[John's thoughts jump to Sherlock. Will isn't nearly enough of an ass for that comparison, not that he can see, anyway. Anderson is equally horrible. John settles on Molly.]

Knew a nice girl up at Bart's who worked in the morgue and did that sort of thing for the police. St. Bart's. Sorry. It's a hospital in London. [He doesn't mention Molly's rather awkard sense of humor. Hopefully it's just her and not every forensic analyst. It strikes him suddenly that if Will were in that field, he might have heard of Sherlock. They got requests from American clients on occasion.]

I... don't suppose you've heard of a bloke called Holmes, have you? Mate of mine in that area, as well. Forensics, I mean. He's got a website. The Science of Deduction. [With an analysis on God-Knew-How-Many types of tobacco ash.]