It began like many of their adventures, with a request from Lestrade to get to Scotland Yard as soon as possible.
It was 1 am when the call had come through. John had been sat in the living room typing up the latest case note to post on his blog. Sherlock stood at the window, lightly skimming the bow over the strings of his beloved violin, not playing anything in particular, but still the notes seemed to work and flow together well, like a lullaby or a nursery rhyme, composing subconsciously as he explored his mind palace.
The evening in baker Street was filled with a relaxed haze that often settled over them during the lull between cases. John had learned to enjoy these nights whilst he could, because at any given moment a client could turn up or they could get a phone call from and exhausted sounding Lestrade requesting their presence.
Which is, of course, exactly what happened.
They arrived at New Scotland Yard after a short drive through the light London traffic. There were few people still awake at this hour, which made the journey quick and painless.
Sherlock waltzed into the building as if he owned the place, which Sherlock probably thought. John sniggered at his internal commentary, quickening his steps to keep up with the long strides of the aloof Consulting Detective.
They made their way to Lestrade's office with little hassle, the officers working obviously preoccupied with the case at hand rather than insulting Sherlock. Although, John noticed, there seemed to be rather more officers than usual working at this late hour.
Lestrade was at his desk, Sally Donovan leaning over his shoulder as they sorted through a seemingly endless pile of papers and reports that were laid out before them.
"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted cordially as they entered the room.
The Detective Inspector raised his head, and sighed in obvious relief at the sight of the two of them. Sally followed her boss's gaze and sent a withering look at them, clearly she had not wanted to call them in on the case, but they were out of their depth and desperate.
As always, John could practically hear Sherlock's thoughts.
"Details," Sherlock demanded. John made a mental note to work on Sherlock's manners.
"Kidnapping, the only daughter of one of the higher-ups in the politics game," Lestrade began, still passing papers over his shoulder to Donovan as he continued, "10 years old. Was taken this afternoon after school. Usually attends piano lessons for an hour and a half before her parents pick her up. Never showed up to the lesson. Very out of character according to the parents and teachers. Obviously as this is a high-profile case we want to get it solved as soon as possible, hence why we've called in the extra staff."
"Any ransom demands?"
Lestrade ran his hand through his silver hair, obviously stress was high and tensions were mounting.
"Not yet."
"CCTV footage?"
"We've got officers working on that now."
Sherlock clapped his hands together, steepling his fingers as if in prayer and tucking them beneath his chin as her whirled in a circle, coat floating out gracefully behind him.
Now he's just showing off, though John.
"I need all relevant information, and now," ordered Sherlock, turning back to look at Lestrade.
Greg rose from his desk and made his way over to his two friends and sometimes-colleagues, leaving Donovan at the desk.
"We've a new Sergeant on the team who should be assembling all information regarding the case now," stated Lestrade, opening the door and holding it for John and Sherlock.
"And they're competent?" Sherlock asked as they moved into the corridor outside. "If they're anything like your current team I shouldn't have too much hope."
"Trust me, she's good. I can see her working her way through the ranks very quickly."
"Take us to her, I need to see the information."
John looked back into the room and saw Donovan with a look of resentment upon her face. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but at that precise moment, Greg shut the door, and proceeded to march them along the corridor and away from Sally Donovan's fury.
Dare he say it, John thought Donovan might be jealous of the new Sergeant. After all, she had worked for the Yard for many years, putting in God knows how many hours and working hard. It must be difficult to hear Greg talk about someone so highly, despite only being there as short while when she's been working hard for years without any mention of a promotion.
John made another mental note to show Donovan more respect.
But only if she showed more to Sherlock. After all, he couldn't respect someone who was rude and downright spiteful to his best friend.
They only walked a short distance down the corridor before Greg pulled open another door and ushered both he and Sherlock though it into another room.
The walls were covered form ceiling to floor in paper, evidence. It reminded John of their own evidence wall back in Baker Street. No smiley faces or bullet holes adorned these walls however, just photographs, reports, statements etc.
A woman - the new Sergeant, John assumed - was stood with her back to them when they entered the room.
From what John could see she was tall, although that was probably due to the almost inappropriate, but just the right side of professional heeled shoes she was wearing. Jet black hair, with a touch of mahogany lay elegantly on her shoulders in a style that was just too long to be called a bob, in large, luxurious waves.
She stood with her hands on her hips, accentuating their size in proportion to her petite waist, showing her flawless hourglass figure. Her hips were angled to the right, jutting out from her torso and her long, slim legs that really should be illegal to be shown in such a slim fitted pair of black work trousers. Her head was angled slightly, obviously deep in thought about the evidence that was displayed before her.
"Sherlock, John, meet Sergeant Annalese Carter. Carter, this is Sherlock Holmes and his colleague, Doctor Watson."
Her whole body tensed up at the mention of their names.
Carter turned to face them.
As she turned, her hair rustled ever so gently, and it looked like water shimmering in a gentle stream on a spring afternoon. Everything about this woman seemed to scream elegant and professional
From the front, John could see that she had been drumming her fingers along her hip bones where her hands had been resting, which were now drawn up and folded across her chest and in amongst the folds of arms and fabric, John could make out the sparkle of a large engagement ring and matching wedding band.
Her face was absolutely breath-taking, and oddly familiar. Sharp cheekbones that could cut diamonds, full lips, pale skin and glittering, pale blue eyes.
But what surprised John the most was the look of pure, open hatred in her eyes as she glared directly at Sherlock, lips setting into a thin line and eyes never blinking.
The air in the room immediately felt icy, and the tension was almost too painful to bear. A quick glance at Lestrade confirmed that John was not the only one made uncomfortable by the hostility displayed by Sergeant Carter.
Sherlock seemed to be the only one unaffected by this, his expression remained the cool mask of indifference that he seemed to adopt in these situations. And – unless John was very much mistaken, which he often wasn't in regards to Sherlock – he thought he could see a hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
John could practically hear the cogs whirring in Sherlock's brain as he regarded Sergeant Carter, and he longed to hear what deductions Sherlock had made about this woman that made him smirk like that.
And just as John was sure Sherlock was about to unleash his deductions upon her, Sherlock said something rather unexpected.
"It's been far too long, Annalese."
She stalked over to him and slapped him.