Human Error - Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter thirty three - the morgue

The hospital corridor is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. The walls are magnolia and are scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that have bumped into them. There are also pictures hung up on the walls, which are just cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes. I had never been a huge fan of hospitals, but then again, who is?

We thought it would be best to examine the body with John around since he was the one with medical knowledge. We could have asked someone else for their input, but when we're solving a case we like to stick to our small triangle. So instead we went back to the flat and waited a few hours for John to come back from work, and that also gave us time for the body to be in the morgue at St Bart's.

It's hard to describe how the morgue smells. The scent was unique, like a fruity mixture of a compound cocktail. I never really understood people when they told me that morgues smell strongly like fruit, but again I know that corpses emit a few chemicals that are part of a group of molecules called esters, which are also responsible for the strong, sharp smells emitted by fruits like pineapples and raspberries.

So, I guess the answer to my questions is, is that human death smells a bit fruity.

The brunt corpse is already laid out on the table with a white sheet over it. A nice and kind woman, Molly, pulls the cover back, and John has to look away from a moment. "God, that's awful."

"Don't let him hear you say that." I say quietly, shivering from the cold temperature in the room.

"He's male, in his forties... maybe fifties, but I can't tell for sure. John?" Sherlock calls out, wanting the army doctor to confirm his theories. There's a slight hesitation in his gait as he makes his way towards the body, and stands next to Sherlock as he observes it.

"Yeah, I would say fifties." John acknowledged, "Also, you were right. The fire started from up here. The hottest part of a fire is where the fire started. Here, you can see that his right hand and right forearm and the centre of the chest area were burnt much worse than the rest of him."

"It could have started on his chest, and his arms are burnt badly too because it was likely that he would have tried to defend himself." Molly chipped in shyly, and I nod softly.

"True." I respond, not knowing enough about this topic to say anything useful.

"If a body burns for about eight minutes, they go into a fetal position. He never got to that position, he was ignited and he was immediately able to run. He could have defended himself at first, but it would have been difficult to have done that and run towards the pool at the same time whilst being burnt to death. There for his arms shouldn't be as burnt as his chest, if that's the case." Sherlock explains to Molly, looking back down at the body.

"Looking back at him now, the burns on his right arm looks more severe, but I can't be too sure -- it's quite hard to tell." John said slowly as he tore his eyes away from the body and faced Sherlock.

"And what is that smell?" Sherlock questioned to himself, leaning down by the body and sniffing away like a dog. "Petrol?"

I stood next to him and leaned my head towards the body. The smell was a sweet, aromatic and a gasoline-like odor. Don't ask why, but I remember using it for an experiment in university. "Benzene."

"Yes, of course." Sherlock agreed, straightening his posture.

John folded his arms, "Any theories?"

"A few." He told us, "But they will all connect once we get some identification on the man."

"Oh! We're already working on that. We should know soon, it won't take long. I, um, could text you the details, Sherlock?" Molly's voice sounds a little hopeful when she talks as she clings onto her clipboard and waits for an answer.

"Perfect." Sherlock smiled, heading towards the exit. "You're a star, Molly!"

Molly let's out a little chuckle at his words and a blush crawls up onto her cheeks, while I and John stalk after him with heavy sighs.