Click click click click click

Well heeled boots along the sidewalk was little more than background noise to Molly Hooper. Her office windows were sidewalk level. She learned to deal with the traffic, pushing it to the back of her mind while she finished her paperwork. Today had been an unusually grisly day. Not that her line of work wasn't grim, she was a pathologist after all, most people would call that dark. Molly had always found it fascinating, and didn't mind one bit the gore and mess that came with it. Today however another corpse from the Jack the Ripper case had been brought in. The mutilation seemed to turn the head pathologist's stomach, and while Molly did not relish seeing someone of either sex brutalized, she understood the work must be done, so swallowing whatever bile seemed determined to come up, she tied a mask over her face, lining it with a scented kerchief (this body was particularly pungent) and set to work.

The morgue was unusually quiet as she worked, her voice echoing as she spoke of her findings. Near the table was a phonograph, to record her performing the autopsy (a relatively new idea, but Scotland Yard was keen to use any advances of the modern world, especially on such a large case). In the corner, his back to her, Doctor Stamford took down her findings by hand (he was mistrustful of the phonograph). Every now and then he grunted a question over his shoulder, and she answered best she could. She was honestly surprised such a prestigious case had been given to her; she was, after all, new to the department, and a woman at that. Still, if she could make a name for herself on such an important file, perhaps they would trust her with more.

"I'm going to fetch a glass of water, will you need anything?"

"Yes, more gauze, and a sack for the organs, what's left of them. I'm nearly finished, you needn't worry the phonograph will catch what I'm saying." Stamford nodded, still quite pale, and hurried out without another glance over his shoulder. Molly continued her narration aloud:

"There is little left of the renal artery to which the kidney should be attached, however the organ itself is missing, and the length of renal artery measures no more than two point five centimeters. The way in which the kidney has been removed suggests that the killer knew what he was doing, using most likely a sharp, pointed knife, I should say at least six inches long."

She paused, adjusting her mask as she studied the interior of the corpse a little longer.

"He must have had had a good deal of knowledge as to the position of the abdominal organs, and the way to remove them-"

The door at the far end of the room opened and shut. Molly did not bother to look up, understanding it was probably Stamford.

"What I should like to know is where this man received such knowledge of anatomy. It is my belief he is no ordinary man, but one who has studied at a university, whether he graduated or not, he shows a fascination with the human body, obviously one of an unhealthy nature as each of his victims have been gutted, but the organs placed in a manner as if he were arranging flowers rather than a mutilated corpse. It seems-"

She stopped suddenly, when she happened to glance up and see a figure in the doorway. He was tall, but in the dim light of the entry, she could not see his face. His Inverness coat was draped over him, showing that he was broad-shouldered.

"May I help you with something?" she asked. The man did not speak, and Molly, perhaps knowing too well what a man was capable of (the remains of Catherine Eddowes was more than proof of that), felt her stomach turn. "Is the doctor expecting you?" her query was met with silence, and Molly slipped a scalpel from her apron pocket. "Sir I demand you answer me!"

The man drew breath, as if suddenly realizing she was speaking to him, the door behind him burst open, cutting off whatever he was about to say.
"Bloody Hell, Holmes, where the devil have you been?!" a shorter man entered in, he seemed far too angry for his stature compared to the towering gentleman he was addressing. "Stamford is upstairs what are you doing-" the second man suddenly noticed Molly standing by the corpse, realized she was a woman, and quickly removed his hat.

"Excuse me," he glanced at Holmes, who was still standing where he'd stopped. He elbowed him. "Take your hat off you idiot," the man hissed. The one addressed as 'Holmes' blinked, removing his hat, still staring at Molly, who was now confused as ever.

"I'm sorry; do you have permission to be down here? I'm performing an autopsy, it's very important I finish-"

"Sherlock Holmes," the man interrupted, at last finding his voice. "How do you do, Stamford directed me down here after I inquired as to the latest Ripper victim. I am assisting Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard on this case as they seem content to only run about with their heads up their-" the shorter man coughed, and Holmes glanced at him, then cleared his throat. "Anyway, this is my associate, Doctor John Watson."

"How do you do," Molly nodded to the shorter man. "I'm the latest recruit to the morgue; Doctor Stamford has directed the autopsies regarding the Ripper case to me, I'm Doctor Molly Hooper,"

"Doctor Hooper," Watson nodded.

"May we?" Holmes asked, and Molly nodded, tugging off a blood-stained glove to shut off the phonograph. "I can finish recording it later," she said, when Watson asked her to finish first. "I'm nearly done; I'm really waiting for Stamford to come back with an organ sack."

"I should like a copy of the post-mortem, when it is finished."

"I can have a copy typed up for you in a little while," Molly agreed.

"A copy of the record, as well, if it can be managed."

"We don't copy the recorded post-mortems, but once Scotland Yard has gone over it, I can loan it to you."

"Very well," Holmes agreed, though he seemed loath to let Scotland Yard have it first.

"The police mentioned this victim was found in a similar manner to the previous," Watson said. "The killer arranges the organs outside of the victims?"

"Yes," Molly nodded. "In the case of Miss Eddowes, she was gutted, much like Polly Nichols and Annie Chapman, but Mrs. Chapman's organs, like Miss Eddowes, had been arranged so the intestines were thrown over her right shoulder. There are some variations in how the victims are found. Miss Eddowes intestines were almost fully distended, some fecal matter smeared over her face. The womb- er, uterus and a portion of the bladder had been removed in Chapman's case, but Eddowes uterus and kidney have been removed here. It seems to me that with each murder, he seems to become more and more precise. Organ removal seems to be an art for him, and he likes to take several with him when he goes, what he does with them, I wouldn't know, perhaps he keeps them, studies them, or heaven help us, eat them, we won't know until he is caught." Her boldness in her statement made both men pause, and Holmes was struck by the absolute strength this woman possessed. Molly Hooper continued after a moment. "The facial mutilation of Eddowes, however, is unique compared to the other corpses."

"You said earlier that you believe the killer has some skill of a surgeon," Holmes said. Molly nodded.
"Some, knowing what I do now after looking at Miss Eddowes, I believe he has an intimate knowledge with anatomy, the kidney, for example, as I am sure you know Doctor Watson, requires a good deal of knowledge to remove," Watson nodded in agreement, making note of that. Holmes glanced between the two of them questioningly.

"It can be overlooked as it is covered by membrane," Watson supplied and Sherlock murmured, understanding.

"Judging by the skill of the killer, was this done in a hurry, or would you say he had time?" Sherlock asked. Molly directed their gaze to the gaping wound in the abdomen of the corpse.

"It might be done in five minutes, it might take him longer, but that is the least time it could be done in." Holmes nodded, clearly pondering what she said. "The police seem to think there would be a terrific amount of gore on the man inflicting these wounds, that he would require an apron to keep himself clean, but I should swear in court that it is quite the opposite in the case of these killings." Holmes raised an eyebrow, glancing at Watson for the briefest of seconds.

"Do you?"

"All the abdominal wounds were inflicted by a person kneeling at the right side of the body; the women are all lying flat on their backs and killed in a way that the blood will pour out, rather than spurt. He slices their necks first, to keep them from struggling and to bring blood flow slow and steady, much like one does to a pig they want to butcher. The more still the animal, the less-likely the blood will spurt when you gut it. The bodies cannot be moved once the neck is cut. They are gutted where they fall." Holmes took a step closer, pulling out a small collapsible magnifying glass, peering at the gash.

"You said the knife was no more than six inches?"

"At least six inches," she corrected. "It could be longer, and very sharp, the blade would not be serrated, as the cut is quite clean and deep. He did not saw her open."

"Yes," Sherlock murmured. "That much is clear." He closed the magnifying glass, pocketing it. "Thank you, Doctor Hooper, I shall be in touch, do call if you find anything else."

"I will have a copy of the report in a few hours, shall I mail it?"

"If it could be brought by hand, it would be most appreciated," he removed a card from his waistcoat pocket. "My address,"

"221b Baker Street?" she read aloud.

"You are familiar with it?"

"I live nearby," was all she said.
"Good," he answered. "I should hate for you to be anywhere near Whitechapel." He nodded to her then. "I shall expect you at four."

"Oh no that won't do," Molly shook her head. "I'm on the clock until seven. I'm afraid I would be intruding on your dinner if I stopped after work."

"Nonsense, come after your shift, by all means, the sooner I receive the information the better, Doctor Watson and his wife are joining me for dinner as it is, it is no trouble to set another place. I am curious to hear more of your findings regarding the Ripper case." Molly blinked, startled by his invitation.

"Very well…" she nodded. "I will come, most likely not before eight."

"I look forward to it," he nodded to her, and then replaced his hat. Watson then smiled, pleased, before following Holmes out of the morgue.

Upstairs, Barts Hospital

"Mary and I are joining you for dinner all of a sudden?" John asked.

"Of course you are," Sherlock retrieved his gloves from his pocket, tugging them on. "I can't very well dine alone with a woman I just met, what would Mrs. Hudson say? Besides, she certainly wouldn't have come if I had not included you and Mrs. Watson, I should worry for her mental health if she did agree to dinner with a man she only just met, considering her line of work and her current caseload."

"Hm," Watson regarded Holmes carefully, eyes twinkling.
"Oh come off it and say what it is that you want to say."

"You seem to admire her, is all," Watson said, choosing his words carefully.

"I do," Sherlock admitted. "Her skill is exceptional, her sex be damned," John raised an eyebrow, though he did not disagree. "And did you note how she discussed the wounds? She understood instantly how the victim was killed," Sherlock continued.

"So you like her merely because her description of the murder fits your theory,"

"No, it means my theory of how the murders take place is no longer theory, it is fact," Sherlock slapped Watson on the back. "She is brilliant, Watson!" he jogged out to the street, flagging down a cab. Watson followed, coming to stand beside him. "If there was such a woman in the world for me, I think perhaps Molly Hooper is my match."

"Holmes!" Watson didn't know why he was scolding his friend, whether it was because he used her Christian name before he had been given permission, or that Holmes was so decidedly for Miss Hooper in the first place. He had never known Sherlock Holmes to seek out anyone, much less a candidate for marriage. Not even The Woman fell into that category.

"Hurry up, Watson," Sherlock called, already climbing into the cab. "We must make haste."

"Where are we going?"

"The Diogenes Club," Sherlock called up the address to the driver and the carriage jerked forward. "I must inquire as to where exactly Doctor Hooper lives."

"Holmes…" Watson's tone was warning.

"Any street near Whitechapel is too close," Holmes explained. "If she does in fact reside near Baker Street, I should like to know how close, so I can assign some of my Irregulars to look after her on her walks home, perhaps my brother can employ a carraige to see her home. She most likely takes long shifts at Barts, and I should dislike for her to walk home in the early hours of the morning, or after dark, alone. She might very well be the key to helping us find the Ripper." Watson studied his friend for a long while. Holmes seemed to lean forward, as if willing the carriage to go faster. "She is important, Watson," Holmes turned to him, quite serious. "And not merely due to her knowledge of pathology."

"Holmes you only just met her, you were barely in the room for more than ten minutes!"

"For some people ten months is hardly enough time to know a person, in others, ten minutes more than suffices."

"Is she so easily read, then, that you know her worth?" Watson asked.

"No," Sherlock looked back out the window of the cab. "I cannot explain what I mean, but Watson…she must be protected. Her work is important, there is no one so capable as her. There is no woman like her. You did not hear her when I first came down to the morgue. Her understanding is far better than Stamford's, she pieces things together faster than Scotland Yard ever could. She is…"

"Brilliant, yes, you've said," John chortled. The points of his mustache turned up as he smiled. "Alright, Mary and I will come to dinner. Mary would love to play matchmaker." Sherlock's smile was suddenly bashful, and he seemed to be doing his best to suppress it. "There's no shame in finding a woman attractive, you know," John said with a laugh. "You like her, that's fine, see if she comes tonight, but don't scare her."

"I should think she'd scare you first," Sherlock murmured and John could not disagree.