Sherlock strode into the mortuary, Olivia strapped to his chest under his greatcoat. Molly looked from the baby to the detective, lips pursed in an effort to conceal her amusement.
"Sherlock," Molly greeted him, busying herself with the paperwork for a 'Susan Wright' that had recently passed through her workplace.
"I have a, personal favour to ask." Sherlock lowered his voice.
"Go ahead," Molly tucked a stray hair behind her ear, briefly looking down at the floor.
"I, ah, require assistance." And with this, London's most celebrated private detective un-Velcro'ed Olivia from her harness and thrust her at St. Bartholomew's pathologist.
"She's not dead," Molly said dryly.
"I know," was the consulting detective's response.
"What am I supposed to do with her?" Molly asked blandly, swallowing her rising panic.
"She requires assistance." Sherlock involuntarily wrinkled his nose.
"You don't know how to change a nappy?" Molly asked incredulously. In some ways, Sherlock had prepared for the Watsons' baby even more than they had.
"The practical application is quite different than when using a model," Sherlock replied stiffly.
"And you brought her, dirty, to me because…"
"I require assistance." Panic shone through Sherlock's eyes, though he was quite adept at concealing his emotions.
"I don't know anything about babies. Take her upstairs to the maternity ward." Molly turned back to her paperwork.
"Molly." That's all he said, but his use of her name for the first time since he had entered the mortuary had an enticing effect on the pathologist.
"It can't be that difficult," Molly sighed, clearing and wiping a nearby table. "Put her down."
Sherlock placed Olivia on the table, and then turned to remove the baby harness. He then brought up a large bag, filled with: nappies, powders, wipes, zippy bags, plastic gloves, creams, pacifiers, onesies, and a first aid kit. Molly raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, before turning to the baby.
"Well, the dirty nappy ought to come off first, I suppose," Molly said, half to herself. She carefully pulled the tabs and the diaper opened, the front end falling back toward the table. "Bag!" Molly yelped as the smell of pee and feces emanated from the small human. A zippy bag, as well as the gloves, was quickly provided. Molly gladly pulled the plastic gloves over her hands and disposed of the dirty nappy into the bag, handing it back to Sherlock. "That smells worse than the bodies. It's not staying in here," she said sternly, her voice shaking slightly.
Now that the worst had been removed, Molly peered at the baby. She reached for a new pair of gloves, not wanting to: a) possibly infect Olivia with any residual bacteria on her hands or b) have baby poop touch her. "I suppose we ought to finish cleaning you," she said to Olivia and pulled the wipes from Sherlock's changing bag. Molly thought back to the mandatory class she'd taken in med school on babies, suddenly thankful for the excess of information about the care of them. Molly wiped the baby, front to back, and quickly disposed of the dirty wipe. She used another finish cleaning Olivia's arse. Molly then used the cream around the baby's legs where the nappy had chafed her and pulled the clean nappy underneath her. She noticed dermatitis beginning to form on the baby's bum and pulled the baby powder from the bag. Molly quickly fastened the nappy and looked around for Sherlock, only to realize that he'd disappeared, presumably to dispose of the dirty nappy. "Wanker," she muttered, turning back to the baby. "I suppose you're done." Olivia fussed, reaching forward.
Molly picked Olivia up from the table. "Better?" She asked the infant, who gurgled, happily pulling at Molly's hair. "Want to see a dead body? You need to promise that you won't tell John," she said sternly. Molly carried Olivia over to the cold chamber and pulled it open. Olivia cooed happily and was reaching for the corpse when Sherlock strode through the door.
"I, ehrm, had to telephone John. We were supposed to stay at Baker Street," he said brashly, though Molly detected a hint of embarrassment.
"Well, I suppose you ought to be headed back then." A faint smirk crossed Molly's face as she handed the baby back to Sherlock. "How was it that you learned to fold napkin swans?"
"YouTube." Sherlock was quick to answer. Molly handed him the bag.