He watched her through the little window above the door; she was working silently, absorbing the tales and mysteries of her corpses. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile when Molly wrestled the gloves onto her disobedient fingers. He took a deep breath, dramatically pushing on the heavy doors.
“Molly,” he announced cheerfully as he swept towards her, black Belstaff billowing behind him; his smile was confident and, at last, genuine, “I need a body.”
The pathologist resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Never just a chat. She glanced up at him suspiciously, her hands still buried in her patient’s chest cavity, “what for?”
“Physical experimentation,” he replied, not once taking his eyes off of her; if she’d been paying attention, she might have seen the smirk on his face. She did frown, though.
“Right,” she finally lifted her hands, her gloves more willing to assist her this time. She met his eyes, smiling softly, “what kind?”
“Female. Mid-thirties. Attractive. Non-smoker. Cat-lover…” he hesitated, his voice softening as he uttered his final request, “pathologist.”
For a moment, Molly just stood there, taking in his strange demands; this woman sounded almost exactly like herself. Pity she never got to meet her, they’d have been great friends. What had she died of? Perhaps she was Sherlock’s former pathologist. Molly shook her head, sighing heavily.
“Wow, that’s specific but I’ll see what I’ve got.”
He could only stare after her as she moved to the fridges, “umm…”
based on Misunderstanding, part of my #sherlollytextchats series
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