Chapter 2

Royston was a small town not far from Cambridge. Little shops were all along the streets as Sherlock and John drove through. When they arrived at the crime scene, Lestrade was already there waiting.

"How did he get here so fast?" John asked but Sherlock ignored him and hopped out of the car.

"Fred, this is Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade said to Detective Inspector Henith as Sherlock and John walked up. Henith smiled.

"Oh, I remember Sherlock," the older man said as he pulled Sherlock in for a hug. "How are 'ya, boy? Sherlock used to try to help with our cases around the town." The inspector laughed. "He would just walk on in with a whole notebook full of information he had gathered. I always told him he should go into the force."

Sherlock smirked sheepishly. "I have an authority problem."

Henith roared with laughter and slapped Sherlock on the back. "That you do, that you do!"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Inspector, this is my colleague Doctor Watson."

Inspector Henith and John shook hands. "Well, I suppose I should take you all through the crime scene."

They came to the body which had been pulled up from the pond onto a blue tarp. Sherlock immediately went pale when he saw the woman lying there. John touched his friend's arm in concern. "Sherlock?" he said quietly.

"That's Rose Simon. She was...in my class," Sherlock said. He was obviously taken aback.

"I didn't know you knew her Sherlock, I'm sorry. I should've warned you," Henith said. But Sherlock quickly regained his composure.

"No matter. John? Will you examine the body first, please?" Sherlock looked at his friend.

John nodded and walked over to the body. All she had on was a bra and blue jeans, but there was no clear sign of rape. There were red strangulation marks and bruises around her neck, which indicated cause of death as asphyxiation. She also had multiple lacerations on her stomach and chest. John mentioned all of his examinations out loud, and Sherlock was hovering over his shoulder listening intently.

"I'd say time of death was about twelve to fourteen hours ago," John said.

Henith was getting irritated. "Yes, our specialists have already reported that."

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said, ignoring the older inspector.

John nodded and continued to examine. When he lifted her right arm, Sherlock kneeled beside him. "Something's carved on her arm," John said as he squinted to look at it.

"Alive and well, sir," Sherlock and John both read aloud simultaneously.

Henith sighed. "Yes, yes. We've seen it. Sherlock, you're here to help us figure out the evidence we can't see."

Sherlock ignored him. "What do you make of that?" he asked his companion.

"I don't know. The murderer could have wrote it there. A taunt?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded his head. "No, that was most defiantly her writing it on herself."

"You mean she cut into herself to write a clue?" Lestrade asked.

"How can you be so sure it wasn't the killer?" the other inspector interjected.

Sherlock pointed to the arm. "If murderers want to write messages, they do it in a larger and more open area. Like the back, or chest. But no, this is on the inside of the bicep. There is ink residue in the wounds, so she clearly used a pen to do it. Probably in the back of the killer's car when he wasn't looking. She must have known that he was throwing her into the pond, or she would've just written on herself instead. But then there's–" Sherlock stopped mid deduction and arose to his feet. "No...no, that doesn't make sense."

"What?" John asked.

"I clearly remember that Rose Simon was right handed," Sherlock said in confusion.

"So?" Henith asked.

"So, how can a right handed person write on their right arm?" Sherlock asked. "It's legible, so obviously she did it with her dominant hand. But her left hand is not her dominant hand."

"Well, maybe you remember it wrong! Hell, Sherlock, that was years ago," Henith continued.

"No. No, look," Sherlock lifted her left hand. "She has calluses on her fingertips. That means she was a right handed guitar player." Henith removed the glasses from his pocket to look at Sherlock's findings.

"So it was the murderer, then," Lestrade said.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it can't be. She did it so it could be easily hidden. She was already bleeding from the other slashes on her, so if she put her arm down, she could hide the message from her attacker who would not be wary of any extra bleeding." Henith looked at Lestrade, who only shrugged. John was smiling.

The inspectors decided to send the body to the medical examiner and meet at the mortuary the next morning. Sherlock was the only one who objected to this, saying that there would be precious time being wasted. But John reminded him that a real examination from a professional would give them the most information. And besides that, John was really wanting to rest.

Sherlock and John headed to the car. "I'm excited about meeting your parents," John said.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked as he opened the driver's side.

John was confused. "We're staying at your parents, yes?"

"Why would we do that?" Sherlock blinked. John only smiled, and they drove to a local inn.

The inn was very small, and only had one suite which Sherlock insisted on having. "They are the cleanest," was his reasoning. When John went to book his own room, Sherlock stopped him.

"I would prefer if you stayed in my room," he said. The young receptionist giggled.

"Are you insane?" John whispered. "I'm not sleeping with you, Sherlock."

"It's a suite, John, there are two beds," Sherlock sounded annoyed.

"Yes, he's correct. The suite comes included with two queen sized beds," the receptionist commented.

John sighed. "Alright, fine. But why?"

"I will not have you stay in those filthy rooms. I used to work here in secondary school, so I know how bad they are," he said and carried his luggage towards the stairs.

Once they settled in and went back to the lobby to decide on a place to eat, they were greeted by Myrcoft. Sherlock sighed heavily when he saw him.

"Hello, John," Mycroft smiled. John nodded at him. "So, Sherlock, how long were you planning on ignoring Mum and Dad?"

"Ignore them?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Mycroft stood up from his seat. "They've been calling you. Apparently they heard on the news you'd be in town." Sherlock shrugged.

Mycroft tapped his foot in irritation. "Well, I'm going to dinner over there tonight and I expect you to come to. Please, be an adult about this."

Sherlock looked away and placed his hands behind his back. "I'm not hungry."

"You were just complaining about not eating a few minutes ago," John interrupted. He refused to be part of this sibling rivalry.

Sherlock glared at him. "I will tell Mum you're ignoring her on purpose," Mycroft warned. His brother stared at him.

"Alright," Sherlock growled. He never liked to lose. "We'll come to dinner."