Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews!
Chapter 6-It's the Ones You Love Who Hurt You the Most
Sherlock quickly turned Molly around towards the house so she wouldn't see Duncan scrambling to regain his balance after getting shoved by Sherlock.
"Sherlock, Duncan was telling me that the estate backs all the way up to the ocean. He also said that out that way there is another castle, a ruin, but that it might be something to see."
"Yes, well, perhaps after we find the murderer we will consider such a trip." Sherlock turned to Duncan, "So, why don't you lead the way inside." Sherlock wrapped a possessive arm around Molly's waist as he motioned for Duncan to proceed.
"Certainly," Duncan said. They followed him into the house. "There is a master bedroom and bath on the main floor back that way. Upstairs is two more bedrooms and a full bath. You have the kitchen and sitting room here."
"Thank you," John said. "Rosie and I will take the rooms upstairs then." John lifted his large suitcase and lugged it up the staircase.
Molly opened a few cupboards and saw there was no food.
"We will need to go to the market in town," she said, "after we are done at the morgue."
Duncan made a visible face when he heard Molly was going to go to the morgue. "Are you sure you want to go there?" Duncan asked her. "It might be rather disturbing for you to see a murdered woman like that."
"Molly is a pathologist," Sherlock said with a smirk. "One of the best."
"What does a pathologist do?" Duncan said.
"I examine dead people," Molly said. "Autopsies to be exact."
"Oh," was all Duncan could think to say.
"I believe we can take it from here," Sherlock said. "If I could just get the keys from you then you can be on your way."
Duncan could see he was being dismissed. He fished the keys out of his pocket, held them up and then dropped them into Sherlock's hand. "If you need anything just press zero on the phone. It will connect you to the house." Finally Duncan turned and left. He got into the second truck with Mathew and drove away.
Molly picked up one of her suitcases, carried it into the bedroom, and laid it on the rack. Sherlock lifted her second case and placed it on the bed for her. Then he went to retrieve his own bags. They could hear John carrying up Rosie's suitcase. Molly quickly hung her clothes on the hangers provided so the wrinkles could fall out. She then took a moment to lie out her toiletries and makeup on the dresser.
"It's a beautiful room," Molly said, looking around.
"Hmm, what?" Sherlock asked. He was sitting on the bed with his fingers in the classic temple pose she knew well.
"The room," Molly repeated. "It's very pretty."
"Oh, yes, it is," he mused for a second before jumping back into the case. "I need to figure out what it is that connects all these women. Serial killers usually work off a pattern. I would have thought the pattern was brides, or women in love, but the single mother stand's out. She clearly does not fit the pattern, so why her? Also, I will need to learn as much as I can about the first girl."
"Why the first?" Molly asked.
"Sometimes, not always mind you, but sometimes the first is personal. The first might not have even been planned, but once done the killer realizes he enjoyed it. Enjoyed it so much in fact that he feels the need to repeat it, to relive the experience again and again."
John poked his head in the room. "If you two lovebirds are done talking I am ready to go when you are."
"Of course," Sherlock said. The three of them went outside to the old Range Rover that had been left for them to use. Sherlock slid behind the wheel. John sat up front and Molly took a seat in the back.
"If the connection is somehow to do with the weddings," John said, "then we need to look at all the local vendors. Caterers, florists, workers at the cathedral, and even the staff of Roane Hall."
"Exactly," Sherlock agreed. "At the moment our suspect list is any able bodied male in the village. One thing I am sure of is Dickey is not the murderer, nor are any of the men who were in love with the victims."
The drive to the funeral home did not take very long. Sherlock parked the car in a space in front of the Drever Funeral Home. Inside, the building was painted white with heavy green draperies that were used to partition off more than one viewing room.
"May I help you?" asked a middle-aged man wearing an outdated but well kept black suit. He was a few inches taller than John, with brown hair that was going gray at the temples. He wore a pair of wire rimmed glasses. Sherlock noticed the wedding ring on his finger.
"Ah yes, I'm Sherlock Holmes, these are my associates, Dr. Watson and Molly Hooper. We are here to see the latest victim of you town's serial killer. I was told she was still here."
"You can't be certain the killer is from the town. He could be a drifter," the man said.
"No, absolutely not," Sherlock said. "He is definitely a resident."
"Sherlock," John warned.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"You might want to ease the gentleman into the conversation a bit."
"Time is of the essence," Sherlock replied. "By the way, who are you?"
"Uh, I'm Frank Drever," the man said. "I'm the owner and director."
"Perfect, well Mr. Drever if you could possibly show us the body it would be most helpful," Sherlock said.
"Of course, follow me." Frank Drever turned and started walking towards the back of the building. "I was told of your pending arrival. The family is anxious to get poor Lorna's body so they can have a proper funeral, but they understood why you needed to examine it first. They have been very cooperative, despite the horrible circumstances."
"I promise to be very respectful," Molly said. "I should be able to finish today."
"You?" the director asked.
"Yes, I am a pathologist from St. Bart's Hospital."
The director opened a door that led to a ramp that would take them to the basement. The ramp was obviously for the aid of rolling the coffins up and down as they would be too heavy to carry up a flight of stairs.
The basement was chilly, just like the morgue would be. The director walked over to the wall that housed the refrigerated compartments and opened the first door. He pulled out the table that Lorna Grady was lying on.
Molly stepped up and pulled back the sheet covering the body. The most obvious sight for everyone was the ring of bruises the circled the neck. Molly pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and ran her fingertips over the bruises, turning the head to the left and the right. She opened the eyes to examine the broken blood vessels there.
"Broken capillaries in the eyes and the visible bruises confirm strangulation," Molly said. She then examined the arms, legs, chest, and scalp. "I don't see any evidence of an injection, however I will need to see the toxicology report to see if chloroform or some other drug was in her system. I do see bruises on the fingers and knuckles where she tried to resist her attacker. I need to flip the body over," Molly told the director.
"Of course." He rolled over the pulley system they would need to reposition the body. With a little effort the body was soon face down.
"She clearly fell onto the corner of something," Molly said. "This large bruise on her back is in the shape of a triangle, suggesting that on the way down she hit the corner of a table or countertop."
"That would imply that the killer pounced on her quickly," Sherlock deduced.
"Or possibly she was trying to run away, or backed away and tripped and fell in the process of fleeing," John added.
"The intensity of this bruising really suggests that whatever she hit she hit forcefully. I don't know if just tripping and falling would result in an impact this severe," Molly informed.
"That leads to two scenarios," John said. "She either knew her attacker and was facing him, unafraid, until the moment he pounced, causing her to fall back, or that she was caught completely unaware by someone who all but tackled her to the ground."
"If he tackled her, he went straight for the throat," Molly said. "There are no other contusions to indicate she was struck anywhere else."
"Strangulation is a violent way to kill someone," Sherlock said. "You have to get up close and personal." Sherlock closed his eyes, remembering the gleaming look of excitement and pleasure on Culverton Smith's face as he told Sherlock to take a deep breath and then covered his mouth and nose. In his weakened condition from the drugs and the beating he had sustained he remembered his own fear at the realization that he wasn't strong enough to fight back. He remembered how he kept eye contact with Smith until his vision finally began to blur, as he finally began to realize that he was indeed dying. These women had experienced the same thing, only no one busted in to save them like John had saved him.
"Sherlock?" Molly asked. She placed her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"
He realized he must have been staring off to long. Both Molly and John were looking at him with concern on their faces.
"Yes, yes I am fine. These women knew their attacker, or at the very least they had no reason to be afraid of him. They willingly let the murderer in. Yes, of course. That is why there were no other injuries to the bodies other than the strangulation wounds. They all were literally standing, looking the murderer in the eyes. All he had to do was reach out and wrap his hands around their throats. By the time the women realized what was happening it was all ready too late. Too late to fight back. Too late to scream for help. They died without even making a sound. There could have been a dozen people on the other side of the door but no one heard them because…" Sherlock stopped talking. He closed his eyes and shook his head trying to clear the memory, the dark thoughts of what could have happened if John had arrived just ten seconds later than he had.
John seemed to know where Sherlock's memory palace had taken him. "You managed to put Culverton Smith in jail," John reminded him. "You'll catch this bastard and put him away too."
Sherlock looked over at John and gave his friend a small grin. "Yes, yes we will." Sherlock made a point of using the word we. He needed John to know he valued his contributions to all of this, Molly's as well. "I believe we are done here. I now know where all the women died, how they died, and I can narrow down the suspect list quite significantly."
"You got all that just buy looking at one body?" Mr. Drever asked, quite astonished.
"Of course," Sherlock said. "Just like I know you had a traditional English breakfast this morning, you have at least one, possibly two sons, but they have no desire to take over the family business, and that your business is in fact struggling to stay afloat."
"What? How could you?" Mr. Drever stammered.
"Sherlock, must you always show off?" John groaned. Molly was glad to see Sherlock was over whatever had upset him moments ago, but she also knew he was about to become very rude. She pulled the sheet back over the body and pushed the table back into the refrigerated compartment and shut the door.
Sherlock ignored John. "There is egg yolk and a drop of grease on the cuff of your sleeve. The ramp is at an angle too steep for you to roll these heavy coffins up and down by yourself, and since you do not seem to have another employee who works here, that implies you have one or two strong young sons who assist you as needed, yet the sign out front clearly says, Drever Funeral Home, not Drever and Sons Funeral Home, meaning your boys are probably planning a far different career choice than the one you currently have. A great deal of time is spent on making sure your suit is immaculate, yet it is tens years old. The jacket has had the hem replaced on the left side, see the spot where the stitching is slightly different from the rest, it implies you need this suit and can't afford to purchase another one at this time."
Mr. Drever stood there, his mouth agape.
"No need to show us out," Sherlock said. "We know the way."
Molly and John followed Sherlock out of the building back to the Range Rover. Molly waited until the doors were shut before she said what she was thinking.
"Sherlock, I know you are very clever, and I know you have all these bits of information in your head that no one else does, but perhaps you can keep deductions such as the ones you just made to Mr. Drever private until you are alone with us. Then you can let all those thoughts and words come flooding out of your mouth," Molly said.
"What ever for?" Sherlock asked. This time he was in the passenger seat and John had climbed in behind the wheel.
"You speak in a way that is very frank, blunt even. You know you do. While some people you speak to may deserve to be put in their place like that, many people who you deduce are guilty of nothing more than crossing your path."
"Molly, I hardly put that man in his place."
"No, but you definitely shamed him. In so many words you called him a sloppy eater, poor, and pointed out that his sons will probably abandon him the moment they are able to leave."
"Yes, but everything I said was true," Sherlock said.
"But it hurts, Sherlock." Molly said. "I have been on the receiving end of your deductions many times. No matter how many times you have done it to me it never gets easier. It always hurts, and when you do it in front of people other than John I always feel ashamed and embarrassed." Molly looked down at her lap. This was not the first time she had told Sherlock he said cruel things to her, but it was still hard to admit that the man she loved also had the ability to cause her terrible pain.
Sherlock suddenly pictured a Christmas Eve many years ago, and Molly standing there, beautiful in a body hugging dress, her hair curled and cascading down her back, and her lips bright red. He remembered the tears that glistened in her eyes as he used his tongue like a knife to cut her to pieces in front of all of their friends. He remembered the shame he had felt afterwards knowing how badly he had hurt her. He had apologized, something he almost never did. He had even kissed her, wished her Merry Christmas. That was the first night that he realized Molly mattered to him. It would be years later before he would actually realize he loved her, but still, something had happened that night.
Molly was still looking at her lap, feeling self-conscious. He reached his long arm through the gap in the front seat and took her hand in his. She finally raised her head and looked Sherlock in the eyes.
"I am not foolish enough to believe I will never cause you pain ever again. I am arrogant, and thoughtless, but I promise to try to do better. I don't like hurting you. It's never my intention, even if that is the end result."
"I know that," Molly replied. "But you had already amazed Mr. Drever with your deductions about the murders. Everyone is always amazed by your deductions. You need to stay on topic. It is the personal deductions, when you expose secrets that most people keep secret for a reason, secrets that have nothing to do with murder, but are simply a matter of pride, or a source of embarrassment, that is when you stop dazzling people and make them think you are cruel."
Now Sherlock was reminded of what John had said. John wasn't the man Mary thought he was, but being with Mary made him better. It made him want to be the man Mary always thought he was. Sherlock was well aware of the fact that most people thought of him as an insufferable ass. Could being with Molly really make him a better man? Only time would tell, but he loved Molly, and he was willing to try.