[COMPLETE] ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????「Sherlock」

004; The Case of the Empty Boy

Sherlock's words caused her to nearly cringe, her face blanching in color. The rosette had come to a stop a good foot from the trolley, watching as Molly wheeled it forward and hoisted the body back up into its designated sector. She then proceeded forward by shutting the heavy door and locking it. The sharp young woman parted with Sherlock, although not before exchanging a simper with the man. Yep, she was wrapped right around his finger. Perhaps he could feel something after all? Then, Sherlock rolled his eyes and brought his attention over to her pale face. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she murmured quickly, her voice small and timid.

Sherlock smirked and her heart fluttered. "Do have some faith, Miss Fuller. You'll grow used to this kind of thing."

Used to it? How could someone grow used to working with bodies?! They had once been living people, and now they were no longer able to breathe, or eat, or think, or laugh, or smile. Natural human functions and emotions, never to be performed or felt again. Julia nodded nonetheless and held her tongue. By the end of her trip here, she would certainly never fight with her parents again. She would find a man that was normal and do normal everyday things instead of go gallivanting around, trying to solve cases of brutal murder. Perhaps it was some sort of desire that Sherlock had, but for Julia, it certainly wasn't her cup of tea. No, not at all. John had served in the war, she had not. John had a medical degree, and Julia did not. Julia had been an unemployed waitress in her hometown in Glasgow, living in her parents' house since she had been evicted from her own flat.

The heavy sealed door opened after Molly had returned with Elijah's papers, the boy's carcass being pulled from where it had been stored. He was hollow, like a gutted sheep, his skin as white as snow. Julia's had flew to her mouth and she took a step back. Oblivious, Sherlock leaned forward and lifted up one of the young child's arms. Sure enough, there was a patch of raw skin missing, the ink faint yet nearly invisible. "Hmm, it appears as though you were right Julia," he confirmed, nodding his head. His attention turned upward. "What about Briar and Wrilie?"

"They display similar marks, although elsewhere on the body. Briar behind the neck, and Wrilie just beneath her collar bone. They did not show signs of those numbers, though. At least, none that we could find."

"You must be joking-- it shouldn't be hard for you registrars to analyse an inanimate object such as this. They cannot move or talk back, so why haven't you found anything? It's abnormal for a child to have a tattoo at such a young age!"

Molly frowned. "I'm sorry Sherlock... but there just wasn't much left of these children to go by."

Her legs were trembling at this point, her fingers clamping into her palms as she struggled to keep herself together. She couldn't fight the nausea beginning to rise within her stomach. Julia's gut lurched but she held down her lunch and turned on her heels, letting out a soft grunt as she did so. The detective must have noticed this, for he piped up almost immediately. "Julie?"

The little nickname went unnoticed as she sauntered over to the desk in the middle of the room and leaned against it, shutting her eyes. Her head was spinning like a top, and all at once she felt her legs give out. They collided hard with the ground as she propped herself up with in hand, her purse slumped to the side and her auburn hair dangling within her face.

"Julia," Sherlock was suddenly right at her ear, kneeling beside her and placing a large, warm hand upon her back. The man began to help her to her feet, her nausea now passing. She took a deep breath of steriliser and shook her head, refusing to look at him.

"I need some air," she grimaced, stepping away from Mr. Holmes and heading straight for the lab doors. She made it to the elevator and turned, reaching in order to press the button, when she saw Sherlock's dark brunette curls bouncing toward her. He was trying to catch up, an indescribable look upon his face. Was he genuinely concerned? The doors were just closing when he shoved them open, the system abruptly beeping in an act of protest. Before she could really tell him off, explain to him that he should get back to his work, the detective was inches away from her. Perhaps he was unaware of personal boundaries, but in the moment Julia relished how close he was to her, looking up into his arctic pools. His cologne saturated her senses and for the first time, she genuinely noticed it. It was masculine and subtle.

It was her new favorite smell. "We aren't done yet," Sherlock insisted. He was towering next to her, so close yet at a comfortable distance now that he had leaned away. "We cannot leave yet; we still have to look over the victims."

"Sherlock, I can't do this," she croaked, the elevator beginning to move to the main floor. Julia pressed to her side of the carriage, hugging herself as she tried to forget the image of the deceased. "John is better for this job, Molly was right. I have had no proper experience and I'm... I'm too squeamish."

"Don't be silly," the man chided as if it were the biggest load of tripe he had ever heard. The rosette gritted her teeth. Of course he was scolding her again. "Once you get past the wounds and the color and the smell, you learn to enjoy their company. They cannot speak and they do not disrupt your thought process."

The soft bng signaled their arrival and the young woman strode across the office, keeping her head down, even as Sherlock jogged up just a few steps behind, accompanying her to the door. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she gave Sherlock a halfhearted smile. "I will see you when I get home—"

There was a sudden rush of air and she squeaked as she collided with a man carrying two trays of coffee. The hot liquid splashed all down her front, causing her to gasp at the temperature, stumbling as she was just caught by the man behind her. "You idiot! You're carrying twelve cups of bloody coffee, do you have any concept of velocity or your surroundings?"

The gentleman before her, however, ignored Sherlock and hissed, moving to pick up the cups. Julia couldn't deny how surprised she was as Mr. Holmes helped her regain her footing from where she had once leaned into him, and not to mention by how he had torn into the younger fellow before him. It had only been an accident, despite how her skin sang in pain now from the near scalding liquid. "I am so sorry!" she apologized, helping him collect the cups now spilled across the carpet beneath their feet.

"Oh no, it's quite alright," the man dismissed, standing and caressing the side of her arm. "I should have looked where I was going."

Their eyes met and she smiled faintly. She had to admit, the man was attractive. He had flaxen hair with hazel eyes and freckles, dressed in a form-fitting turtleneck. Clearing his throat, he offered her a hand full of napkins, which she gratefully took. Sherlock, in the meantime, merely hovered behind her, shooting daggers at the buffoon who had just slammed into her. The stranger quickly wiped off a hand upon his dress pants and offered it to her. "My name is Elliot. Francis. Elliot Francis, I mean."

"Julia Fuller, thank you," she replied almost bashfully, laughing softly. "What a way to meet, don't you think?"

"Yes, well, we were just leaving, so let us be on our way. Wouldn't want to keep John waiting," Sherlock suddenly urged, taking her by the shoulders and pushed her around her newfound friend. "Say goodbye to idiot."

"Er, Elliot, actually!" called the scientist.

"Same difference!"