beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 21

Greg Lestrade watched his men examine the backyard, sifting through piles of dirt and uprooted plants. A few them dug around with spades, stopping every now and then to shake their heads at him.

"It's been smelling weird for a few days." Nicholas informed him, wrapping his hands around a cup of tea. "At first I thought a cat had crawled in and died, but with everything strange that's been happening, I thought it might be a good idea to tell you."

"Did the gardener notice anything?"

"No. I sent him off the day she died, then packed up and went to my brother's for a bit. I couldn't..."

Lestrade nodded in understanding. One of his men poked at a patch with his spade, raised his eyebrows and called the others over. Nicholas and Lestrade stepped closer to watch them dig. The stench intensified, and Lestrade was tempted to cover his nose with his shirt. To his horror, he could now see a human hand poking out of the dirt. Slowly, painfully, they unearthed an arm, a torso, a leg, a face, until an entire dead body could be hoisted out of the dirt and laid out on level ground.

Nicholas gave a low groan of horror and stepped away. His grip on the cup loosened, and it fell to the ground. Hot tea scalded Lestrade's shoes as he caught Nicholas before he could fall, mouth open in a silent scream.

The decomposing body was unmistakably Nicholas' daughter.

***

"Dear God." John muttered, bending over the stretcher. "This has to stop. They'll be sending fingers in the mail next."

"That could be a substantial lead." Sherlock commented.

"No, that would be horrifying." John said. "Okay - she's been dead for about a week. Buried for, I'd say, not more than four days."

"So she was buried before the break-in. Lestrade, where was her body stored?"

"St Bart's morgue."

"And Nicholas hasn't started planning the funeral yet?"

"No, he hasn't."

Sherlock nodded curtly and turned around, grabbing John's arm and leading him to the gate. They hailed a cab, and Sherlock quickly directed the cabbie to St Bart's.

"We're going to visit the morgue." he said under his breath.

"Why?"

"They can't just wheel a body out of the hospital, John. A morgue employee would have to sign some forms first, one copy of which would be kept in the morgue. In all probability, the forms would've been destroyed by now, but it's worth a chance. It's quite late, nobody will be there. We'll just nip in and snoop around."

"You could ask Lestrade to look into that officially."

"It'll take too long. If we don't find anything today, that's what I'll do. Come along. Be quick, and don't make too much noise."

They got out of the cab, Sherlock barely stopping to pay the driver, and shot off at a brisk walk through the solemn corridors of St Bart's. To Sherlock's relief, the morgue wing was practically deserted. The stark white light cast eerie shadows on the walls, and although dead bodies didn't bother them by day, there was something distinctly unnerving about being so close to them now. Sherlock and John paused at the door to the morgue.

"I thought I heard something." John whispered. "Did you?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it. If we get caught, I'll find an excuse."

"Like what?" John asked, stooping to pick the lock.

"There's a supply closet five paces down this hall."