{The Digital Journal of Sherlock Holmes - May 25, 2009

Although the crook that I caught last week was not, in fact, the serial killer that Lestrade and I have been searching for, I did catch a housebreaker. However, he seemed like a decent enough guy, despite the offense. I actually went to the jail the next day to speak with the man. Turns out that he was telling me the truth when I caught him. He just wanted to get started on a fresh new life and he needed funds to jumpstart that. He was telling me how he's actually a great Italian cook and it was his dream to own his own restaurant. I told him that going to jail is not the way to start but gave him my word that I would try to help him out after his six-month sentence. I do know what it is like to have a rough start, and as much as I dislike people, Lestrade gave me a chance at making something of myself, so I supposed I could help this man in any way that I can when he is released.

All that aside, I did catch the serial killer that murdered all those women. As most humans do, it was only a matter of time that he made a mistake. That is when I swooped in and caught him, Lestrade on my tail of course. He is now resting comfortably in prison for a very very long time, or so I assume. On to the next case! Whenever that happens to drop into my lap. I hope for my sake it's soon before my brain begins to feel as though it is rotten within my skull once again. I don't have much to entertain me these days. People don't yet know whether they can trust me with freelance cases since to them, I am a new detective. I'm sure it will pick up soon when I get involved with more high-profile cases.

For now, I will just keep bugging Lestrade for cases and possibly Molly. It could do me some good to brush up on my chemistry skills too.

SH }

{The Blog of Doctor Molly Hooper – May 25, 2009

Hello all,

Sorry I've been busy the last week or so. I took double shifts at the hospital for a coworker who is on vacation. Anyway, the craziest thing happened last week. Sherlock Holmes came to my home in the middle of the night. He was all bloody, the clumsy bloke. He asked me to stitch up his face. Can you believe that? Instead of going to the hospital like any ordinary person, he came to my home and told me to stitch him up! Granted, I did, but only because he was halfway decent when he asked. He also deduced that it was my birthday. It was a bit embarrassing, but everyone has one. I guess it's just a bit humiliating because I don't have anyone to celebrate with except myself and my cat. I wish I did. It's nuts that the highlight of my birthday was that Sherlock Holmes came over and asked me to stitch up his face at 2:00am.

Aside from that, we did have a few interesting deaths this week, but none of them required Sherlock to stop by the morgue. They all turned out to be perfectly normal deaths in the end. Not so fun, but it's a bit morbid of me to call any death "fun", I suppose.

X X X Molly }

Sherlock wakes up around noon the next day and goes out for a smoke, taking in the misty London fog. Once finished with that, he shuffles into his minuscule kitchen and turns on his coffee maker. "Another soggy day in the city to look forward to", he thinks to himself sarcastically, as he prepares his morning coffee. Looking around in his cabinets, and then to his refrigerator, he realizes that he does not have much food to eat. Ditching the idea of coffee, he quickly changes and slips his Belstaff and shoes on, leaving his flat and heading down the street a bit to hail a cab.

Moments later the cab pulls up and Sherlock sees the all-too-familiar awning outside of his window. Paying the cabbie, he hops out and goes into the café, the door making a friendly jingle behind him as he saunters up to the counter. He sees the familiar owner, Martha Hudson, behind the counter, socializing with her wait staff and the bakers. Sherlock can tell right away that something is off about her. She is always over the top cheery, but today she is just plastering a smile on her face, similar to the way Sherlock does around company he dislikes in front of his parents.

Molly huffs as she puts away the fifth body of the day before 1:00pm. She peels her gloves and throwing them in the bin, washing her hands then rubbing the crick in her neck from being hunched over all morning. Her stomach growls and she groans, knowing that the cafeteria is serving one of her least favorite meals. Deciding to go out for lunch, she grabs her coat, purse, and umbrella and heads to her car after locking up.

Lucky to find a parking spot at her favorite little sandwich shop and bakery, she pulls right in then enters the small café. Smiling at the cute sound of entering bells behind her, she lines up behind a few others who are waiting. She looks up at the menu, despite always ordering the same sandwich, and chuckles to herself, knowing she's going to go with what is familiar anyway.

Not one to fret about other people's emotions, Sherlock almost said nothing and went on with his order when Mrs. H stepped up to take it. However, his curiosity won over enough for him to imply interest in her wellbeing.

"What can I get for you this morning, Mr. Holmes?", she smiles fakely.

"Mrs. Hudson, you're not looking very well this morning. Are you sure you are alright? I just...noticed you haven't seemed like yourself since I walked in. My usual order is fine. However, I am more intrigued with how perplexed you looked."

"Oh dear, don't worry about it. I'm just being...silly. I'll grab those pastries and that coffee for you. One moment."

Waiting anxiously, Sherlock shifts foot to foot, practicing his deduction on the other patrons. He nearly doesn't notice when she is back and handing his order out to him.

"Sherlock? Yoohoo?"

"Hmm?", he looks back over. "Oh. Right." He fishes through his wallet and hands her a few bills. "So, are you sure you don't want to talk about your issue? You know I am a detective. You encouraged me to do something with my talent and I did, so allow me to help you."

She gives out a reserved sigh but nods slowly, asking an employee to take over the counter. She leads Sherlock behind the counter and through a door to a hallway, gently closing it. "Alright...well, firstly...I may not be as innocent as you see or believe. I'm just going to lead with that."

He nods slowly and dips his head down a bit in curiosity, a glint in his eye. "Right, well start from the beginning then."

"Okay. So, backstory. It's going to shock you."

"I'm sure it will but go on."

She starts by explaining how her legal husband was a part of a drug-running cartel ring back when they lived in Florida. He would take trips to Mexico to convene with their cartels and either sell or buy the drugs to sell back in the states. He had told her when they first got married that he had a great business opportunity that he took. Looking ashamed, she continues to tell him that she was young and naive and believed him when he told her that it was his legitimate business. He covered it up and it seemed like a very real business, especially to her, except he was using it to launder the money which would then buy the drugs he would trade in Mexico. This went on for decades.

"I swear I had absolutely no clue about the drugs. I didn't! And when I had our two sons, I didn't stop and question where the money was coming from, because I just knew that it was putting food on the table and clothes on their bodies. I didn't question him. Not once. I even did the typing and financial records for the business he supposedly had, and somehow, he made sure it all added up. Until…it didn't. We are at a loss, and he owed some very dangerous, deadly people a lot of money for drugs he had promised to sell. That happened about thirty years ago. He was forced to tell me the truth, but he also made sure that I wouldn't speak about my real dealings to anybody. He had gotten to be a very angry man. Capable of violence if need be, especially when threatened, which he was for a long time as he tried and failed to come up with the money to pay them. He hit me once or twice in anger...I just made sure that he never hurt the boys."

Martha begins to tear up and blot at her eyes. "I should have left when he wasn't home. I should have taken my sons and left...I-I just had nowhere to go. His debt ended up putting a target on his back, of course. The thing is, instead of hurting him directly, one of the cartel workers from Mexico hunted him down a-...and killed my sons in their sleep." Her lip trembles and tears fall. They were going to kill me too, but Frank came home at the right time...shot the man dead before he could. I told him what they did to our boys...what I woke up to. I was inconsolable. He shook me and told me to shut up. That he'd take care of it. I-I buried my sons in my family's plot in Pensacola the next day, wrapped in blankets and among strangers. That's where we were living at the time, where our families were from. I have never and will never forgive myself for allowing them to be...be discarded like that", she chokes out and sobs into her hands. "They were thirteen and sixteen. So young...and they never knew anything was wrong. But I was so terrified of him when I knew the truth. More so than I was when he was angry."

Sherlock looks at her in shock and awe, not expecting /that/ to come from this cheery old café owner. He hesitantly pats her hands. "That is...a crazy story. I...I don't understand how I can help you with that though."

Looking up at him, she takes a deep breath. "Well shortly after their deaths, he made more money. Paid the loss and had an even bigger influx than he had before. When he was on one of his business trips, I turned him into the police. I know it was risky, but I couldn't live like that anymore. In utter fear and grief. I didn't care if he killed me. Even if someone had, I'd have been with my sons. I really didn't care. Anyway, when he came back home, they stormed our house and arrested him. I gave the prosecution in his case all of the evidence they needed. He was so livid that he has since refused to file for divorce...so legally I am still married, but I like to believe I am not. He's a monster.

But I got a call today. From my lawyer. He's served twenty years and is actually on death row. He's contesting it. I...I thought he would just accept his fate after everything he's done, but I should have known that he won't go down that easy, and without a fight. He probably realized that it is real and was saving his appeal card for when he was in the mood to use it. The lawyer said that I should probably be there...to recount the horrors he put me and a lot of others through. But they already know that...I don't know what else I'll be able to say. I testified against him so I wouldn't be jailed as an accessory, which of course I eagerly took because I had no knowledge of his actions. Plus, I turned him in. But now...after twenty years he wan an appeal? I don't know if I can do this now. I'm nearly seventy-four years old. He'll be seventy-two soon. I thought I was done with him."

"I see. So, you want me to come with you and ensure that he never gets to see daylight again?"

"You don't need to…but if anyone can convince a room full of people of something, it would be you, Mr. Holmes. I've known you since you were a boy ad your mother is a great friend, but I've also seen what you have done recently, and your skills are incredible. I need someone to be tough when I can't find the strength to be. I have dealt with a lot of shit, a lot of criminals and drunks, but none will ever take me down as much as the mere thought of him, though in the beginning there were fun times, good times even. It's just tragic.

The only good to come from this was that I got to get back to my roots here in England. My father's family was from here, and he had a thick accent. I suppose that's where I got mine from. I was born on their trip here actually, so I have dual citizenship. Bart's Hospital, even. My parent's last name and mine before I got married, was Sissons. I don't know why I've kept Hudson as a last name. I suppose only because it's more of a pain to change it back than it is to keep it, as all my legal documents say Hudson, plus I'm an old lady now. Not much use to change it." Mrs. Hudson keeps rambling a bit about her past until Sherlock stops her.

"I think I have all the info I need to accept the invitation. Just let me know when you are scheduled to fly to Florida, and I will escort you. I assure you; we will make sure he gets the needle, alright?"

She nods softly and smiles weakly. "Thank you. You know, you're still that small sweetheart underneath all that", she sticks her nose in the air like a snob.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Okayyy, I think we are finished here. Let me know, okay. I will do some research on him. See what else I can find."

"Of course. Thank you so much."

He nods and exits the hallway, back into the bustling café. He makes a beeline for the front door, not noticing that someone else also was...until they smash into each other.

"Hey watch where you're goi-!"

Molly rubs her arm and stoops down to pick up her packaged sub from the floor, her water and car keys still in her left hand.

"Molly?" Sherlock's face turns from stone cold to concerned, then back to stoic. "I probably should take my own advice too."

"Yeah, you were running like a madman", she grumbles quietly. "I feel like we always inevitably end up in Speedy's at the same time.", she says as they step out onto the sidewalk out of the path of foot traffic.

"Are you stalking me?"

"What!? Absolutely not! I was just hungry, and I hate what they're serving today at Bart's and-"

Sherlock snorts. "I'm joking. You get so fired up."

"Not funny. I've had a very...bad day. I'm not quite in the mood for joking."

"Duly noted."

"Er, how's your face?"

"My face?"

"Yeah. The stitches? Looks like they could come out."

"Oh! Yes, those. Most of the time I forget they're there." He looks down at her with his gorgeous oceanic eyes, which seem to just draw her in.

"W-Well it seems like they are ready to come out. Er...I'm heading back to the lab so...-I-I mean, if you want to come with, I can take them out." Molly internally scolds herself for tripping over her words again with him. But she just can't seem to help it when those blue, green, gold kaleidoscope eyes seem to stare into her very soul.

"That works. I was going to see if I could borrow the lab anyhow. Brush up on some of my chemistry skills, maybe witness one of your famous autopsies up close."

Molly snorts. "My famous what? Gee, what a thing to be famous for. Autopsies."

"You know very well what I mean. Within Bart's. People already know you're the best pathologist they have, even as a newbie. You're more of an expert."

Molly blushes deeply and clears her throat. "Well um, well...it takes a lot of schooling and training so...I guess it's just habit now."

Sherlock nods slowly. "We had better go before it begins to downpour, it looks like the sky will pen up any second." Looking up, the dark clouds ominously hover in clusters, like a looming, melancholic tent over the city.

"I have my car", she says a bit less matter-of-factly than she wanted, posing it as more of a question.

"Right. We'd better be going then."

They make their way into Molly's sunny yellow VW Beetle, probably the only thing in the entire city of London that is bright that day. Molly drives carefully through the traffic, holding in her giggles at the sight of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, in her passenger seat, legs squished like a stress ball, the contorted look on his face giving away his annoyance at the uncomfortable situation in possibly more than one way.

They do, however, make it back to the lab. Sherlock gets his stitches removed by her steady hands. Molly finally gets to eat her delicious sandwich and Sherlock his pastries, followed by experiments and more autopsies that ensue.