Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock, only my OC, Amelia Wilson.

A Study in Pink, Part 1

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade!" the voice rang out loudly, sounding less then pleased as private detective, Amelia Wilson, stormed through the homicide division of Scotland Yard.

People hurried out of her way as she walked past, some casting her looks of irritation as she stormed by their desks, causing loose papers on desks to flutter dangerously close to the edge of falling. Amelia was no stranger to the annoyance of others, she hardly enjoyed it, but it was a side effect of being good at her job. She couldn't help it if she made certain people feel insecure about their own policing abilities, she didn't exactly do it on purpose, she couldn't not notice things that others so blindly missed, and she did feel as though she shouldn't have to pretend as though she did fail to notice things, not if it meant solving a crime and bringing some comfort to the victims' families. That was the whole point of detective work, after all. Petty jealously and professional insecurity had no place in detective work, she might not have been a police officer who had risen up the rakes like them, but she was a damn good detective with an excellent track record. So rather than falling into the trap of allowing them to know that their looks bothered her, she simply ignored them and carried on her way, her heels clicking on the floor as she reached Lestrade's office at the end of the large, opened space that was lined with desks.

She didn't even pause to knock, far too angry for the polite pleasantries that she had been taught as a child, throwing the door open and storming inside, almost slamming the door behind her before hitting her hands on his desk, glaring at the man behind it. His head was bowed over a large folder, his pen lightly making notes on the paper that his left hand was so conveniently positioned to hide from her view. She almost scoffed at the sight, he was pretending, what detective inspector still did any official police work with a pen and paper in 2010? Not when he had his computer right beside him, very clearly on the Scotland Yard screen saver right now.

"You got my message, then?" Lestrade stated calmly, hardly looking up from his paper work.

She narrowed her eyes, straightening, "What do you think?" she shot back at him sarcastically, before turning her back on him, turning towards the window, "I refuse," she told him firmly, "I have my own cases to work on, Lestrade! I don't have time to babysit Sherlock flipping Holmes! I haven't even met him!" she turned back to Lestrade, a look of realisation on her face as something suddenly dawned on her, "Hang on…Mycroft Holmes did this, didn't he? He contacted you and somehow got you to do this."

Lestrade didn't even blink, calmly dropping his pen and all pretence of his so called 'working,' "Yes," he admitted, leaning back on his chair. He swivelled his chair slightly to look directly across the room to her, almost looking sympathetic, much to Amelia's annoyance, "I was against it, if that helps".

"No, it doesn't," Amelia sighed, some of her anger leaving her. Her shoulders slumped, feeling as though she probably should have expected this and, if she was honest, she had expected it. Mycroft had contacted her two years previously, when she had first began helping Lestrade, approaching her with the hope that she might agree to try forming a professional relationship with his younger brother, Sherlock Holmes, and keep an eye on him for his brother. From what she had gathered, Mr Holmes the younger had some sort of issue, drugs, as she would later learn from Lestrade, but it hadn't mattered, she still refused and had been quite pleased not to have any further contact with Mycroft Holmes since then. She sat down in front of Lestrade's desk, sighing as she looked at him, "I should never have said no to him about spying on his brother. Mycroft Holmes always get's what he wants in the end, I expect".

"It won't be that bad," Lestrade tried bracingly, before shaking his head at the look she gave him, "Okay, yes, it will be that bad, but you might find that you enjoy it".

Amelia raised her eyebrows, "This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. How am I supposed to keep who my brother is secret without Sherlock deducing it? And who's to say that he would even work with me?" she asked, shaking her head at the idea, she'd heard enough about Sherlock Holmes to know that he was not an easy man to like, let alone get along with.

"You and Sherlock have a lot in common, Amelia," Lestrade shrugged, "Both private detectives...well, he's sort of one. Both geniuses; you even have the same skills. Sherlock is just little bit more...annoying," he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Annoying?" she repeated in mild disbelief, giving him a startled look, "I think the word annoying is to light from what I have heard about him," she frowned as she recalled some of the stories that she had heard people saying about the man.

"Amelia," he pulled her from her thoughts, making her look back to him. He gave her another sympathetic look, "I can't order you to do anything, you know I can't force you to actually work with the bloke, but…just one case?" he gave her something close to pleading look, looking more tired than she had seen him in a while, "Just one case to get his brother off both of our backs. I'll even let you pick the case, something simple and quick".

She could certainly see where he was coming from, Mycroft Holmes was a pain for them both right now, she had no doubt that he could find ways to make things quite bothersome for both her and Lestrade, Mycroft was very high up in the British Government, after all, who knows what lengths he might go to just to force them to do what he wanted. Amelia could very well end up finding herself being banished back to Ireland, though that was perhaps a little over dramatic, even for her. Still, one case with Sherlock Holmes…she supposed she could make it work, though she highly doubted that Sherlock Holmes would actually agree if he had any clue that his brother was arranging things like a chess game. From what little she had gathered about their relationship, neither brother seemed close, but Mycroft was obviously incredibly protective and fond of Sherlock. It almost made her feel envious.

She reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose before sighing, lowering her hand back into her lap as she refocusing on Lestrade, "Look…" she began warily, but she was suddenly cut off as Sergeant Donovan opened the door, sticking her head inside.

"Sir, there's been another one," Donovan said, sounding slightly breathless, no doubt from her hast to pass on the news. Lestrade quickly stood, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair as Amelia stood from her own chair, not going to miss out on something like this, instantly knowing what she was speaking about, "Same as the others," Donovan continued as they readied themselves, "Suicide, but this one left a note".

"How many times do I have to say that it's not suicide?" Amelia sighed; giving her an exasperated look as she absently straightened her coat.

Ever since October, 2009, a string of mysterious suicides had began to pop up across London, but of course they weren't just suicides, as Amelia had stressed several times to Lestrade, who seemed reluctant to actually listen until they had actual evidence to prove that it was murder. Over the past four months since the first death, two other victims had been discovered, and not one of the victims had any real connection between them. One had been an eighteen year old with no previous history of mental health issues, while the first victim had been a father…though, as Amelia had pointed out at the time, the man had been carrying on an affair with his PA for over a year. It was as though the killer had picked the most random members of society and killed them, but the thing was, the victims themselves did kill themselves in a way. Poison had been used and there was no evidence to suggest violence of any sort having been involved, meaning that they had to have willing taken the poison. But it was completely absurd to think that three people, now four, would have killed themselves in the exact same manner, when none of the victims had any reason to take their own life to begin with. It could only be murder.

Donovan sent her a cold look, obviously feeling rather sore over the fact that a so called 'armature' had managed to figure out the truth, while those who were supposed to be trained in sniffing out murder couldn't. But Amelia was no armature, she was still perhaps a little new to investigating murders instead of the boring marital affairs or insurance frauds, but she was good at it, she had a natural talent for it. Lestrade had seen that in her when they had first met one another two years previously, even when she was in the very grips of grief at the time, he had still seen her talent. He had even caught up to her a few days later and had asked her to help him with a case, at the time she hadn't thought she could do it, but it had provided her with the perfect escape, and from there it had snowballed. She still had her own clients and cases, but from time to time, Lastrade would ask for her help. After all, apparently Sherlock Holmes could be rather tricky in regards to cases, and the fact that he had only just recently sobered up meant that for a long while there, Lastrade hadn't always felt comfortable bringing him on a case. So he got Amelia instead.

Amelia rolled her eyes at Donovan's glare, "Oh, please, even you can see it, Sergeant," she paused briefly, running her eyes quickly over the other women, lingering slightly on her bruised and battered knees, "But I suppose that spending a night with Anderson can lower your IQ quite a bit," she finished, not being the biggest fan of Anderson or Donovan, nor were they of her.

Lestrade heaved a loud sigh, though he made no attempt to try and step in, just simply casting Amelia with a stern look. After all this time, he had given up on getting them to be friendly; civil was the best he could hope for. He turned and left the office, Donovan threw Amelia a positively filthy look.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped, before turning on her heel and marching out of the office.

Amelia lifted an eyebrow, resisting against the urge to smirk to herself. She moved to step outside the office, sighing to herself as she realised that she had missed her chance to leave with Lestrade, who was nowhere in sight. She could duck downstairs and grab a cab, but it was quickly approaching rush hour and everyone would be grabbing cabs by this time, and she wanted to get to the crime scene quickly…it was times like this she wished she had her own car, she certainly could afford it, but this was London, there was so many ways to get around, having her own car seemed rather pointless. She'd have to suck it up and hitch a lift with Donovan.

She found the other woman and quickly ducked into the lift with her, just as the doors started closing. Donovan looked as though she was deeply wishing that the doors had slammed on Amelia's face, eyeing her with a dark look as Amelia settled herself into the left far corner, her back pressed against the wall as she felt the lift begin to go down. She wasn't a fan of lifts, she wasn't scared of them, either, she just didn't like being in them and the swopping sensation they caused. Finally, the lift reached the ground floor and slid open, both women eagerly stepping out and silently setting off down along a long hallway ahead of them. They reached a set of double doors that led outside to were the cars were all parked, and quickly climbed into the front seat of one.

They swiftly left Scotland Yard, the sirens blaring as they moved through the streets of London, right into the very midst of the late afternoon traffic. It would be getting dark within the next hour, Amelia thought to herself as she peered out through the passenger seat window, considering that it was January. She expected that it was also going to be a rather chilly night; she was really starting to regret wearing her white and black trimmed skirt today without tights.

"How long is Anderson's wife away?" Amelia asked absently as she watched the city outside the window as they drove towards the scene of the crime, "I'm sure when she comes back she will be very grateful for you scrubbing her kitchen floor, judging be your knees. The two of you must be very close," she cast the other woman an arched eyebrow look, not caring of she was being petty herself right now.

Being nice and friendly to Donovan or Anderson had never stopped either of them from making it clear that they didn't think she belonged at a crime scene, in the end she had just given up on trying to be nice to them. Donovan didn't answer, but Amelia did notice that she gripped the wheel a little tighter than normal. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the crime scene, police lights flashing from the first police cars on the scene, an ambulance parked on the side of the road as the paramedic's stood beside it, speaking to a couple of uniformed officers, while other officers began cording off the area. Amelia expected that the press would be arriving within the hour, their arrival time certainly had improved with the rise in social media; she imagined eventually they would probably be on the scene before even the police, one day.

Sighing to herself slightly, Amelia got out of the car; Anderson glared at her from the doorway of an old town house that the body had apparently been discovered in. She lifted an eyebrow as she neared him, heels clicking on the concrete beneath her. She easily ignored his expression.

"Do we have a name for our victim yet?" she asked him, coming to a stop a foot away from him.

Anderson narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms across his forensic overall covered chest, "What are you doing here?"

"Must you ask a stupid question?" she sighed tiredly, rolling her eyes, "You know why I'm here. Now, our victim?"

His mouth thinned into a hard line, but she simply looked coolly back at him, knowing he wouldn't push it too much, not unless he wished to have Lestrade on his back, "Jennifer Wilson," he informed her, and she nodded absently, moving to step forward towards the door. He refused to budge, however, eyeing her, "Relative of yours?"

"I sincerely doubt that".

She didn't elaborate any further on the subject, feeling that Anderson, of all people, didn't need to hear about her life story, and stepped through the threshold as he finally moved aside for her. She found herself stepping into the once grand entrance way, now nothing more than chipped, flanking, painted walls and the smell of damp that hung heavily in the air, tickling her nose distastefully, though it was better than decaying flesh. She didn't bother to put overalls on or little booties, her stiletto heel would just go through the thin fabric of the bootie, anyway, instead she crossed the hall and began moving up the bare wooden staircase, moving all the way up until she reached the last floor, which seemed to be the most active. She reached the landing and instantly stepped across to the open door at the end of the landing, finding the body of a woman, still dressed in a pink coat and heels, lying face down on the floor.

Amelia knelt down beside the body and began to scan the area as much as she could. On the floor, the letter's 'R.A.C.H.E' had been scratched into the floor by the woman with her left hand, the pink shade of nail polish on her left hand revealing as much as it had been chipped away badly on the tips. 'R.A.C.H.E' was German for 'revenge,' but it didn't look like that, or so she recalled vaguely from something she had once read. She had never bothered to learn German, so she couldn't exactly be sure on that, though. It was probably more likely to be the name Rachel.

Still examining the scene, she took a pair of latex gloves from her pocket, running her hands over and under the coats collar before looking down at her hand. Damp, but her umbrella was dry as she checked it with her other hand. She then moved to the woman's wedding ring. Married ten years, if not more, but unhappily so. Dirty, but the inside clean. Serial adulterer, it would seem, having removed the ring frequently, but not had it cleaned in a good few years.

Amelia was about to examine the back of the woman's legs when the door behind her opened, making her jump slightly in surprise as she looked up to see Lestrade walking in, quickly followed by a tall, slim man. He didn't seem to pay any attention to her as he stepped into the room, his eyes fixed on the body as she eyed him curiously, instantly knowing who he was, just by the way he took in the body with sharp, calculating, ice blue eyes. He had pale skin, dressed in a long, dark coat, a dark blue scarf, and black curly hair, someone who could only be Sherlock Holmes. Behind him came another man with short, slightly greying, lighter brown hair, blue eyes, and walked with a limp with the aid of a cane beside him. A military doctor, she thought briefly as her eyes went from his neat hair to the clean, un-scuffed shoes he wore, catching out any little detail about him that she could.

"Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson," Lestrade introduced as Amelia stood from the floor and walked over to them, "This is private detective, Amelia Wilson. She's going to be working with you".

She gave him a quick look at that, so much for being able to choose what case she worked with Sherlock Holmes on, but she supposed that Lestrade was intelligent enough to know that she wasn't just going to pass up on a case like this, not a string of mysterious suicides that had been plaguing London for months now. Fine, if she had to work with Sherlock Holmes in order to get a chance to work on the case, she'd do it, but she was counting this as her one case and then she was going back to her own work. She didn't need a partner and she imagined Sherlock Holmes was the type of man who certainly wouldn't wish for one, either. She could do this.

Sherlock still didn't bother to even glance at Amelia, the other man, John, held out his hand with a friendly smile, "John Watson," he introduced himself to her as she shook his hand, his eyes quickly running up and down her, before fixing on her face.

She gave him a sly, knowing smile, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" she said casually as she shook his hand, jumping straight into it. She knew the Sherlock couldn't stand people that he deemed to be unintelligent, his arrogance was practically legendary amongst Scotland Yard, and she was certainly going to prove that this wasn't case with her… well, at least try to, "Don't answer that, Afghanistan," she shook her head as John blinked at her owlishly, his mouth slipping open, "Military doctor recently returned from battle after you were shot. You have been having trouble sleeping, judging by the circles around your eyes. Nightmares, I would say," she released his hand, eyeing him with critical eyes, "No children, no wife, or girlfriend either, but you could be gay. But I can tell that you're not by the way you hold yourself and general grooming," she smirked slightly at the look on his and Sherlock's face as she looked between them, both men looking positively shocked, though Sherlock appeared to be trying and failing to conceal it, "May I see your phone?" she asked John with a friendly tone in her voice, holding out her hand.

John blinked at her a few times before passing his phone to her, looking startled as his eyes flickered over to Sherlock and back to her.

"You have a sister called Harriet, but her nickname is Harry," she continued as she examined the phone, turning it over in her hands as she spoke, "She wants you to keep in touch with her, but you disprove of her drinking, judging by those little scratches around the charging socket," she smiled pleasantly as she looked back up at them, "I could go on, but I think I proved my point".

"Your point?" Lastrade asked, rubbing his forehead. Just what he needed today.

"That I am just as skilled as Mr Holmes," Amelia replied as Sherlock eyed her, "What can you tell about me?" she asked him curiously, glancing at him. She was rather interested to see his own skill at work for herself.

Sherlock looked at her for a moment before speaking, "You're Irish, but your accent is very light," he began, his speech quite fast, as though he couldn't stop the information from spilling out fast enough, "You probably went to a boarding school when you were young, somewhere in England and only returned to Ireland for the holidays," he looked her up and down, while Amelia kept her face carefully clear of emotion, "Judging by your clothing, you are wealthy and vain about your appearance. You have an older brother, but you haven't seen him in some time. You spent two years living in America. You play the violin and the clarinet. Did I get anything wrong?" he asked the last part with a small grimace, clearly not liking the idea that he had gotten something wrong in the first place.

"My brother is actually my twin," Amelia informed him, still smiling pleasantly, "I first went to boarding school when I was seven, but it was in France. I only went to a boarding school in England when I thirteen, after I was expelled because I was caught at a crime scene that I didn't commit," she frowned slightly as she recalled that night, before continuing, "In actuality, I was bored and tried to help the French police solve a murder. And I spent one year and eleven mouths in America, but had to leave after I had a hit put on me. I'm not really interested in being killed".

Sherlock stared at her, looking less then pleased by how much he had either mistaken or missed, while John and Lestrade stood back, looking back and forth between them as if it was a tennis match, Lestrade appearing to find it difficult to decide whether or not he should be amused or if he should groan.

"My turn," Amelia said in a sing-song voice, her eyes lighting up as she looked him up and down, "Older brother Mycroft Holmes, but you don't get along," she smiled slightly to herself, that was probably a bit of a understatement from some of the things she had heard, "You also play the violin, but only when you're bored. You only just moved into a flat with John. You came from a wealthy family, but money holds little interest to you, merely as a necessity. Judging by your pale skin, you don't spend a lot of time outside, unless you're working. You also grew up in the country, but every summer you would travel, and you didn't sleep last night. How did I do?"

"Better than I expected," Sherlock admitted reluctantly, before turning his attention back to the body, dismissing her swiftly. They looked at the body for a while before Sherlock snapped at Lestrade, "Shut up".

"I didn't say anything!" Lestrade exclaimed, looking taken aback.

"You were thinking," he replied tensely, "It's annoying".

John and Lestrade exchanged a look as Amelia raised her eyebrows, wondering if this was a normal occurrence, observing Sherlock's back as he approached the body. After a moment, he kneeled down and did the same thing that Amelia had with wiping his hand over the dead woman's coat and under the collar, along with checking her pockets. He then examined her jewellery before smirking.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much," Sherlock said lightly, while Amelia shook her head.

"She's German," Anderson suddenly poked his head around the door, leaning casually against the doorframe with one foot behind the other and his arms crossed. He looked as though he had been standing there for some time, much to Amelia's annoyance that she had failed to even notice him.

"Oh, shut up, Anderson," Amelia sighed, turning around and moving closer to the door, "Go snog Donovan," she slammed the door on him before turning back around, catching Sherlock's amused expression before he took his phone out.

"So, she's Germen?" Lestrade said, looking from the door and back over to Sherlock. Amelia half expected him to give her a look for her reaction to Anderson, not that it would have mattered to her.

"No, she certainly isn't," Amelia sighed, shaking her head at him, casting her eyes over the woman's body, "But she is from out of town".

"Intended to stay in London for one night…" Sherlock continued as he searched for something on his phone. He smirked smugly at whatever was on the screen, "…before returning home to Cardiff," Amelia glanced at him curiously, wondering how he had deduced that little detail. He slipped the phone back inside his breast pocket of his blazer, turning back around to face them, "So far, so obvious".

"Sorry, obvious?" John frowned, looking quickly back up to him, having been staring at the body with an almost haunted expression.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked quickly, nodding down to the desperately clawed lettering in the floor, while Amelia was still trying to figure out how she had missed that the woman had come from Cardiff. He had checked something on his phone, but what exactly? It made her frown.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock completely ignored Lestrade as he looked across to him.

John glanced at him, and then Lestrade and Amelia, "About the message?" he shook his head slowly, confused.

"Of the body," Amelia corrected lightly, catching on to what Sherlock meant, "You're a medical man, yes?"

"Wait, no, we have a whole medical team right outside," Lestrade shook his head, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

"They won't work with me," Sherlock replied, shaking his head dismissively.

"Same," Amelia added when John looked at her. She lightly shrugged as she looked at him, "I'm not exactly popular".

"Look, I'm breaking every rule letting you in here," Lestrade sighed, looking close to getting a headache, "Both of you," he shot Amelia a pointed look, which she merely smiled innocently at.

"Yes, because you need me," Sherlock pointed out, completely unconcerned.

"And I, Lestrade," Amelia said lightly, meeting his eyes firmly, "Don't forget that you did tell me to do this," her eyes flickered back over to the Sherlock pointedly, reminding him that this was not just to help solve a crime, but also get Mycroft Holmes off their backs. That ought to be worth something.

Lestrade sighed heavily, looking between them, before shaking his head, "Yes, I do, God help me," he finished, almost in despair.

"Doctor Watson," Sherlock said, looking directly at John.

John looked over to Lestrade, who shook his head, "Oh, do as he says, help yourself," he told him, looking almost defeated, before he turned and opened the door, "Anderson," he called as he stepped outside, onto the landing, "Keep everyone out for a couple of minutes," he closed the door behind him.

John, Amelia, and Sherlock crouched down beside the body, John giving a slow hiss of pain as he lowered himself onto one knee, supporting himself heavily on his cane. Amelia cast him a quick glance, obviously he had been wounded in battle and forced to retire from it, but she didn't think the damage had been in his leg, exactly. While he had been standing before, he had still favoured his leg, but he had stood straight and tall, not leaning sideways, telling her that his leg hadn't actually been causing him any pain. In fact, she might even say he hadn't even noticed it while distracted by seeing a body lying on the floor before him. Psychosomatic, perhaps?

"Well?" Sherlock asked without giving John enough time to even look at the body.

"Just give him a moment," Amelia told him with an eye roll, already feeling a spark of annoyance, "This is his first time on a case, I assume. He's still getting used to it".

"What am I doing here?" John whispered, giving Amelia a grateful look.

"Helping me make a point," Sherlock whispered back.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent".

"Yeah, this is more fun".

"Sherlock," Amelia shook her head, frowning at him. She enjoyed her work, it gave her life, if she was honest with herself, she had no idea what she would be without it, but she wasn't sure if she would say something like that while at a crime scene, "I enjoy my job, but I think you're forgetting the dead woman lying in front of us," she waved a hand towards the body, "This isn't about fun and games; it's about stoping this murderer before he or she kills again".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, "Father? Mother? Brother?"

She blinked, "Sorry, what are you talking about?" she questioned, confused.

"Who was close to you that was murdered?"

"No one," Amelia blinked, "I just think that you should respect the dead".

"Dull," Sherlock scoffed, turning to John, "Well?"

John lent closer to the body to examine it as Lestrade returned. He edged closer to the woman's face and sniffed the air before sitting back up right, moving to pick up her right hand, eyeing it closely, "Yeah…asphyxiation, probably," he sat up straighter, looking at Amelia and Sherlock, "She passed out, choked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her, could be a seizure, possibly drugs".

"You know what it is," Sherlock's eyes were focused sharply on the military doctor, "You've seen the papers".

"What, she was one of the suicides?" John glanced at Lestrade, looking slightly surprised, "The fourth…?"

"Sherlock, Amelia, two minutes, I said," Lestrade reminded them sternly, making Amelia sigh and throw him a slightly annoyed look, "I need anything you've got".

"The victim is in her early thirties, professional person," Sherlock said quickly, before Amelia had a chance to even open her mouth, rising back onto his feet, "Going by her clothes; I'd guess something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink…" Amelia shot him a look at that; she rather liked that coat, though it was hardly a time to mention it, "She's travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase".

"Suitcase?" Lestrade frowned.

"A suitcase, yes".

"Judging the ring on her finger, she's been married for several years, but not happily," Amelia added as she also rose, getting an approving look from Sherlock that surprised her. She quickly went on, "I'm guessing, she had multiple lovers, none of them knowing she was married".

"For God's sake, if you're just making this up..." Lestrade began.

"I would never," she gave him a mock offended look, covering her heart with one gloved hand. He sighed, fixing her with an exasperated look, making her smile before clearing her throat, turning back towards the body. She could feel John and Sherlock looking between herself and Lestrade, curiously observing their interaction, on Sherlock's end; anyway, "As I was saying," she went on, growing serious, "Her wedding ring is about ten years old, at least. The rest of her jewellery has been recently cleaned, which says everything about their marriage, considering how much care she puts into the rest of her jewellery".

"The inside of her ring is shinier than the outside," Sherlock added, pulling his eyes off Amelia, having been eyeing her with an odd look between being impressed and curious, "That means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or who does she remove her ring for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time. So more likely a string of them. Simple".

"That's brilliant!" John exclaimed admiringly, staring at Sherlock and Amelia, "Sorry," he shook his head as they looked at him, Amelia smiling slightly embarrassedly.

"Cardiff?" Lastrade asked, raising an eyebrow doubtfully, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock looked around at John and Lastrade, while Amelia looked at him curiously. His phone…he checked his phone, what had he looked at to get that data? She ran quickly through all the evidence she had compiled from the body, the jewellery, the note, bright pink polished nails that matched her coat, the damp fabric but dry umbrella…her eyes widened. It hadn't rained in London last night, so how could it be possible for the woman to have a wet coat?

"It's not obvious to me," John said slowly, glancing at Lestrade, as though to check that he wasn't following, either.

"Dear God, what's it like inside your funny little brains?" Sherlock looked at both men, shaking his head, "It must be so boring".

"It's her coat, isn't it?" Amelia cut in, and he focused on her immediately. She frowned thoughtfully, looking down at the body, her eyes lingering on the coat, "It's damp, like she was caught in the rain, even under her collar is wet…which means it was windy, she turned it up against the rain…" she said slowly to herself, distractedly reaching up to touch the upturned collar of her own coat, feeling Sherlock's sharp gaze piercing the side of her head as she spoke, "But her umbrella is dry, again, because it was too windy, very windy…" she licked her lips and finally looked back up to Sherlock, meeting his eyes, "It didn't rain in London last night, so she had to come from somewhere else".

"Yes, exactly," he nodded, looking surprised, his eyes lingering on her carefully for a moment longer, before he glanced at John and Lestrade, "We know from the suitcase that she intended to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance and she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried," he looked around at them, "So, where has there been heavy rain and strong winds within the radius of that travel?" he got his phone out of his pocket again and showed the screen to them, showing a webpage with a weather forecast on it, "Cardiff".

"That's fantastic!" John smiled, shaking his head in amazement.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked him in a slightly lower voice then before, turning towards him.

"Sorry, I'll shut up," John said, a little embarrassed.

"No, it's...its fine," Sherlock waved him off, putting his phone back in his pocket.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked, frowning deeply.

"Yes, where is it?" Sherlock asked, looking around the room as Amelia frowned slightly, also casting a look around them, "She must have had a phone, or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is".

"She was writing Rachel?" Lestrade asked as Amelia sighed.

"Oh, honestly, Lestrade," Amelia closed her eyes briefly, as though his words had physically pained her, "You don't seriously think that Anderson's right and she was using her final moments, her final painful moments, to write 'Revenge' in German?" she enjoyed spending time with Lestrade, but sometimes he could be just a little slow when it come to working things out. Not exactly a good thing when you're a detective inspector, "Of course she was writing Rachel," she shook her head, "No other word it could be".

"Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" Sherlock frowned, peering down at the body.

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade sighed, looking curiously back over to Sherlock.

"Back of her right leg, tiny splash marks above the heel and calf, not present on the left leg," Sherlock explained, "She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. You don't get splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, judging by the spread, case that size, woman this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag. So we know she was staying one night," he threw his coat back behind him and squinted down beside the body, "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"Amelia?" Lestrade turned to her.

"There wasn't any suitcase when I arrived," Amelia frowned, shaking her head firmly.

"There wasn't a case".

Sherlock's head snapped up, focusing on Lestrade, "Say that again".

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase".

He jumped up and hurried across to the door, "Suitcase!" he called loudly as he hurried out onto the landing, "Did anyone find a suitcase?" he began to dash down the stairs as Amelia moved to step out onto the landing, watching him go, "Was there a suitcase in this house?"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade quickly stepped out of the room beside Amelia, John hobbling along behind him, peering over the banister railing to Sherlock, who was already halfway down the stairs, "There was no case!"

He stopped on the small landing just below their level, looking back up to them, "They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves," he called back up to them, "There are clear signs that even you lot couldn't miss!"

"Right, yeah," Lestrade rolled his eyes as Amelia shook her head, just as he began to ran down the stairs again, "Thanks for that," he looked back down to Sherlock and shouted to him, "And?"

"Its murder, all of them, but I don't know how," Sherlock said as Lestrade looked at Amelia, remembering her having said that it was murder before, stopping again, "But they're not suicides, they're killings. Serial Killings," he clapped his hands and held his hands up either side of himself, looking utterly delighted, utterly alive, "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to".

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked, looking back down to him.

He stopped mid step and turned to look back up to them, "Her case!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes impatiently at how slowly they were being, "Come on, where is her case, did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case".

"It had to be the killer, you're right," Amelia called down to Sherlock, making him blink, his attention directly onto her, looking vaguely surprised, "They must have driven her after picking her up elsewhere, but made the mistake of taking her case with them".

"Maybe she checked into a hotel, left her case there?" John suggested.

"But she never got to her hotel," Amelia shook her head, glancing across to the older man with a slight frown, "Trust me, if she had she would have fixed her hair and touched up her makeup, this is a woman who takes care of her physical appearance. If she had arrived at her hotel, she certainly would not have left without fixing herself up again, which means that she never got there in the first place …" but she was cut off by Sherlock.

"Oh," Sherlock smiled, his entire face lighting up with realisation, "Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John frowned at his sudden change.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked quickly, almost urgent to get answers, "What?"

"Serial killers are always hard," Sherlock smiled, not really answering, looking off into the distance, "You have to wait for them to make a mistake".

"We can't wait!" Lestrade shouted.

"Oh, we're done waiting," Sherlock shouted back as he started hurrying down the stairs again, "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course, yeah," Lestrade nodded, shouting back down to him as he began to take off down the stairs once more, "But what mistake?"

Sherlock disappeared from sight as he reached the bottom, before poking his head back around to look at them, "PINK!" he shouted, before running out of sight again.

"And you still want me to work with him, Lestrade," Amelia shook her head, glancing at him. This was going to be a challenge, possibly her biggest challenge she had faced yet, though she couldn't help feeling impressed with Sherlock Holmes's, just a little bit. He was the first person she had encountered that she actually felt like she could relate to on some level; he saw the world like she did, like no one else seemed to. But he was dangerous, he could see straight through her and reveal her secrets, and that simply couldn't happen. She had to keep her distance from him.

"Yes," Lestrade said firmly, before walking off with Anderson, leaving John and Amelia alone.

"Shouldn't we be going after Sherlock?" John asked, glancing at her, seeming to expect her to know.

"He would have already left by now," Amelia sighed, "Come on, let's get out of here. Oh, that reminds me, where are you living now? I could find out, but I'm not really in the mood to be going all over London and seeing as I will be working with the two of you for a while, I'm going to need to know what street to go to".

"Baker Street, 221B," John said as they made it slowly down the stairs, John gripping onto the banister railing as they moved, Amelia mindful to keep in step with him.

It took quite a bit of time for them to finally reach the bottom of the stairs and then they were forced to stop again, while John removed his forensic overalls and bootis, Amelia lingering just outside the doorway of the room that had been set up by the forensic officers, trying hard not to look to impatient. But upon walking outside, just as Amelia had said, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. She gave John a sympathetic look as he inhaled loudly beside her, gripping his cane hard.

"Come on," Amelia said softly to him, giving him a small smile. They started walking over to the police tape, when Donavan stopped them.

"He's gone," she told them, seeing John trying to look for Sherlock, even though Amelia had told him that he was gone.

"Sherlock Holmes?" John asked, turning around to face her.

"I did tell you," Amelia said lightly, completely unsurprised. She had heard from Scotland Yard's usually colourful gossip circle that it was quite a normal thing for Holmes to just up and vanish from a crime scene without pausing to say goodbye, caught up on the thrill of the chase, she suspected.

Donovan's eyes flickered over to her, regarding Amelia with an almost bitter look, "He just took off," she shrugged, turning back to John, "He does that".

"Is he coming back?" John frowned, looking slightly torn.

"Didn't look like it".

"Right," John nodded slowly as Donovan said something to the police officer standing next her, "Right," he muttered, more to himself then to either woman, before turning back to Donovan, "Yes, sorry, where am I?"

"Brixton," Amelia answered, taking her blackberry out of her handbag and sighing. The screen was completely black, because of course she had forgotten to put it on her charger the night before, like a complete idiot. It was completely unprofessional of her, something she usually took great cares to ensure she wasn't. She was a private detective, her entire career was based upon her reputation, "I would get us a cab, but my phone just died," she looked back up to John, giving him a apologetic look as she slipped her useless phone back into her bag.

"Do you know where we could get a cab?" John asked Donovan, hesitating slightly, "It's just...ah...well," he looked down at his leg, before looking back up to her, "My leg..."

Donovan sighed and lifted the police tape up for John and Amelia, "Try the main road".

"Thanks," John said as they walked under the tape, Amelia having to duck her head very slightly with a pointed, annoyed look thrown in Donovan's direction.

"But you're not his friend," Donovan told him, just as they had straightened up on the other side of the tape. They both turned around to face her and she glanced at Amelia, "Or hers. They don't have friends," Amelia raised her eyebrows as she eyed John closely, "So who are you?"

"I'm...I'm...nobody," John shook his head. He almost looked sorry as he glanced at Amelia beside him, which was rather nice of him, considering he didn't know her, "I just meet them".

"And for the record, Donovan," Amelia cut in, fixing her with a cool look, "You know nothing about me. Sherlock and I may seem alike, but we're not. Sherlock look's at a body and sees the thrill of the chase. I see a body and I see the sadness for their family and friends. I am not Sherlock Holmes, no matter how my skills make me seem like him".

"It's sad how you actually believe that," Donovan stared at her for a long moment, almost looking amused, though there was no humour in her eyes. She turning to John, "If you take my advice, stay away from them both".

"Why?" John asked as Amelia rolled her eyes, resisting against the urge to ask if she had suddenly become invisible, feeling slightly insulted by Donovan's complete dismissal of her, then her actual words.

"You know why they're here?" she raised an eyebrow at him as she gestured to Amelia, who pretended to look behind her, "Their not payed or anything. They like it. They get off on it. The weirder the crime, the more they get off. And you know what? One day, just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes put it there".

"What about me?" Amelia questioned lightly, as though they were merely discussing the weather, "I would have thought that I would also murder someone in your little twisted world".

"As much as it pains me to agree with you…" she sighed, her eyes flickering over to her, truly looking pained, "You're right. You have too much remorse to kill someone unless you were forced to".

"Why would Sherlock do that?" John frowned, eyeing her.

"Because he's a psychopath," Donovan shrugged, "Psychopaths get bored".

"Donovan!" Lestrade suddenly shouted from the doorway of the house, before Amelia could correct her on calling Sherlock a psychopath. Personally, she didn't think that he was a psychopath, but then again, she had only met him in person once.

"Coming!" Donovan called back as she started walking back towards the house, only to look over her shoulder, fixing John with a firm look, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes".

Amelia lifted an eyebrow, resisting the urge to scoff loudly at her warning as she disappeared from sight. Out the corner of her eye, she glanced at John, finding him staring off after Donovan with a vaguely troubled expression, as though he was struggling to figure out exactly what to believe. She didn't blame him, Donovan's words had been damning and it was painfully obvious that John knew nothing about Sherlock Holmes; he would be a fool not to have some second thoughts. She sighed to herself, a small burst of mist drifting out from between her painted red lips, they didn't have time for this, by now she would have already been halfway towards tracking down the missing suitcase, but she suspected Holmes was already on the trail and…well, she couldn't just leave John behind to fend for himself with his limp. But it didn't mean they couldn't get some work down in the mean time, but not here.

"Forget about her, Doctor Watson," she told the older man, making him blink and glance back to her, "Donovan's never been a fan of mine, so of course she wouldn't like Sherlock. She's not going to have anything overly nice to say about either of us," she began to walk off down the street, keeping her strides slightly shorter and slower then she normally would be comfortable with, sensing John hobbling along beside her, "Anyway, we've got work to do. Let's grab a cab".

They barely took more than five steps down the street, only to hear a phone inside a phone box ringing, just as they had came level to it on the edge of the footpath.

John frowned at it, looking slightly confused at the sight of a public phone box actually ringing, while Amelia narrowed her eyes, already having a good idea of who would be on the other end. There was only one person she could think of who could actually ring a phone box that they just so happened to be passing by, and she had little interest in coming face-to-face with him again. Once, two years ago, had been more than enough for her liking, but she suspected it wasn't her that he was interested in this time, but rather the good doctor beside her. But seriously…were the dramatics really necessary?

"Probably just kids playing a prank," Amelia remarked lightly, pulling her gaze off the phone box and turning to him once more. She fixed a calm smile onto her face as he gave her an uncertain look, obviously not stupid enough to completely fall for the idea that someone just so happened to be ringing a public phone box. Oh, if only he knew the truth. She cleared her throat and looked back up the road ahead of them, pointedly pulling her long, woollen coat tighter around herself, "Come on, my legs are freezing".

Edited: 6/6/2019. So I've decided to completely edit this story, and when I say that I'm editing it, I mean that pretty much every single line and sentence has been checked and likely changed slightly in some way, even if it's just in regards to grammar or a change in word choice. I love this series so much and over the years, my writing has improved and changed drastically, so much so that I look back upon these old chapters and just want to cringe with embarrassment, so I'm making it my little side project to clean it up and try to look back on these chapters with pride. I doubt I'll ever be satisfied with it, there's no such thing as a finished story in my mind, but I can at least try to improve the spelling, grammar, and possible basic word choices. So here we go, I'll try to do this quickly, but I don't want to rush it and continue making mistakes or missing old ones, so I am going to take my time.

In regards to the story line itself, it will remain the same, some scenes may be changed very slightly in order to fit with the characters personality better, now that I feel as though I have a better understanding on what makes them tick, including Amelia, so nothing massive like that should be changed. I'm mostly going to be tidying things up, adding a bit more thought, emotion, and detail into scenes, and hopefully have a story that is actually legible.

I hope you liked it, please review :)