The ground was slick and reflected the harsh glow of halogen from the police lamps. A small crowd was gathered midway down the alley, blue light glancing off inexpensive suits and old model smart phones. A woman is dead. Another crouches over her, moving around the body, absorbed by it. Her long wavy hair is swept up out of her face, small tendrils escaping down her neck. The latex gloves lending an alien quality to her hands as she carefully touches the woman on the ground.
A man in a long dark coat stalks towards the crowd, his fervor is evident in the clipped tempo of his shoes on the cobbles. His companion tries to keep up, his gait shorter and awkward. The man stops just outside the circle, his eyes focused only on the women.
"It fits with the others so far; right age range, right look. He's got a thing for brunettes whoever he is. Bus boy found her, called it in." Lestrade starts in immediately; his eyes glance down awkwardly at the woman inspecting the body
She doesn't look up, her focus unmoving from the body. She leans forward and inhales, running her tongue over her lips. Tasting.
"Cigarettes, Japanese. Most likely Mild Sevens, given the availability." The woman's voice is direct and softly lilting. Her alien blue hands lifting the body's hands close to her face, inhaling again. Carefully placing the hand on the ground again, she brings her face close to the body's hair, breathing softly.
"She doesn't smoke, neither does her fiancée. The killer might have left the butts on the ground. If that helps."
Lestrade nods appreciatively turning to a sergeant standing on the sidelines. "You heard her. See if you can find any-"
"I am sorry, what's going on? Who is she?" John Watson steps out from behind Sherlock.
"She could smell the cigarettes, but not on the hands or hair. If she were the smoker her hands would have stains. The fiancée; her hair would smell of it. Clever" Sherlock Holmes' pale eyes never leave the woman's face. She looks up at him, her eyes are hazel, and they search him for a moment. She smiles in response, standing slowly.
Her body is lithe and athletic, used to moving with intention.
"You two keep saying 'fiancée'. How do you know there is a fiancée?" Lestrade interjects. He wants to disrupt their intense gaze, block the woman from Sherlock's assessing looks. He also knows this would be futile.
The woman has begun circling towards the body's feet while Sherlock is circling to her head.
"Small indent on the skin of her ring finger on the left hand. She normally has a ring." Sherlock is focused on the body now.
Lestrade is still confused "How do we know it was an engagement ring? Could be any old ring, didn't fit her outfit-"
The woman has crouched again looking at the bare feet of the body.
"Lighter skin under the band, no discolouration hence the metal is precious. He had to work it off her finger. Suggests it was properly fit by a jeweler." She smiles at Sherlock as he rattles off the details.
Lestrade nods, accepting their reasoning.
"We're looking for a fiancée, somebody is looking for this woman. Make sure we find him first." He announces walking towards a knot of officers.
"Where in God's name did you find a female Sherlock?" John whispers, catching up with him.
"John" Sherlock calls, standing up and walking away from the body. "Take a look, I want a Doctor's opinion-' he glances at the woman 'or should I say a medical doctor's opinion." Sherlock walks towards the bins lining the alley, he barely pauses as he passes Lestrade and John. "He drugs them."
Lestrade leans in to John whispering back, there is a cheeky look in his eye. He trusts John to have noticed the woman is stunning. "A gala if you can believe it, I tried to pick her up and she told me all about my own divorce"
"He was very charming, I was tempted."
The woman barely made noise on the cobbles as she approached the men, catching the tail end of their whispering. Her accent is more prominent when she is speaking to Lestrade. Her smile is slow and knowing and she stands too close to him. He instinctively leans into her, protective of her attention. "Really, Gregory I am useless without insects. I don't know why you wanted me"
"I don't know about that, Doctor" Lestrade's voice is low, his smile in his eyes. "I have found you quite enlightening."
John stands awkwardly between them.
"John Watson" He offers his hand to the woman. She turns her smile on him now, it is genuine, but her lips have lost the sultry quirk.
"Serene" Her voice catches on the 'r', her tongue sliding gently into the 'n'. Her eyes sweep over John.
"Please forgive my flirting, I can't help myself." Her eyes flick quickly to Lestrade, who becomes sheepishly engrossed in his phone.
"No, no, please" John lifts his eyebrows in appreciation of Lestrade's conquest.
"It is a fool's errand." Serene touches his arm briefly winking before following Lestrade, "he is going to strike again tonight."
Lestrade pulls his phone away from his ear. "How can you be sure?"
Serene looks back towards the entrance to the club, Sherlock Holmes is walking back, he is energetic under his cool demeanor. Serene's eyes are also alight with the puzzle. "She didn't make it far enough, he wants a chase."
Sherlock had come to a stop, staring again at Serene.
"French. Interesting. Really, Lestrade I don't know why you bother. She's clever, but she isn't what I need." He turns his eyes away from Serene at last, dismissing her. He walks back towards the body. "I am surprised you are only calling me in now. You would think one would be too many, but five?"
"Six if we don't hurry. And Quebecois." Serene counters his mistake with a satisfied grin. She and Lestrade follow him.
"But you studied in Paris" Sherlock's eyes move from Lestrade to Serene and back again.
"Alright you two, explain. What makes you think he is going to kill again tonight?"
"Her feet." Sherlock sounds as if he is revealing the obvious.
Lestrade rubs his chin in his hand, frustration pouring out of him. "Why do I bother? Alright what do we do?"
"Do you know anything about lions, Greg?"
Serene leans in coyly, her hands smoothing Lestrade's lapels.
"Lions?" The Detective's voice is incredulous; this night has gotten away from him.
Serene smiles as she reaches up to Lestrade's collar pulling it open. "This man seems to like them."
The men stand silently as Serene undresses Lestrade, his eyes are fixed on her, still and uncertain. John is uncomfortable staring at his feet, but Sherlock is smiling the unnatural gleam of the game in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, what?" Lestrade stumbles out as Serene begins to walk towards the mouth of the alley, her hips swaying, she pulls her hair out of its hasty bun, running her fingers through it. In the dark night, her slim build and long brown hair it as if the dead woman has risen and is walking out to the light of the street.
"Brilliant" Sherlock pronounces walking passed the two stunned men. "Don't you see? She's the bait. We go where he goes next, make sure he sees her"
Lestrade takes after them, John Watson bringing up the rear. "How do we know where he is going to go next?"
"He likes lions. Think where his victims were found; The Red Lion, the White Lion, the Blue Lion, the Three Johns on White Lion Street, Cross Keys was on Black Lion Lane."
"This is London, Sherlock, every pub is Lion-mad. It's a coincidence!" Lestrade shouts after Sherlock.
Sherlock doesn't even turn around to counter Lestrade's frustration. "The universe is rarely so lazy."
Serene is at the mouth of the alley; she is flagging down a taxi. Sherlock catches up with her.
He watches her appraisingly; the street is empty at the moment. Her eyes are wide set, almond shaped. Her mouth could be described as generous. Her unremarkable features are set aflame by the intelligence she exudes from every pore.
They are silent a moment, but soon Serene sees a light in the distance; she recognizes its shape, a taxi. She begins waving it down. The cab alters course towards them and Serene looks at Sherlock.
"Send Dr. Watson home to his wife. We'll be fine tonight, without him."
"John wants to be here."
"He is clearly exhausted."
Sherlock looks down the alley as the taxi pulls up. Lestrade is delegating before he leaves, John leans on his hip, unbalanced.
Serene opens the back door, waving to Lestrade. "You'll need to find your own Mr. Holmes. Don't want to give up the game before we've begun."
Lestrade finally arrives at the taxi, shifting his body into the back, self-conscious of the beautiful woman waiting for him. "You coming, Holmes?"
"I'll follow"
The cab door swings closed and they drive off into the night. Sherlock Holmes stands in the street, steam from the sewers fuming up around his coat. He stands still but he vibrates with anticipation. John walks up to him, hesitant. He has never seen anything like tonight, Sherlock on equal footing with someone.
"So, you're desperate to say it. How did you know from her feet?"
Sherlock turns sharply looking at John, his eyes narrowed. He wants to say, but can't tell if John is making fun of him or not. He takes a deep breathe before launching into his measured speech, unable to leave a question unanswered.
"I found her shoes, she is 10 meters from the door, and her shoes were half that distance. If she'd run for it her feet would have been cut and dirty, but they weren't. He caught her right away, she struggled, but he lifted her. He got her out of the light, behind the bins before beginning to strangling her. Or at least that was his intention. She hit her head as he got her to the ground; she died faster than he wanted. No chase, no game"
Sherlock lifts his hand as more lights approach a black cab pulls up. He opens the door looking expectantly at John who slides in first. He raises his eyebrows at Sherlock's manners. John leans forward looking up at Sherlock.
"Coming?"
"Not with you. Go home to Mary."
"What? You're sending me home?"
"You're no good to me tired."
Sherlock slams the door, thumping the top of the cab with his other hand as it takes off into the night.