Sherlock stepped out of his flat, he looked at his phone and read the message from John.
'Meeting with Lestrade?'
He was fairly certain that both John and Lestrade had told him something vague about a meeting of some kind earlier in the week, however this morning had seemed a little rushed. It's not like he forgot about it or anything. But suddenly it was all about the meeting.
A possible case? Along with this ominous meeting, today might not be as boring as he predicted it to be. He walked down the stairs and left 221b.
"Taxi!" he called. As he turned and stuck his arm out a woman collided with him sending a vast amount of papers and files fluttering to the floor.
"Oh gosh." She said flicking her fringe out of her face and adjusting her glasses, "I'm terribly sorry!"
"No... That's quite alright." Sherlock said, hiding his little suspicion, "Let me."
Sherlock bent down to pick up the papers then looked up and quickly examined her. She looked only a few year younger than him, with short bleached hair and thick rimmed glasses. She was wearing a smart black shirt with contrastingly casual jeans and designer sneakers. The fit of the shirt didn't leave much of her hourglass figure to the imagination. His mind wondered a little thinking about how she could have bumped into him, he hadn't heard quickened footsteps coming from behind him so she must have either been paying too much attention to her papers or she meant to bump into him.
"Oh, thank you so much, Sherlock!" she called out to him.
"I'm sorry?" he said snapping out of his thoughts to realise that she was gone and he was left holding all of her papers. He watched as she got into the taxi he had just called, "Hey!"
She winked at him from the taxi as it drove away.
Sherlock sighed and petulantly ran his hands through his hair. He grabbed another taxi and climbed inside. During the ride he decided to look over the papers she had, for some reason, left with him; they were all on various psychology and anthropology experiments and they all featured a Doctor Frederick Jones, the main subjects appeared to be behaviour and body language, specifically in criminals. It was a case study of sorts on this specific Doctor. The whole collection painted a rather clear picture of this Doctor's talents and merit.
Sherlock thought to himself, 'A woman carrying papers on a doctor of psychology, she could be his assistant? No... her clothes, an assistant would be dressed more smart than casual. Partner? ...sneakers... Intern. Carrying his papers for him. But why did she leave them with me? Psychologist... probably an experiment. Meeting with Lestrade? She's probably going to be there. It's a test, see if I'll bring the files and work all of this out...'
"Did he say he was coming?" asked Lestrade, drumming his fingers on his desk.
"He should be..." said John, nervously looking to the doors.
Sherlock entered the room still clutching the papers. He was frustrated, but eager to prove his theory.
"There you are." Lestrade got up, "Where–"
"Someone took my cab..." Sherlock said, looking around for the woman but she wasn't there. Had he perhaps made a mistake? Not possible. He had the papers, she had to be here, but where was she? He almost looked forward to meeting this Doctor Jones, devising an experiment to test his skills before meeting in person, it was quite clever. For a psychologist.
"What are all those papers for?" asked John, stepping towards Sherlock.
"Not important..." he turned to Lestrade "Why are we here? It's a case isn't it, I hope it's interesting..."
"Yes, there is a case. But I wanted you to come here first. There's someone I'd like you to meet, a sort of anthropologist... psycho analyst... or something..."
"Let me guess, Doctor Frederick Jones?"
Lestrade looked baffled, "How did you–"
"These papers, they all feature a Doctor Frederick Jones, his assistant or something dropped them by me as she took my taxi. She probably knew I was coming here so–"
"Indeed she did know you were going to be here." Said a woman, entering the room from behind him. "But you've missed one tiny little detail." It was the woman from earlier. She took the papers from Sherlock and handed them to Lestrade, "That's everything you'll need to know about me and my work. The rest is... irrelevant."
Sherlock noticed her cringe when she finished her sentence.
"Great, thanks." Said Lestrade, dropping the huge pile of files on his desk, "Let's see how you do on this one, and then go from there. Okay?"
She nodded and then turned to Sherlock.
"You took my Taxi..." said Sherlock, raising his eyebrow at her.
"I was running late." She replied, shrugging and shooting him a cheeky grin.
"Sorry, who are you?" asked John, the only one completely out of the loop.
"Really...?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Doctor Frederick Jones." She put out her hand and John shook it.
"Nice to meet you," John smiled, "Doctor–"
"John Watson, I know. I've read the blog." She smiled and looked over to Sherlock, "Very interesting read..."
John smiled awkwardly and thanked her.
"Right then, the case?" asked Lestrade, getting a little impatient.
"Yes... not that we actually need a... psychoanalyst?" said Sherlock, pretending not to know her profession to throw her off, "Most of the people Lestrade deals with are dead."
"Anthropology, Mr Holmes." She replied, ignoring his attempts to intimidate her, "You may know everything but I know people. I could be a huge help to you."
"No thanks." He flashed her an incredibly fake smile, "I don't need help. I have John."
"Sorry, wrong again." She smiled and raised her shoulders.
"John?" Sherlock turned to his friend almost pleading for him to not to leave him alone with her.
"She's right, sorry Sherlock but I have to get to work." said John.
Sherlock sighed, "That was a guess wasn't it."
"He did keep checking his watch... Anyways, looks like you're stuck with me." She said, raising her eyebrow at him and playfully nudging his side.
Sherlock sighed in irritation, he really didn't want to have to deal with her at a crime scene. If he had to see that grin one more time… he felt a twinge in his head.
She was giving him a headache.
"Cleaners found her this morning... The room was paid in advance for a week, which would account for the smell. Nobody's touched a thing, I've kept it quiet as long as possible and called you guys, it's just a matter of luck that Doctor Jones was starting today..." said Lestrade.
"Please... Call me Freddie, Doctor Jones is Harrison Ford. But that's another story." She and Lestrade shared a laugh and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, hoping that the pop culture references weren't frequent.
They walked into the hotel room crime scene. It was a reasonably posh room with fairly standard white furnishings.
"I wanted you to see this, Sherlock because frankly... I don't know what to make of it..." said Lestrade showing them the body.
Sherlock and Freddie looked over the dead woman on the floor, it was as if the scene was a perfect recreation of John and Sherlock's first case. The victim was wearing the exact same pink coat and she was lying down in the same position. The only difference was the lack of scratched messages, German or otherwise.
"Well, this is interesting..." said Sherlock more than a little excited.
"I can see why you called me..." said Freddie sharing his enthusiasm.
"Right then." Lestrade folded his arms and leant back on the wall, "What can you tell me?"
At that moment, Sally Donovan came bursting into the room.
"Freak's here then?" she asked, "Must be very special for you two, first case together?" she looked over at Sherlock expecting to see John with him, Freddie smiled and waved, "Oh... My apologies, you must be Doctor Jones."
"You're supposed to be watching the door..." said Lestrade, sighing in irritation.
"Yes, but how could she miss this?" asked Freddie, barely giving Donovan a second glance.
"Sorry?" replied Donovan, a bit taken aback.
"Oh right... It's a secret." Freddie winked at her and tapped her nose, "I got you."
Lestrade and Sherlock looked at Freddie then at each other, Lestrade shrugged.
"What?" asked Donovan, glaring at her.
"Please..." Freddie wandered around the body examining it while still speaking to Donovan. Sherlock watched her closely.
She examined the body with ease as she spoke as if conversing with Sally Donovan wasn't the least bit distracting or tedious for her, "The way you came up here, just to call him a freak? Seems like a pretty flimsy excuse to me, but please, look me in the eyes with your dilated pupils, it is rather obvious... but I'm sure he already knows."
Donovan looked furious and tried to speak, but Freddie interrupted her.
"Yes... get angry at me, it only proves your innocence..."
"Oh my god... there's two of them!" Donovan hissed before storming out.
Freddie walked back over to Sherlock and Lestrade, they each raised an eyebrow at her.
"What? I was only teasing." Freddie shrugged. "How else was I supposed to get her to leave? She would have stuck around to make sure she used up all the insults she had thought of while waiting for you to get here and I just couldn't think with all that noise..."
"Noise?" asked Lestrade.
Freddie breathed heavily and noisily, crossing her eyes in the most ludicrous expression.
Sherlock stared at her, taking in this new information about her personality. She was clever, she payed attention to things he thought only he did. But she was able to talk to John and Lestrade easily and get Sally Donovan to leave in just fifty-four seconds, which was a new record. He felt something twinge in the back of his mind when he looked at her, he chose to delete it because it was neither important, nor relevant.
She leant against the wall on the other side of the room and placed her gaze on Sherlock, "Alright then." She said, "I've noticed a few things, but now it's your turn." She looked over to Sherlock, meeting his gaze.
Sherlock flicked out his magnifying glass and got to work. The details were almost exact, to an untrained eye of course. He smiled as he looked over the body.
"It would appear that someone's gone a great length to send you a message..." Freddie took out her phone and tapped quickly at it with both hands. Sherlock couldn't help noticing how small her hands looked compared to the large device.
"It's not an exact match." Said Sherlock, "The jewellery is different, all of it has just been bought. The wedding ring isn't hers, it's too small. There are marks on her finger where it was forced on. Likely it was bought with the other jewellery... The coat is too big for her and the killer soaked it themselves with a spray bottle."
"How did she die?" asked Lestrade.
"I'd say the bullet wound to her forehead, easily missed as her face has been smashed in."
They all looked down at the body. It was easily missed as she was lying face down on the floor, but that didn't make it any easier to look at.
"Oh god." Said Lestrade, stepping back.
"That's very telling..." said Freddie.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, removing the face, the victim's identity... Either meaning the killer couldn't come to terms with what they were doing or they wanted us, or more specifically you, Sherlock, to focus on what she represents rather than who she is."
"Which is?" asked Lestrade.
"Oh come on, really?" Freddie showed them John's blog post 'A Study in Pink' on her phone.
"You don't think he did this?" Lestrade looked shocked.
"Don't be ridiculous." Freddie and Sherlock spoke together.
Lestrade backed up a little.
"Sorry..." said Freddie "Somebody just used John's blog to create a scene personal to Sherlock, to send a message, this is a message to you. Something that represents that first case with John, something that I imagine is very personal to you, a new relationship if you will."
Lestrade tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed. Freddie rolled her eyes as Sherlock glared at him.
"Checking the body more carefully, for things the killer knows only you would notice, might help us work out what that message is..." she added.
"Right, I'll go and get the team." Said Lestrade, he left the room.
Sherlock walked out on to the balcony, he held tightly to the rails as he looked out over the city. It was busy, he took a deep breath and looked down. It seemed so high from up here even though he knew they were only a few floors up. The air was crisp and calm and he heard the door opening behind him.
"You don't have to look down you know."
Sherlock turned, it was Freddie. He examined her closely as she walked over to him, the way she walked was almost hypnotizing, it told him so much about her; outward confidence concealing something. It was so obvious, almost like she wanted him to see it. A trap she'd set for him.
"I remember all the theories about you... a friend of mine was part of the empty hearse? She wouldn't stop going on about you. But nobody has it right... not really, do they?"
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"You may have known what would happen but that doesn't mean you knew it would work..." she said looking out over the city, "You thought about it didn't you..." she turned to him "What might have happened if it didn't work? You just didn't want anyone to know that you were scared–"
"I had a plan and it worked. End of story. It was two years ago..." he returned to staring over the edge.
"Oh yeah? Then, why can't you let go of the bars?"
He looked down at his hands, indeed they were clasped rather tightly around the balcony bars. He looked over to her and fought the urge for his hands to shake as he let go of the bars. He smiled smugly and went back inside, not breaking eye contact with her.
"Is there a case and a phone we need to look for?" asked Lestrade, looking over at them as they re-entered the room.
"Unlikely, they only dressed the body up, this vic probably has her own story." Said Freddie.
"Right, we need to find out where the stuff was purchased, get a receipt or maybe catch whoever bought it on camera."
Freddie turned up the collar on the coat. "It's from H&M."
"Well we can't search every H&M in London..."
"It's likely she was killed here so the clothes were probably bought nearby." Said Sherlock.
"Unless they've been planning this for a while and they bought the stuff online." Replied Freddie, "Plus they probably don't even sell this coat anymore."
"That's a good point..." Lestrade rubbed his chin quizzically.
"What about cameras? They must have seen who entered the hotel at the time of death. Who booked the room in the first place? It would have to all be calculated, the killer wouldn't have just picked a room at random."
"No. We asked at the desk. The room was payed for in cash a week in advance and if nothing of note happens they only keep their footage for a week. This hotel is known for being... discreet."
"Helpful..." Freddie rolled her eyes, "Guess, they would have only just deleted it last night. Definitely planned."
"All we've got is the guy at the desk saying maybe he saw a big guy with a pony tail carrying a drunk girl into the hotel around the time. But that's not a rare occurrence."
Sherlock noticed Freddie tensing up at the mention of a big guy with a pony tail. He realised that she was easily affected by her emotions, a serious drawback. He added to the quickly forming file marked Freddie.
"Then we wait for the autopsy results." She said, "Find out what the message is."
"Have Molly do it." Sherlock snapped.
Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed, "I can't just–"
"Pull some strings." Sherlock headed for the door, slamming it behind him. He was no longer needed in there and couldn't stand another minute with her.
"He does that a lot right...? Leaving like that?" asked Freddie as she gazed at the door he had just left from.
"You'll get used to it." Lestrade laughed.
"Will I?" she titled her head to the side as she looked up at Lestrade.
"Well, if you want to stay, we'll be happy to have you."
"Is that right?" she smiled.
"You're the only person I've seen who actually seems to annoy Sherlock Holmes as much as Sherlock Holmes annoys everyone else."