For Scientific Purposes

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Sherlock had always been so meticulous, so pedantic about everything in his life but John honestly had no idea how far that actually stretched. Until now.


The first part was easy, Sherlock wanted his brain stored, preferably frozen and preserved so that if scientists, no when scientists perfected the revival of humans already departed from this world, his brain could be (and should be) one of the first to be transplanted into a healthy new body and released upon the world. Most probably to solve all those crimes that Scotland Yard had been inevitably piling up over the years in his absence.

Sherlock was not stupid (something he made sure to point out as often as he could) and he was well aware that such scientific advancements would take awhile, but he was sure that it would happen. He would even look into it himself at some point, if he had some free time.

He was also well aware that his own body would be better used for other purposes (more on that later) and it would be totally irrational for his whole self to be frozen, even that far in the future he was well aware that his body, even if preserved, would not be of any use.

When he first told John this, he looked at Sherlock as if the man had gone insane before ignoring the comment completely, and whilst this was not an entirely new experience, it hurt Sherlock somewhat, to know that sometimes he was just not taken seriously.

The second time he told John this, the man laughed, and that hurt Sherlock even more.

The third time he made a similar comment, John took it seriously, they were sat down at breakfast (well John was eating and Sherlock was drinking coffee -black, two sugars) and John, in a bizarre fit of curiosity asked Sherlock what he wanted doing with the rest of him. Which promptly led to a detailed description of what Sherlock wanted doing to his body parts after he had left this life.

His lungs were completely useless, they wouldn't help anyone in need; thirteen years of smoking constantly had made sure of that. Sherlock was slightly guilty about that. His many years of vigorous running around the city should have ensured a healthy lung capacity but that had been completely counteracted by the copious amount of tar that coated his lungs. But then, he reflected, that given the size of the torso in proportion the rest of the body, and then taking into account the amount of that space his lungs took up compared to the other vital organs in the vicinity, it was most likely that any fatal injury he sustained would probably be fatal through some sort of damage to his lungs, rendering them useless anyway.

Sherlock was not a drinker thus his liver was in almost perfect nick. He had realised at an early age that one vice was more than enough, and had not taken up drinking alongside his nicotine habit. (Unfortunately the "one habit at a time" thing was buggered with the other drugs, but we won't go into that now.) He would happily donate his liver to someone in need, though he made it perfectly clear, that someone in need was not to be someone in such a position through excessive drinking. John thought about pointing out that Sherlock would be in no position to dictate the receivers of his organs once he was dead, but then thought better of it when he realised that it would extend the conversation even more.

Sherlock had decided that his pancreas should be donated for scientific purposes, as he believed that not nearly enough research had gone into looking at the pancreas, and surely he, of superior mind, would have superior organs. And what would be of more use to scientific advancement than the donation of superior organs to the field?

His kidney they could have when he was dead. Yes, he had already donated the other one. And no, it wasn't some sentimental gesture for a sick and dying relative. He simply thought that if he had two of them, and he didn't actually need two of them, why should he keep the spare one? Surely it had better uses, he felt selfish having two perfectly functioning kidneys, when others struggled to keep even one going. Well that was part of the reason. That, and he was convinced that having two kidneys was probably slowing him down somewhat.

For all Sherlock was concerned they could have his skin, and his eyes, people did that right? You could donate eyes and skin or parts of it. Sherlock had been told that he had tough skin, he was sure that was metaphorical (some sort of saying?), but despite that Sherlock felt that anyone to receive his skin should be honoured. Through the years his skin (along with the rest of him) had received quite a battering, and though certain parts may be too marred by scars to use, he was sure there was skin somewhere on him that was still usable.

His eyes on the other hand, were in perfect condition. He didn't like to brag too much (John snorted at that) but he had been told on more than one occasion that his eyesight was impeccable and he had no problem believing that.

Sherlock stopped talking then, a text received from Scotland Yard, a new case. They both rushed off.

And John didn't really notice that Sherlock had left the most important organ out.


When Sherlock died, which he inevitably did before John, John made it his mission to ensure that all parts of him were distributed exactly as Sherlock had requested (or as close as possible).

Mycroft's power extended far and wide, and John was able to dictate what happened to the precious parts of Sherlock.

He even managed to look into any research on the pancreas going on, asking if they required any fresh specimens, they did.

It also turned out that Mycroft's contacts ranged as far as his power did. And John ended up in a laboratory in America, talking brains, and freezing and what he referred to as pickling jars.

It was only later, much later, that John found out from Mycroft what Sherlock's will had contained (he had been in America attending to more pressing matters).

Many of Sherlock's possessions went to John. This did not surprise John.

Sherlock had actually owned the flat, and the money he took off John every week for the rent had found its way back into John's bank account. He now owned the flat. This did not surprise John; he had suspected this for some time.

No. What did surprise John was something else entirely. He had not thought back to their conversation on Sherlock's body so many years ago. But now when he replayed it he realised that Sherlock had missed something. Except he hadn't, he'd had it organised, everything had been sorted and ready for when he died.

Sherlock's heart was in a special urn, a small one, the only part of him left, cremated. A small silver urn, that sat on the mantle piece with words etched into the side in Sherlock's own hand writing: John, my heart for you.

But that was so typically Sherlock, slightly gross, completely inappropriate, but still trying to make a gesture even after he was gone.

And John loved him because of it.


Thanks for reading.