Chapter Two
William smiled as he watched Molly work. She was an artist with her scalpel and bone saw. She had quickly become his new favorite person to tail. He had spent the rest of the day and the whole of the next one with her, enjoying the company of this new mystery. It was immensely entertaining to watch this woman work.
In the meantime, William had learned a lot about this small, reserved doctor. She had grown up in Northampton, sixty-seven miles northwest of London, with her mother, father and little sister Lillian. She had a pet dog at the age of six, which she had not gotten along with very well. So, she had developed an affinity for cats, and she had an orange tabby named Toby. Once she had graduated from Caroline Chisholm School, she attended university, finally getting her Doctor of Medicine in forensic pathology from Oxford.
While attending Oxford, she had met and made friends with a freshly graduated doctor by the name of John Watson. John was completing his house officer year before he could become a full registered practitioner, and Molly had been doing her hands-on training at St. Bart's during the time. The two of them had become quick friends—best friends—during those two years before John had gone off to war in the Royal Medical Army Corps.
Molly had worked her house officer term at a hospital near her home in Northampton before moving to London and training at St. Bart's. And she had finally managed to nail down a position as pathologist at the hospital a few weeks ago. Going by her interactions among co-workers, they enjoyed her company and respected her work.
Molly had also made a friend in Detective Inspector Lestrade through John. How the inspector and the army doctor knew each other, William had yet to figure out. Maybe he would get some clues tonight at the dinner and movie when he saw John.
(I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!)
William smiled at Molly's choice of mental music as she worked on the autopsy.
(I'm walking on sunshine…whoa!)
Molly tied off another stitch as she bobbed her head slightly.
(And don't it feel good!)
She snipped the last of the thread and set aside her tools, setting about cleaning up as she continued to sing "I'm Walking on Sunshine" in her head. When she had finished, she pulled her gloves off and washed her hands. Grabbing the file on the lab table, she headed into her office to fill it out. William stepped into the office behind her, taking a seat opposite the desk and watching her.
(Cause of death: stage IV stomach cancer.)
Very good, William thought. Then again, it wasn't a very difficult leap. The man had been in hospice for it. Still, Molly's findings were very important in determining that nothing else had been wrong with him.
Once again, William found himself wondering why this woman drew him so. He had seen plenty of doctors and pathologists before, so why was this one so alluring? It wasn't that she had some deep, dark past or was some criminal he needed to figure out. But there was just something about her that lay underneath, some hidden strength that surprised him. She reminded him of himself; an outward appearance that completely contradicted the real person within.
Normally, he found himself bored with humanity. But here was a person that he imagined could continue to surprise him for years.
Molly hit a few more keys on her computer keyboard before standing and moving to the door, closing it and taking her white lab coat off to hang on the back of it. She then grabbed her own tan coat hanging next to it, pulling it on and hanging her pink, striped scarf from her neck.
William stood as she grabbed her bag and hung it from her shoulder, heading out through the morgue and into the halls. She made her way out to the street, hailing a cab and heading home.
William walked next to Molly as she headed through the streets of London.
(Milk, biscuits, bread. Milk, biscuits, bread…)
William glanced at a woman as she walked past, a vacant look on her face.
(I hope she says yes.)
William looked over at a young man, who was nervously fiddling with something—an engagement ring—in his pocket.
(Please let her say yes—)
A louder voice suddenly shot through all the others, effectively silencing them.
(Just do it. Just go in and do it.)
William slowed as his gaze was drawn to a man standing outside a shop. He was fidgeting back and forth on his feet, apparently trying to psych himself up for something. He was wearing a loose jacket with a hood, his hands in the pockets of it. He was eyeing the store anxiously.
(Just go in there and show them the gun. In and out.)
William came to a stop, unable to ignore the man. He stepped forward towards the man as he began to take a step towards the shop. William laid a hand on the man's shoulder, closing his eyes a little before opening them again.
The man glanced over to the corner of the shop, noticing the surveillance system that had in place.
(What am I doing? I can't do this. I can't.)
The man suddenly turned and hurried down the street, discreetly dumping a small revolver from his jacket's pocket into a trash bin on his way.
William watched him go before realizing that Molly was nowhere in sight. Concentrating, he suddenly found himself outside of a café on Baker Street called "Speedy's," and Molly was walking towards it. This must be where they were having their dinner before the movie. But then, Molly was walking past it and towards the door to the left of it.
Molly reached out towards the black door, which was labeled "221B" in brass lettering, and grabbed hold of the knocker, rapping it twice and letting go. A moment passed before an older woman with light red hair and wearing a purple—almost aubergine—dress answered the door.
"Oh, Molly, dear!" the elderly woman exclaimed as she pulled Molly into a little hug.
William narrowed his eyes at the woman. Landlady, owns the building, had a bit of a rough marriage, has a bit of an impish nature.
"Everyone is upstairs," said the landlady as she ushered Molly inside and closed the door.
William transported himself into the ground floor of the building, watching as Molly hung up her coat and scarf in a small closet just inside the door.
"Am I the last?" asked Molly with a sheepish smile.
"Oh, not to worry, dear," the landlady told her with a motherly pat on the shoulder. "Dinner isn't even ready yet."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," Molly told her as she two women headed towards the stairs directly opposite the front door.
William took a quick look around the ground floor, eyes sweeping past the stairs and towards a door made of mostly glass. There was no label on it; clearly, Mrs. Hudson's flat.
William followed the two women up the stairs, turning at the small landing halfway up. They were approaching a doorway on the first floor that led into another flat. There were a lot of voices coming from this flat and was obviously the center of tonight's activities. They headed inside, and William took a quick moment to familiarize himself with the room.
Olive green sofa along the wall to the right. Coffee table in front of the sofa. Two floor-to-ceiling windows in the wall opposite the door, long curtains framing them. Dining table against the wall in between the windows. Fireplace in the wall opposite the sofa, a mirror hung above it. Two bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. A faded red armchair in front of the fireplace, facing the windows, with a Union Jack pillow sitting in it. Hardwood floors but a large red rug lay underneath the armchair and covered most of the sitting room.
Turning towards the left side of the room, William spotted an archway with sliding glass doors that led into a kitchen. Another table was set in the middle of it, and that was where the other partygoers were gathered. Greg was setting plates on the table while a woman with short blonde hair bustled about setting dishes of food on the table and a blonde man stood at the stove, finishing up the last dish.
Despite knowing that the only other man in the room had to be Molly's friend John, William instantly recognized him from the pictures of him in Molly's flat. But now that he saw him in person, he was finally able to see the clues the pictures were not able to give him: military background and doctor—not that he didn't already know that, most likely served in Afghanistan or Iraq.
Although, one thing the pictures hadn't told him was about John's leg. The doctor had a metal cane leaning against the counter next to him, close enough to grab the moment he moved. William tilted his head in thought as John grabbed the cane and turned, limping on his right leg as he moved to set the bowl of biscuits on the table.
Interesting… William thought.
John had a pronounced limp when he walked, but when he had been standing at the stove, his weight had been centered instead of shifted to the side to allow his injured leg relief. There had also been no sign of pain or discomfort when he was standing, like he had briefly forgotten about it.
Hmm, psychosomatic, then.
That explained why John had decided to come home from the war; he had been wounded in action and invalided home. But his injury wasn't in his leg. Oh, no, that would have caused an actual limp. No, the injury had been elsewhere and had been traumatic enough to cause the limp.
As everyone gathered around the table to sit down, John quickly—or, as quickly as his limp would allow—stepped over and slid the blonde woman's chair out for her.
They were right, William thought. He does fancy her.
As the woman—Mary, he gathered from their conversation—sat down, William's gaze was drawn to John's wrist, which was exposed from his sleeve as he slid her chair back to the table.
William's eyes widened. Oh…
Just above John's palm on the underside of his arm, there was a faint line on his skin, which stretched across his wrist. William had seen other scars similar to it, both old and faded and fresh and bleeding. John had slit his wrist.
Why? Why would he try to kill himself?
Perhaps the memories of the war had become too much. Maybe John experienced chronic pain from his wound and just wanted the pain to stop. Whatever the reason, John had at one point tried to end it all. Which gave William the most likely reason John and Greg had become friends.
Greg being a police inspector, he might have been one of the officers to respond to the 999 call from whoever had found him. Greg might have then visited John in the hospital and afterwards, wanting to check in on him. It would have been easy enough for the two men to bond and become friends.
The five friends sat down and began their dinner, making conversation as they did.