All We Are - A Sherlolly Fanfic

Chapter One

Molly's POV

I pace the floors of Saint Bart's, shuffling my way through the winding hallways towards the mortuary. With my hair tied back and coat on, I am ready to begin the days work with the dead. There is nothing I love more than keeping to myself in a room full of cold bodies. Only joking. The air smells of clay and stainless steel, making my nose cringe every time I enter. The odor is something I am used to, though I am not fond of it.

As I fling the door open, I hear the small thump-thump of a meat tenderizer against a cadaver. My eyes become slits as I face the man with the kitchen utensil grasped in his hand. I see his light eyes and dark hair, and wonder what he is doing.

I reach for the meat tenderizer as the eyes stare back at me. His innocent face almost foolsme for a moment before I grabbed the weapon and swing it in front of his face.

"Exactly, who are you" I ask, my voice booming. "And what gives you the right to waltz in here and begin tampering with these cadavers? You do know it is a federal offence, right?"

"Let's see," the stranger says, his voice deep and smooth. "Windswept chestnut hair with flush cheeks. I'd say you walk to work. Judging from the dirt near the hem of your trousers suggests you live about five blocks away in the... East direction. The marks on the front of your shirt suggest you own a cat, a brow tabby cat. You worked late last night, yet you're the first here, besides me. And you just broke up with your boyfriend."

I shake my head, annoyed with the arrogance he possesses. "I didn't ask you to read my mind," I say. "I asked you what you were doing here."

"That's a first," he says, dragging out the conversation. "Most people wonder how I can read others."

I smile, irritated at the gall of this man. "The only thing I'm wondering is the length of time it will take for the cops to arrive here."

He stands there, for a moment, staring at me. I can see he's trying to work me out, and I'm intrigued to see what accusations he can conjure next. I look at the cold body between us as he looks up at the meet tenderizer still raised in my fist.

We meet each other's eyes. "It will take approximately three point six five minutes for the police to arrive. By that time, I can murder you rearrange your body to make it look like a suicide and leave without a trace," he explains.

"Why were you slamming this meat tenderizer on this cadaver?" I ask him.

"For an experiment," he says. "I was testing the amount of strikes using a specific interval of energy, hoping to see how strong the chest is before it collapses."

I narrow my eyes at him as I set the meat tenderizer down. My thoughts run through all the different scenarios of this man being here, but not one makes sense. "At least you had the sense to use the cadaver that isn't actually real," I say, referring the rubber form between us.

"Right," he says, his tone unsure. "I knew that."

I smile and look up at him. "Word of advice," I say. "Work on your deduction. I live six blocks away."

He nods. "Always something."

"I'm Molly Hooper," I say. "And you are?"

"Sherlock."

I try not to wonder what a silly name Sherlock was as he gives me a smile. "Lovely," I say, managing to keep my eyes on his. He really was handsome, and I began to think that I may even get along with him.

"Sorry about the intrusion," he says. "I didn't think anyone was coming today."

I laugh. "You've probably memorized everyone's work schedule," I say. I wonder how tired I am to be laughing with a complete stranger who just broke into my mortuary.

Sherlock shakes his head. "No. Not everyone's." He looks at me for a moment longer, then heads towards the door.

My eyes follow his back to the door where he lingers for a moment. I know I am not thinking straight as he turns the handle. He turns to face me, and my eyes immediately shift back down at the rubber cadaver. I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I pretend to be busying myself with a pile of papers. Sherlock does his best to keep a straight face.

"You're not going to turn me in, are you?" he asks.

I look over at him. "No," I say. "Just promise me it won't happen again."

"I don't make promises I intent to break," Sherlock remarks.

I can't help but smile. "Does that smear I'll see more for you?"

"I'll come when you're not in the lab," he says. With that, he is gone.

I wish I still had the chance to tell him that I'm always in the lab, no matter what. Saint Bart's is my home all the time. Most of the time, I'm the only one who occupies it. I'm the physician no one notices, the worker no one sees. I am here, rain or shine, night or day, working to solve the mysteries of the dead. I am the lonely who is never alone.