CHAPTER ONE
"It's another one," Anderson called out, having made the identification before the detective inspector made it to what appeared to be a severed hand.
"Why do I bother showing up?" the man mumbled in exasperation. "Take care of it." By now, everyone was well acquainted with the bagging and tagging of evidence, even if it was just a waste of police time.
Who the hell left fake severed body part lying around for people to find anyway? He didn't know who's idea of a sick joke with was, but he was getting tired of it. Four times this week, he had come out to various 'crime scenes' only to find no evidence, no killer, and no real human body. Instead, they had collected a wax foot, two hands, and a pair of dummy arms.
As he walked back to his car, Greg was faintly aware of a young man in a long overcoat watching, the same person that had been watching from just beyond the police tape at the last staged crime scene, now that he thought about it. This time he was inside the marked off perimeter, however.
"I'm going to have to ask you to step back on the other side of the police tape until we've cleared the area," he told the bystander.
Ignoring his request, the man took another few steps forward, watching closely as the forensics team handled the 'body.'
"Sir."
He watched the corner's of the other man's mouth turn up into a slight smirk, as if being called sir was suddenly funny.
"This is a police investigation. Please step back or-"
"This one's different," the intruder said, cutting him off.
"What? Back behind the line or I'll arrest you," he caught himself.
"I think you'll find this one isn't like the others," the man said, an interested glint in his eyes. "The name's Sherlock Holmes." He quickly closed the distance between them and handed the DI a piece of paper with a number on it. "Let me know when you'd like some help solving your case."
With that, he ducked under the police tape and disappeared back into the night.
Ӂ
He had never seen anything like it. The insolent git acted like no one could touch him. He didn't even flinch at the threat of being arrested.
Greg Lestrade absently unfolded the piece of paper he'd shoved in his pocket. Sherlock Holmes – the name sounded familiar somehow – but he'd remember meeting someone like that. And what did he mean they would find this one was different? Maybe he should have brought him in for questioning. He'd looked like just another curious bystander though; he'd thought maybe even a reporter at first. They could be pushy and arrogant sometimes, but they didn't usually offer to solve his cases. Typically it was just the opposite – they wanted to know why he hadn't solved them already.
"Boss!" Sergeant Donovan called out as she entered his office.
"What is it?"
"It's not wax."
"What do you mean it's not wax?" She had to be referring to the latest addition to their dummy collection – a wax hand they had picked up not two hours ago. "Anderson said it was wax at the crime scene." Anderson might not be the most brilliant of forensic investigators, but he could certainly tell a wax hand from a real one.
"Anderson was wrong. I mean, yes, it is wax - on the outside. Underneath, there is an actual human hand."
Interesting. Perhaps the case wasn't going to be quite as pointless as he'd thought, Lestrade mused. And Sherlock had been right – it was different. What else might the midnight bystander know? He was beginning to think he might have to give him a call and find out.