I stumbled into St. Bart's after my night of stalking, much like would have if I had a hangover. Dark rings clouded my eyes and my hair was a mess, but I didn't care, there was somewhere I needed to be. I got into the elevator and went downstairs. I walked into the morgue to see Molly Hooper looking over the body of the girl I saw at the bank yesterday. I stood in the doorway thinking about turning back.
"Oh, James, you startled me!" Dr. Hooper squeaked when she turned around to see me.
"Sorry, so, uh, what happened to her?" I asked jerking my head towards the body.
"Grab some latex gloves and I'll show you."
I did as I was told and left my bag outside in the hallway. I washed off my hands and slipped on the gloves. Molly grabbed the edge of the body bag and pulled back the cover. The smell was absolutely disgusting and I flinched at the gory sight.
"I forgot that you aren't used to this," Dr. Hooper said. The pale woman lie with her eyes closed on the slab with a circular gap in the skull on the right side. "She died by getting hit on the head with a blunt instrument and hard if that."
"The fall didn't kill her?" I asked.
"No, if the fall had killed her, there wouldn't a hole like this one. There would mostly be scratches and bruises; she would have died of internal bleeding more than anything."
"Wow, I can't believe you do this for a living," I said. "What does it feel like?"
"What do you mean, James?"
"There hasn't been a single murder in 20 years, Dr. Hooper, and you blast all this out of the water in what, a minute?"
"I used to this a lot."
"Like when Sherlock Holmes was still around?" Molly almost dropped her clipboard at the mention of his name.
"I see your dad told you about him."
"Well, you did set me up with his daughter yesterday. Let me guess, it was you that called Scarlett telling her Mrs. Hudson was in a car crash?"
Molly looked away. "You two needed to meet."
"Why?" I protested.
"James, did you really think that London could go crime free forever? It was a matter if time before something like this happened, and you and Scarlett, I believe are the only two that can figure this out."
"I'm not like my dad, I can't solve crimes and I certainly can't save anyone's life."
"You're a doctor, you save lives every day!"
"But not this way," I said firmly. We stood in awkward silence.
Molly let out a deep breath. "I've helped Mrs. Hudson take care of Scarlett ever since Sherlock left. She needed an extra hand but I realized, James, Scarlett needs someone like you, not me. I'm not saying fall in love with the girl, but help her. Scarlett is a locked up safe of emotion and she needs someone she can work with."
"I hate to break this to you, Dr. Hooper, but I'm not a therapist." With those last words, I left the morgue. I picked up my bag and went to the elevator.
I was mad and I couldn't understand why. I felt like throwing something, like screaming. But I swallowed it and went through my work. I finished everything at around 4 o'clock. I began to pack up my things when it started to drizzle outside. Rain splattered on my office window in tiny droplets. I was in the elevator when Nurse Charlie came in. She was angry and I wasn't in the mood. I prayed that she wouldn't talk to me. But her bitterness bubbled over.
"Thanks, for calling me last night, Dr. Watson." Ouch, last name, she really was mad.
"Look, I was busy last night, I didn't have the time."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry for being such time-consuming burden!" I was actually surprised that she did not slap me as she stormed off into the rain. I turned up my coat collar and walked to the curb, hoping I could grab a cab.
Police cars darted by, suddenly, driving through a puddle and soaking me in even more raining water. There were more than yesterday; six cars to be exact. I watched as an ambulance came racing out of the hospital parking lot. A cab finally stopped for me, but I let it go.
Damn it, I thought, as I started running through the rain towards the commotion. I saw from about a block away where the cops and the ambulance had stopped in front of a hair salon. I knew that I would not be able to see from the road; I could never get past all of those cops. I went down the alley and snuck to the back door, which was already opened.
I came into the shop through a supply room. I inched my way forward from behind unopened boxes of combs and hairspray. My ankle touched something cold and metal. I looked down to see a pair of polished scissors lying hidden in between to boxes. It also stuck me that where I was now, was the perfect viewing angle of the crime scene.
Another young woman sat dead in one of the chairs in front of the mirror. Her throat was slit and her hair was short and choppy, as if someone had buzzed all of it off. There was a note written in blood on the mirror that said; "LET YOUR HAIR DOWN." I brought out my camera phone and took a picture. I then back out the way I had come, shuffling very slowly so that the police officers didn't hear me.
Once I got back onto the street, I hailed a cab. One stopped for me and I climbed inside. I looked at the picture on my phone very closely, taking in every detail.
"Where to, sir?" asked the cabbie, snapping me back to reality.
I sighed and shut my phone. "Baker Street, 221B."