𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒎 𝑮𝒐 (𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒐𝒏)

(2) Dr Watson

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Upon Cora's arrival at St Bart's Hospital, she is met by her brother Sherlock, who instantly heads towards the morgue as soon as she is in his sight. Then, with an aggravated huff, she rolled her eyes, taking that pleasantries weren't on Sherlock's to-do list today.

"Did your date go well with Grant?" As his twin sister tried to catch up with his quick pace, Sherlock finally spoke.

"First of all, it wasn't a date. You know well enough I don't do that," she bitterly informed with a snarl, as Sherlock only smirked with joy, "And for the millionth time, his name is Greg, and he's my friend."

Having arrived at the morgue, they are met by Pathologist Molly Hooper, showing them a body bag on a table. Sherlock unzips the bag and peers at the corpse of a 60-something-year-old man resting peacefully.

"How fresh is the body?" Cora asked as her brother closed the bag back up.

Molly walks towards them, smiling fondly as she speaks of the man, "Just in. 67, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

"Fine, we'll start with the riding crop," Sherlock responded, turning back to her with a put-on smile.

A while later, the body was removed from its bag and lying on its back on the medical table. Molly watched whilst flinching slightly as Sherlock whipped the body repetitively with a riding crop in the observation room.

"So, bad day, was it?" the pathologist joked, only for it to go over the twin's heads. That was the problem with being smart. They both tended to miss out on certain things, like a joke or when someone was being sarcastic.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," Sherlock instructed, fetching out his notepad and writing in it, "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

"Listen, I was wondering: maybe later when you're finished..." Molly began striking up the courage to ask Sherlock out, only for him to interrupt her, taking a glance as he wrote, only to take a double-take and frown in confusion at her, "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er...I refreshed it a bit," the woman offered timidly, but Cora wasn't stupid enough to know why Molly had slathered lipstick.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," but the question was sadly brushed aside. Another thing about them being brilliant was other people's feelings. Both of them were completely oblivious to when somebody liked them.

"Black, two sugars, please," he looked to Molly, putting his notepad away, "I'll be upstairs, and my sister will take a milky coffee, one sugar," he said, still not apparent what she had asked him and walked away.

-*-

They had now come upstairs to the lab where Cora and Sherlock had begun running out some tests until they were interrupted by a knock on the door. And their old friend Mike Stanford came strolling in with a man Cora noticed had a slight limp. She could tell it was something more along the psychological lines than physical. She guessed the man was in his mid to late thirties, with dirty blonde hair starting to grey a little, and probably had recently gotten off an army tour.