𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, sherlock holmes

𝐗𝐈𝐕 . . . THIS CARD HAS NOT BEEN AUTHORISED!

          POPPY SWIPED HER ACCESS CARD DOWN THROUGH THE slot on the reader for the fourth time, growing more and more exasperated at each flash of the the red light. She didn't dare try it another time — St Barts hospital was notorious for having an awful security system. Instead of the reader disabling after a third failed attempt, it was five which caused Poppy to furrow her brow whenever she thought about it.

          It should have been three, because everything came that way. If there were three unexpected deaths reported to Scotland Yard, then there was a high chance they were corrorolated through a murderer. If an experiment gave the same results three times, it was easily determinable from that point to solidify the hypothesis. If a password to an account was entered incorrectly three times, then it's recommended that you write it down and keep the piece of paper somewhere safe.

          Three, three, three.

          There were more, and Poppy could think of a never-ending list. The last three generations of female Rockefellers had first and middle names that always started with a p and then a w. Polly Willow, Penny Wanda, and then ending with Poppy Winona. She had three over-the-phone votes to use at the end of the year to decide which couple on 'Strictly' she wanted to lift the glitter ball trophy. It had taken three months for her periods to start co-operating, and for them to always start on the 22nd of each month. She'd received three anonymous text messages that had been sent to three completely different phone models and numbers.

          Poppy reached forwards and slotted her access card in again, hoping that the noteworthy fifth time lucky would actually live up to its name and that the little LED light would flash green instead of red. But alas the fates were not on Poppy's side as the light blared red in her face and refused to let her through to the labs at the end of the corridor. And it wasn't like she could use her thumb-print, because she'd insisted the security guy in charge of organising it that it wouldn't be necessary.

          She could change names, and she could change her appearance, but Poppy couldn't change her genetics or her readily available DNA identifiers. Her fingerprints would tell the nation that her name was Poppy, her irises had the capability to tell the world she was Agent Rockefeller, the mother-fucking untouchable.

          Poppy banged her forehead against the door-frame and there she stayed, a horizontal line starting from where her feet were raised so only her toes were touching the tiles and ending right next to the card reader. Someone cleared their throat, but Poppy still remained there. The noise came again, and Poppy dared to crack one eye open. There, standing with her mousy brown hair tied over her shoulder and twiddling her thumbs which could only just be seen under the too-long sleeves of her white lab coat, was Molly Hooper.

          Anxiously her hands parted and she waved at Poppy with her left, while pulling out her own access key from her right pocket with the other. "Hello, Wilhelmina." Poppy furrowed her brows. Who the fuck was Wilhelmina — oh. Sergeant Wilhelmina Fisher had an access card to the labs at St Barts, and that was who Molly knew to address Poppy as while in the hospital.