Glass: After the Storm

In Black

Greg sat at his desk reading the newspaper. He took a sip of coffee and blinked away the tiredness that was still irritating his eyes. Sherlock opened the door and stepped inside, followed quickly by John.

"I got your text, you have her name?" asked Sherlock bluntly.

Greg looked up from the paper. "Hm?"

"The woman in pink, they've identified her..."

"Oh yeah, sorry... I was just reading about you. What's it like being a celebrity?"

He folded the paper in half and threw it onto the desk. Facing up was a headline: 'London's most mysterious bachelor set to wed.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes before glaring at John.

"I've already said sorry," John shrugged. "I didn't know my blog would make the tabloids. Must've been a slow news day."

Greg smirked. Sherlock was growing agitated.

"The woman, Lestrade!"

"Yes! Her name was Louise Corkhill. 32. She's been homeless since she was 16 which is why no one reported her missing."

John narrowed his eyes. "So, what's her connection to us? To the first case?"

"There isn't one," Sherlock interrupted. "The fact that she was homeless confirms my theory that the killer committed this murder for no reason other than to replicate the first. They chose her because she was a nobody who fit the physical appearance of the first victim - she was nothing more than a prop."

"And the scene was clean," Greg added. "No forensic evidence besides that of the victim. No witnesses, nothing."

"Okay, so where do we go from here?" asked John.

"Nowhere," Sherlock replied bluntly.

"Nowhere?"

"I'll put a pin in it."

"A pin in it!? Sherlock, a woman is dead."

"Yes," he checked his watch. "And I have a wedding to plan."

Greg and John looked at him in astonishment. If anyone else had said it, they'd be filled with disgust. But it was Sherlock. So instead they remained silent.

*

Molly sat on the couch in 221B with her hands placed neatly in her lap. She glanced around the room, turning her head to look at the wall behind her. The back wall, which was often plastered with Sherlock's investigations, was currently decorated with wedding plans – seating arrangements, invoices, colour schemes.

Margaux walked in from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs. She handed one to her and sat down, following her eye line to the wall.

"It's all Sherlock, you know?" she said. "He's currently running a background check on the priest."

"Oh yeah," said Molly chirpily as she noticed a picture of a man in a white collar pinned to the wall.

"I think it makes him feel more in control, having it all plastered around like this. It keeps him busy, stops him from dwelling on the reality of the situation and getting cold feet."

"Is he really freaking out that bad?" 

"He's trying his best to pretend he's not. But, I gave him the responsibility of choosing the song for our first dance; gave him all my records, CD's and playlists and told him I trusted him to make the right decision... That was last week and he's still 'working on it'." Margaux took a sip of her tea. "He's absolutely freaking out."