I find myself on the tube again, to Barts. Again. A localised outbreak of TB has my bosses worried, and of course Eathan won't come to the hospital, so I have to go. The train pulls into my stop and I push my way through the crowd and hurry to the exit.

"Afternoon Carol" I call as I rush through to the morgue and hear a muffled greeting from her.

Without bothering to knock I push through the door into Molly's lab. She's leaning against a table and chewing her lip, looking nervous beyond belief.

"Hey Molly," I say loudly and she jumps out of her skin.

She looks at me unfocussed for a second then dithers into life, "Oh hey Jess, sorry I was miles away."

"So I see," I tease, "I'm here about your TB bodies?"

Her eyes search my face for a good few moments and then recognition flashes across her eyes, "Oh my gosh yes of course!" And she dashes off into the morgue, beckoning me to follow her. I put on a labcoat and throw my hair up into a ponytail then go into the morgue behind her.

I stopped in my tracks at the sight of a tall man, prodding a body with an umbrella. He seemed absorbed in his poking and made no movement to greet either of us. I stood and watched him for a while, noting that his pokes were not as random as they first seemed.

"They're over here, Jess," Molly called from across the room and I came back to reality, striding over to the five corpses laid out under sheets beside Molly.

"What is he doing?" I asked, gesturing towards the strange man.

She looked over at him, then back to me with a flush of pink to her cheeks, "Oh that's just Sherlock, he comes in to do experiments every so often."

Interesting name. I cocked an eyebrow, "Experiments? Is he

a doctor?"

"No, just a detective," she replied cautiously.

"Oh so he's with the police," I turned my attention to the first corpse, a young woman of 23.

"No, not exactly, more of a contractor," Molly said.

I opened my mouth to ask her to elaborate, but a smooth cold voice cut me off.

"I'm a consulting detective. When the police are lost, they call me. Which is always." He didn't even turn to look at us.

"Never heard of one," I replied as dismissively as he had spoken to us, focussing on my third corpse, a 65 year old man but keeping one eye on him.

He looked up then, "Because I'm the only one."

When I looked up properly he was half-smirking-half-smiling, "You must be special then."

"I am. And you're a disease control specialist at Porton Down, based here in London and your favourite coffee is anything from Starbucks." He stared intently at his umbrella tip.

I opened my mouth to question him but it was dry and wordless.

Molly laid a sympathetic hand on my arm, "He does that."

"How did you know?," I asked, moving onto my last body to inspect.

"You're here looking at TB victims, I know for a fact the top brass at Porton are interested in that but it's a good hour and half commute from there to here and I imagine you come here quite regularly which means you probably live somewhere on the outskirts of London, although you're not from here," he still didn't look at me.

"And the coffee?" I asked, now openly staring at this strange man.

He looked up at me with a small glint in his eye, "Just an educated guess based on your past."

"Molly, I need photos of the bruises, text them to me," he turned on his heel and called over his shoulder, leaving the morgue.

I stood, stunned and confused. Molly just dithered, "He's amazing isn't he?"

"That's one word for it," I replied as I sliced out a nice sample of the dead lady's lung.