I don't own Sherlock. Shame.


Chapter 4 – The Body

The taxi ride to St Bart's hospital was a quiet one. Sherlock was still mad that he had to bring Ava along. Ava was doing her part not to make him any angrier, and John thought it best to leave things alone.

When the three of them walked into the morgue, Molly Hooper and Lestrade were there. Molly was there in her usual lab coat and pulled back hair. Before she could even say a nervous "Hello" to Sherlock, she noticed Ava.

"Sherlock? Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" The slight tremble in her voice betrayed Molly's fear that Ava was his girlfriend.

Sherlock was busy looking at the corpse. So John offered, "Oh. Molly, this is Ava Greer..."

Jumping in before John could say anymore, Ava offered to shake Molly's hand. "Sherlock's cousin from America. Nice to meet you, Molly."

"Cousin?" Offered an intrigued Lestrade. Cousins were something that other people had – not Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh. That's nice." Molly breathed a sigh of release as she took Ava's hand and relaxed.

Both John and Sherlock's heads turned sharply to Ava upon hearing the word 'Cousin', but stayed quiet.

Molly continued. "I didn't even know Sherlock had cousins."

"I'm not surprised he's never mentioned me. Sherlock's never wanted to own me."

The strange phrase of words caught Molly's attention. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. That's a Southern phrase. He's never wanted to admit that we're related. Thinks Americans are beneath him. Mind you, I don't think the he's ever gotten over the Battle of New Orleans."

"What's that?"

"Only the battle where Stonewall Jackson beat back the British in the War of 1812."

"Ava." Sherlock's voice was a delicate balance of tension and annoyance. "Remember the condition of you coming along."

Ava grinned at the dark haired detective. "Sorry, cuz. I'll be quiet."

" 'Cuz' " Lestrade chuckled quietly to himself.

Sherlock chose to ignore him. "Lestrade, just take us through the details."

"Ok. Marcus Woodard, 55 years old, University Professor. Field of chemistry. Found dead tonight in the classroom laboratory. No sign of heart attack or stroke. Unusual swelling round the eyes..."

"And?"

"And the body was positioned in the form of a cross. Also, someone left four of these on him. One at his head, one at his feet, and one at either arm."

Lestrade handed him a bag of four small white flowers. Each flower had four petals and a yellowy green center.

"What kind of consulting work did he do?"

"How did you know…? He consulted with a major pesticide firm. "

"I observed. Look at his clothes. Way too expensive for just an ordinary professor. He had another job which brought in a lot more money than teaching. Molly, any signs of puncture marks where he might have been stabbed or injected with anything?"

"None."

"Hmm. John, get on the computer and find out what these actually are." Sherlock handed him the bag of flowers.

"Dogwood blooms." The words came from a definitive non-British accent.

Everybody turned and looked at Ava. Many people would have felt uncomfortable with that pressure but she continued. "John, can I have a closer look?"

The surprised Watson handed the bag to her.

"Yes, definitely dogwood blooms. Your killer is a theology student from the South Eastern United States who has just come back from the Easter holiday. Woodard's been poisoned with mercury hidden in his contact solution."

Sherlock brushed past John with a force sending him backward. Solving crimes like this was what he did.

"Explain." Sherlock hissed.

"These are blooms from the dogwood tree - Cornus florida – native to eastern North America. Easter was early this year – late March in fact. But the South has had a warm spring while the North has had a lot of snow. So, the only place these could be blooming at this time of year is the South. Now, how do I know about the theology student? Well, the legend of the dogwood says that it was the tree used for Christ's cross. The tree was so sad that it twisted it's trunk as to never be used for that again and that it's bloom turned into the shape of a cross so that people would always remember. See the dark edges of each petal? That's supposed to be the blood of Christ."

"What a sad story." Molly chirped in. Sherlock ignored her.

"Theology student?" He glared down at Ava.

"Yes. Or at least a student well steeped in Christian stories. Enough to know the legend and the significance of placing a bloom at each of the four points around the body. And one that needed enough chemical knowledge to administer the poison."

"How do you know it was mercury? Why contact solution? Molly, is the toxicology report back yet?" Sherlock barked those last words. Molly jumped.

"Not yet." Was her quiet, mousy reply.

Sherlock's aggressiveness was getting on Ava's nerves. He wasn't the only one that could observe things. If he wanted observations, she'd give him some.

"Notice the old warn marks on the bridge of his nose? He's just stopped wearing heavy glasses. If his eyesight is bad enough for heavy glasses, he'd still need some sort of eye correction – probably contacts. I'd say the killer added mercury to Woodard's contact solution. Look at the swelling around the eyes. Mercury causes swelling."

Sherlock didn't even glance back at the body. "Motive?"

"Woodard was working for a pesticide firm. Some Christians believe that pesticides poison the earth and that they should 'destroy them which destroy the earth'. There are plenty of religious fanatics in the States – not all of them follow Allah."

"That was amazing." John said, echoing his response to Sherlock's explanation of his observations of when they first met.

Sherlock felt a lump in his throat and a thud in the back of his stomach. Chemical emotions started flooding his system too fast and too hard for him to interpret what they meant. He needed time to analyze what was happening to him and he didn't want to do it in front of other people. So, the consulting detective bolted out of the morgue without another word.

Ava closed her eyes and whispered, "Shit."

Molly's eyes followed the retreating Sherlock. "You are so his cousin."