Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

A Scandal In Belgravia (Part 5)

"The only one that fit her description," Mycroft said to his brother. "Had her brought here—your home from home."

They stood in the morgue at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Molly Hooper was there with them. A body laid on a slab in front of the three of them, covered by a sheet.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly," Sherlock said.

Her response was quick. "That's okay. Everyone else was busy with...Christmas." After a moment of awkward silence, she addressed the body. "The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." She then pulled the sheet off of the dead woman's head.

Mycroft watched his brother earnestly. "That's her, isn't it?" He asked.

"Show me the rest of her," Sherlock requested.

Molly hesitated a moment. She grimaced and then did as he asked. Sherlock looked the woman up and down. "That's her." He then turned and walked away.

Mycroft smiled at Molly. "Thank you, Miss Hooper."

"Who is she?" Molly asked, not being able to help herself. "How did Sherlock recognize her from...not her face?"

But Mycroft did not answer her. He simply smiled at her again and then followed after his younger brother.
Sherlock was standing in the corridor, looking out the window. Mycroft stood just behind him and held out a cigarette. "Just the one."

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shrugged. "Merry Christmas."

Sherlock took the cigarette and rolled it around between his fingers. Mycroft rummaged through his pocket to find a lighter.

'Naughty, naughty.' Your voice taunted him.

"Smoking indoors. Isn't there one of those...one of those law things?"

Mycroft lit the cigarette. "We're in a morgue. There's only so much damage you can do."

Sherlock inhaled deeply and then blew out the smoke. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"How did you know she was dead?" Mycroft asked.

"She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on," Sherlock explained. "She chose to give it up."

Mycroft, of course, understood what this meant. He knew what the item was that Sherlock spoke of. "Where is this item now?"

Sherlock immediately decided to ignore his older brother's question. He instead turned and looked out the door at the end of the hall. A family stood there, crying over the loss of someone they knew and loved.

"Look at them," Sherlock said. "They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"

"All lives end. All hearts are broken."

Sherlock looked down. He did not know why, but upon hearing this statement, he thought of you. Little did he know that you were in your flat right now, suffering from just such a broken heart.

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

Once again, Sherlock thought of you. He remembered a conversation you had back on a previous case—the case with Moriarty and the bombing victims, specifically the old, blind woman.

"It's not true, Sherlock. You do care. I know you do," You had said. "Each of these cases you've worked so far, someone's life has been at stake. You've worked so hard to make sure that you save them. You work hard to make sure that nobody dies." You had smiled at him. "Sounds like caring to me."