Wow! It's been a while, hasn't it? I could give you a massive list of why I haven't updated (college's fault again). I've also started a new fanfic, a modern-day adaption of the story, The dying Detective. Feel free to check it out. I've also had a bit of a block concerning this story. I had no idea what to write next, I've been re-reading it and seen so many weaknesses in it. I'm not going to take this too far, 3-4 chapters at the most left I'd imagine. Anyway, enjoy! Please review!

(I've recently discovered the music of Hurts, a brilliant British band. I've been obsessed with their album for the past few weeks; I don't think I've listened to anything else. The songs 'Illuminated' 'Sunday' 'Wonderful Life' 'Silver Lining' and 'Stay' have helped me write this chapter)

BARTS MORGUE

It wasn't long before they brought the bodies to Bart's morgue. They must have been anxious to get them far away from the scene of the explosion as possible. People had been crowding, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything they could gossip about later. Molly had been there for hours, watching the clock, nervously wringing her hands, downing coffee after coffee to calm her, but only increasing her nerves. It was early in the morning; it looked to be a beautiful day judging by the light blue of the sky.

When the bodies were wheeled in, Molly stood up from her chair. She shouldn't have been working, but she had convinced David, who was on that shift, to let her in, persuading him by revealing what had happened. She had heard there were five bodies, and only three casualties. How there were so many in that building, she didn't know. She didn't even know why Sherlock was there. Before the bodies came in, she went on Sherlock's website, searching for some clues. He had written that he would be going there, as if he was meeting someone. There was no mention of John, but he was missing as well. Sherlock always took John with him to places these days.

There were three of them working tonight, dreading what they were about to see.

Molly set to work at once, her fear of seeing Sherlock or John dragging her there. She just had to know, the not knowing was killing her.

The first body bag she opened, she didn't recognise the man. She couldn't tell much of how he looked before the blast, but she could tell he was only young when he died. Burns covered his face and body, the side of his body mangled. His clothes were black, singed in places. He must have died instantly, Molly thought. She worked on him for nearly half an hour, before finally zipping the bag back up and ordered someone to take it away.

The other two had been working on two other bodies, as closely as she had done with hers. She made her way to the next one, not looking at the faces of the ones her colleagues were working on. Her hands were trembling as she took hold of the zip, and she decided she couldn't do it without looking at the bodies her colleagues were inspecting first. She walked round the table to David, and took a deep breath before looking down at the body.

It was no-one she knew.

She sighed in relief, but chastised herself for doing it a second later. This was still a dead man, and someone out there would wonder where he was. She couldn't imagine what had been going on, this man looked like he was wearing the same clothes as the one she had inspected. Some sort of uniform, maybe? Why were they all in that building?

She walked to where Emma was working, her anxiety building up again. Her anxiety was unfounded, since she didn't recognise this man either. She went back to the body she was about to work on, and opened the bag quickly.

She knew him.

She couldn't breathe.

She stumbled back...she fell to the floor.

SCOTLAND YARD

Lestrade and Sarah sat in the office, their coffees growing cold. Everything that had happened tonight was taking its toll. It was breaking dawn; a faint light was creeping in through the window.

There was a knock at the door, and Donovan walked in. She looked haggard; she hadn't had to work this late in a while.

"Sir, I've just heard from the hospital," she whispered, though she didn't know why.

Lestrade and Sarah both looked up; they hadn't had any more news for hours.

"Anything, Donovan?" Lestrade asked eagerly.

"Two of the casualties have come from surgery, and the third is starting to stir. They've given permission for us to go down there."

Lestrade, hearing this, stood up immediately, and went to grab his coat. Sarah also stood up, but less urgent. She didn't know if she was allowed to go with them. She needed answers as well, what had happened. Lestrade turned to look at her, he looked stern.

"I'm not sure if you should be there. This is a matter for the police."

"I need to know what happened. He can tell me what happened."

Lestrade didn't know what to do; this wasn't a matter for her. But he understood why she needed to go with them. He would do the same if he was in her position.

"Okay, you can come with us. But you'll stay in the waiting-room. No arguments."

He gestured for her to walk in front of him, and then they both left the room.