Alice in Baker street // Chapter 3

The next morning rose after Alice Woods.
She was half a book, five cigarettes and a few of hours ahead of the first morning light. Damn jetlag.
But she resolved not to move out of her bed until she could say it was morning. Yet another habit. Some would call it OCD. She knew it was just habits, reassuring repetitions and principles she could break whenever she wanted. But while she had no need to, she liked sticking to them. Stay in bed until it’s actually a decent hour in the morning. Enjoy your bed; you might miss it during the day. She’d spent some of her early waking hours looking around her at her new apartment, like a sailor on a ship of sheets and blankets looking over to an ocean of wooden flooring. One big room, it seemed, as the living room and “bedroom” were openly connected. The living formed a half hexagon, with two big windows pushed into little rectangular corners, like tiny booths, a kitchen corner, small but functional, with a bar on the right and a separated bathroom to the left. A tiny entrance hall with an integrated coat closet opened directly on the area where the bed was. It was empty still, save for a few pieces of abandoned furniture, and it looked charmingly melancholic in the orange lamppost light that streamed through the windows. They were not so wide, but quite tall, as was the height of the ceiling; it gave an even better sense of space. They overlooked a crossing somewhere near Bethnal Greens, still and silent at this hour but probably buzzing in the daytime. Thanks to the double-layer windowpanes, Alice would be able to watch the ant-like life crawl around without having to suffer the blasting of it. She occupied a few minutes by imagining how she’d install all her stuff once it arrived. There was space enough, she wouldn’t feel cramped. Maybe she’d give a wall or two a bit of painting. White was nice, but she’d always wanted a yellow kitchen corner. Nonetheless, it took her no more than half an hour or so to make all the plans of how she was going to decorate in her head. Then she was left with the only book she’d brought with her, and the plot was stretching on and getting quite boring. By the time the sun rose, she was downright edgy. On the strike of seven o’ clock, she threw the covers across the bed and sprung to her feet. She didn’t know what she was going to do that day, but she couldn’t stand still any longer.

Although she felt fresh and awake, what stared back at her in the bathroom mirror was a proper scare. It looked like ten years of serious sickness had washed over her in a night. She was simply flat and grey all over. Already, her features didn’t particularly stand out, so whenever she felt a little under the weather, she turned into a sort of gloomy nightmare. She picked at a lock of thin blond hair and sighed as it fell back limply on her neck. She checked her skin, pasty, her eyes circled with dark rings and bits of makeup she hadn’t properly cleaned off the night before. Then her eyes scanned her figure more widely. Under her shoulders and angular neck bone, her breasts remained desperately small, though rather high and proud for their size. About the size of a summer apple, waxed a lyrical lover of hers. They didn’t bother nor please her; she left the sensual potential and erotic fantasies to those who enjoyed it. To her, they were just growths her gender had to bear. She put her hands on her hips in disappointment and thus felt again their salient bones. Her eyes looked further down as she grimaced and ran down the length of her legs, thin and so white, she could she her veins run across her thighs like little purple deltas of a river. Alice had never been envious about any other woman’s physique, and never, even as a teenager, wanted to change something about herself; it wasn’t something she cared about much. Yet, she didn’t like the picture her body showed each morning in the mirror either. She always had the strange impression she was in front of somebody else than herself. Some others had seen something they liked about her at different times in her life, and it had been enough for her to definitely stop bothering the slightest bit about her feeble appearance. Also, her constitution was strong nonetheless, and knowing that, having tested it over and over, reassured her completely. Still, some days, the encounter with her reflection felt bitter. Like the idea her twisted inner cosmos had made its way up to the surface of her skin for the whole world to see.

 

Such grey thoughts accompanied her on the bus to St. Bart’s. She looked up out the window where little drops of a drizzle splattered in patterns.

 

 Rain.

 

Always bloody rains in this country.

But she was back. She should feel a bit glad about that. And her mother had the decency not to harass her yet, another thing to be glad about. Yet things she’d never missed sinuously made their way to her heart, now, of all times, now, when she’d left them on the other side of the world: the coast sunshine, the smell of the beach, the avenue lined with evergreens where she used to live, even her colleagues at the research institute, as obnoxious an puerile as they could be, even her star-gazing dreamer office partner...

The bus stopped at a red light. Up on a branch of a nearby tree, an autumn leaf fluttered in the gusts of wind, hanging by just a portion of its stem. Alice felt like that leaf. Wavering helplessly in the wind, in suspension.

It was rather early for her to arrive at the hospital. The entrance hall was crowded only by a few patients obviously waiting for the clinic service and, save for the flossy secretary rummaging through her stuff; everything was silent with morning drowsiness. Again, Alice heaved a sigh. What was she even doing there? No study to work on, not the faintest idea where to begin. Already she dreaded to lock herself in her little plastic office. Picturing herself roaming aimlessly through the empty corridors filled her with self-pity. Twenty-four hours or so. That’s all it took you to get sick of it all. Well done, Alice.

She had only one anchor point so far. Stomping by the secretary with nothing but an arrogant wave of her badge in the girl’s face, she reluctantly made her way to the morgue in hope to find Molly. Maybe she’d lead her onto something to start working. Cranial traumas, brain tumours, skull lesions, anything. That is, if she was there at all. Otherwise, she’d just start her day in a deadly cold room that smelt of disinfectant – how lovely! She felt like a lost little girl in a new school. Someone had had to have put something vile in the rain for her to feel so gloomy.

Luckily for her, Molly was also an early bird. Alice spotted her brown ponytail through the same little window she’d peered in the day before, cutting a square of light in the darkness of the basement hallway. Lovely little frame, that window, she reckoned a little more cheerfully. The way it bordered Molly’s spot of brown hair among the white and pale green of the walls and the steel grey of the mortuary drawers made her artistic sensitivity tingle and gave her just the impulsion she needed to casually push the door open. Molly didn’t turn as she entered. Moving closer, Alice saw she was deeply focused on analysing a portion of a corpse’s skin – nowhere close to the head, much to her disappointment. An air of intensity clouded the young woman’s face under her headlamp and magnifying spectacles; Alice dared not disturb her and simply peered over her shoulder.

At some point, her eyes quickly darted to the side. She obviously took in Alice’s presence but didn’t react nevertheless. Some minutes later, she emitted a slow, absent-minded “hey!” as a welcome, similar to Alice’s tone when she was in the middle of something didn’t want to be bothered. Alice quirked an amused eyebrow. So, Molly could be other than chatty and jittery! She quite liked the noble air that concentration and professionalism gave her. Deciding she was given a chance to skip morning formalities, much to her relief, she set down her bag, hung up her coat on the back of a chair and casually slipped on a nearby blouse before camping herself beside Molly, leaning over to see what she was taking so much interest in. Anatomy in the morning; very well! A nasty cut revealed an even nastier hunk of infected flesh under the rotting skin Molly had stretched out with pins.

“Gory, eh?” Molly hummed, her head still inches away from the oozy wound.

“I’ve seen worse. Still, not my cup of morning tea, I’ll admit.” Alice answered, cowering away, suddenly seized by a small breeze of putrefaction.

She ran her eyes across the rest of the body, noticing here and there similar cuts, quite random and of different width and depth, and at last, a little white tag dangling from its toe.

“One of the “experiment” bodies?” she asked incredulously.

Molly only nodded, focused. Alice looked at Molly Hooper in yet another light. But she kept her scornful comments about her colleague’s appalling devotion to herself and simply resumed watching the operation. After all, if that poor girl was so eager to oblige her quirky friend that she put up with pus and blood first thing in the morning, it was her business. Thoughts like that made Alice wonder how her stiff manners had ever fit in her practice of medicine in the first place.

“Which batch is this one from?” she asked, trying to make something of the situation.

“Rust.” Molly curtly answered.

“So we’re looking for different types of reactions ranging from...?”

“Minor infection to tetanus.”

“Right...isn’t it a bit early for tetanus?”

“This one’s just a big blood-poisoning. That can go pretty fast,” Molly cheered, happy someone was genuinely taking interest in what she was doing.

“Indeed. So, haemoglobin and white blood cells count...are you sure that’s what we’re after, though?”

 Molly straightened up from her huddled observation, intrigued by Alice’s dubious tone.

“What do you mean?”

“See that tiny lump, there? If I’m not mistaken, that’s something else...”

“Oh god, you saw that too! It’s been bumming me since I rolled him out! I can’t seem to make any sense of it. What do you reckon?”

“Well, can’t you just cut it out and test it upstairs?” asked Alice.

Molly shook her head, pursing her lips.

“The analysis has to be done in situ and as quickly as possible with the least means. It’s part of the...“experiment”, you know? For simulation.”

“Simulation? Our man works on crime scenes? ” Alice tut, disturbed by the memory of that bizarre meeting.

“Precisely!”

The voice coming from behind the two girls made them both jump and spin around. They hadn’t heard the man who was presently standing behind them even push the door open. He chuckled softly at their surprised looks. He looked laid-back and quite in his element, leaning on one leg, his hands in his jeans pockets, a brown leather jacket hanging from his arm. Jolly, laid-back, but imperceptible marks riddled his kind face and enclosed his tired blue eyes; marks of strain and ache. Alice fixated on the thick wool jumper he wore, wondering what the issue was between the British and their jumpers and cardigans. His presence drew Molly out of her numbness and, she was jumpy again, like he’d struck a nerve.

“John!”

“Hi, Molly ! I’ve come to check on these guys...hrm!”

“He’s not with you?”

“No. Not leaving the flat unless at least two...no, wait, three texts arrive from Lestrade today. One of those days.”

“And you run that kind of errands for him, now ?” she said with clear exasperation. “ God, the nerve of him...”

“Heh! Yeah, well... But, please ! Your charming colleague was about to make a point.”

He stepped in closer between the two women, glancing almost tenderly at Alice. She clenched her jaw discreetly. That man’s eyes, kind and gentle, caressing over her like a silk sheet, fit ever so oddly among the harsh lines life had drawn on him. The contrast disturbed her. He took no notice of her uneasiness, seemingly a little groggy from some leftover sleep, his sandy blond hair still a bit messy in patches. He encouraged her with an equally honeyed smiled. It made Alice cringe even more, and seemed to soothe her from the inside at the same time. Like an automatic shield, her reasonable mind took over to counter effect the confusion. She looked back at the odd little spot, then quickly over the dead body, and all at once, her entire university courses on advanced anatomy and lesions surged back to her consciousness. In a second, she knew exactly what she was looking at. Still, she had an audience apparently waiting for a show of some sort – those soft beckoning eyes!

“Well...it’s been a while since I’ve looked into things like this...” she started, “...but, it seems to me this one’s past the stage of blood-poisoning and would be right onto a general septicemia if he were still alive. What do you think?”

“I’d say that’s pretty accurate,” the man nodded. “Whatever cut that man was dirty enough to spread the infection at a damn good speed – and on a corpse!”

“Rusty blade. Very rusty blade, judging by that pretty staphylococcus.”

“Oye, you’ve got good eyes!” John exclaimed. “It’s barely as big as a pinhead!”

“Staphylococcus? That’s the lump?” Molly inquired.

“I’m quite positive,” Alice replied, coolly. “The crust is pretty distinctive. It only stopped that big because its entire host died. Had that bloke been still alive, we probably would’ve witnessed a nice clumping factor effect. Now, whether it appeared before the sepsis or if it caused it...In any case, he had a pretty weak immune system – even before he was dead, I mean; this thing sprung like a daisy! Anaemia, most likely...Not enough blood cells to stop the infection...And look at that dry skin! You can put that in your notes, Hooper, and move onto the next one.”

Molly stared at her colleague, in a mix of irritation and admiration. Admiration took over, however and she complied with scribbling down the results of the quick observation, while John’s smile turned happy and malicious.

“That almost felt like home…” he snickered.

Molly sketched a shy grin as she rolled another table laden with the next corpse under the bright tungsten light.

“He’ll be thrilled, I take it. But John, you didn’t need to come down here, you should’ve called me up!

“Oh, it’s alright ! Nothing like a little whiff of the morgue in the morning, eh?” he joked. “ Especially as it seems to have become some sort of hotspot. One makes the loveliest encounters here!”

He winked cheekily – but no too much – at Alice, who smiled softly back.

Soft-tongued, scientist, kind, chubby sort of features...not too bad, she thought. And already rather obviously flirting. Maybe it was just what she needed to get over her precocious gloominess. She could eventually consider him as...yes, one of her “encounters”, exactly that. Losing interest in the corpse and Molly altogether, she leaned on the side of the operation table in an elegantly coy way and levelled the newcomer in a few blinks of her big green eyes. He stood star-struck a few seconds before hastily outstretching his hand.

“Doctor John Watson, nice to meet you!”

“ Doctor Alice Woods. How do you do? ” she murmured.

“New draftee?”

“ Not exactly. More like an internship. And you...work here?”

“ Er, no, no, I’m...er...retired, in a general way...at the moment, at least. I plan on taking up practise again soon, though.”

“I see. I mean, seems normal, the time of adaptation....”

“Time of adaptation?”

“Returning from the field.”

John’s pleasant and welcoming face froze as a shadow flew over it and erased his smile. Even Molly ticked and gazed over her shoulder.

“Well, am I wrong ? ” asked Alice, as she failed to understand why silence suddenly fell and made her feel guilty of something.

“No, no, quite right, actually...” John stuttered, fixing an intense look on the young woman. “Simply...how...?”

“You used the word ‘draftee’.” Alice stated. As the look he gave her grew insistently questioning, she went on. “You used the word ‘draftee’, military vocabulary, instead of, say, ‘recruit’, more general and that would’ve equally served your humoristic intent. Deformation of a profession stronger than your actual medical profession, suggests strong context. Army. Casern life. And said you were ‘retired’, not only meaning you’re unemployed but implying you did something before that you no longer do. Where does a military doctor usually practise and lead a casern life? On the field. From which you’ve returned quite recently, and permanently, hence the ‘retired time of adaptation’...”

“Ah!” John squeezed a tight smile, deciding to take this with humour. “You saw right through me! Amazing! What is it that you do, exactly?”

“Neurobiologist. And psychopathologies, occasionally.”

“Ah- ha!” John looked properly dazed, this time. Molly twitched a smile.

“Fantastic!”

“If you say so...” she answered, not understanding what the fuss what about. “So, how do you occupy your retirement days, then, Doctor Watson?”

“ Hum...heh !” he chuckled at his own thought. “I work for Sherlock. With Sherlock. Damn...”

“He’s your...companion?”

“Oh, no, no, he’s my...we’re...partners. Colleagues! Of some sort... He’s not my...I’m not...God, everyone seems to assume that!”

“I meant no offense.”

“It’s alright. None taken.” he smiled tightly.

Just to be sure, she thought as she smiled back. John stared another few seconds at her, caught by her batting eyes, then leaned on his other leg, looking around distractedly. While Molly started preparing a few tools for the next body, Alice decided it was enough anatomy, disinfectant and questionnaires in the neon lights for the morning and excused herself, not without a velvety sideways look at John.

When she was gone, John camped himself silently next to Molly and the new body. An incredulous smile remained on his lips while he fixed the emptiness in front of him. Molly looked sideways at him. A silent moment passed, and they both giggled.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” John sniggered.

“It’s the first thing I noticed!”

“Dammit! I quite fancied her.”

“Sure, you did.”

He playfully jabbed Molly in the elbow and she laughed.