The Dying Detective - Molly Hooper, John Hamish Watson, SH-221B

"Fine, OK," John conceded, holding his hands in the air. Sherlock was a determined old bastard, but he could be too when he wanted to, and there was no way he was going to let his friend stay out any longer than they needed to that day.

"Just give me ten minutes, I'll get ready," and with that he headed straight to the bathroom, running the hot water in the sink and getting a quick wash, then he brushed his teeth, had a shave and went upstairs to pull some clothes on.

Nearly exactly ten minutes later, John returned downstairs and picked up his jacket. "Right then. Let's go," and he gave Sherlock an encouraging smile. He'd be keeping his eye on him that was for sure.

Sherlock could tell that John wasn't happy at his insistence on going to Bart's but he was several hours behind schedule. Lestrade would expect some news from him long before Anderson's forensics team dropped a report on his desk.

John's loyalty, on the other hand, was indisputably centred on Sherlock and the detective who treasured that knew that there would be an almighty row, a very unhappy doctor and his own guilty conscience to contend with if he didn't take account of it.

In John's book, ten minutes usually meant not far off ten so Sherlock gathered his log book and samples, put on his scarf and coat and at the last moment pocketed an aspirin tablet in a plastic bag for good luck. He was ready nicely in time for when John, who seemed raring to go, when he appeared.

Happily the patches were doing such a great job that Sherlock felt quite buoyant. Taxis however were not co-operating until the two men got to the main road. Being tall Sherlock rarely had trouble getting noticed and flagged a cab down on his second attempt.

John followed Sherlock downstairs and was more than a little amused when the first cab he tried to flag down drove straight past them. The look on the detective's face was quite priceless.

Once they'd got the second cab, John hopped in behind Sherlock and closed the door. "St Barts Hospital please," he leaned forward to the driver and gave the instruction before sitting back and putting on his safety belt.

As the taxi trundled along through the slow rushour traffic of morning London, John glanced over at Sherlock and gave him a small smile. "You feeling OK?" He asked, realising he was already starting to sound like a nagging parent, but he knew Sherlock would never willingly describe his symptoms unless pushed.

The lanky detective gave John a joyless 'that's not at all funny' look as the first cab he tried to hail sailed straight past them. He got in the next cab and belted up, rolling his eyes, there were law things about seat belts, as John climbed in and gave their destination to the driver.

There was a snarl up of traffic due to a learner driver dithering at traffic lights. Sherlock looked out of the window at the capital at its busiest and least polite with frayed nerves jangling in vehicles getting nowhere fast.

Sherlock returned John's very welcome smile and decided to spare himself the doctor's imminent interrogation into the state of his health “Not so bad. Not hungry normal, a bit tired, had a bit of a nose bleed, very small, nothing, two spots.” he revised quickly in case John ordered the taxi to turn around. “Not a problem.” He added firmly.

"A nose bleed?!" John exclaimed, and was about to ask further questions when Sherlock added it was only a couple of spots. All the same, that was a little weird, and didn't fit in with food poisoning. The two things must be unrelated, he thought with a shrug, and said, "alright then, fine. Just...let me know if there's any changes, yeah?"

After a relatively slow journey, the cab finally arrived at St Barts. John got out his wallet and paid for the journey as the vehicle before getting out.

Sherlock had nodded his agreement to notify John of any changes in his condition which seemed to satisfy him for the time being. He wondered how John's funds were and made a note to transfer some cash into his account for expenses. A paying client to balance up the number of free consultations they had done recently would be helpful he thought as they walked round to the Hospital's side entrance.

The detective checked his watch and headed straight for the lift down into the basement. He summoned it with a flourish on the button and was rewarded by the swish of the lift ascending to the ground floor.

“Molly will be in the morgue.” he informed John with a flicker of a smile as they got into the lift.

“This will take all three of us. Could you start checking Lestrade's samples against his paperwork first? That'd be very helpful.” he smiled encouragingly at John as he strode purposefully up the corridor with his friend at his side.

The two men turned right into the mortuary room. As John and Sherlock entered the room Molly was bending over a partially sheet covered body on the stainless steel slab.

Molly was quietly humming to herself while cutting open a fresh corpse. Suicide, she speculated but she obviously had to find enough evidence for that in the body.
Being rather occupied and concentrated on the work at hand she didn't notice the two men entering her morgue.

After she heard a familiar cough and her head jerked towards the intruders the humming stopped immediately and was replaced by a slight flush.

"Hi", she squeaked, inwardly cursing herself for turning from relaxed and comfortable with herself to a shy and squeaky version of her.

(sorry for grammar and delay... on holidays atm but back on board on monday =) )

(( That's fine, we'll keep it hot for you ))



Sherlock was immediately interested in the slightly mangled body of the man on the slab. “Molly,” he said pleasantly. “What have you got here!” he looked at the notes and grinned. “Oh, yes, John, come and have a look, it says here his body was found in a motor vehicle recycling yard, cut from a car that was being crushed.” he turned to John “The driver stopped the crusher, obviously.”

The detective whipped out his pocket magnifying glass and examined the body “How interesting!” he murmured noting a pin prick sized hole, indicative of a needle, and a tiny bruise, in the crook of the left elbow over the vein. He checked under the fingernails and paid close attention to the hands and the man's hair. At length he stood up straight.

“John, would you give me the benefit of your opinion, please.” Sherlock smiled warmly at his friend.

John followed Sherlock down the corridor and into the morgue, nodding to show he'd heard the instruction and getting out the samples to compare with Lestrade's notes. He pulled over a chair and sat down at the desk a few feet away from Molly, Sherlock and the body they were now inspecting.

"Hi Molly," John smiled at the sweet morgue attendant, before turning back to the notes. He could see out the corner of his eye that Sherlock was getting excited at the body, and knew it would only be a matter of time before he was called over and asked to give his opinion.

"Obviously," John replied half heartedly, although in reality he had no idea how Sherlock could possibly have reached that conclusion. He stood up and walked over to the slab, staring at the body of the man. "So...you're saying there were two people there? Him and the driver? How can you tell?"

He watched Sherlock at work, inspecting every inch of the corpse, already a little nervous about the long list of details he was liable to miss when called upon to give his opinion. "Well..." He began, moving round the table, bending over and looking at different parts of the body. "There's no marks...oh, except..wait there's a...there's a bruise here, just inside the elbow." John leaned in closer for a better look. "And that looks like a needlemark to me. Some kind of poisoning perhaps? Unless he was a drug addict, although he doesn't show signs of any long term drug abuse so...other than that...um...quite a lot of dirt under the fingernails, and one of them's broken...I'd say he's been dead for around 9 hours."

Sherlock smiled at John's response appreciating his dry wit.”The notes say the body was recovered from a vehicle, a car, which was being crushed, for scrap. The crane driver picks up the car and drops it into the crusher and he operates the crusher, it compresses the car turning it into a compact square of metal”

The detective put both his hands together to form a square getting smaller to represent the crusher operating. “The body isn't smashed into strawberry jam, it's just a little mangled, so the driver only noticed the body after he had dropped the vehicle into the crusher and he stopped it.”

“Oh good John, yes.” Sherlock beamed “correct, he's not been injecting himself with any drugs regularly, there are no marks, although we can't rule out that he might smoke something or swallow it. The little bruise suggests he was fumbling to inject himself. And the dirt under his nails is paint and I would say synthetic blend motor oil and a kind of clear glue. Acrylic paint. It's in his hair too.”

Sherlock gave John his magnifying glass to have a closer look at the man's scalp and hair. “Can you see the paint is coloured, it's a type that some artists paint with. So he's an artist. Paints large works too.”

The detective stood back frowning, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets, thinking. “Interesting” he remarked meaning this was a complex puzzle, and taking out his phone began searching on the internet.

“Suicide or murder,” Sherlock muttered, he looked across at his friend and grinned “New case, could you make some notes, John, please?”

John nodded at Sherlock's logic. He hadn't thought about the actual crushing device, and the man operating the crane, but of course it made sense. He picked up the notes and read through them, his heart skipping a beat when he realised he might have noticed something.

"It says here that the body was discovered..." And he checked his watch. "Um...just over two hours ago now, and the car was brought into the compound...hmm...six hours ago. So if I'm right about the time of death, we know he was dead before the car was taken to the compound so...maybe whoever took it there knows something..." He looked at Sherlock eagerly although he realised the detective had probably already thought of all this.

"An artist..." John took the magnifier from Sherlock's outstretched hand and leant close to the man's hair. "Yeah, I see it." He grinned and handed it back. "So...he injected himself. Maybe he thought he was taking some kind of drug, y'know, something recreational, but it wasn't. I can check out with his friends and family, see if he had any history of drug use."

He dug into the pocket of his coat and brought out the small notepad and pen, turning to the next clean page and beginning to scribble down everything they'd learnt so far, already catching the buzz from Sherlock and feeling quite excited about this new mystery.

Sherlock continued to search on the internet then looked up and smiled at Molly who was leaning against the desk patiently. “Dane Avens. That's his name.”

The detective passed his phone over to show John the website of the artist Dane Avens which had his photograph in the corner.“Sculpts in metal and paints using mixed media. He uses wrecked car parts in his sculptures, can you see?” he asked his friend.

The detective continued “We will have to interview the Breakers Yard people, John. Lestrade has a bright new recruit. You can tell he's new, he's made an error with the times. Apply Occams Razor, deduce to the most simple and probable, not the complex and least likely.” his brain was rattling away like a train trying to jump off the rails, he realised he was rambling, going off track, and remembered he already had an unsolved case on his hands.

“Molly would you come up to the lab, to look at something for me?” Sherlock asked turning on the charm.

“I should, em, be seeing to him.” Molly looked at the body on the table but when he asked so nicely she was already considering leaving it to help her favourite detective.

“Please?” Sherlock appealed. He really had to get on with the samples before he phoned Lestrade.

Sherlock set off for the chemistry lab as Molly, preparing to go up to the lab, began to cover the artist's body.

Molly cursed herself inwardly. HOW in Gods name was it possible for her to know he was just using his charm to get her to do whatever he wanted her to do and still fall for it? Each and every time?
With a sight she turned away from Mr Avens, gave a non-committed grunt John who smiled apologetically and followed Sherlock to the lab.

"Right..." she began. "What do you want me to look at?" she added, trying not to throw down various stacks of paperwork on the table while she pulled off her gloves forcefully. She honest to God hated the damn things, neither did she get them on easily nor did she manage to get out of them without making a fool of herself.

In the lab the detective stifled a smirk at Molly battling violently with her gloves. “Molly. Vegetation. Can you separate the vegetation and the inorganic solid particles from our samples, 8,9 and10 and give them to John to do a litmus test on. I need to know if they are alkaline or acid John. A pony tail suits you Molly.”

“John, I need a litmus test doing on our samples 7 and 12 and compare them to the results of the corresponding samples that Lestrade sent up here. Lestrade's are all in the usual plastic container, wherever it is. I'll start on no 11.” Sherlock stretched out his hand to the bag of samples John had brought and noticed he had a bruise on the back of his hand. He didn't remember banging his hand on anything.

The moment Molly had finally won the hateful battle against the gloves and she heard Sherlock's comment on her hairstyle which send her into an awkward stupor once again.
When she heard the way the detective addressed Dr Watson she snapped out of it, barely stifling a snort as she half-expected to hear Sherlock commenting on the doctor's hairstyle as well. Sometimes it really wouldn't surprise her all too much...

Before she got her hands on the first sample something caught her eye. A dark bruise was forming on Sherlocks hand that was still pointing at the samples. One glance into Dr Watson's direction told her that he had noticed the bruise as well.

John barely had time to keep up as Sherlock jumped from one case to the other. He'd just jotted down the name of the dead artist, his website address and the name of the car crushing company when the detective was rushing out of the room towards the lab.

John smiled at Molly and pocketed his notepad, heading off after him, scooping up the samples into both his arms to carry through to the lab. Once inside, he found a clear space of desk and set up a work area, trying his best to listen to Sherlock's instructions.

He knew how to perform these basic experiments and tests - acids, alkalines, litmus paper, it wasn't beyond his understanding like some of the more advanced chemistry Sherlock was into, and John was pleased to be able to help out in whatever ways he could. It made him feel important, special, useful.

He reached out to take a couple of the samples and begin his own investigations, John couldn't help noticing the small bruise on the back of his hand. He frowned at it, despite only getting a quick glimpse, and tried to remember whether his friend had banged himself over the past twelve hours. He was quite certain it hadn't been there last night at the restaurant.

"I'll get right on it," John replied slowly, looking at Sherlock with a concerned expression before turning back to his work and cracking on with the tests.

Once Molly had finished with sample 8 and separated vegetation and inorganic substances she handed it to John and she turned to sample 9.
Sometimes she wondered why Sherlock wouldn't let her do more tests. It wasn't like she didn't know how to do it, she was, after all, a good pathologist and she knew it. Usually, he even valued her opinion but lately he had started relying on John more and more. Molly knew she shouldn't think anything of it but she couldn't help the slight annoyance she sometimes felt when the inseparable duo entered her morgue.

Again, she forced herself to stop thinking so badly about John. It wasn't his fault Sherlock didn't notice her that way. Then again, who knew?

After sample nine was finished and put on the table, waiting for further examination, Molly allowed herself to look at the two men. They worked together hand in hand. Figuratively, obviously. It was like they were a machine, functioning with each other effortlessly, knowing when to reach for something or when to move a bit. It would have been quite endearing if it hadn't been for Molly's own stupid feelings towards the taller man.

Sherlock sensed, before seeing, Molly's eyes upon him, tired as was, he felt it incumbent on himself to give her the attention she deserved. She was trustworthy, smart, could be relied upon and she was kind, someone who had patience with him and his oddness.

“Molly, could you run a pollen analysis.” Sherlock decided it was well worth the expenditure of energy to give her details of the case of the body in the car boot, if she was interested. He explained the case to her, as he saw it, before sitting at the microscope again.

The detective pored over samples until his back hurt. He leaned back and stretched, feeling hot and dizzy, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “What title are you going to give this case when you write it up?” he asked when the doctor looked over.

Although Sherlock was aware of the tensions hovering below the surface the three worked on passing the beakers and petrie dishes around like a well oiled machine on a production line.

John mumbled a "thanks" to Molly as she handed him the next sample for testing, then frowned as he noticed an anomoly in one of the results. Thinking it must be his own mistake, he started again.

"Hmm. Titles..." John mumbled, thinking. He hadn't really got that far yet, but he threw a few into the air as they came to him. "The Man with the Twisted Car...hm...Solitary Sculptor...the Missing Artist..." John shrugged. None of them sounded right. "As we get more facts and details through I'll be able to think of a better one."

After repeating the litmus test and getting the same result, John thought he'd better report it to Sherlock. "Here, look...sample 7. It's come out differently to the results we got off Scotland Yard." And he passed Sherlock the two sets of results to compare.

“On sparkling form again John” Sherlock was visibly impressed. “Yes, more good, old fashioned details. And this case, the Bigamist in the Boot perhaps?” he chortled ending in a dry cough.

It was almost unheard of to have two cases on the books at once. Quite ludicrous really when sometimes there was a tedious dry spell of a whole month to endure between one case and the next. And just when he felt poorly, very inconvenient, Sherlock was thinking as he worked.

Molly's machine bleeped several times and the detective coughed again while waiting for the printout.

The detective's attention shifted when John's body language changed and he reported that he had an anomaly “Ah, conflicting opposite results. I'll have a look at them in a moment.” He indicated with a wave of his now more obviously bruised hand for his assistant to put them to one side while he continued peering at his sample.


[Only admins are allowed to see this image]



After a few minutes Sherlock glanced at his watch, it was gone 1-o-clock “You two need food, you had better go and get something.” he ordered obliquely. He liked to look after his friends by showing that he remembered what they needed.

"You're getting better at this Sherlock," John laughed, giving him a quick slap on the back. "I thought you hated my titles."

He placed the samples with the different results on the desk next to Sherlock and returned to testing the next one, falling silent for a moment, his eyes occasionally darting up to check Sherlock was OK.

He glanced at the time when the detective mentioned lunch. "Wow, that went quick," he muttered, stopping what he was doing. "Food does sound like a good idea round about now." John's stomach rumbled slightly as he spoke about it.

He knew it was going to be virtually impossible to get Sherlock to eat anything now he was working, and John felt like he'd nagged him enough in the past 12 hours. "Want me to bring you a coffee?" He offered instead, realising this would be more acceptable to the detective.

“Really,” Sherlock drawled sniffing at the suggestion that he approved of John's title choices and as John's hand hit his spine. “Nothing has stopped you from coming up with them.”

Sherlock thought it had been a long morning which was unusual for him when he was busy in the lab. He exchanged the microscope slides to examine sample 7 and stared at it before peering at Anderson's equivalent.

His concentration was little short of abysmal he thought when he realised John was asking him a question. “Coffee, strong and extra sugar.” he replied feebly with heavy eyelids feeling drowsy.

Just as Molly was following John out of the lab Sherlock called “Molly, sample 7. Is contaminated. By what, please?" Sherlock asked before she left the lab.

With a barely contained eyeroll Molly turned back to Sherlock and tried not to think of the nice cheese sandwich she had wanted for lunch. Instead she just shrugged when John turned around to look for her and said
"Sure, I had a late breakfast anyway. Why don't you pop out, grab a bite and we finish those samples here?".
With a sight John turned and left the two alone.
Soooo. No lunch for me Molly thought Though, on the bright side... No John around!

She took the sample Sherlock had place on the table and started working on it. A few test later, she had what she was looking for: A faint trace of a rather unexpected substance. Acid!

"Sherlock? You might want to check that. I got a faint trace of benzo tetronic acid..." she said, fully expecting him to tell her it had been obvious all along or something like that.
When she turned to look at him after no reply came she didn't expect to see him white as a sheet, looking rather peaky. Before she could say anything he shook his head like he had just woken from a dream and said "Yeah... brilliant". +

Sherlock watched John go. Good man, I'll stop soon, a strong coffee, just another hour. He read the pollen analysis and waited for a wave of dizziness to pass.

Molly took the sample and soon had results.

[Only admins are allowed to see this image]



The detective shook his head trying to clear the fog to get up and go have a look at Molly's findings.

Benzo tetronic acid. Yeah....A chemical component of... Brilliant, Molly, Very fast. Think! John's sample was right, acid. And if Anderson's was right also, alkaline. Where has the acid come from? Had he said to Molly what he was thinking or not?

Sherlock got up, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. On his way to Molly at the desk he staggered, and putting his hand out onto the desk caught himself from falling, or Molly caught him.

The detective leaned on the desk with the hanky to his face stemming a nose bleed and heard a chair being dragged over. Someone was talking to him.

When Sherlock got up Molly certainly didn't anticipate what happened. The past few minutes he seemed slightly not-Sherlock but now he was actually staggering when he made the short way from his chair to hers. Before she knew what was happening he was falling and, acting on instinct, she rushed to his side, gently leading him to the table, trying to position him against it while keeping him relatively stable. As quick as she could she led go off him and dragged a chair over.

Carefully, Molly led the still disorientated detective to the chair and pushed him down. Once he was seated Molly allowed herself to catch her breath. It was, after all, not every day that Sherlock nearly passed out in her lab!

"Sherlock?" She didn't get a response.
"Sherlock, can you hear me?"