I'm back! Here's an all-new chapter for your perusal.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
"So you're sure about this woman Sherlock?" Detective Inspector Lestrade said.
They were in the morgue at St. Bart's, waiting just outside where the body was being kept.
"I trust Margaret with some of the biggest secrets in the criminal world." Sherlock replied.
John shifted uncomfortably and checked his watch. Margaret, usually impeccably punctual, was 15 minutes late.
"Sherlock." He said. "Shouldn't Margaret be here by now?"
Sherlock started to answer when Sergeant Sally Donovan poked her head in. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Sir, the freak's girlfriend is here."
John, as usual, felt a dull throb of anger underneath his pleasant attitude for Sally Donovan as well as an overwhelming desire to tell her off, today for not only insulting Sherlock, but Margaret as well. Sherlock sighed.
"Sergeant Donovan, while I see that comment was meant to insult me, you have failed miserably. Ms. O'Hara and I are not involved in any sort of romantic relationship…"
"And I'd like to keep it that way." Margaret interrupted, coming through the glass door, dressed in burgundy heels, black skinny jeans and a black and white striped blouse. Her short red hair was loose.
"Thanks for showing me around, Lassie." She said, a strained smile coming onto her face.
What did Margaret just call Donovan?
"Sorry, my name is Sally." Donovan said, a look of confusion flitting across her face.
"Oh. Well I'll just call you Lassie." Margaret patted Donovan's shoulder and strode over to Lestrade. Looking distinctly perturbed, Lass…Sally (John shook his head and reminded himself of Sally's name) left.
Margaret stuck out her hand at Lestrade, who, though he seemed to be in shock, took and shook firmly. "Margaret O'Hara. You must be Son of a Gun."
John held in a chuckle as Lestrade shrugged off his new nickname and responded. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Ms. O'Hara. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Sherlock neglected to tell us how lovely you were."
Margaret blushed. "Yes, Tall One often forgets about physical appearance. It's Doc you want to talk to if you want the physical description. Where's the stiff?"
"In here." Lestrade offered Margaret his arm and they went into the morgue.
John looked at Sherlock's calm face, shocked at Lestrade's easy adjustment to fit Margaret's strong personality.
"Better go in." Sherlock said, standing gracefully. John hoisted himself out of his chair and followed Sherlock in.
"I told you there was nothing wrong with Margaret." John said.
Sherlock just thinned his lips and looked skeptical.
Lestrade and Margaret stood with Molly Hooper next to the table where the body was in a black body bag. Molly and Margaret were shaking hands.
"Oh, Sherlock, I met another one of your, um, colleagues downstairs." Margaret said. "Black hair, kind of constipated scowl. Johnson, or something like that."
"Anderson." Sherlock replied shortly.
Margaret snapped her fingers. "That's it!"
"Are you ready to see him?" Molly asked. "He's rather beat up, just so you now."
"Take her away Kitten." Margaret said.
Molly unzipped the body bag to show a man's face. It was thick and tanned and reminded John of a pinscher. It was heavily beaten, with several purple splotches and fattened, bloody lips.
Margaret took one look at the face and her own turned white as a sheet. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out.