"I spoke to Samuels from the funeral home." Molly rushed back in, her ponytail flying everywhere. "He came in this morning to signed transfer papers, and since everything looked all right he took the Porters with him. They were cremated two hours ago-"
"The login data, Molly." Sherlock was getting more impatient by the second. For all they knew Alice was kidnapped hours ago and with every passing minute the chances of finding her alive diminished.
Reaching over and taking the card from Molly's hands Sherlock sped over to Alice's computer. Typing in her username and password he opened her first voice recording from the night before. Turning up the volume of the speakers he bent forward. Slowly the room was filled with the sound of her voice.
"Dr. Greene, performing an autopsy on Mr. Daniel Porter. According to the first investigator at the scene, Mr. Porter and his wife Sarah were found shot to death at their flat in Chiswick after both of them didn't show up at work on Tuesday. Lestrade's forensic-", her voice turned mocking. "Anderson states it was an 'extended suicide'… That idiot wouldn't even know it if it jumped in his face." Sherlock snorted in agreement. "Just because both were found shot and the weapon of crime's in his hand doesn't mean it was the husband."
Alice was probably the only other person that flat out hated the forensic scientist just as much as Sherlock, which was only one of the many reasons they got along so well.
Deeply sighing, Alice went on. "Tell me Daniel, is that idiot right? Did you really kill your wife? I'm going to find out what really happened and rub it in that idiot's face-"
It's been 20 minutes since Sherlock started the record. Molly's been taking notes just in case, but so far there was nothing that could help them find their friend. Sherlock though was hanging on every word Alice said - storing away every piece of information.
John was starting to worry. He had faith that Sherlock would find Alice, but the thoughts of 'what if' were starting to get to him. He filled Lestrade in on Alice's disappearance right away to which the DI rushed to the funeral home to take the testimony of Samuels and to check the transfer papers, saying he would come by right after. But so far nothing-
"...hm, that's weird…" They heard background noise as Alice was moving the voice recorder over the metal table. "...it looks like you were left-handed, huh, Daniel? So why would you use your right hand to kill your wife but your left to kill yourself?"
That was a good question. Sherlock tried to remember ever hearing about a similar case, but came up blank. This case was getting better and better. If his friend's life wasn't at stake, he'd even enjoy it. Who was he kidding? He was enjoying it.
"What's this? There's blood behind his left earlobe. And also on the left side of his neck, like dripping at a 90 degree angle - which is physically impossible." Alice hummed lost in thought. "Call it a hunch, but I suspect it's from his wife."
Sherlock frowned. He trusted her observation, and without a body it was all they had. But if the 'perpetrator' really had blood from his 'victim' drop at a 90 degree angle on his neck- which was not possible if she died first- His thoughts raced with the speed of light.
"Was there a lab report on the blood?", he asked Molly, hands folded under his chin.
"No-" Molly shook her head in defeat. She felt guilty about not staying with Alice - if she had stayed, the pathologist wouldn't have been kidnapped. Alice was always willing to lend a hand or a sympathetic ear and always had time for Molly - to which she was very grateful. And not being able to help find her-
"Stop overthinking, Molly. It's not your fault and would have happened even if you had been here." Sherlock interrupted her troubled thoughts.
Meanwhile, Alice was finishing up the autopsy until-.
"The hell-" Sherlock snapped his eyes up.
"Is this a puncture wound?" They heard some shuffling and a zipper hissing, then a confused 'what the-' before the steps came closer again. "BOTH- both Porters have puncture marks from a syringe in their necks so small I would have missed if not for Sherlock's 'lectures'. That guy talked my ear off last time I had a junkie on the table." She mumbled the last part.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He only stated facts he was sure she didn't know while she was hanging on every word coming from his mouth, writing down every piece of new information. She always lit up like a Christmas tree when he told her new interesting facts, which in turn made him smile.
Meanwhile, Alice's voice turned sugar-sweet. "Thank you, Sherlock. I've been working in New York for 5 years, but I never knew what 'puncture marks' look like. You're so smart."
Lowering her voice a few octaves she cleared her throat sounding more like a man now. "You're welcome, Alice. Most people are idiots, but you're less stupid."
John snorted. She was getting better at impersonifying Sherlock, which she did when she was annoyed or distressed.
"Dear God, what's it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." The last word drowned in her laughter.
Once her laughter died down she sighed, tapping her fingernails across the metal table. "Thinking about it- the whole thing rings some bells… Maybe I should ask Mac, why this all seems so familiar-"
Wait, what did she say about… Sherlock was fast-forwarding all his conversations with Alice since she returned to London, until he remembered the one he was searching for. Checking her emails he jumped up in euphoria. "Yes!"
"Did you find anything?" John eyed his friend hopefully.
"Yes. The name 'Mac' was ringing some bells. So I checked my mind palace and remembered Alice talking about some Mac fella she was working with in New York. Knowing Alice, she wouldn't wait and get in contact with him right away… So I checked her emails and found this report on an extended suicide from 2 years ago. A short scan confirmed my suspicion." He stated matter of factly. Taking a deep breath- more for effect- he grinned. "It's the same case… down to the blood on his neck. The only difference: the puncture marks in their necks."
"Maybe it's a coincidence?"
"A coincidence where some guy kills his wife getting her blood drop on his neck at a 90 degree angle, and then shoots himself? The universe is rarely so lazy."
