Two Years Later
"Would you mind passing me my phone?" His hand was extended to her. Fingers dances as he waited impatiently.
Darcie grabbed the phone from his trench coat pocket. "A text from Molly Hooper," she called to him.
"What's it say?" Sherlock dove deeper into his research.
Darcie opened the message. "A new body was brought it. You wanted to know. MH," she waited for Sherlock to reply but he kept looking in something. "Sherlock," she called.
"Head for the morgue, tell Molly I'll be down in a minute." Sherlock ordered.
Darcie rolled her eyes. Pulling out her phone, she put his next to him. Just as she was walking out the door, his phone vibrated. "Darcie", Sherlock caught her before she left.
"Yes, Sherlock," she popped her head back in fake goofy grin.
"There's no need to text me when I ask you to go somewhere."
"I know. I was just having fun." Darcie teased and left there. She went through the hallways till she found the morgue.
She entered the find a tiled room with several operation tables. One had a black bag placed on it. A woman with long sandy brown hair stood next to it with a clipboard. She turned to see Darcie walking towards her.
"Oh hello," she said slightly nervously.
"Molly Hooper," Darcie asked.
"Yes," she said startled. "Who are you?"
"The name is Darcie." She hopped up on to an operating table. "Darcie Richards," she extended her hand to Molly.
Molly took her hand and instead of shaking it, Darcie looked at it. "He'll be down in a moment till then…" She smelt Molly's wrist.
"Who…what are you doing?"
"Chanel, tabby cat, you don't play any instruments, well not anymore," Darcie whispered. "Not very well manicured nails, you're a hard worker. There's no time for luxury things. Small bit of arthritis in the wrist," Darcie turned to Molly's face. "Book reader, my guess is you prefer non fiction but will enjoy the occasional romance novel." Darcie's eyes went all over her now. "You live alone, like Chinese take out, and favorite piece of jewelry is the man's wedding ring on a chain. My good guess someone close to you who passed away. More likely your dad than a husband, you've never been married or engaged, No current boyfriend but a crush, you just reapplied…lip stick…" Darcie stopped.
Molly was staring at her rather shocked. "Only one person I know can do what you just did. And he…"
The door opened and Sherlock walked in. Darcie noticed Molly's eyes dilated. Mystery solved. Darcie watched her uncle walk over to the body.
Unzipping, he peered at the body.
"He was brought in an hour ago."
"How fresh?" Sherlock asked.
"Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."
Darcie smiled to herself. She knew exactly what Sherlock wanted with the body. "Fine," Sherlock straightened and falsely smiled. "We'll start with a riding crop."
She fought back laughter at Molly's face. But she managed to help Sherlock get the body. While Molly went to the observation, Darcie stayed watching Sherlock beat the hell out of the corpse. Darcie did glance at Molly who did wince but was still smiling in admiration. Molly had a crush on Sherlock; there was no doubt.
Sherlock finally finished out of breath, "Pen and my notepad," he reached to Darcie who granted his request.
Molly came down. "So, bad day, was it?" She bantered lightly.
Sherlock chose to ignore that comment. He wrote down a few things as he gave Molly some instructions. "I need to know bruises that form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."
Molly opened her mouth. First mistake, Darcie thought. "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished…"
Sherlock noticed the second coat of lipstick. "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't lipstick before."
Darcie looked to Molly curious how she would reply. "I, eh, I refreshed it a bit."
Back to Sherlock, he stared oblivious to her flirtatious smile. After an uncomfortable second, he returned to writing. "Sorry, you were saying."
"I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee." She looked nervously.
Tucking the notebook away, he replied. "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." And with that, he walked out.
Darcie smiled. "I'll take a black, no sugar." With that, Darcie got down and rushed after Sherlock.
She found Sherlock back where they had started. He dropped a few drops of a liquid into a Petri dish. Before Darcie could get the chance to speak, there was a knock at the door. Mike walked in with another man right behind him.
Sherlock glanced over and then he returned to his work. Darcie continued to watch the stranger limp in. He glanced around at the equipment.
Darcie smiled. A new victim, she mischievously thought. His hair was like an army style. When he stopped moving, he stood ramrod straight without a hint of a limp. Tan lines, he just returned from the war. Who knew which? His hands were coarse but very skilled. She never got to finish because he spoke.
"Well, bit different from my day."
He worked here.
"You have no idea," Mike chuckled.
Sherlock dropped some mixture on a slid. Sitting down, he called Mike. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."
"And what's wrong with the land line?" Mike raised an eyebrow.
"I prefer text." Darcie nodded to that.
"Sorry," Mike said. "I left it in my coat."
"Eh, here," The stranger spoke, "Use mine."
Sherlock a bit surprised answered. "Oh, thank you." Sherlock looked to Mike curious about the stranger. Darcie was curious too.
"Who's your friend, Mike?" She asked.
"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced.
"I see." Darcie moved grabbing the phone passing it to Sherlock.
Sherlock instantly started texting, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"
Darcie smirked. John glanced at Mike who smiled smugly. "Sorry?"
"Afghanistan or Iraq, it is a simple question." Darcie put in.
Afghanistan, sorry, how did you know…?"
Molly walked in with two coffees, "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He took the cups handing Darcie's hers. He stopped noticing the lipstick gone. "What happened to the lipstick?"
She tried to play it off with a smile. "It wasn't working for me."
Sherlock still oblivious let his mouth run. "Really? I thought it was a bog improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He walked back to his spot. He grimaced at the taste of his coffee.
"Okay," she said a little heart broken. She left the room. John watched after hoping she was okay.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock shot casually.
"I'm sorry, what?" John snapped back to reality.
"He plays it all the time." Darcie put in making John look at her for the first time.
"Do you rent a flat there too?" John asked.
"No, she lives with me. I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He straightened from bending over the computer. "Would it bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He faked smiled at John.
Potential flatmates? Darcie's eyebrows came together.
John turned to Mike. "Oh, you… you told him about me?"
"As if," Darcie huffed.
"Not a word," Mike spoke over her.
"Then who said anything about flatmates?" John contradicted.
"He did."
"I did."
Sherlock slipped on his coat, "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for."
"He's got that right. I was forced to live with him." Sherlock shot Darcie a dirty look.
"Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult of a leap."
"How did you know about Afghanistan?"
Sherlock only ignored him and put on his scarf. He then tossed Darcie her coat. "I all ready have a place picked out. Together we should afford it. Darcie will be with us as well." Darcie gave a small wave. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."
As the two tried to leave, John called to them. "Is that it?"
Sherlock took a step back. "Is that what?"
"We've only just met and we're gonna go and share a flat?" John looked between Darcie and Sherlock.
"Problem?" Darcie shrugged.
John smiled in disbelief. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."
"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him. Possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he just walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic – quite correct, I'm afraid."
John looked at his feet awkwardly.
"That's enough to going with, don't you think?" Sherlock opened the door then as an after thought, he poked his head back in. "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street." He click winked at John. "Afternoon," he disappeared through the door his niece on his heels.
"Random question but why do you keep doing that?" Darcie asked keeping up with Sherlock. "To Molly, what you did to her? You know with Molly likes you…painfully so, but still."
"Does she?" He asked tightening his scarf.
"God, are you really that thick?" Darcie face palmed. "And when were you going to tell me that we were moving?"
"I thought we discussed this yesterday." He popped his collar.
"I wasn't even home yesterday!"
"Not my fault you weren't listening.
Darcie rolled her eyes. "God, after two years, you think I'd be used to this. I can't wait to get home and go to sleep."
"About that," Sherlock started.
Darcie, not too surprised, rolled her eyes. "What is it now?"
"Your couch is all ready at the new flat."
Darcie followed Sherlock out the front door. "What?" He tried to avoid her eye as he hailed a cab. "You moved us out all ready? Damn it, Sherlock! I wasn't able to go home last night because you had us spend the night at Bart's Bloody Hospital. How the hell was I supposed to know anything?"
"You're getting too worked over it." Sherlock got into the cab Darcie following.
"So glad you're not." She whispered sarcastically and the cab drove them to their now empty flat.