Sherlock walked up to Molly, his eyes boring into her, taking everything in. Without saying a word, he got the notebook from her hand and began to read it, walking away, turning his back to her.
"Molly! It's great to see you again." John embraced her and she hugged him back, grinning.
"Hi, John. How have you been? How did things work out with Susan?"
"Who? Oh... Yes, Susan..."
They began to chat noisily, all three of them joking instead of thinking about the case, with John telling Hayes about her time at Bart's, and that inspector standing very close to the pathologist...
Molly laughed.
Sherlock focused on the notebook, scribbled in her tidy, rounded handwriting.
He shook his head.
Most of the annotations were the same as on the chart...
Seriously, were those letters, or gummibears?
...Only a couple of extra notes were worth any interest:
Perfume, jasmine. Or was it just Jane?
Reinforced pearl necklace? Beads?
Female killer?
Jane's perfume didn't have jasmine, it was ylang ylang.
"You're wrong, you know." Sherlock interrupted the three.
For a moment she froze, remembering when he had said those same words to her.
She wondered if he had completely forgotten.
Molly hesitated, feeling vulnerable.
She should not have given him the notebook, it probably all seemed very silly to him: puerile, mediocre thoughts of a simple mind.
"What am I wrong about, this time?"
Sherlock didn't look at her.
"It wasn't a pearl necklace."
"Oh."
The consulting detective pointed at the victim's throat.
"The slight irregularity on the skin means they are not man-made beads, they are indeed pearls. However, if the string is strong enough to strangle a man, it would make a necklace look much too stiff to be worn fashionably. There is also a slight curve in some parts, which means the string is usually in a spiral. This weapon is worn as a bracelet."
"So you believe the killer is a woman?"
Sherlock hesitated, then nodded. "A strong one, who is also taller than the victim. The marking goes up at the back of the neck. She should be about 5.9 feet tall. Right-handed."
Hayes listened carefully. It wasn't much to go on, but it was better than what they had before.
"Well, at least that gives us a little more to work on. Thank you for your time and assistance, Doctor Hooper." He winked at her. Molly smiled back.
Sherlock walked out of the morgue.
"OK, well I guess we're going back to London. It was really good to see you again, Molly." John gave her a quick hug. "We miss you at Barts. We all do." He stepped back. "But Manchester suits you, you look great."
"Come along, John." Sherlock called impatiently from outside.
John shook his head in mild irritation.
"Bye, Molly."
The doctor left the room, and Hayes stood beside the pathologist.
"Friendly chap, that Sherlock." he muttered, bemused.
Molly picked up the notebook Sherlock had left on the table. She attempted a smile and turned to the inspector.
"He might grow on you."
"That was rude, Sherlock."
The two walked out of the hospital.
"You could at least have said goodbye."
John had to quicken his pace to keep up. All right, this wasn't working. John sighed.
"I didn't know she kept a notebook like that."
"She began about six months after she started working at Bart's." Sherlock replied, without slowing down.
It was a foolish attempt at imitation, a ridiculous, pointless endeavour.
But she never stopped writing.
John took a sidelong glance at his friend. "Did you ever read it when she was in London?"
"No." Sherlock said flatly, pulling up his collar.
John smiled.
"I must say, she looks great. Is it her hair? I don't know what it is, but..."
"Sleep."
"Sorry?"
"Her skin and eyes are brighter, a sign of being well rested, nothing more."
Molly didn't have to work 'till late, any more. She wasn't forced to stay in the hospital for hours after everyone else had left. In Manchester, she had a regular schedule that nobody disrupted constantly, without even asking... Molly was sleeping more, and better.
Sherlock hastened his pace.
Maybe they could get an earlier flight home.
.
.
"Excellence, pardonnez-moi pour l'interruption, mais on vous attend pour le toast. Avez-vous..."
The secretary froze in horror as her eyes focused on the desk. The only thing visible from behind it was the ambassador's hand. limp and lifeless on the carpet.
"Au secours! " She cried "Monsieur l'Ambassadeur a perdu connaissance!"
As the guards ran to the office and the ambulance was called, she crouched beside him.
"Mon Dieu, je pense qu'il soit mort..."
Nothing could be done, his life was spent.
That night, the ambulance siren echoed emptily in the streets of Paris.
.
Author's note:
Hi everyone! After so many requests to "update soon", I tried my best to deliver something as quickly as possible: I therefore thought it better to give you a short chapter now than a longer one later. I hope you liked it.
As always, reviews are highly appreciated.
Thank you for reading!
Feral