Thursday morning, John came down from his room to find Sherlock pacing incessantly in the flat, muttering. He nearly snuck by, but just as he reached the stairs, Sherlock spoke up.
"I need my bedroom back."
"Sorry?"
"My bedroom, John! I need it back."
"You slept last night?"
"Don't be ridiculous, of course I didn't."
"Then why... right, never mind. Molly needs a room."
"What's wrong with your room?"
"My room?" John asked. "I sleep there."
"Are we leaving already?" Molly asked, entering the room.
"Morning Molly," John said.
"Morning," Molly replied.
Sherlock nodded his head and started pacing again.
"Right, well, how soon can you be ready?" John asked Molly.
"Can I borrow one of your hooded jumpers?"
"Of course," he replied.
"I need about twenty minutes. And something to eat, then."
Sally Donovan met John and Molly at St. Bart's Morgue.
"Sally," John said, not bothering to hide his surprise.
"Hello Molly, John."
"I thought that Lestrade... is he here?" John asked.
Donovan shook her head. "He's got that mess of a trial you left him with, actually."
"Cheers."
"I didn't mean it like that," Donovan said. "Just that he wanted to be here, but he can't be. You all right, Molly?"
"I've been better," Molly replied.
"All right, security here has agreed to let you have exclusive access to the places you requested, but you've only an hour. Can't get you more than that. Where do you want to start?"
"Upstairs, in the ER," Molly spoke up.
"That wasn't on your list," Donovan said.
"No, we knew we couldn't get that to ourselves. Obvious reasons. But the decapitated body still started there, so we thought we'd follow the same, uh, trajectory," John explained.
"Right, come on."
Several nurses tried to kick them out of the trauma room where Gregory Wendell was pronounced dead, and as soon as one left, another seemed to pop in.
"You think you can get us just a few minutes of quite?" John asked Donovan.
She nodded and stepped outside, flashing her DI badge to anyone who came within a three-foot radius. John took the opportunity to shut the door and turned back to Molly.
"They wouldn't've attempted a round of resuscitation," Molly said quietly. "He was brought here as a formality."
"There's no reason to put a man in this room if he's just here to be pronounced," John said.
"Maybe the EMTs managed to revive him en route for a few minutes," Molly said.
"Yes, yes, all right," John muttered. He then circled the entire room slowly, moving close to every piece of standing furniture.
Donovan came in just as he moved ridiculously close to the far wall, as if inspecting it for a trap door.
"You all right?" she asked. "Well, is he?" she added to Molly.
Molly nodded.
"Sometimes I worry about him," Donovan continued to Molly. "Friends with Freak, and he was there when he jumped. That's enough to make anyone go off their rocker."
Molly considered Donovan for a moment. "You said 'Freak.' Do you mean Sherlock?"
"Yeah, him."
"Why? I mean, he's dead now, most people wouldn't bother with that kind of grudge," Molly said.
"That's just it. It wasn't a grudge between me and him."
"We should probably move on," John interrupted. "The elevator?"
Molly nodded.
As the trio made their way to the elevator, John casually acquired an unused medical bed lined against the wall.
"What are you on about?" Donovan asked.
"When they moved his body downstairs, they'd've put the body bag on this," John replied.
"And?"
"We're trying to figure out how someone managed to decapitate this man between here and the bottom floor," John explained.
"Three of us can't fit in this elevator with that," Donovan protested.
She wasn't entirely correct, but John would take any reason to get Donovan out of the way for the elevator ride.
"Right, then we'll see you downstairs, then," John said.
Donovan shook her head, but she went off to the stairwell all the same.
Molly helped John move the bed into the elevator.
"It is a bit tight, but it's possible he did it in here."
Molly nodded. "They said some kind of razor wire was used."
John mimed taking a wire and pulling it down. "That's a rubbish way to do this. It's not subtle, and since we know the victim was alive, I think he's fight back when razor wire was cutting through his neck."
Molly and John exited the elevator and made their way to the autopsy room with John guiding the bed. Donovan joined them as they locked the bed's frame down, just like it had been.
"Any revelations?" Donovan asked.
"Usually the body is moved by two people. Once it's here, my assistant takes over."
Molly took out a body bag, and with John's help, they mimed the moments of shifting the body from the transfer bed to the autopsy table.
"Could that be it?" Donovan asked. "That. When the body shifted from here to there, somehow – "
"He was decapitated?" Molly asked skeptically. "No. The movement that cut through his neck was almost mechanical. Straight."
"Like the line on a bow," Donovan suggested. "After it's been pulled back and released. It snaps back to the original position."
Molly nodded, her bruised features appearing slightly from under her hood. "Actually, yeah. That fits the wounds better."
"So someone snapped razor wire through his neck," John said conclusively. "Ah. Now all we need to do is figure out how someone managed to do that with enough force but without anyone noticing."
"And how he's not dead now," Molly added.
Donovan said, "You sure that's it?"
"What?"
"Look, Molly, I know the trace evidence we found on you included DNA from Gregory Wendell, but it's possible that your attacker had contact with Wendell's body before he attacked you."
"Hang on, isn't his body, you know, locked up somewhere?" John asked. "As evidence, I mean."
Donovan nodded.
"Well, then, who had access to – " John began.
"No," Molly cut him off. "The blood on my shirt. I mean, his blood on my shirt, was definitely the attackers."
"It was dark," Donovan suggested. "Maybe you – "
"I stabbed him with a scalpel," Molly interrupted. "His bare arm, mind. His blood got on my wrist and hand as I pulled it back. I touched my shirt there, and his blood got on my shirt. So either his hoax included an elaborately designed body suit with fake blood, or it's his DNA."
Her voice remained strong and resolute, even as she started to shake slightly from frustration. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
"Right, that clears that up," John said conversationally. "Just out of, uh, curiosity, Donovan. How tall was Gregory Wendell? Was he one point seven meters, would you say?"
"Nah, he was definitely taller than that," Molly replied. "I'd say one point eight at least."
"You remember that? From the assault?" Donovan asked.
Molly shook her head. "No, from the autopsy that didn't happen. Wendell's paperwork said he was 1.85 meters tall. I confirmed it before the first officer on the scene asked me to leave."
"That doesn't make any sense. A man doesn't grow over a tenth of a meter when his head is cut off," John said. "Sally, did the Yard test the decapitated man's DNA?"
"Sorry?"
"He had a criminal file, didn't he? Gregory Wendell. Trace evidence is done against the file. That's how you know Wendell is the one who attacked Molly."
"Pretty much," Donovan replied.
"And, the decapitated man was shorter and, obviously, he's dead. So has anyone tested that body's DNA? My point is, the point I'm trying to make is... what if Gregory Wendell wasn't the one who got his head lopped off?"
"He was identified with his id, and I believe next of kin confirmed the identity," Donovan replied. "Hang on, let me put in a call. There's no reception in here."
Donovan stepped out.
As soon as she was out of an earshot, John turned and hissed, "Sherlock, I swear if you don't shut up, I'll mute you!"
Molly laughed quietly. "Sorry, usually the problem is him seeing other people. Now we can't see him."
John smiled back and began walking the room. "Sorry, he said he'd shut up if I did this. Should've gotten a camera I could hold, shouldn't I?" John added over his shoulder. "You doing all right, Molly?"
"A bit better, actually, now I'm here again. You really think there was an identification problem that caused all this?"
"That would make more sense than dead people walking around the morgue, wouldn't it?"
Molly nodded.
"We should get going," Donovan said as she came back into the room. "Our hour is almost up. They're testing the body against the DNA on file now, John. I'll call you when I've more information."
On their way out, Donovan took a moment with John. "You're doing well."
"Yeah, I suppose."
"You sound like him sometimes," Donovan said.
"When I miss him, sometimes I'll read some of his books," John invented quickly.
"Well, almost like him," Donovan continued. "Like he's talking to you and you're filtering it, adding that bit of tact, of humanity, he never had."
John replied, "There's a difference between who he was and who you saw him to be, Sally. You two never got on, that's fine. But don't act like you knew him. Because you didn't."
And with that, John walked over to Molly, and together they departed from St. Bart's.
John insisted they stop at a coffee shop for something to eat before returning to the flat.
"But he said to come straight back," Molly said. "And – "
"And nothing," John interrupted. "Now, it's on me, what do you want?"
After placing their orders, they settled into a table in the busiest part of the cafe. Molly did her best to hide behind her overlarge coffee mug.
"So, what haven't you told us yet?" John asked conversationally, as if he were asking for her to pass the sugar.
"Sorry?"
"Four days ago you came to me and said you needed somewhere safe to stay. I know you told the police about the threats you received. But there's something else."
"What makes you say that?"
"Let's see. You came to me, knowing I'd go to Sherlock, that's one thing. But you refused police custody. And everywhere we go, you're looking about like you expect to see someone there."
Molly nodded.
"So, what haven't you told us?"
"Ever since I helped Sherlock disappear, I've... notice some things. People following me. He said before he left that his brother might bother me, but – "
"You think people have been following you? And not Mycroft?" John asked.
"I can't be sure. Maybe I'm just paranoid. But I don't think it was an accident."
"What?"
"The decapitated man could've been autopsied by anyone at Bart's. Sherlock was right about the timing. Getting an autopsy that quickly? Even in criminal investigations, that doesn't happen."
"So you think someone did this on purpose? To you, I mean. They wanted you to take the blame?"
Molly shook her head. "I don't know about blame. But my plenty of people at Bart's were put off by me because I worked with Sherlock. After his death, it got worse."
"You never said."
"I never thought it meant anything, but Wendell wasn't the only drastic problem I've had recently."
"Hang on, what?"
"The night I was attacked, I was staying late because I had an autopsy I was supposed to do, on a man named Cielo Wallen. I couldn't find his body. Figured it was a paperwork mix up. But I checked with Sam, my assistant, while we were there, and the body still hasn't turned up."
"Are you saying there's a missing body from St. Bart's?"
Molly took a moment. "John, there are at least ten missing bodies in the past two months. Not just from Bart's."
"And you think someone, what, targeted you? For your connection to Sherlock?"
"No, don't be daft," she said. "But being unpopular can be enough of a reason."
"Molly, listen... it's not you. I mean, look at how Donovan reacts to me. Being friends with, uh, someone unique – let's face it, an arse to everyone he meets – can put people off."
"Dunno if 'friends' is the right word."
John decided to push past that point entirely. "Look, we need to tell Sherlock about this. Then we'll figure it out and you can have your life back."
"Are you going tell me?"
"What?"
"About yesterday," Molly said. "You leave for a day, knowing I'll be stuck with Sherlock, of all people. Not that he's in capable, but he's not such an accommodating host."
"No, sorry about that."
"Must've been important. Whatever you were doing."
"Yeah, it was. But it's nothing to do with this," John replied. "Molly, I - "
She interrupted. "You can tell him, John. I'm... I'm done for the day, if that's alright."
Sherlock hated waiting. But staying dead demanded he had patience.
He hated patience. Being still was not what he was designed for, and why should he have to wait? They should've been back ages ago.
It was made worse by the fact that their trip to Saint Bart's had proven immensely useful. John may have failed to insult Sally Donovan as Sherlock directed, but he did get her to run the DNA. And he and Molly had discovered several key facts, though of course neither deduced anything from them. He had a number of things to investigate further, but of course he couldn't do any of that.
It was maddening.
His phone rang.
"Yes?" Sherlock answered.
"Little brother," Mycroft's voice came across the wire. "Have you made any progress?"
"What do you want, Mycroft?"
"It's Sebastian Moran. He's started again."