Chapter 2: Sherlock.
Sherlock Holmes unzipped the body bag and peered inside. 'How fresh?' He asked. 'Just in,' Molly Hooper replied as she walked around the table and stood next to him. '67 natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him, he was nice.'
Sherlock zipped the bag back up and turned to face her. 'Fine, we'll start with the riding crop,' he smiled. Molly smiled back at him, blushing slightly, and she exited the room. Sherlock just stood there for a moment, noticing the small blush that had appeared on her face when he smiled at her. He paced around the small, mortuary room, thinking. What was it that he'd done that had made her blush like that? Suddenly, it hit him. No, he thought to himself, shaking his head. She couldn't.. fancy me, could she?
He spent a few more minutes thinking, before she returned a few minutes later, handing him the riding crop with a smile still fixed to her face. Sherlock frowned, but decided not to say anything more about it. Instead, he allowed his hand to brush Molly's as he took the riding crop from her. He just wanted to see if he was right, and he was, judging by the look on her face when he looked up at her. 'Thank you,' he said, smiling again. 'I-I'll be back in a minute, I just need to sort something out,' Molly squeaked, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink again. She hurried out of the door and Sherlock smirked to himself, feeling satisfied with the fact that he was right. Still smirking, he made his way back over to the body and unzipped the bag. He drew in a breath, trying to think of a way to get all of his frustrations out in order to use the riding crop properly. Finally, he decided to focus on the ongoing feud between himself and his brother, Mycroft.
Sherlock looked down at the body, raised the riding crop above his head and thought about everything that had happened between him and Mycroft. He didn't even need to do anything more, he could feel the riding crop slicing through the air and repeatedly hitting the body. He screwed his face up in anger, and he heard the door open. He didn't bother to look up as he thought it'd just be another one of Molly's nosy co-workers, coming in to check up on him again. 'So, rough day was it?' He heard Molly ask him nervously.
Sherlock looked up at her, slightly surprised. 'I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes,' he said plainly, looking back down at the riding crop in his hand. 'A man's alibi depends on it. Text me.' He put the riding crop down and picked his notebook up, starting to scribble notes furiously. He could see Molly nodding out of the corner of his eye. 'Listen, I was wondering, maybe later..' Sherlock looked up at her, still trying to write notes down. 'When you're finished..' Sherlock frowned and stopped writing. 'Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before,' he said to her.
Molly looked down awkwardly, and mumbled 'I, er, refreshed it a bit.' Shit. She does fancy me. Sherlock frowned again, his eyes widening. 'Sorry, you were saying..?' He looked back down at his notebook, his pen poised above the paper. 'I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee,' Molly said. Sherlock looked back up again, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. He needed to get away from her so he could get back on with his work. 'Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs.' He walked away from her and out of the room as quickly as he possibly could.
A few minutes later, Sherlock was upstairs, examining some samples from the body when he heard a knock and the sound of door opening again. He didn't look up, thinking it'd be Molly coming back to interrogate him about something. He could hear two sets of footsteps and they stopped a few metres away from where he was stood. He turned around, looking over to see who was stood there. He noticed that Mike Stamford was stood in front of him, with a woman that he didn't recognise beside him. She was tall, about 5'9, with dark, chestnut brown hair and piercing blue eyes. If he was any kind of normal man, he would have found her attractive, but he cleared his mind of any thoughts like that. He could notice that she had a slight limp when she walked, and she had a few freckles dusted across her face.
Just as Sherlock went to turn around again, he heard the woman say 'bit different from my day.' Sherlock raised his eyebrows slightly, sitting down in the chair next to where he was working. 'Mike, can I borrow your phone?' He asked, not looking up. 'There's no signal on mine.' 'What's wrong with the landline?' Mike said, stepping forward so that he was stood a bit closer to where Sherlock was sat. Sherlock turned his head and said 'nothing, I prefer to text.' 'Sorry, it's in my pocket,' Mike replied, walking forwards again and standing even closer towards him.
'Here, you can use mine,' the woman said, reaching into her pocket and producing out a silver phone which she held out for Sherlock to take. 'Oh, thank you.' Sherlock said, standing up and starting to walk over towards her. 'Old friend of mine, Joanne Watson,' Mike said, pointing to Jo. 'Jo,' she said, correcting him. She smiled at Sherlock as he reached her, keeping her phone held out for him. Sherlock took the phone and slid the phone up, starting to text. 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' He asked her, not looking up.
A stunned look crossed Jo's face as Sherlock typed furiously on her phone. 'I'm sorry, what?' Sherlock looked up at her, hitting the send button. 'Which one was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?' He registered the shocked look on her face and smirked to himself again. 'A-Afghanistan,' Jo stammered, looking down. The door opened again, and Molly walked into the room, carrying Sherlock's mug of coffee in her hand. 'Ah, Molly!' Sherlock exclaimed, smiling at her. 'Coffee, thank you.' He took the mug from her and examined her face. 'What happened to the lipstick?' He asked, frowning again. 'It wasn't working for me,' Molly muttered, biting her lip.
Sherlock's expression didn't change, and he handed Jo her phone. 'Really? I thought it was a big improvement.. Your mouth looks too small now.' He turned around, pulled a face and headed back to his seat, sipping on his coffee. 'Okay..' He heard Molly say as he sat down, and she left the room, closing the door behind her.
'How d'you feel about the violin?' He asked Jo, knowing exactly why Mike had brought her here. 'Sorry, what?' She said, sounding slightly confused. Sherlock smirked again and put his mug down on the table. 'I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end.' He turned around and looked at her, studying her face. 'Does it bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.' Still looking at her, he gave her one of the smiles that he used when he needed to get Molly to allow him into the mortuary.
Jo's eyes widened, and she looked at both of the two men stood in the room with her. 'Did you tell him about that?' She asked Mike. 'Not a word,' Mike replied, smiling. She turned back to Sherlock, still looking rather confused. 'Then who said to you about flatmates?'