Chapter Text
The scalpel blade dissects skin under the right collarbone heading to the middle of the chest, then goes up to the left one doing the same, when a loud door slam makes the young woman accidently drop the knife.
– Damn it!
Her potential work day with a man dead in his middle thirties in long awaited silence is collapsing before her eyes. Is it a bit too loud and crowded for a morgue?
She doesn't even need to turn from the table to see her intruder, it is only one person who always breakes in her day like this.
– Sherlock, I'm in the middle of the autopsy with the man more interesting for me, than you.
– He's a bit pale, check on his blood pressure. Did you get my text? - straight to the point as always.
– I don't keep my phone all the time. Your late calls can accidently wake up my patients.
Holmes passes her chair, and the woman hears his coat is thrown in there somewhere. She hardly holds back the urge to roll her eyes; for how many dozens of times Sherlock has been told not to come in the autopsy room in outer clothing.
The girl is taking the liver out of the body when jumps from the descreet 'ahem' behind her back.
A tall man in his three-piece suit and a coat, that looks exactly like Sherlock's one, stands at the entrance holding a black umbrella. Well, not exactly holding, but squeezing it till his knuckles turn white. His face is a perfect mask, but he's standing there clinging on his place, keeping eyes on the dissection table. He's the one here, who would definitely not enjoy the silence.
– Oh, it's my brother, Mycroft, - the man doesn't even seem to hear Sherlock. He only nods slowly feeling himself quite uncomfortable among the dead.
– Carol Legrand, chief medical examiner, - she raises the liver a bit up to show the proofs making Sherlock to smirk.
– He's not very enthusiastic, don't bother, - Mycroft tries to save his face exspression as long as it can be done, that doesn't even surprises her. Working for the police she's met a lot of live people who got no stomach for dead ones. She just gives Sherlock a knowing smile.
– Yes, I can see that. Anyway, we can do this, - she puts liver back for the literally unbearable relief on the elder brother, and cover the body with white sheet. – And continue in my office.
– Tea would be lovely, but how about him? - detective points to the body in the table, reading an already prepared toe tag on the desk, murmuring silently, – John Smith, such a cliche.
– He doesn't mind. The poison in his body saved him some time to rest, - Carol waves a hand behind her. – I have a pie from that bakery on the corner.
– New barista?
– Exactly, but Sherlock, - he doesn't need to see her to know how exactly she look at him. – Don't you dare ruining it once more.
– He was not your type.
– My types are none of your business.
He casts a glance towards the door, observing like his brother is still trying to look confident.
– Then no pie, Mycroft is on a diet.
– Sherlock!
Well, if their family dinners go like this, she definitely wants to be there once. The girl starts to like brother interaction. And not only interaction.
– No need in diet, Mycroft, kissing burns 7.4 calories in a minute. It's all about workout.
Sherlock rolls his eyes as Carol winks playfully to his brother.
– Stop flirting over the dead body.
– When else I am going to do it?
– Not with my brother, - Mycroft's look slips again to a dead man now covered with a white sheet, making elder Holmes exactly the same color. Carol gives Sherlock a glance.
– Agree.
She takes off the gloves, heading to sink.
– So what do you need now?
– Your autopsy room and silence,
– I am surprised, you are looking for silence in my lab, given that you're the one who usually breaks it.
He winces, heading to the body the examiner leaves.
– You're overreacting.
–Why are you just not go to Molly's? I'm sure she's always silent.
– Yours are closer.
– And busier.
– A dead person isn't gonna be any less dead if you wait for just a little bit.
The young woman turns to him, watching Sherlock already uncovers the head leaning close to see. Rushing to him, she slaps his hands, making him put them away immediately.
– Don't. Touch.
Looking the most innocent way, Sherlock leads her to the entrance. She can sware she heard Mycroft's sigh of relief.
– So what do you really want there, Sherlock? Don't tell me about silence, it's the middle of the day, police department, you usually come in the evenings. And not with you brother who's sick of dead bodies, an autopsy room is not a place to hang out for you two.
– My fault, darling, - Mycroft almost winces from Sherlock's sweet smile. The main problem is that it's a sincere one.
– What a pathetic showing off! It's not even a deduction.
All eyes are on Mycroft, who can't just be silent the moment his name is mentioned. His imperious silence vanishes once they leave the autopsy room.
– Excuse me? - Carol slows down, amused by the insult. She looks up to Mycroft, who is almost a foot taller, with her brow arched, – Seems you're in your comfort zone again and have an unexpected bravery outburst.
– Bravery is a synonym for stupidity, and I-
– As you say.
Choking on his laughter Sherlock comes in her office.
– So? - He takes the chair immediately, leaving Mycroft to just stand near the doorway again. On his part the elder Holmes starts walking across the office, stops in front of the bookcase, briefly observing shelves.
Carol was right, he's in his comfort zone now, and it starts to feel like she's being interrogated.
– The problem we came here to you, Dr. Legrand, is-
— Closer to the point, brother.
– Stop interrupting me, Sherlock, - that one gives an eyeroll, but Carol only smiles at those two.
– It's the problem of the British government, and-
– "The British Government". Does it mean you or actually the British government?
– It goes together.
They stop, looking at each other, while Sherlock proceeds staring at them both. The strange attraction in his brother's eyes doesn't go unnoticed, one thing that he once can use against him. As a joke, of course.
– We need John Doe.
– Thank you, Sherlock, finally to the point, - Carol heads to the large file cabinet in the corner, giving Mycroft a mischievous smirk. – I have five of them, who exactly?
– The last one, I guess. Two or three days ago. Maybe, you have still not dissected him.
Mycroft goes on with his own investigation, targeting one of the photos on the doctor's desk.
– Got it! Male, middle sixties, no documents, no fingerprints, two bullets in the head. Such a pity, I'm sure, he had nice brains, - Legrand raises her head from papers, when she notices 'Mr. British government' gazing at her desk items.
Somewhere in the future she will used to the fact that they always stick their noses in things that don't concern them.
– Mr. Holmes! Mind your own business, - she hands Sherlock the file that already catches his attention. His, but not Mycroft's.
– You forget who you're speaking with, miss Legrand, - she likes him more standing with his mouth shut in her autopsy room.
– Doctor Legrand, if I may.
– Oh, you stick to your status. That's is your weak spot?
– And what do you stick to? Hiding your emotions under a commanding tone?
– You miss. No emotions.
– Right, no emotions, - Carol comes up closer, now she's barely an inch away from the man. – Take it as an advantage?
Tense silence hangs between them, with no one willing to tear their eyes of each other, until the loud clap split them apart.
– I've got it! Come, Mycroft, we're running late, - two seconds later detective is nowhere to be seen.
The man seems confused realising how actually close they stand for now. The young woman just cracks the smile.
– Until we meet again, Mr. Holmes.
– We'll see, Ms. Legrand.
Cool air crawls under floors of the coat, and Mycroft inhales slowly, but deeply, willing to refresh his mind and throw stuff off.
– So what that special about her? - Sherlock looks like being torn from something inside his head.
– Mm?
– I haven't known about her existence till this day, and now it turns out she's nearly your best friend.
– Know nothing about her, Mycroft? - Sherlock's mocking grin starts to annoy the man, but he holds back. – Your sourses have failed, huh?
– My sourses have never failed.
– Of course they have, - he halts in the track, turning to face Mycroft. – But there's a point. Ask her.
– What do you mean 'ask her'?
– People say, questions helps to know a person. Care to try?
Sherlock winkes making another Holmes to roll his eyes.
– Stop it, Sherlock, I'm not interested in her. I have the only concern, and it's your safety.
They stop next to the Mycroft's car with the door already half-open.
– Carol is smart, and she's kind to people. I met her the year before John. The rest you can learn yourself, - he waves his hand, leaving his brother to stand alone.
– She must be someone extraordinary for you to say such things, brother mine.
– See yourself, Mycroft.
Now he's left alone on a cold street with the driver still holding the door for him. The man likes comfort he surrounded himself with, but he really wants all these people to disappear sometimes.
He has this power, but actually there is no freedom behind it. Constant tension and strict rules is all that is around him every minute of his life. Mycroft just need his calm time where he don't need to rush somewhere to save someone.
For a moment, but just for a moment, he gets envy one young woman who really has her time and freedom both to dissect dead bodies in silence and have sassy arguments with the British government.