After the crime scene had been fully analysed by Sherlock Holmes' brilliant mind and John had finished telling him off for calling Anderson an idiot after he had been so patient with them, the "real deal", as Anderson had sourly put it, came in to do "real work". Sherlock and John leant on the railing on the porch of the log cabin, flicking through the notes and watching people in white suits bagging and tagging evidence.
"You know I only called Anderson an idiot because it felt too strange with him being nice to me." Sherlock said. John knew this was a statement not a question.
"Yes, I know that. It was still rude, Sherlock!" John shook his head, failing to hide a smile.
"I'm sorry about my, err, outburst in there," Sherlock said emotionlessly.
John looked at him, cocking his head to one side quizzically. "You know I didn't care, or I would have reacted differently. I know you aren't great with emotions, but surely you could have deduced that!"
A faint smile played on Sherlock's lips. "Are you sure? I really don't want to embarrass you, John."
"Why would I be embarrassed?" John asked, furrowing his brow angrily, "Because we're both men? I told you when we first met, everything is okay with me! I'm not ashamed, Sherlock." Then suddenly something dawned on him. "You're not embarrassed, are you?"
"God no! I'm proud to have fallen for you. I wouldn't want to be with anyone else." He looked thoughtful for a moment before considering. "As a self-confessed sociopath, I'm a little bemused and marginally embarrassed that I've fallen in love at all. But as a human, I'm glad that I have you!"
John chuckled lightly and smiled. Although that didn't seem like much, John knew it was a lot coming from a man like Sherlock, who routinely referred to violent murders as "games" and who kept body parts in the fridge as if it were perfectly normal.
"Good," he smiled, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Shall we go to the morgue then?" John gestured the body that was now being wheeled into the back of a mortician's van.
"Let's hitch a lift on the van!" Sherlock smiled madly, leaping up and chasing after a bemused looking coroner. When the van was stopped, Sherlock pulled John into the back before John could protest.
They shared a very awkward half hour journey back to the Morgue with a rather off-putting grey body bag. Sherlock flicked back through his notes, zoning in and out many times during the journey. John guessed he was storing all the vital information in his Mind Palace and chuckled to himself. Sherlock, oblivious at that point, did not react.
When they finally arrived at the morgue, Sherlock & John helped the elderly coroner to wheel the body down to where Molly was waiting with a clean, cool, metal slab ready. Sherlock smiled at her when he walked in, but helped John to lift the body onto the lab table before he went over to her.
"Sherlock, you're looking so much better!" Molly smiled as Sherlock made his way across the lab to her.
"I never properly thanked you, Molly," Sherlock smiled, awkwardly going to give her a hug. Molly's surprise was quite readable on her face. Her mouth formed a questioning "o" and she slowly and unsurely returned the gesture.
"Wh- what is this...?" Molly laughed nervously, throwing John a questioning glance and an anxious smile.
Sherlock planted a lingering kiss on Molly's lips. John's brow furrowed disapprovingly, despite the fact that Sherlock had run the thank you plan past him briefly on the journey to St Bart's. It still sent a pang of jealousy through his chest. As Sherlock pulled away, John noticed the beaming smile on Molly's face, but also the hint of understanding in her eyes. This was a thank you kiss: nothing more, no matter how much she longed for the grey-eyed detective in the blue scarf.
"You're very welcome, Sherlock," Molly smiled, pulling Sherlock back for another hug. This time, the pang in John's chest was much less. "Now, on to this autopsy, eh?"
Molly turned on a small recording device next to the lab table and started reeling off the things she was legally required to say: the date, gender of victim, circumstances, height, weight etc. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, anxious to get started. Finally, Molly was finished and she waved Sherlock and John over to examine the body. John tutted, Sherlock was far too eager, he practically ran over.
Molly started by photographing the body while Sherlock and John made observations of wounds and abrasions aloud for the recording. Molly then washed the body and they re-examined the body, again photographing it and making observations out loud.
"You're right about the cause of death, Sherlock," Molly said, opening the woman's mouth and taking a swab of the vomit lodged in the back of her throat. "She was choking on this when she was shot." She paused, taking moulds of her teeth to see if they could identify the poor woman from her dental records. "There's a lot of vomit here and a lot of swelling, too. But the clotting and bruising around the entrance and exit wounds suggest she was still alive when it happened."
"Of course," Sherlock muttered, examining the branding on the woman's chest and stomach with his pocket magnifying glass. "I'm always right."
John shook his head, probing the woman's arms and legs for any signs of fracture. "Be nice, Sherlock! Molly could quite easily kick you out of the morgue!"
"But she won't," he said confidently.
Molly frowned, her brow furrowed at the consulting detective. John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock, who suddenly looked sheepish. Molly rolled her eyes at John, and continued bag the rape test she had just performed.
"I'll just take this upstairs to be tested for DNA," Molly said, heading out the door, leaving Sherlock and John alone with the dead woman. Suddenly, John felt a wave of sympathy for the lady lying cold and still on the hard metal of the lab table, being prodded and poked by three strangers. He frowned, Sherlock noticed.
"What's wrong, John?" he asked, placing the victim's arm back down and putting his own arm around his Army Doctor.
"I've seen a lot of suffering in my time: a lot of people who I couldn't save, a lot of amputations and mutilations but this... this poor woman died afraid and alone, after being tortured for, what looks like, moths! It makes me sick that there are people in the world that would want to do this to such a beautiful, young woman." John took a shaky breath. "And, obviously I've done this with you before, but, it's been a long time. I feel like I'm having to get used to it all over again."
"We'll take things slow, John, I know this isn't easy for you to readjust to." Sherlock smiled, John smiled back, understanding, but opened his mouth to address the other point that he'd made. Sherlock deduced what John was going to say next and interrupted him. "That's why we're here, John," Sherlock soothed. "We're here to make sure that whoever did this gets what they deserve. We help, sometimes we help too late, but it's still helping." He placed a kiss on the tip of John's nose. "So, will you help me help her?"
John smiled. "Definitely." And, once more, began probing the woman's limbs for fractures.