Hello lovely readers - thanks so much for your reviews on my first Elementary story! You inspired me to work on a new one. I do not own the characters from Elementary, but Artemis Merrill comes from my imagination. I hope you enjoy their new adventure together.

Holmes was sleeping on the couch when he received a call at 3:26 A.M. Coming out of a deeper than normal sleep, Holmes nevertheless answered on the third ring, "Captain Gregson, how may I be of assistance?"

"Holmes, did I wake you?" said Gregson over a good deal of noise in the background.

"I am perfectly awake now," said Holmes, sitting up on the couch. Swinging his legs to the floor, he faced a large wall, where the contents of several cold cases interwove themselves, based on his thoughts and those of his business partner, Ms. Watson. In addition, to the far left and far right, sat "personal projects" for Watson and Holmes. Although neither one of them chose to discuss their collage outright with the other, that they shared their ideas publicly said something about the contents of their minds and hearts. Both projects represented personal growth. At the center of Holmes' collage sat a picture of Artemis Merrill, a prior client, and her deceased lover, the poet laureate, Dennis Macklemore. Spreading out, like a field of flowers, were many pictures and phrases, some simple, some provocative, related to the threads that ran through relationships of all types. Watson's collage ran more toward the theme of self-love and compassion, as well as a bit of self-indulgence.

"Good, there's a situation here; something like I've not seen before. Can you come?" Gregson gave Sherlock an address. The tightness in Gregson's voice was unmistakable.

"Absolutely, I'll be leaving in 8 minutes." Holmes said. He was on his feet and ascending the stairs as he hung up and used speed dial to call for a cab. "Watson," he said somewhat less loudly than he normally would. Clothing was already set out for her. Watson had learned readiness when awoken in the middle of the night. Watson rose easily tonight and dressed quickly. She met Holmes at the door just as the cab drove up.

"Seven minutes, forty-six seconds," said Holmes as the cab left the curb. "The art of motion has been perfected in a New York brownstone…news at 11."

"I'm glad you recognize the perfection in that fact, Sherlock," Watson turned to Sherlock, a tiny smile on her lips. There had been a number of conversations and compromises around the eight minute marker. The rest of their ride was wordless.

It was still dark when they arrived at a row of brownstones, much like the ones they had just left. A light rain fell with the promise of more to come as they entered a crime scene that was humming with activity. There was definitely a buzz in the air as the crime scene investigators interacted. Something was off, given the looks members of the team gave each other. A young woman in uniform led them to a bedroom at the back of the first floor. The brownstone, unlike the comfortable one Sherlock and Watson shared, said "museum" more than "home". Someone with a good deal of money and a taste for matte chrome had created a formidable showplace. Even the bed was custom-sized, larger than a king both in width and length; and in the middle of it was a very large, gelatinous, red mass of the same approximate size as a human being. Except for bits that resembled human flesh and bone, the mass might have been mistaken for a strange piece of modern art. Sherlock stepped forward to examine the body next to a couple of forensics team members who were taking samples.

Watson observed from a short distance away as Gregson gave her notes about the case.

"We think the victim is Alexander Ashcroft, single, age 42. Ashcroft runs a hedge fund, or did. He was supposed to close a deal with some Australian company via a video conference at 1:00 A.M. this morning at his office. He never showed up; after a number of phone calls, the head of security came out to check on him. When there was no answer at the door, he came in with a key. That was about 3:00 A.M., and he found this mess."

"Hedge funds have a head of security?" said Watson.

"Apparently so; the last time Ashcroft spoke with anyone was a couple of hours before the video conference. He told his secretary he would not need a town car sent. He was planning to drive his own car to the office."

"Any idea what types of investments they made?" said Watson.

"Technology companies, that's what Ashcroft's secretary said."

"Watson," Sherlock called her from his perch on top of the bed just outside the bloody semi-circle. Due to the immense size of the custom bed, Watson was able to climb on top and crouch next to Sherlock without disturbing the scene. "What do you make of this from a medical perspective?" he said, pointing to the lumps of flesh, his voice almost a whisper, his tired eyes were dark gray as opposed to their normal blue, but his look was determined.

"Chemical reaction of some sort, I'm thinking. It looks like the body came apart here. But given the timeline, I can't see this being the brownstone's owner, Alexander Ashcroft. Even with powerful chemicals and special equipment, it would take a few hours to get to this. Ashcroft spoke with his secretary two hours before this body was found." Watson's eyes flitted across the mess without cringing. "I don't know if I'm seeing things, but I'd swear this body is still dissolving. It looks smaller than when I first came in the room. I don't smell any chemical scent in the air. This is definitely odd."

"Baring a new and powerful pandemic superbug or a rolling chemical bath, Watson, I would agree; this can't be Ashcroft. But if it isn't him, then who is it, and why was the body left here?" Sherlock shook his head as he crawled backwards off the bed, Watson following his lead.

"Thoughts?" asked Gregson.

Sherlock looked at Watson, nodding his head slightly. Watson answered, "If this is Alexander Ashcroft, then you truly have a mystery on your hands. I don't know of any process that would allow body disposal in this way within a two-hour period, especially with no apparent chemical residue. However, if this is someone else, then that opens up other possibilities."

"Such as why someone would leave a body in this condition in Alexander Ashcroft's brownstone," said Sherlock, moving about the bedroom as he spoke, looking at various articles of clothing in drawers and objet d'arts on tables and bookshelves. "I'm going to examine the rest of the house, if you'll excuse me," he said, moving into the hallway and the rest of the brownstone.

"We'll be in touch," said Watson as she followed Sherlock out the door.