he catches anyone else."

They all turned to look at Sherlock who was eyeing Greg suspiciously. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"Let's see what our fellow waitress thinks about this." He looked over Greg's head at the waitress and gestured her over. They all turned to look at her.

The waitress, who looked rather startled, glanced behind her to see if he was gesturing to someone else but as she turned back to them, Sherlock nodded at her. With that – with her pen and notepad still in her hands – she moved around the tables across the café towards them, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground.

"What is he doing now?" Anderson muttered impatiently under his breath.

"Can I help you, sir?" I woman said confidently to Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, trying to read her but nothing came through.

"Just your opinion would help," Sherlock said. "If you saw a dead body out in the middle of the street, unattended, what would be the first thing you would do?"

A little taken aback, the waitress glanced at John who was shaking his head.

"Excuse me?" The waitress frowned.

"It was merely a question I just wish you would answer."

The waitress paused, looking into Sherlock's eyes. "Well the simple thing would do is the call the police." Her voice had suddenly become very formal, just as if she knew what they were doing. Sherlock and the waitress stood there for a moment just staring at each other. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Who was she? Why was she so difficult to read? He couldn't even make a simple deduction on her.

"Sherlock, what are you trying to get across?" Lestrade asked, cutting across but neither of them broke eye contact.

"I don't think I ever caught your name." Sherlock's voice was low, almost condescending.

The waitress raised her eyebrows. "That's because I never threw it. Not in your direction anyway."

Sherlock smirked at her wittiness and stood up.

"What is going on?" Greg demanded.

"Oh come on, Lestrade, this is Sherlock Holmes! He'll never make sense!" Anderson spat.

"I'll see you in the morning Lestrade." Sherlock muttered as he slid into his coat. John sighed and shook his head.

"No I don't understand either." He said as he stood up. He then looked at the waitress. "Sorry about that." With that he left a twenty pound note on the table and followed Sherlock. It wasn't long until Greg, Anderson and Donovan left the café and got into the police car. Moments later, the car drove off.

The waitress watched the car drive away through the window before picking up John's money.


It was close to midnight and June was sat on her bed in her pyjamas, drinking coffee. The lights in her bedroom were off but the light from her laptop shining in her face was enough to let her see what she was doing.

Once the internet had loaded, she opened up a Google page and in the search bar she typed in 'Sherlock Holmes'. Instantly, the first link that came up was a link to Dr. John Watson's website followed by articles about Sherlock. After the scenario in the café earlier that day, June was intrigued by Sherlock Holmes. He had been watching her for the majority of the time that he was there. Almost as if he was analysing her.

Dr. Watson's site had different blogs about the many different adventures that he has witnessed with Sherlock. The first one she clicked on was titled "A Study in Pink." From there she read on.