Hello! I'm a huge Sherlock/Irene fan so I wanted to write a new story in which their intelligence would be applied in a case. This takes place after A Scandal in Bohemia, so also after Karachi. I don't own any of the characters, so all the credits go to BBC and Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the others.

This chapter is just an introduction, so stay with me for the rest!

Sherlock sat in his armchair, watching the people of London pass by through the window. He felt comfortable, almost lazy on that particular afternoon. His long fingers formed a triangle as he sailed away in an endless sea of thoughts. He didn't even notice the persistent knocking, although even if he had, he would have ignored it carelessly.

"I need you, now." Detective Inspector Lestrade rushed into the room, breathing heavily as if he almost ran up the stairs.

"I'm busy, can't you see?"

"Oh come on, with what? This is important Sherlock, there are lives at stake. Come on, you'll...you'll like it."

Sherlock looked up at him, very slowly and seemed pleased with the expression of disgust on his face after that last conclusion.

"All right, what happened, from the start? Cover all the facts and DON'T be boring."

"Another prostitute has been found dead. Same like the other ones, you probably saw it in the papers. What you didn't see is that they were all slaughtered, hunting knife. A standard one, it can be found at any army shop. No forensic traces, so basically...we've got nothing. Interested?"

Of course he was. But, as if Lestrade was an overconfident girl he was on a date with, he didn't want to show it too much. He couldn't hold back a smirk as he slowly got up, and walked to his bedroom to pick up his coat and scarf. "Well, I guess I could take a short look, I mean, considering how busy I currently am..."

Lestrade smiled. He will never change.

They arrived at the crime scene, first Lestrade and then Sherlock, in a taxi, right behind the police car. It was a three star hotel, nothing too fancy but a cozy place in a not to crowded street. They went to the second floor, and then down the hall to a room whose door was covered in police tape. Luckily, neither Anderson nor Sally were on duty today.

Sherlock approached the body. With a quick glance he could tell that the girl was Caucasian, late twenties, attractive, wearing expensive lingerie. That fitted Lestrade's description of her profession. He would never admit it, of course, but he sometimes missed John in situations like this. Although highly unlikely, perhaps he would have a useful remark, something Sherlock hasn't already seen. But today it wouldn't be necessary.

"That tattoo on her ankle, did the other ones have it?"

"I think so. They had many tattoos, it's not uncommon with this kind of people. Why?"

"And once again you fail to observe anything of importance. That tattoo, that particular tattoo is only seen in one group of high class prostitutes, that is how their clients know that they are well protected, so they never even get the idea of going too far with them. At least until now. "

"So, what do we do now?"

"We don't do anything. You carry on with this, and I'll go home."

"Well, that sounds reasonable; after all, we are the official police here."

"But of course Detective Inspector...I would never get in your way. Afternoon."

Thank you for reading and please review! It's my first story so I could use constructive criticism. :)