Chapter 1: Sherlock and I

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by MichaelaMonarch

by MichaelaMonarch

Sherlock and I stood in the morgue of St. Bartholemew's hospital. There was a body bag on the table in front of us. My older brother unzipped the body bag Molly and I helped him lay the dead human being on the table. (It was nude, for the record.)

I wasn't at all disturbed or uncomfortable about touching a nude, dead body. I worked at the hospital, in the morgue, and I have touched more nude dead bodies than I am old. I have been fascinated with death, and particularly the decay of human corpses since a young age. Being a younger sibling to Sherlock didn't help of course, but nevertheless, I found myself with a job at the morgue at St. Bartholemew's, London, UK.

I am eight years younger than Sherlock. He's 36, and I'm 28. My other brother, Mycroft is eight years older than Sherlock. That was interesting when I was younger. Me, little baby Enola, 5 years old, thinking she could tag along with her older brothers who were 13 and 22. Tough love, baby Enola, tough love.

I live with Sherlock in a flat located at 221B Baker Street. We have an agreement: he takes me on cases with him, as long as I pay the rent! It is a good deal for me. Working on cases are fun with him, and I get surprisingly well paid for handling dead people.

Anyway, back to the present!

Sherlock sniffed the body. "How fresh?" he asked.

Molly responded before I could. "Just in, aged 67. Natural causes. He used to work here, I knew him. He was nice.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "That's where I've seen him from!" Molly looked appalled. I shrugged. Sherlock completely ignored me.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop," he said.

At this, Molly and I immediately left the room. It was obvious that Sherlock had had a bad day, and you didn't want to be in the same room with him and a riding crop when he'd had a bad day. We walked into the observing room as Sherlock began violently beating the corpse with the riding crop. Molly flinched every time, but I didn't. I had seen way worse.

When Sherlock was finished, he came out of the room.

"Bad day, was it?" Molly asked. I sighed. She really didn't notice anything.

Sherlock pulled a notebook out of his butt pocket and began writing in it. When he was finished scrawling, he handed it to me.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked. I looked at his writing. It described the bruises and how long it took them to form, and what color and what shape they took. I knew there was something missing.

"Ah," I said. "You forgot to but the location of impact," I pointed out.

"You're learning, Enola," he ruffled my head. He hardly had to lift his arm two feet to do it. He was exactly 6', and I was 5' 2". It makes me seriously consider who my father is, but I never asked mum about it.

He turned his attention to Molly. She blushed. I rolled my eyes. Relationship stuff is just gross to me. I mean I'm no virgin, but all of this tip-toeing around people and blushing is just disgusting. Just get to the truth and then you don't have to do any of that.

"I need you to tell me what else happens to the body in 20 minutes," he told her. "Text me," he ordered her and turned to me. "Come along, Enola. I need your help in the lab."

"Actually....," Molly said slowly. Sherlock turned around suddenly, causing me to run into his chest. He ignored me. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she said.

"Black, two sugars, I'll be upstairs," he said curtly and then grabbed my hand and pulled me with him. Behind my shoulder, I mouthed "sorry!" to Molly.

As we were walking upstairs, I tried to talk to Sherlock. Even though all the flirting made me sick, I still felt bad for Molly.

"You know, Molly was trying to ask you-"

"Quiet, Enola, I'm thinking," he interrupted me. I sighed and followed him up several flights of stairs to the lab.