A Case of Identity

Chapter 1

Where to begin? That is the question. So much has happened over the course of the past few days. The beginning is a good place to start.

Sherlock was in one of his dark moods as I like to call it. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened in the area of his expertise. Whenever that happens, you'll never know what sort of mood he'll be in. Nothing occurred, until Monday morning when Sherlock got a call from Detective Inspector Lestrade.

When we got to the scene of the crime, Sherlock seemed a bit more cheerful. However, seeing a dead body that was murdered doesn't seem to me a very happy place to be. Of course, that's Sherlock for you.

There was a woman lying dead in the back of the SUV. From what I observed, she seemed to be in her early twenties. She had dark shoulder length hair. She wore respectable clothing fit for possibly working at a bank. Considering it was early in the morning, around 8:00, she most likely had gotten killed after she got off work last night. Then something caught my eye. Her right hand was quite literally cut off! Sherlock then went to get a closer look. Then, Lestrade came to check up o n the world's only consulting detective.

"Found anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much. Her name is Sara Evans and is American. She graduated from Washington High School in 2009, so that'll make her about 20. Oh and she's good with computers, so she probably had a decent job. She lives, or rather, lived alone."

"Did you just say American?" I asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Might be a bit harder to notify the family then," Lestrade commented. Sherlock then took out his phone and looked some things up.

"She's been poisoned hasn't she?" Sherlock asked.

"There appears to be no sign of a struggle. No blood, which is surprising considering her arm. She has no phone or wallet on her to help us," Lestrade said.

"Well, this has been fun." And with that comment, Sherlock turned around and started to leave. By the time I turned around, I practically had to jog to catch up with him.

"Taxi!" Sherlock shouted. We had climbed into the cab.

"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Going to find more about Sara," He replied with a grin.

We were back at 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock said he needed to look a few things up.

"Got it," Sherlock said, still staring at thte laptop screen.

"What?" I asked.

"C'mon John. We're leaving." Completely puzzled at what that meant, I picked up my jacket and gun, just in case.

"Mind if I ask where we're going?" I questioned.

"We're going to Sara's flat of course."

"But you said she was an American," I protested.

"John, just for once think outside the quadrilateral parallelogram. I only said she was American because of her ring."

"Why would the ring matter?" I inquired.

"Americans get high school class rings. That's what she had," He said.

"Oh. But why would she be here in London?"

"That is the question," Sherlock said with a grin. We then arrived at the address. We got permission from the landlord, and went in. It seemed normal, and yet, it was missing something.

"Do you notice anything odd?" Sherlock asked.

"No not really," I said looking around.

"Look harder," Sherlock suggested. I did. There weren't any pictures of friends or family or of the victim at all. I also couldn't locate her missing phone or wallet either.

"There are no sign of any pictures, wallet, or her phone," I said.

"Precisely. She was clearly hiding something, or didn't want to be found," Sherlock said.

"Who would want to find her?" I asked aloud.

"Now you're thinking." After we searched the flat for a while longer, Sherlock found the names of what appeared to be her immediate family. Sherlock told me to inform Lestrade of our progress. I did. The inspector seemed happy that we found something. He said he would meet us at the address and to wait there so the police could notify the family.