I'm not dead? Oh, and I still don't own Sherlock BBC. Explaining a few things, this chapter is. And what do you think of Moriarty/Molly (him being her creepy stalker/supplier)? Because the dear might be dead but he is hardly /gone/. Short chapter may be short but it is simply setting a stage for a much grander play.
Molly Hooper
Anyone you asked would be able to tell you that Missus Hooper of Saint Barts did the best post mortems. Depending on who 'they' was they might also tell you that Missus Hooper often made fake files for a certain price. Mr. Smith's body that had been dragged up from the river? Was actually a Mrs. Jane Lucas who had been deceased for quite a while. Nasty business really, and such a state of affairs that innocent little girls should hardly meddle in. Too bad that did not count for anything when you worked with the dead.
Her particular talents where not for just anyone though and very few people could afford her. Because she was the best at what she did she knew at first glance that her Mister John Hamish Watson was in fact a fake. Just like her Mister Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler a couple months prior. She also knew whose handy work she was looking at without checking the artist's signature. An odd colleague of hers for sure, but she had never pegged him for an artist of this nature. Oh, well, she would leave him a note and get a few questions answered, but for now she had a body she needed to strip and take care of. The media was to be kept out of the know with this person's identity but it might help Sherlock with his search.
Goal in mind and a grin on her face, Molly gleefully dug into the cold corpse; carefully extracting its secrets and former life.
John Watson
A steady knocking made John rise from the depths of the shop that doubled as a house. It was hardly the knock of a client or one of his sister's visitors. Clara never visited either, which left John quite at a loss for who could be calling. Carefully he crept to the door avoiding the areas where he could be seen from the windows to peer out the peep hole. The face that stared blankly at the door was quite a surprise to him. He could hardly summon a thought for why Mycroft Holmes would be at the door of Mortuary. The little store hardly attracted attention except for those it was created to service, and he sincerely doubted that the elder Holmes needed the help of Harry to disappear.
John could hardly answer the door, being as dead as he was so he stood on one side of the door and waited with baited breath for the elder Holmes to leave. He did, but not before dropping a letter and a couple watchers. John rolled his eyes and retreated to the safety of the house, already getting jittery from being cooped up. Soon enough he would have something to do, if Harry's business proposition came through. But soon was not now so he was stuck to being confined to the house and shop, an invalid once again. And as much as he hated wearing latex and plastic it was so much better then giving up a game.
One thing about Watsons was they played fast, dirty, and always for keeps.
Harriet Watson
Harry wondered what normal people did once they pickpocketed the British Government. Well, first off, she supposed was the simple fact that they did not pickpocket the British Government. Now that she had his phone…what was she to do with it? She hardly wanted to meddle in international affairs, and so had simply added her phone number in it so they could have 'chats' more benefiting workmen of their level. Really what a petty squabble about their siblings, they should be left to their own devices and hearts.
As the ringing started she pulled her own business mobile out answering with a curt, "This is Mortuary, what services are needed at this time?" A voice she had not heard in a long, long time replied.
"Do you still deal with rebirths?"