“Hello, Dr. Portis,” Lestrade said, holding a handkerchief over his nose.
Dr. Portis turned away from the table with his mouth open in greeting until he saw Holmes and Watson. His mouth closed in a tight grim line that wasn’t the only nonverbal clue that expressed his dismay at seeing them. Watson was undeterred by the not so warm welcome of Dr. Portis. She pulled two sets of gloves from the box and handed one to him, and pulled her pair on.
“Portis, where’s the body?” Watson asked.
“I’m Dr. Portis,” but Watson had already begun opening the different lockers with a wide smile. It was a smile one could expect to see on a child in their favorite toy store after being promised by their parentals they would buy them a toy.
“Mr. Portis,” Holmes started. “Watson and I are consulting detectives for the case of the governor's deceased daughter.”
There was a loud sound of metal hitting the ground. Everyone turned around to see Watson’s small body trying to move a body onto a slab by herself and failing.
He tsked and shook his head, relieved she wasn’t hurt. “Watson, what are you doing? That is clearly not the governor’s daughter.”
“It might be,” she answered.
He gave her his best stop messing around look. “Watson, unless you have forgotten everything you know about anatomy, you can clearly see that that is a male body, not a female.”
She gave him her wide eye innocent look, which only worked once, maybe twice. She mumbled, “I just wanted to see.”