The Science of Deduction, Life, and Maybe a Little Love
(About three or four months before The Reichenbach Fall)
Introducing Me
My flat was basically empty. I didn't need much to live on. I had a few books, a couch, a television, a computer, a few blankets and one stuffed animal. Besides the appliances, I didn't need much more than that. I'd just moved here from California. It was a big change from sunny California to dreary London. Although I lived halfway across the world, I'd already made a name here in London. DI Lestrade already knew who I was; he was the reason I was here right now. A lot of people around the world knew who I was and what I did. I was Jordyn Birkham, the red-gloved, trenchcoat-robed, scarf-caped, beret-wearing brunette crime-solver! I had a website and even a column in the paper. My phone vibrated, ringing.
"Speak of the devil…" I muttered to myself. "Hello."
"It's Lestrade." I frowned.
"Yes, I know it's you, I have caller ID. What is it you need?" I could hear papers shuffling in the background.
"I've got a job for you." Huh. Didn't think he'd get me on the job so soon.
"Shoot." I leaned back on the couch, nearly lying down.
"It's the one in the papers, I'm sure you've seen it. There are a few details not listed there though. For instance, at every scene we've been to, there was a penny on the girl's head, even if her head had been severed. The funny thing is though, the murder weapons were alternating between suffocation with a plastic bag and piano wire," I huffed in thought, consumed in finding any clues in this explanation.
"Well, I'll let you know as soon as I know anything." There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"I've got another two people working on this case. Do you think you might be able to work with some folks for this once?" I grunted. I really despised working with other people, but this case seemed like it would be mildly entertaining and give my brain a good workout. I sighed in defeat.
"Yeah, I guess. Where do I need to meet them at?"
"It's 221B Baker Street. Stop by the office to get some info on the two first though." I nodded as if he could see me through the phone and hung up. I gathered my things, threw on my beret, my red leather gloves, and my trenchcoat and headed downstairs to hail a cab.
I stood on the doorstep of 221B where I was supposed to meet my new partner in crime-solving. I rang the doorbell and waited for a second. An elderly lady answered the door.
"Oh, hello! You must be the new assistant! You're very pretty. I get a feeling you and the boys will get along just fine," she gushed. "They're upstairs. Go on up!" I smiled and thanked her. I jogged up the stairs and stood in the doorway, waiting for the men to notice me. The two seemed to be in a heated argument over a computer. I stood there patiently, for I knew fights like this could go on for a long time. John, the shorter one glanced over in my direction once and went back to the argument. I shoved my red leather clad hand in my pocket, rumpling the file in there slightly. John looked back at me and said something quietly. Sherlock seemed to be on a rampage. John yelled,
"SHERLOCK! We have a guest, be polite please!" That seemed to stop Sherlock in his tracks. I put on my fake English accent to see if I could fool Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock, John, nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Jordyn Birkham," Sherlock didn't seem too impressed and turned away, saying
"Fake." I blinked a few times, still putting on the accent.
"Excuse me? Are you insulting me?" Sherlock scoffed and turned around to face me. He gestured wildly.
"Yes, no, maybe, I don't know. Your accent is clearly fake," I smiled and interrupted his chain of thought. I let go of the accent and resumed with my American one.
"Well, that was quick. Usually most people don't even notice. They think it's real and aren't any the wiser," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John looked between us, confused.
"Wait, how did you know our names?" I smiled and placed a finger to my lips.
"All will be revealed soon," I interjected, amused that he hadn't noticed the large-ish lump in my coat pocket. Sherlock interrupted this small exchange with a quite rude throat-clearing and looked at me expectantly. I smiled and directed my attention towards him.
"As I was saying earlier, your accent was fake. Obviously. Your skin is a bit too tan, signifying you haven't been here too long. So you're from the states. You've also got a pair of sunglasses in your left pocket, a habit you developed because of where you used to live; which was somewhere sunny, so I'm assuming California. In your right pocket is a file containing my and John's information, which you no doubt received from Lestrade; who sent you here." I smiled, impressed.
"Bravo. Now, may I enter your humble abode?" I looked up at him expectantly. Of course I had to look up, he was a tall man. I would say about 5'9"… 5'11" at the most. Maybe, just maybe 6'0'. I took a seat on the couch and Sherlock remained standing. John sat down in the chair nearest the kitchen. "So, what is it you need me for?" Sherlock paced the living room. He didn't stop pacing, but began to speak.
"Lestrade called you and told you about me, which means he thinks I'll need help. I hardly ever do, but I guess since he referred you to me, he's worried about something," I crossed my legs politely. "Now, let's see, how you could help. You seem fairly intelligent, though nowhere near my level of intelligence," I chuckled at this last remark. "I'm assuming Mycroft hasn't contacted you yet, you seem to be quite content sitting there," I shook my head. "Good, that's good," He faced me and said, "If he offers you money to spy on me, take it. We could use it," I looked at him oddly.
"Are you sure, Sherlock?" John rolled his eyes.
"He's always sure." I looked at Sherlock confusedly. Alright. Maybe I would take the deal.
"Right, back to the situation at hand. What has Lestrade told you about the case? Anything important?" I thought for a second. Lestrade had told me some things about the case; I just couldn't seem to think of them this instant. Wait! There was one small detail that Sherlock might have not noticed. What was it again? I placed my head in my hands, still very much aware that Sherlock was awaiting an answer. I galloped through my thoughts, looking for any trace of the previous conversation with Lestrade. Let's see… there was the bit about the penny on the head and the fact that the girls were only22 year-old blonde girls, but Sherlock most likely knew about that from the media. Hm, what else had Lestrade said? Well, he'd told me to be careful around Sherlock… pfft. I didn't need any warnings; I knew exactly how Sherlock acted… Now back to the crime. What else was there? Oh! Lestrade had said that there were alternating murder weapons!
"There were alternating murder weapons. One was a piano wire and the other was a plastic bag." Sherlock scrunched his face up in thought about this and tapped his chin. I leaned back on the couch and almost laid down, but Sherlock interrupted my almost rest by sitting down heavily on the far end of the couch. I frowned and rested my head on the wall.
Every few minutes, Sherlock would get up, pace around the room and sit back down. Time passed like this for about thirty minutes. I sighed.
"Is there anything else you need me for?" John shrugged. Sherlock waved me off, which I assumed meant 'be quiet'. "Well, since there's clearly nothing for me to do here, I'll just head back to my flat." John looked at me funnily. As soon as I was walking out of the door, Sherlock yelled,
"1979!" I whirled around quickly, surprised with the sudden outburst coming from Sherlock.
"What?" I looked Sherlock directly in the eyes. "What does 1979 have to…" I thought for a second. 1979, 1979, 1979, 1979… It was clearly a reference to another case that happened in 1979. Was there a case that involved piano wire, a penny, or suffocation? I was very confused. I re-entered the flat and sat down on the couch, pulled my laptop out and googled '1979 murder piano wire and suffocation'. My search returned over 1,000 results and I was a little miffed. I heard Sherlock say, 'the first result' and clicked on it.
I scanned the article, looking for anything that might help the case out any further, but the killer had not been captured. He was most likely dead by now, so that ruled him out. So it was most likely some sick bastard who was obsessed with murder shows and had decided to try it out himself. There weren't any salvageable prints, so we couldn't get him that way… This was why Lestrade needed Sherlock.
I spent the next six hours comparing and contrasting the two crimes. The original one only had 4 deaths, where the current one already had 5. Sherlock had John write down the similarities and differences between the two while I kept researching.