"What?"
"Look at her face." he commanded.
"No."
"Look."
"No! Why do I have to look at the corpse?"
"It's an experiment." Sherlock replied grimly. "Do you want to catch the killer or not?"
John sighed. He approached the drawer and glanced at Melissa's face. It was an ugly sight. Her eyeballs were squished like flies, yet still managed to stare blankly at the ceiling above. John wished he could close them but he did not want to touch the gruesome mess. One thing was for sure - her face was certainly smashed in.
"What's this meant to prove?" John asked, quickly looking away.
"If you didn't know that this body was Melissa's would you have recognised her?"
"Of course not, her face is smashed up." John replied.
"Exactly!"
"Huh?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn't deem John's grunt worthy of a scathing comment.
"Who identified the body?"
"Harry; she was the one who found her."
"How did she know it was Melissa if not from her face?"
"Her clothing. She probably had her wallet on her Sherlock."
"Hm." The detective parted what remained of Melissa's lips and ran a swab through her mouth. He took out a small jar and placed the swab in it. "Come on John!" Sherlock announced and strode out of the room.
John pulled the cover back over Melissa's body and pushed her drawer back in sadly before following his flatmate.
On the way out he waved at the mortician but the man didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on Sherlock. John frowned. As usual he came to the conclusion that maybe the detective was right. The mortician was definitely hiding something; he looked scared.
Sherlock strode up the stairs so speedily that John had trouble keeping up.
"Could you at least tell me where we're going?" he asked.
"Just up a floor. I need to use some St Bart's equipment."
John followed Sherlock obediently onto the floor above and quickly grabbed the comfiest seat. He knew from experience that they could be here for a long time.
Sherlock removed the jar from his coat and started to fiddle with the saliva he'd collected with the swab.
The detective kept a lot of strange things in his coat. This was a fact John had quickly become accustomed to when a rat once jumped out of his friend's pocket and ran off. At the time the man had simply remarked: "Oh. I forgot I had that in there." And had proceeded to hang up his coat. Another time poor Mrs Hudson had found fingers in his pocket.
John was promptly brought out of his reverie by the sound of his phone ringing.
"You going to answer that?" asked Sherlock without looking at him.
John picked up his phone and stared at the screen. It was Harry. He sighed. He was still annoyed at her for what she'd said earlier but considering the events of today maybe he should cut her some slack. He answered the call.
"Hello?"
"H-hey John! I was jus' won'drin', have you seen Muhlissa?"
John closed his eyes wishing he didn't have to deal with this. His sister sounded like she was completely hammered.
"Harry where are you?" he asked.
"The Rock'n Crow."
"Okay I'll be right there." He hung up. "I'll see you later Sherlock, I need to help Harry."
"Good luck." Sherlock said as John left the room.
Fortunately the Rock and Crow tavern wasn't too far from St Bart's. This was just as well because John knew his sister would never stay put. It tended to make her move more if he demanded otherwise.
He braced himself and entered the pub. Harry said a lot of things John liked to hope that she didn't mean. Tonight would be another one of those nights.
She sat on a stool at the front of the bar. John joined her.
"Hey Harry."
The bartender looked relieved that she had a sober companion.
"Do me a favour mate, don't let her drive."
"Will do." John replied before turning back to his sister. "It's time to go."
"'m not going without Muhlissa." Harry slurred.
"Melissa's already gone." John reminded her sadly.
"Buh she was righ' here!"
"Harry I know you don't want to hear this but Melissa is dead. Come on. I'll walk you home, I think you could do with the fresh air."
"'m not going 'nywhere!"
"Harry please. You can see Melissa in the morning."
John hated himself for saying that but he knew it was the only way he could get her to listen to him.
"'kay."
As Harriet stood and stumbled towards the door, John half supported her with his arm.
"On second thoughts maybe we should get a cab." he muttered.
By the time the pair got to her house Harry was on the verge of passing out and had thrown up twice. Once on John. Sometimes he wondered if she aimed for him on purpose.
He laid her on her side, placed a sick bowl beside her that he normally kept on standby for these instances and proceeded to the bathroom to clean himself up. He knew he should stay over tonight. Although Harry was unwilling to admit it, she needed him right now. She needed all the family she could muster and their parents were out of the question.
Sherlock had managed to figure out John's family dynamic out for fun after their first week of sharing the flat. It had not been so fun for John to have the detective figure him out just like that. Some things were meant to stay private, but of course with him they never did. He remembered that conversation only too well.
"Sherlock."
"What?"
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" he said in the perfect tone of innocence.
John rolled his eyes.
"Staring. I'd rather you didn't analyse me in my own home."
"It's my home too."
"Go on, just tell me. I know you're bursting to go into monologue mode."
He had not known Sherlock for long but he was starting to recognise certain expressions. The resulting look of glee on the detective's face was as if he'd been bought a rocket ship for Christmas.
"You have a bad relationship with your parents, they don't approve of you. Well, more likely they don't approve of your sister's sexuality. You stood her ground and have been doing so ever since they kicked the pair of you out of the house." Sherlock explained, at a break-neck speed.
"How did you know that –" John began.
"I'm not finished." the detective interrupted. "You managed to make it pretty well on your own and for a while you and Harriet were close but something happened. Something big, possibly to do with Clara? More likely to do with you becoming a soldier and leaving. Harriet's never forgiven you. Your new occupation however made your parents proud and they got back in touch. You told them you wanted nothing to do with them, ah but maybe Harriet misheard the wrong part of the conversation? She does tend to jump to conclusions – her drinking problem had developed a long time ago but she'd been hiding it successfully from you. When you left it got ten times worse and you came back home to find her in hospital after leaving Clara. Your conversations with all your intermediate family are now angry and brief except for with your uncle Jerry – "
"How –"
Sherlock ignored him.
"- who sympathised with you and your sister. He was the reason you were able to live in a flat at the age of sixteen – "
"Sherlock."
"- he tried to have a word with – "
"SHERLOCK." John shouted.
Finally his flatmate ground to a halt.
"What?"
"How did – "
"I figure it out? Hacked into your phone, not difficult to do." He sounded quite pleased with himself. "The rest was easy. I take it from your tone that my predictions are correct."
"Yes. Why did you feel the need to delve into my personal life?" John growled.
"Flatmates should know the worst about each other. Anyways I was bored."
And with that John had stormed off into his bedroom. They hadn't spoken until their next case, which was a few days later.