The View From Outside

II: No Such Thing As A Perfect Murder

Molly glanced back, a nervous half-smile on her face. She was certain she had never seen the man before; he was tall and had thinning hair over a broad forehead, a prominent nose and a generally unwelcoming air about him. He smiled thinly at her down his nose. She looked away quickly, swallowing.

Frowning to herself, she crossed the road with the crowd before she turned, searching for the man who had spoken. He was nowhere to be seen, as though he had vanished into thin air. Molly gave herself a mental shake and schooled her thoughts. People did not just 'vanish into thin air' – and moreover, she was here because of Sherlock; it was him she should be looking for. He was not on the roads – not in sight, anyway – and she couldn't loiter on the road. Molly decided to go into the park. Even if she didn't find Sherlock, the calm ambience would soothe her, as always.

She went in a little distance, walking slowly and keeping an eye out for Sherlock. The little knot of unease remained in her chest, though. Who the man was who had spoken? How had he known? Had he known, or was she reading too much into the matter? Her brow creased as she pondered, eyes downcast and unfocused.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm, stopping her from walking on. Molly yelped, startled out of her thoughts. She looked up into the pale eyes of Sherlock Holmes, only to see herself reflected in them, wide-eyed and scared.

"Looking for someone?"

"I'm not," she lied. "I needed some air."

He stared at her, unconvinced. She shifted, uncomfortable under his probing gaze.

"You got into a cab after me and followed mine all the way here. You got off, and then followed the cabbie's directions towards the Wellington Arch. You didn't see me, of course, but you did meet-" he stopped abruptly. "Doesn't matter. But what does matter is why you would simply drop your work and rush after me. It's beyond reason."

One thing from that rapid spiel had filtered into her woolly brain. "You know that man?"

His nose wrinkled slightly. "Never mind. Don't follow me." He turned and walked briskly away.

Molly blinked, then gathered her wits and hurried after him before he disappeared again. "Sherlock, wait!"

He didn't. Of course he didn't. Why would he? Molly broke into a run to catch up, but he turned just before she could grab onto his coat.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

"What did you think about the body?" she asked, remembering the reason she had run after him in the first place.

He frowned. "Why should I tell you?"

"I... I..."

"Thought so," he smirked. "Have a good day, Molly Hooper."

"Wait! I want to help you!" she blurted.

"How could you possibly help me?"

Molly remembered something from the books. "I can tell you what I think, as a doctor. As a human."

"And why should that matter?"

"Because logic can't tell you everything. Sometimes you need emotion to fully understand something. And because I know that you're investigating, and that you believe that the police are wrong in general."

"You think you know me."

Molly flushed and averted her gaze. "I wouldn't say that."

Sherlock grunted. "You might be a thorn in my side, but you've piqued my curiosity, Ms. Hooper."

Hope bubbled in her chest.

"Keep up if you must. I'm expecting a visitor soon."

...