Lestrade provided John with a small office space at Scotland Yard to conduct his "investigation". Over the next several days John spent all of his time outside of the clinic at the Yard, reviewing what Lestrade had shared on Sherlock. Files and papers were scattered across his desk, the floor, and taped to the wall. Sherlock had a surprisingly long police record that went back nearly two decades. Despite the fact that the man was dead, John did not want to pry into his friend's past. He narrowed down the files to those weeks leading up to and then following Sherlock's death.
From time to time Lestrade would check in on John to see how his work was progressing. For the first three days John barely looked up from the files, acknowledging Lestrade only with a curt nod. By the fourth day John had reviewed every document—including certificate of death, autopsy report, and bystanders' statements—at least twice, and felt that he had committed the most important details to memory. It was time to begin confirming the information from sources directly. First would come Molly, and perhaps, despite John's dislike of the man, Mycroft.
No time like the present, John told himself. After saying a quick goodbye to Lestrade, John hailed a cab to St. Bart's. Since Sherlock's suicide John had difficulty visiting the building. When he did have to enter his old school he was careful to avoid looking up at the rooftop. He saw it frequently enough in his dreams.
When John entered the morgue Molly looked up from her microscope, clearly startled. "John, hello! Been a while, hasn't it?
"Yes, Molly, sorry about that. I guess this place has some bad memories for me." Molly nodded and looked away, hurt. As soon as the words has left his mouth he regretted them. Of course Molly understood John's feelings. Perhaps she avoids looking at the roof, too, he thought.
Trying to quickly move past his awkward entry, John continued, "I'll be honest, Molly. While it would be lovely to have a chat, I'm here because I need a favor from you. I just need to confirm a few things about Sherlock's autopsy report and death certificate. Do you think you could help me?"
As John finished he smiled at Molly, whose face had turned pale.
"I...I don't know..." Molly stammered.
"I know how difficult it is to think about him. About what happened to him. But I promise that I won't ask you about it ever again."
"It's not that I don't want to help you, John," her eyes pleaded with him not to make her continue. He held her gaze, and slowly she lowered her head. "When he...jumped," she paused and swallowed hard, "things were a bit chaotic. The media tried to get a peek. A man in a suit identified Sherlock and then left in a hurry. The body had barely been in the morgue for 30 minutes when more men arrived. At first when I saw their suits I thought they were looking for the first man. Instead they stormed in demanding that they be allowed to remove the body. We tried to argue that we hadn't even established cause of death when they flashed badges, mumbled something about national security, and...and took him."
As it had during his conversation with Irene Adler several days earlier, John's jaw dropped. If he wasn't careful it would turn into an awkward habit whenever women spoke to him. A long pause told John that Molly had told him all she knew.
"Thank you, Molly. You've been a huge help." John could tell that she was near tears. He hugged her, then excused himself quickly. Walking out of the morgue, John replayed Molly's words. From what he could deduce, it sounded like someone in a position of great authority had Sherlock's body removed before it could be analyzed at St. Bart's. Certainly no autopsy had been completed there. John only knew one man with enough power to essentially steal a body in the middle of an investigation.
"Mycroft," he said aloud. But what could he have to hide? There was only one way to find out.
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