1.9

Mary eyed John with a look of obvious disdain as he shoved the end of a hotdog in his mouth, leaving remnants of ketchup on his lips. "I don't know how you can eat in a morgue," she told him.

"What's wong wif a snack?" he asked mid-chew, dropping a significant chunk of bread on the floor.

"Charming," she remarked. "There's nothing wrong with it, it's just… weird. I don't know how dead bodies can make you hungry."

John swallowed. "I always eat when I'm on a case," he shrugged, taking another bite. Mary glanced at him as a million questions popped into her head, but despite her desire for knowledge, she respected the fact that it was a touchy subject for him.

"Fine, have it your way," she amended. John slowed beside a set of push doors and turned to face her. "But who are we seeing?"

In response, John raised his eyebrows and pushed the door open with his backside.

"John! Why are you here?" came a high-pitched voice from inside.

"Molly Hooper, good to see you, too," John said dryly.

Molly's expression turned sour, realizing how rude her question had seemed. "No. Sorry, I-I meant it surprised me to see you here. I haven't seen you since..." her voice trailed off as a stormy expression appeared on both their faces.

"It's been a while, yes," John said quietly. Suddenly he didn't feel so hungry anymore.

Molly watched him with a sadness in her eyes. After a moment, she remembered there to be another woman in their presence. "Sorry, hi," she turned to Mary. "I'm Molly Hooper. I attend the morgue. No, that's silly. It sounds like I frequent this place for fun. I'm the morgue attendant. It's my job to be here."

Mary tried to hide her smile at the woman's awkwardness, but she held out her hand in greeting. "Mary Morstan, here on business."

"Business? Is there something I can do for you?" Molly asked as they shook hands.

"We want to know what you know about the victims in the geocache murders," John stepped in.

"Oh, oh, I see. You're on a case, right? Without–" Molly stopped herself. "Right. I can show you." Turning suddenly, she had them follow her to the crypt. John tossed the rest of his hotdog into the garbage on the way, shoving his hands into his pockets.

There were two occupied tables set in the middle of the room, the bodies hidden beneath a white blanket. Molly stood over one of them and picked up her clipboard to refresh her memory. "Andrea White; female, twenty-three years old. Cause of death: exsanguination."

Mary sent a questioning glace at John.

"Means she bled out," he informed her.

"So you were right after all," she murmured.

"From what I can tell, she died two days ago," Molly said. "Anything else you need to know?"

John had moved to the second table and he stared at the blanket as if he was trying to see underneath. "Is this the body that Lestrade's team found a few hours ago?"

Molly nodded her head. "Yes. The woman's sister reported her missing earlier today and they were able to match up a name to the body." She uncovered the victim's head. "Marilyn Montgomery; female, twenty-five years old. She also died from exsang—bleeding out. I haven't had a lot of time to examine her yet, but the wounds are pretty fresh. I'd say she was killed last night."

"The woman's sister," John began. "Any chance we could get in touch?"

Molly pulled the clipboard close to her chest. "I'm not, I mean, strictly speaking I'm not supposed to give out that kind of information—"

"That's never stopped you before," John stared evenly at her, daring her to say no.

"I, well, yes, but that… he was aiding the police investigation."

"So are we," Mary chimed in.

Molly looked down at her clipboard for a long time before she visibly softened and released her steely grip. She handed it over to John, who wrote the woman's address in his phone.

"Thank you, Molly," John said once he had finished. "Call me if you have any more information." He turned, guiding Mary back toward the doors.

"And John," Molly called after him. He turned to face her, watching curiously as her face seemed to flicker between several emotions, as if she wanted to say something but knew she couldn't. Finally, she ducked her head, and opted for this: "Don't be a stranger, John."

It was in that moment that he realized that he wasn't the only one suffering from the loss of a very important person. John stood at the doors, wanting to do something to comfort her, but knowing it to be an impossible task. Mary placed her hand on John's arm, the touch bringing him back. He cleared his throat. "Right. I'll be in touch."

The duo left through the push doors, John clenching his hands into fists and relaxing them, then repeating the motion. He wanted to be able to help Molly, poor Molly, who pined after – after him – for years, probably, before John had even entered the picture. But seeing Molly again reminded him of all the times that they had gone to her on a case. John could barely remember a time when he and Molly spent any time together alone. Surely she understood that it was difficult for him, that it wasn't personal…

"John, are you okay?" Mary asked again. He stared at his companion's face as if trying to comprehend what she was saying. "John?"

He came crashing down to earth. "The sister's name is Natasha Montgomery. I have the address. You sure you want to go through with this?" he asked.

Mary took a moment to regard him, unsure of his sudden turn, but nodded her head. "Yes. I think so," she said finally. "But, um, can we get in trouble for this?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Only if we get caught."