Note: Another update - quicker than usual. I warn you, I'm not too satisfied with this chapter. For some reason I found it hard to write. But, I'll let you be the judges. Enjoy reading.
Special thanks go to my regular reviewers: you make me want to write all the time!
It was Friday evening and Molly found herself standing in the pompously decorated entrance area of St. Bart's. Some other parts of the hospital had been opened as well and equipped with info posters on research and recent publications of participants of the conference. It felt a bit like an open day at the hospital. A small bar was placed in the entrance hall and two women Molly knew as medical residents had been employed to give out the nametags to the researchers and doctors. This evening was to be the starting 'reception' of the conference, so the participants had dressed up a bit. Molly found it to be quite a sad view – elderly men and women in old and tight fitting jackets and brown(-ish) costumes. It was plain to see that these people didn't go out very often. Molly realised that, even if she was the 'young, hip one' amongst the researchers, she must have looked equally out of place in other settings, surrounded by normal people.
Dressed in a plain black dress reaching just over her knees, she stood on her own close to a side corridor, an empty glass of champagne in her hand. The only effort she had made to look that extra bit elegant was the pearl necklace with matching studs she wore. The pathologist was screening the crowd for Piers Miller. She had looked up photos of him so as to recognise him fast. She didn't really know what she would do if she found him. Maybe go over and just start a conversation on one of his articles? Of course, she'd read all of them. But, perhaps that would be too much? She began to shift nervously. Oh my god, what am I actually going to do here?
Molly looked down into her empty glass and wished for another one to steady her nerves. Just when she searched the room for one of those caterers with their trays, one of them stopped in front of her. He took the empty glass off her smoothly and smiled. Molly had to blink twice before recognising the man. Sherlock had light brown hair, dark brown eyes and glasses.
"Sher…?" Molly started but thought better than to cry out his name. Instead, she calmly went on, "really, a pony tail? That looks ridiculous." The glasses, on the other hand, make you look delicious. Even though she didn't say that last part out loud, Molly suspected he had magically deduced it anyway, which caused her to blush slightly.
"Yeah, well. Had to make sure. People know me around here."
With a subordinate bow, he handed her another glass of champagne, conspiratorially whispering, "be careful, Miss Hooper, you're almost a miniature human." A smirk played on his lips as he said it. "I suspect you'll be inappropriately inebriated after this glass if you don't eat something soon." He sounded almost flirty.
"Thank you for surveying my diet so carefully. Actually, that's kind of a good idea. Be a luv and fetch me some of those hors d'oeuvres, will you? After all, you're a waiter." Molly gave him a sparkling smile (which was also a tiny bit flirty but didn't necessarily have to be taken as such, so she was on the safe side). She was scared that she was testing Sherlock's nerves too much with this request but he went along with it.
"Certainly, madam!"
After he had left her standing in the corner, Molly resumed her scanning of the hall for Piers Miller. Her thoughts raced. Half of her brain was occupied with coming up with some opening line for the oncologist, the other half was constantly telling her not to flirt with Sherlock again.
She had met David two more times this week. Once for lunch and once for dinner and cinema afterwards. During the film he had grabbed her hand had not let go the whole night. The sweet gesture had overwhelmed her. They had kissed again. Passionately. She had also allowed him, well, manual access to certain other parts of her body. But, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she wanted to sleep with him – she just couldn't do it. Not yet.
Before her thoughts carried her away, Molly forced her concentration back to the moment. And, just when she suspected Dr Miller not to be there at all, she spotted him. He was standing in a small circle with several senior physicians and the head of St. Bart's oncology department. Piers Miller was a man of average height and extremely above-average weight. He had small eyes, thin lips and an enormous nose. Not a beauty in real life either, then. Now, keep calm and drink on, as they say. What now? She took another sip of her champagne (not too much though, she was scared that Sherlock might be right – she didn't want to get drunk).
_.:0:._
Sherlock had managed to get into the catering team via an old client that owed him a favour. He really detested serving people but there was no other possibility to get into the hospital's event without anyone recognising him. The regularity with which he walked the halls in the old building and his familiarity with the staff forbade him to choose an easier disguise.
The detective had studied Molly's collection of information on Piers Miller accurately and had read his way through his articles. He had searched for patterns in his co-authorships and other collaborations throughout the years to find the accomplices Sherlock knew the man must have had to go through with such a project. After long hours, in which he had stuffed his mind palace up to the attic, he was able to identify three men who have all been, at some point, a member of the board of Trustees in Miller's institute. Also, they had published several books with him as well as having acted as project leaders for and with him. The men were a professor in Cambridge (who knew Miller from when they had studied medicine together), an oncologist with his own practice performing new forms of treatment on cancer patients and the head of the oncology department of St. Bart's. The latter was just engaged in an animated conversation with the guest from York.
By reading his research articles Sherlock had also been able to narrow down the reasons as to why Piers Miller was stealing bodies. But, there were still four scenarios left. One thing was clear to the detective by now, though: This man was very morbid and very immoral. However, he needed to go through the rest of the files on the additional bodies found missing in the last two days. Lestrade had called just this morning to confirm that London funeral homes were missing bodies as well, after Manchester and Cambridge had already proved to be right 'guesses' as the DI had called it. Of course, he had asked Sherlock how he had known all of that, but he was not ready yet to reveal everything. The case was starting to make sense but there were still loose ends.
He didn't want to cause too many irregularities in Piers Miller's schedule. He couldn't find out that the consulting detective was framing him. Sherlock had wondered before how the oncologist could seem so calm, anyway. The police had questioned him about his missing son in law who clearly helped him with the bodies. So, he had to know that they found out something. But, either he underestimated them or he was very sure they couldn't trace him. Why?
To make sure, Molly wouldn't spoil everything he had searched for her in the masses to see how, and what, she was doing. Nothing, it seemed. Sherlock had found her standing alone in a corner of the big entrance hall, eyeing everyone carefully. He smirked when he saw her analytical eyes scan people fast. With a sigh, he noticed her empty glass of champagne and went over to her. Sherlock had smiled inwardly when he noticed that she wasn't wearing the stupid microscope around her neck tonight.
_.:0:._
Molly was just chatting to Phil, a colleague of hers from the pathology lab when Sherlock returned with a plate of hors d'oeuvres. She quickly grabbed a few and thanked him with a dismissive smile. She wanted to get to talk to Phil again. Maybe it was far fetched, but she hoped to be able to get access to Piers Miller through him. The other pathologist had been working for the oncology department regularly.
"Since when can you order stuff from the caterers here?" Phil asked after Sherlock had reluctantly moved away. "Have you been flirting with that poor guy to get yourself a butler in him? He was certainly looking a bit smitten."
Molly raised her brows and looked after Sherlock. "Of course not. I just asked nicely. And I don't think he's smitten… Anyway, a lot of medical celebrities here, right? Have you had a chance to talk to this doctor Miller? I hear he's quite the genius. I've read a lot of his articles."
"Oh, I didn't know you were interested in his research. I've seen him briefly earlier this afternoon. Think he had a meeting with doctor Garrett, up in oncology. I'd love to get in on some project of his – imagine how great it would be to have a publication with him on my CV! Wait here, maybe I can find a way for us into his group over there," Phil said cheerily and winked before he left in the general direction of where Miller was standing with the others.
_.:0:._
A beep from his pocket let Sherlock stop in mid motion when he was just refilling his tray with glasses. For a millisecond he was annoyed that someone distracted him from his work, but then he realised that this wasn't actually his work. He set his tray aside and grabbed his phone. It was a text message from John.
Police in Leeds found a dead man. Shot execution style. 6 ft, shoe size 9. Healed gun shot wound, knee.
JW
One of the men who stole the bodies in Leeds. They had killed him. Perhaps he was about to speak to the police? Not enough data to deduce. Sherlock's thoughts raced. Then, he caught a glimpse of Molly. This man, she had been talking to, was just leaving and walked towards the group of people that included Piers Miller.
Molly. Sherlock was sure she wanted to get close to the doctor and thus find out about his research. And the detective had basically forced her into this; assuring her it wasn't dangerous at all. But it is. How could I have let her get involved? This man gives orders to get people killed!
When he saw Molly moving towards the group of elderly men, he reacted without thinking about it further. The thought of Molly just so much as talking to this man was agony. In no way would Sherlock allow for her to become a target. He quickly crossed her way and stopped right in front of her.
"What… what are you doing?" Molly whispered. She looked over Sherlock's shoulder. Phil watched the scene with a questioning expression on his face.
"Madam, there has been an inconvenience. Are you driving a Fiat Punto? A transporter of ours accidentally hit one such car. Could you accompany me to the parking deck, please?" Sherlock spoke loud enough for suspicious observers to hear it.
Molly was perplexed. She managed to fake an annoyed eye roll and followed Sherlock to an empty corridor. As soon as they were out of the reception room, she asked him why he had done that. She had been so close to Miller. Sherlock was just looking at her for some seconds. She grew impatient.
"Sherlock?... Sherlock!" Instead of reacting to her, he took off his wig and ran his hands through his curls.
"I'm sorry, Molly. I shouldn't have let you get involved in this. You must go home. Now."
"What? No, I'm so close. What happened? You're all…" All what? She couldn't quite put her finger on it but he seemed to worry about something. But Sherlock Holmes didn't do concern.
"I lied to you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Piers Miller is a dangerous man. Someone has been killed and I'm sure that it's his doing," Sherlock stated, his eyes locked on hers. He gazed through the glasses he still wore. Only now did she realise how close to her he stood.
"I… I… " At least she had a good reason to be speechless this time. Surprisingly though, she wasn't scared. Not with Sherlock here as well. "But I only want to speak to him. I can help you, Sherlock. I doubt that he will kill me for being an interested pathologist. And, most importantly, he will not get suspicious. Whereas, if a renowned consulting detective…"
"Molly, stop it. I will not allow you getting involved with this man in any way. End of-"
He was cut short by a door opening some thirty feet away. Quickly, Sherlock put his wig back on and when Phil entered the corridor, Sherlock had already stepped closer to Molly and buried his head in her neck. Molly winced at the sudden movement of him pushing her against the wall.
"Oh, Moll, I'm… sorry. I didn't want to disturb anything," Phil held back a laugh but his eyes basically screamed I knew it! in her direction. Her heart raced as he took a second too long to turn around and close the door behind him. Slowly, Sherlock moved away just an inch and whispered, "is he gone?" Molly could only nod. So, Sherlock stood up straight again, righted his vest and looked at her. His face was as plain as ever.
"Good. Now, I doubt that either of us can go back in. The word that you're having it off with the catering guy is out, I suppose." Molly blushed instantly. "Earlier I overheard Phil telling a colleague about you flirting with me; he likes a good piece of gossip and this is premium gossip. Follow me," he had already started walking down the corridor before stating the instruction.
Oh, what a convenient reason to stop me from meeting Miller, Molly thought when she started to catch up with Sherlock. Her cheeks were still burning when she managed to ask, "where are we going?"
"To the lab. That's where my proper clothes are. Since you are wearing stilettos tonight I imagine that that's also were you keep the spare pair of shoes you brought. Plus, there are no pockets in that dress of yours. Your car keys have to be somewhere," he stopped, smirking and eyeing her curiously, "and they are not on your body at the moment." Molly could not have been more embarrassed if she had been standing naked in front of him.
When they arrived in the lab, Sherlock immediately discarded of his wig and the glasses and put them into a bag sitting in the corner of the room. He also took off the vest and stepped out of his shoes. He sighed when he put his own jacket on. Molly could see the relief on his face. Finally, he was himself again. She just stood watching him. The lab was only illuminated by the light that shone in from the corridor, they hadn't bothered to enlighten the whole room for grabbing their stuff. Shadows scurried over his face. There was no point denying it - Sherlock Holmes was a very beautiful man.
"My bag is in the other room. Just a sec," Molly told him as she walked towards the small adjacent chamber in which she had stored her big bag and the extra pair of shoes (of course, Sherlock had been right in his deductions). She had barely reached her things when he appeared behind her, lowering his mouth to her ear.
"Shhh. Don't move. Someone is about to enter the lab any second. Duck behind that stool and stay there in any case."
Not a second after he said it, the door to the lab was opened. Fortunately, the smaller adjacent room could not be overlooked from where the other person must have been standing. Molly could see nothing but the edge of a desk and could not hear anything but the sound of her heart beating harshly. She felt Sherlock's breath on her neck; he was kneeling right behind her.
The intruder did not turn on any lights either. They heard him fumble with something and then speak. Obviously, he was on the phone with someone.
"Yes, I'm in the lab now. Nothing unusual as far as I can see."
At the sound of the voice, Molly stopped breathing. She felt Sherlock tense behind her.