ON THE STREETS OF LONDON

Will Graham had what he liked to call a natural affinity for the atmosphere of London. Even though he had only spent a select few weeks of his life within the city, he felt as if it were his home away from home. It just seemed to suit him, in a strange way. Then again, there was very little about what surrounded the FBI special agent that wasn't strange.

At the moment, he glanced up at the grey clouds hanging low in the sky like bait on the end of a line. The skies were going to open up and pour down a deluge of rain any time soon, and he was not prepared for it. He mentally chastised himself for not bringing an umbrella or anything.

The predictable unpredictability of the city's weather was one of the things Will appreciated best about London. Aside from one rather uncomfortable experience when he visisted during a freak heat wave where it didn't rain it all, he saw the day go from sunny to rainy and back in just minutes. Many people found it irritating, but he didn't mind it for the most part.

Jack Crawford kept on telling Will that he needed a vacation. The first place that came to his mind was London. Just about a week after Crawford mentioned it for the first time, he was packing and getting ready to fly across the Atlantic Ocean and head to the city. It was a natural thing for him, as if he didn't have to think about it. It just happened.

Of course, he wasn't really doing much of anything. He wasn't a typical tourist - he wasn't a typical anything, for that matter. There was no desire within any part of him to go sightseeing at all the usual places: no Big Ben, no London Eye, nothing. Instead he wandered the streets aimlessly, just trying to get his thoughts out of his head.

Jet lag was definitely affecting him at that moment. On the plane ride across the Atlantic he had barely gotten a wink of sleep. If he were to be honest with himself, it was because he was afraid to. Sleeping led to dreams, dreams led to nightmares, nightmares led to all sorts of horrible things. He was sick of them, and didn't want to invite them back into his life.

No, London was going to be good to him. Even if he were exhausted from things that were mostly beyond his control, he wasn't going to let them stop him from relaxing. The only thing he truly missed that was back in Virginia were his dogs. He had hired a dogsitter, of course, but he'd prefer to be there for them himself.

But they were dogs - no matter how much he cared about him, his mental health had to come first. With all of the problems that Will had been forced to battle in recent days, everything seemed to revolve around his mind. The crimes he investigated ended up poisoning his mind. For the FBI, his empathy was a gift that allowed them to be far more successful.

For Will, his empathy was nothing short of a curse. Even if it ended up solving murders and helping the world, there were still people he could not quite find out. The Chesapeake Ripper had been haunting him most of all, likely because he could relate too well to the circumstances.

He could see himself killing people in those hideously grotesque ways. It played out in his dreams and followed him around during the day. The thought of the Ripper even caused him to hallucinate on a regular basis, a nightmarish stag appearing in his field of vision when he was walking around.

Will was doing his best to escape all of this by going to London. Instead of dwelling on the Chesapeake Ripper, he tried to think about Jack the Ripper. His mind was struggling to adjust back to the thoughts of London and being able to relax. It was just barely out of his grasp, but he knew he was capable of getting himself to slow down and focus. He would just keep reminding himself that he was in the city to relax.

Will went looking for some sort of sign to figure out where he was. The first thing his observant eyes laid upon were the words carved into the exterior of a large stone building: St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The name certainly sounded familiar, but there was nothing particularly extraordinary about it. He figured that he could just use it as a sort of landmark to make sure he could keep track of himself.

Now his main goal was to seek out a sign that could give him a street name or something a little bit more helpful for finding his location. Although it was around noon in the city, Will's mind was still stuck in the morning. He wanted to start making his way back to his hotel - he hadn't bothered to bring along enough money to pay for cab. At least, he assumed he didn't have enough.

But before he could proceed with this, he found himself interrupted. Will felt his phone buzzing within his pocket, which was alarming. He didn't remember hy he had decided to bring it in the first place - it wasn't supposed to work in another country. But as he slipped it out, he saw that he not only had service, but he had full bars.

He stared down at the phone for a moment, absolutely perplexed. But was even stranger to him was the text he had recieved. The message itself was simple enough, but there was something unsettlingly cryptic about it. Will found himself trying to find some sort of hidden message within it, but nothing. He was a profiler, not a cryptologist.

Nevertheless, he scanned over it once again. He mouthed the words to himself as his eyes ran over them, each syllable created within his mouth although no sound came out.

You're right in front of St. Bart's Hospital. Come in. Ask for directions to the lab once you've entered. I'd prefer it if you were quick.

-SH

He looked around, examining the area for any sort of clues that might have something to do with how someone was to know where he was. The only vaguely suspicious thing he spotted was a homeless man on the side of the street, holding out a plastic cup to beg for spare change in his direction. Will heaved a sigh, looking around once again.

There were plenty of pedestrians around, but he didn't see anything strange, not particularly. Then again, he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to be looking out for. He had little to go off of, after all.

Will, knowing nothing better to do, sighed and made his way into the hospital. Whoever this SH person was, they seemed to be someone with quite a bit of information. Anyone who knew that much about him was someone to be alert around. He was very wary of what was going on, but that didn't prevent him from entering St. Bart's.

As he walked in, he began to wander around. He was hoping that he could find some sort of sign of where he was meant to go, but he didn't see much of anything. As he stood in the middle of hallway, he saw a girl carrying a large pile of books and rushing around.

"Hey," he called out, grabbing her attention.

"Hello," the girl said, her voice bright and deceptively cheerful. After shuffling around her weight to help her carry the books easier, she smiled slightly as she said, "What exactly are you doing here in the pathology hall?"

"I'm guessing you're not this SH who just texted me, then," Will sighed.

"Text?" she asked. "SH?"

"Yes," Will replied warily.

"I suppose you're looking for the lab, then," she said, squeaking slightly as she nearly dropped the pile of books in her arms.

"Yes, actually..."

"Well, I'm headed in that direction. I think I can help you out here," she said. "Follow me."

Will hesitated before trailing behind her. Although she appeared to know what was going on, she neglected to give any real information to him. But it looked like he didn't have much of any other choice as for what to do.

She walked along, constantly attempting to keep her books in check. Will felt like he could probably lighten some of the load for her, but he felt too awkward to offer any sort of help to her. Instead he just continued to trail behind her, keeping his eyes at a point slightly behind her head.

Finally she came to a stop - they had made it into the lab. Sitting with his eye pressed against a microscope was a man, sharply dressed. He didn't acknowledge the two newcomers in the room, but the girl seemed to know him.

"You know, I don't think you ever told me your name," Will said to her.

"Oh, I'm Molly Hooper," she replied. She flicked her head around, looking for an empty spot to put down the books she was holding in her arms. Awkwardly she placed them down, attempting to prevent them from spilling to the floor as she reached out a hand to shake Will's.

"Molly," the man said, a warning tone creeping into his deep voice. "You don't have time to waste on introductions at the moment. You're supposed to be helping me."

"Sorry," Molly apologised. Shooting a quick look back towards Will, she said, "We'll finish this later."

Will turned around to glance around the room, which was evidently the labratory. He recognised much of the equipment - it reminded him of some of the things he had seen back at home. But that was about the only thing that made sense to him.

"Okay, would anyone like to explain to me what exactly is going here?" Will asked. "Honestly, I don't have any clue."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Will," the man sitting replied. "I'm sure you're capable of deciphering what is going on here."

Molly opened her mouth to speak and explain things to Will, but as even without looking away from his microscope the man seemed to notice this and called her out.

"Molly, don't give him hints. I want to see what he does."

"Oh, God," Will sighed. "Is this some sort of freak test that someone's trying to pull on me for the press or something?"

"It's a test of your intelligence," the man responded.

"I never agreed to any of this," Will retorted. "I don't have to do anything if I don't want to."

"Well, you see-" Molly began before she was cut off yet again by the call of her name.

"If you're so upset over these circumstances, why are you still here?" Sherlock asked. "You're obviously intrigued about Molly and I, as well what we're doing in a hospital lab."

"I guess I am," Will admitted. "Well, I must be here because you're trying to offer me something. Something most likely related to lab."

"Correct. Not as impressive as I was hoping, but...the name is Sherlock Holmes," he said. "I am known as the consulting detective of 221B Baker Street. You might have heard of me after I 'committed suicide' and then 'came back from the dead.' Then again, you are American...and you don't spend much time worrying about mainstream media and news."

"Um..." Will began, unsure of how to take this introduction. "Will Graham. I work for the FBI, sort of. I don't really want to go into details."

"No need for it," Sherlock replied. Although he had brought his eye back up to the microscope, he was still speaking to him. "I already know."

"Well, you already knew my cell phone number somehow."

"Indeed. That was easy to get, really. People don't seem to realise just how easy it is...then again, people don't seem to understand anything."

"Yeah," Will agreed, unsure of where he was going with this conversation. Sherlock now seemed to be completely absorbed with his microscope yet again, so it seemed that their talking was over for the moment. He still felt absolutely clueless about what was going on, but it didn't look like he was going to get anything out of it.

Molly walked over to Will, moving around to face him full on. He turned to look at her as well. Both sent a quick glance over towards Sherlock to make sure that he wasn't about to leap on them for getting distracted by anything.

"Okay, let's try this again," Molly said, putting on an awkward smile. "Molly Hooper...I guess I should say what I am, what I do...hm. I'm a pathologist here at St. Bart's, and I work in the morgue."

As Will reached out his arm to shake her hand yet again, he said, "You, work in a morgue?"

"Well, yeah," Molly replied, shrugging. "Sometimes people aren't exactly what they seem."

Will's eyes flickered down to their intertwined hands where he spotted the glimmer of a diamond near one of her fingers. It was an engagement ring, deceptively shiny. Although he had a feeling she had been in possession of it for a while, she must have worked meticulously hard to keep it looking brand new.

"Nice to meet you," Will said, his voice a bit flat. "You probably have gotten the point by now, but I'm Will Graham."

"Very nice to meet you as well," she said, beaming slightly. "So, er..." She knew there was something she should probably say, but it just wasn't coming to her. Will and Molly ended up standing there staring at one another, neither one quite sure when to break away from the moment.

"Molly!" Sherlock called out, trying to catch her attention. This didn't end up working, as her thoughts were twisting and churning throughout her mind and she wasn't sure how to sort them out. It took all of her focus away from anything else she was supposed to do.

"Molly," Sherlock said once again. "You were doing a good job working. You can easily do that again. Go ahead."

"Oh?" Molly said as she broke back into real life, lifting her eyebrows, stunned that Sherlock had complimented her. This was almost enough to make her forget what she had to do, but then she pulled herself back together and flipped open one of the books on the counter once again.

Now that he had no one else to talk to, Will shut his mouth and stood there, waiting for something that would allow him to speak once again. He started making his way towards Sherlock, hoping he might able to pick out some answers from the man.

"Okay..." Will said, the awkward feeling that resonated through him a familiar one. "What exactly am I doing here?"

"I was just getting around to that - I would have spoken about it sooner, but things just didn't turn out the way I was expecting," Sherlock said.

"Things usually don't turn out the way people are expecting," Will said, immediately regretting it as soon as it passed through his lips. It sounded idiotic and cliche, which he felt was exactly the opposite of what Sherlock wanted to hear.

Sure enough, Sherlock turned around to face Will full on and raised an eyebrow at him. The FBI profiler squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid expressing the emotion of embarrassment that was now coursing through him.

"You were correct about me wishing to offer you something," Sherlock finally said after a moment of silence. "Have you figured anything else out."

"Um, no," Will said. "I'm sorry, you're just going to have to spell it out for me."

"Well then," Sherlock said. I'm requesting that you assist me on solving cases around the area while John is on his sex holiday."

"Sex holiday?" Will repeated.

"He means honeymoon," Molly clarified, looking up from her books. "He just doesn't like to say it."

"I don't understand what the problem is with simply calling it what it is," Sherlock scoffed. "All these people these days, so sensitive over all of these basic topics. It's just human nature, and people act like it's something from another world."

"Hm," Molly replied, glancing over to meet Will's gaze again. She was trying to send a message with her eyes, but it seemed to simply dissolve right into the air. After a few moments of staring over towards him, she broke away and shook her head.

"Your normal companion is on their honeymoon..." Will said, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not seeing what this has to do with me."

"Now that we've got that clarified, we may move on to what is actually important," Sherlock sighed. "You see, I need a companion of sorts for what I do. You should be pleased that I'm willing to ask you for your support."

"I don't know a thing about you," Will replied. "But obviously you know something about me...how?"

"Although I don't appreciate the way the news works most of the time, I have found that the online Tattler has...interesting information. The credibility is very questionable, but it's the only way to get the in depth information."

Will expelled an enormous sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. "I don't appreciate the Tattler and the things it says about me, the things it says about the people I work with and the crimes I attempt to solve."

Now Sherlock turned his full attention to Will once again, he said, "If you think I am trying to accuse you of anything, you'll be very mistaken."

"I wasn't accusing you of accusing me," Will retorted. Molly bit her lip as her focus was torn away from her books. She hated seeing these two men starting to conflict already, but there was nothing she felt that she could do.

"What exactly is this case, then?" Will asked, deciding to change the subject. "I don't want to take on anything that I don't know anything about."

"In recent days, dead bodies have been found. They have been absolutely mutilated, but in a rather...fascinating way. Not that I condone the actions, by any means."

"I didn't think you would," Will replied. "But I'm still not really sure what you're talking about here..."

"Stuffed humans," Sherlock replied. "The typical taxidermy techniques have been applied, with a few notable differences."

Molly jumped in at this point, trying to get involved in the conversation once again. "You see, several body organs have been replaced with stuffed ones. Someone sewed a little heart and put it where it would normally be..."

"Wait, you said several body organs? So, not all?"

"No, not all," Molly replied, grimacing slightly. "Some of them were left inside...it was horrible. And I work in a morgue every day!"

"We have found three of these stuffed bodies so far," Sherlock said.

"And by we, he means New Scotland Yard," Molly added in, acting his translator once again.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock sighed. "The Yard has asked for my support on this case as they can't figure themselves. As usual."

"Then there's no real evidence to be found," Will murmured to himself. But he was still loud enough for Sherlock to hear him.

"There is certainly real evidence to be found," Sherlock scoffed. "It just has yet to be found at the moment. I haven't been to any of these crime scenes yet, unfortunately. What we do have we are investigating rigorously. At least, I am."

"I'm guessing that's what you're looking at right now, then. What are you looking at under that microscope, anyways?" Will asked, trying to look at what the consulting detective had on the stage.

"Thread from the stuffed heart," Sherlock stated, his voice flat. "There may be a trace of blood on it, but I wish to be sure."

"Couldn't it be the victim's blood?" Will asked. "Isn't that a possiblity?"

"Of course it's a possibility," Sherlock scoffed. "But that could be far more productive than you're making it out to be."

"Well, have you thought of possibly trying to identify the fibers used within the thread? I don't think there's really enough blood on there to tell much of anything from it."

"Good point," Sherlock replied. The thoughts had passed through his mind, but Will helped put them back in place. "You see, you'd be good at this."

"I am an FBI profiler," Will said, giving a sigh. "I don't work as much with forensics, but..." His voice trailed away, giving Sherlock an opportunity to speak.

"So, what do you say?" Sherlock asked. "Will you aid me in solving this case?"

Will stared over at him for a moment, his thoughts spinning. He had retreated to London in order to avoid any sort of crime scene. That's what had gotten him so worked up in the first place, after all. But then again, the idea seemed so attractive to him for some reason. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

His more impulsive side, the one that always seemed to get him tangled up in unfortunate situations, was rising up again.

"Yes," he said. "I'll help you."

A/N Chapter Two...I made it here, and that in of itself just feels amazing. I'm watching season 2 of Hannibal right now, so that's a nice little thing...I don't really have time or energy to mess around with this author's note, so I'll say thank you and good night!