Entry tags:
[fic] morbid humour
Molly almost looks cheerful as she stands over the cadaver on her table, clipboard in hand. Will’s not sure what makes him more uncomfortable: the small smile at her lips or the out of place pastel patterns of her blouse beneath her lab coat – a shock contrast between himself and Jack, and the macabre, sterile setting of the morgue. This isn’t the first time he’s noticed although he’s not entirely sure why she dresses the way she does, considering the details of her job.
Dress-sense aside, she’s incredibly efficient: there’s a tinge of sympathy in her voice that he picks up on. She talks them through the injuries of the murder victim, a little grisly but then again, they’re always this grisly. Harold Owens lies with half of his head is caved in. Molly lifts back the lids of his eyes with a gloved hands to reveal empty sockets behind them.
“The head injury was the cause of death although it took some time, given the blood loss.” she points out. “His eyes were removed before he died. Very neatly, too. Someone clearly knew what they were doing.”
“He was still alive after that?” Jack asks, his brow furrowing. “How’d he manage?”
“Toxicology report showed cocaine in his system.” Molly answers and pauses, gesturing to the man’s neck. “Someone injected him here.”
Will has been silent for a while, listening and looking. His head aches, something heavy brewing like a growing storm. He frowns against it, distracted. “Cocaine restricts blood flow.” he says absently. “He bled slow.”
Molly looks up at him, curious yet unfazed. “Yes, exactly.” she agrees with a small nod.
“This isn’t him, is it?” Jack asks cautiously, turning to Will.
He doesn't need to say it. They all know who he means.
“No.” Will pulls in a breath, glancing over the body once more. “There’s nothing… theatrical about this. This is… brutish. It’s almost clumsy. It is clumsy.”
“First kill?” Jack guesses.
“He’s starting a collection.” Will replies, his stomach curling.
“Of… eyes?” despite her question, there’s something in her voice that lacks surprise. Will frowns at her for a moment.
Molly Hooper had spent much of her time back home allowing a certain consulting detective to relieve the cadavers – donated to science – in her morgue of their eyes and other organs. Someone starting a collection is hardly a horrific thing when she knows Sherlock spends much of his time experimenting on body parts for the sake of his cases. The morbid doesn’t unsettle her. The only thing that unnerves her is that someone is willing to kill for it.
She clears her throat, smiling awkwardly before looking away.
They’re finished within a few minutes. Jack makes a phone call, thanking Molly for her time. Will pauses, popping an aspirin. Molly notices, her eyebrows raise in concern.
“Headache?” she asks.
Will doesn’t look at her, he nods stiffly. “Uh, yeah.”
She smiles in sympathy. “Well, at least I hope it won’t be as bad as Mr. Owens.” she says gently, her gaze lowering to the ruined remains of the man’s head. “His must have been dead awful. Skull splitting, even.”
Molly startles out a laugh, her face changing from humour to mortification in quick succession when she realises what she’s just said. Will looks up, glancing from Molly’s horror struck expression to the body on the slab but before he can stop himself, he lets out a bark of a laugh, the corners of his mouth curling up. She’s confused for a moment; no one has ever laughed at those kind of jokes before. In fact, she remembers so clearly when she was once told not to make jokes at all. But Will’s… laughing. Relief sweeps over her face and she chuckles shyly.
Jack stares at the both of them, still on the phone. He promptly hangs up. “Doctor Hooper, Will.” his voice is grave. “Can we have little professional decorum instead of the two of you giggling like a couple of elementary school kids? Is that too much to ask?”
Will’s laugh tapers off. “Oh, come on Jack. It was funny.”
Jack gives Will a flat look in reply. “We have work to do.” he says as he leaves.
Will watches him go before he looks back at Molly. Her lips are pursed, she looks sheepish for a moment. “Bad timing, sorry.” she says. “That was terrible.”
He smiles slightly, shaking his head. “No, it was pretty funny, actually.” he assures her. He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, shrugging easily as he moves to walk out the door. “I liked it.”
Dress-sense aside, she’s incredibly efficient: there’s a tinge of sympathy in her voice that he picks up on. She talks them through the injuries of the murder victim, a little grisly but then again, they’re always this grisly. Harold Owens lies with half of his head is caved in. Molly lifts back the lids of his eyes with a gloved hands to reveal empty sockets behind them.
“The head injury was the cause of death although it took some time, given the blood loss.” she points out. “His eyes were removed before he died. Very neatly, too. Someone clearly knew what they were doing.”
“He was still alive after that?” Jack asks, his brow furrowing. “How’d he manage?”
“Toxicology report showed cocaine in his system.” Molly answers and pauses, gesturing to the man’s neck. “Someone injected him here.”
Will has been silent for a while, listening and looking. His head aches, something heavy brewing like a growing storm. He frowns against it, distracted. “Cocaine restricts blood flow.” he says absently. “He bled slow.”
Molly looks up at him, curious yet unfazed. “Yes, exactly.” she agrees with a small nod.
“This isn’t him, is it?” Jack asks cautiously, turning to Will.
He doesn't need to say it. They all know who he means.
“No.” Will pulls in a breath, glancing over the body once more. “There’s nothing… theatrical about this. This is… brutish. It’s almost clumsy. It is clumsy.”
“First kill?” Jack guesses.
“He’s starting a collection.” Will replies, his stomach curling.
“Of… eyes?” despite her question, there’s something in her voice that lacks surprise. Will frowns at her for a moment.
Molly Hooper had spent much of her time back home allowing a certain consulting detective to relieve the cadavers – donated to science – in her morgue of their eyes and other organs. Someone starting a collection is hardly a horrific thing when she knows Sherlock spends much of his time experimenting on body parts for the sake of his cases. The morbid doesn’t unsettle her. The only thing that unnerves her is that someone is willing to kill for it.
She clears her throat, smiling awkwardly before looking away.
They’re finished within a few minutes. Jack makes a phone call, thanking Molly for her time. Will pauses, popping an aspirin. Molly notices, her eyebrows raise in concern.
“Headache?” she asks.
Will doesn’t look at her, he nods stiffly. “Uh, yeah.”
She smiles in sympathy. “Well, at least I hope it won’t be as bad as Mr. Owens.” she says gently, her gaze lowering to the ruined remains of the man’s head. “His must have been dead awful. Skull splitting, even.”
Molly startles out a laugh, her face changing from humour to mortification in quick succession when she realises what she’s just said. Will looks up, glancing from Molly’s horror struck expression to the body on the slab but before he can stop himself, he lets out a bark of a laugh, the corners of his mouth curling up. She’s confused for a moment; no one has ever laughed at those kind of jokes before. In fact, she remembers so clearly when she was once told not to make jokes at all. But Will’s… laughing. Relief sweeps over her face and she chuckles shyly.
Jack stares at the both of them, still on the phone. He promptly hangs up. “Doctor Hooper, Will.” his voice is grave. “Can we have little professional decorum instead of the two of you giggling like a couple of elementary school kids? Is that too much to ask?”
Will’s laugh tapers off. “Oh, come on Jack. It was funny.”
Jack gives Will a flat look in reply. “We have work to do.” he says as he leaves.
Will watches him go before he looks back at Molly. Her lips are pursed, she looks sheepish for a moment. “Bad timing, sorry.” she says. “That was terrible.”
He smiles slightly, shaking his head. “No, it was pretty funny, actually.” he assures her. He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, shrugging easily as he moves to walk out the door. “I liked it.”