Sherlock (but from a Johnlock POV){ON HOLD}

SIP: ✨Two✨

Sherlock zipped up the bag and straightened up. "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop." He gave Molly a false little smile.

-

Molly stood in the observation room next door, watching Sherlock repeatedly and violently hit the now-exposed corpse with the riding crop. She winced every so often, but there was a hint of admiration in her face.

She slowly walked back into the morgue, smiling a little awkwardly. Sherlock straightened up, breathless, his face emotionless like always. "So, bad day, was it?" she joked.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me," Sherlock said in one breath, getting out a notepad and scribbling something down on it.

Molly blinked. He spoke so fast sometimes that it was hard to understand him, but she nodded. "Er, listen, I was wondering, maybe later, when you're finished..." she began.

Sherlock glanced over at her as she spoke, still writing, and did a slight double-take. He frowned. "Are you wearing lipstick?" he asked, confused. "You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er, refreshed it a bit," Molly said, slightly awkwardly. She smiled. He really did notice everything...

Sherlock gave her a very long and oblivious look, slowly turning his head back to his notepad. He had been writing without looking almost that whole time.  "Sorry, you were saying?"

    Molly stared at him. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"

Sherlock quickly shut the notepad. "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

He walked away.

Molly stood there awkwardly. He hadn't understood. "Okay," she said quietly, not sure whether to be upset or confused.

~~~

   There was a knock on the door to the lab Sherlock was in. He ignored it, continuing his experiment, only glancing slightly up when two people walked in the room. One of them was Mike, and the other was a shorter man he'd never seen before. He was definitely older than Sherlock, even if by a little, since there were a few small grey streaks in his blonde hair.

   Sherlock returned his attention back to his work, still aware of the two others. The man he didn't know limped in using a cane, looking at all the equipment with wide blue eyes. "Bit different from my day," he said quietly with a little smile.

   Mike chuckled. "You've no idea!"

   "Mike, can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked, keeping a note of the new man's comment. "There's no signal on mine."

   "And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

   "I prefer to text."

   Mike glanced down at his pockets. "Sorry, it's in my coat."

   The other person took out a silver phone from his back pocket. "Here, use mine," he said, holding it out.

   Sherlock stared at him, slightly surprised he would offer. "Oh. Thank you." He glanced at Mike, then walked over to the man and took the phone, trying not to seem awkward.

   "This is an old friend of mine, John Watson," said Mike.

   Sherlock turned partially away from the man - John - and flipped open the keypad on the phone. He noticed an engraving on the back:

Harry Watson

from Clara

xxx

   -and some pale scratches by the charging port and all over the back of the case. He noted this and began typing. He glanced at John Watson from the corner of his eye, and asked, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"