Sentiment Is A Chemical Defect

Chapter 4

The morgue reminded me of a hospital; depressingly quiet and very, very white. When we walked in, we were given disapproving looks from the receptionist, showing we weren't welcome.

Despite this, Eron still flashed her a gleaming smile.

"We're here to meet Lestrade," he told her.

The woman frowned at him. "You're late."

"I am."

The receptionist looked at me, taking me in. I did the same.

She was probably pretty in her youth but now her skin was brown and wrinkled like leather. Her blue eyes which I imagined were once ocean blue were dim and more like a grey mist. She more resembled a bulldog than a woman.

The woman simply nodded her head to signal that we were allowed to pass.

Before we even entered the actual morgue, we could hear Lestrade complaining on the phone.

"He's your son, Sherlock! How can you not know where he is?"

"Aren't you at all worried?"

When the grey-haired man saw us walk in, he hung up on Sherlock, smirking to himself and relishing his private revenge. His smirk soon faded away as he turned to us. Not even, acknowledging our tardiness, he directed us to the selection of corpses laid out for us.

Lestrade stood to the side with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. He leant against the containers where the bodies were kept and observed us.

Eron instantly tore the white sheet off the first corpse then cocked his head to the side.

The victim was a young woman of maybe twenty years. She had brown, waist-length and a grisly slash mark across her neck. The blood had stained the skin around the wound and made her skin look ghostly white in comparison. I could tell straight away that the murderer had most likely sliced through her jugular to ensure a quick and efficient death.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could spot Eron glancing at me. Possibly to check I was alright but I decided it was most like to see if I was about to throw up. Eron circled the bed anxiously. Even Lestrade looked a little pale.

"Do you know who she is?" I questioned Lestrade, breaking the silence.

Lestrade cleared his throat, "Jessica Pugh. Age 20. Fitness nut. She went out running one morning disappeared for a week then reappeared three days ago."

"This corpse isn't a week old," Eron interrupted.

"No. It's exactly three days old," Lestrade informed him.

I strode to the next body in line and folded the sheet neatly off the second victim's face. It was a young man. A handsome one. He had a head of blonde hair and full lips. This time, dark bruises covered his throat.

"Was he killed by these?" I asked, pointing to the finger-like splodges.

"No. He was strangled post-mortem."

"How did he die then?"

"Poison."

"Like the last victim..." Eron added.

"Like all the victims," Lestrade corrected.

"Why would the murderer inflict damage after death?" I pondered to myself.

"Lots of reasons," Eron answered unhelpfully.

"Thanks, CSI," I muttered sarcastically.

Finally, we reached the last body.

"This is Troy Tyler. Lawyer. Disliked by many unlike the other victims. Very opinionated. He was dead about three hours before he was found," Lestrade told us.

"Three hours? That means someone must have seen him being put there. The park is full of people at lunch!" I said.

"You'd think so but, there are no witnesses. At all." He looked to Eron, "I must admit, I'm much more impressed with your partner than you. You don't say much, do you?"

Eron just stared blankly at the man.

"I arrest my case," he muttered.

"Well, considering you need help from two kids, I can't say I'm impressed with you," Eron countered.

Lestrade laughed harshly, "I didn't need your help, kid. I needed your father's and he stuck me with you. I'm just entertaining you until he's free."

Eron had no words. He glared at the man then looked to the dusty floor.

"There may be no one willing to step forward but surely someone saw something. Is there any CCTV?" I interrupted to save Eron anymore embarrassment.

"We're already looking into that."

"Good. Then you're doing something," Eron interjected, cockiness returning to him.

Lestrade and I ignored him, "What's the poison that's being used?" I asked.

"Arsenic."

"That's all the information we need," Eron announced and grasped my wrist.

I allowed myself to be dragged away, biting my tongue.

Once we stumbled outside, I yelled at him.

"We were no way near finished," I snarled.

"I got enough information," Eron shrugged dismissively.

"No, you never! Lestrade just hit a nerve didn't he?"

"Of course not! Like I care what Lestrade says!" he scoffed.

"Sure," I mumbled.

Eron looked at me, meeting my eye. After a long moment of me glaring at him, he sighed.

"We need to do some research. C'mon," he ordered the strode away.

I hesitated for a brief second but soon trailed after him. Stuff like this had to be a once in a lifetime opportunity. I couldn't let it slip away.

We trudged to the library because of course, Eron Demarcus Holmes didn't know everything about Arsenic. I guess Sherlock hadn't taught that him well...