Unconnected

Chapter 2: Persistent

Sherlock just smirked at her and turned back to the paperwork on her desk. Quickly, he flipped to the last page, pointing to the last outgoing call ever made on Rashika's phone. "Now that is interesting."

"So it is," Sally breathed.

The last call was made at least 2 hours after Rashika's time of death.

สสส

"How could a dead woman make a phone call?"

"Clearly she didn't," Sherlock answered her rhetorical question. "But someone did."

"So what, we message the phone to lure the killer out like you did in the Study in Pink?" Sally wondered aloud, her mind whirring with possible ways to track the phone and the killer down.

"Must everyone quote that infernal blog?" Sherlock scoffed before continuing. "Messaging Rashika's phone won't help. The killer has most likely tossed it by now. We'll have to track him down a different way."

"How do you know he chucked the phone?"

Sherlock sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose before delineating the obvious. "The killer is cautious, he keeps hidden from the cameras and lures his victims to where they can't be observed. He kills quickly, as though acting more on compulsion than desire. We know he is about 5'7" and 150 lbs. based on the blows he's delivered, but we have no data yet on age, race, or any other defining characteristic. So, he's aware of how to stay hidden. Any random person on the street could tell you that the police have the capability to trace a call and track the GPS chip in the phone. Do you really think he would make a call and then keep the phone with him as though he were waving a banner advertising his whereabouts?"

"So we don't trace the phone, then?"

Sherlock sighed again. "Are you quite sure you're capable of taking care of yourself in the morning, or do you need even someone as useless as Anderson to tie your shoes and tell you what to wear? Of course we trace the phone. The killer dropped it somewhere; we need to find it. It can tell us the general direction of where the killer went afterwards, as well as who he called."

"But you said—"

"I said that we had to track the killer another way, not that the phone was unhelpful. Please do keep up, and if it's at all possible, try to keep thinking."

Sally was then summarily dismissed as Sherlock dropped the appropriate forms approving a search on the phone into her hands before airily walking out. Her eyes squinted in dislike after him, though she couldn't help but feel something akin to gratitude, despite his manner.

ษษษ

A few hours later, Sally was searching an abandoned area along the Thames. The GPS search had narrowed it down to a decently sized radius. Now she just had to find the blasted thing. Snapping on a pair of gloves, her eyes scanned the overgrown grass and scattered litter. The possible places where the phone could be were a bit daunting.

The car door slamming behind her indicated that her unwelcomed search partner was ready to begin his part.

"Lovely little spot for a stroll," Anderson grumbled.

"You asked to come along," Sally reminded him, already a bit weary of his company.

"Yes, well it seemed the only way to get you alone to talk."

"Been busy."

"Yeah, I noticed that. How's life with the freak?"

"How's your wife doing?"

"Lisa has nothing to do with this. Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't," she hedged.

"I haven't seen you in three weeks."

"We see each other every day at work."

"I haven't seen you alone in three weeks," he amended.

"Like I said, been busy."

"That, or maybe you found a new play toy. Is that what you're really doing with the freak, then? Having a bit of a go in between working the case?"

Sally glared at him. "Have you ever thought I might be motivated by professional curiosity?"

A mocking scoff was her answer as they both turned the brunt of their attention back to the search.

"All I know is that if you aren't coming to me anymore, you must be going to someone else," Anderson muttered a few minutes later.

"Believe it or not, not all of us need sex to survive."

"Mmhmm," came his unconvinced hum. A part of Sally wanted to pursue the matter, clearing her name of any besmirching ideas, but she found that ultimately, she didn't really care about his opinion of her. She simply didn't care anymore.

Anderson's opinion was not the one that mattered anymore; a realization that disturbed her more than a little.

Silently, they continued their search for the next hour. Sally studiously avoided Anderson's gaze and kept her distance as much as she could with him following after her. She wondered where the sudden revulsion had come from, though she didn't have to wonder for long. As soon as she began to think about Anderson, Sherlock's mocking face loomed in front of her.

It hadn't been too long ago that the situation was reversed.

Although Sally had seen the imposing consulting detective around the Yard, she had not had any direct contact with him until that day. It had appeared to be a simple hit and run case, straight forward despite the tragedy. They had been wrapping the scene up when the tall man strode in with his coat tails flapping behind him. Within two minutes, he had determined that the seemingly accidental death was in fact a premeditated affair in which the man had been run down by his jealous wife. Bored with the banality of such a commonplace motivator as emotion, he then moved on to deduct the officers around him, announcing them loudly to the rest of the force.

Anderson had been the one person to challenge him, claiming that Sherlock had probably never been able to get on the force on his own right, so he had to tag along behind the professionals like a lost puppy, growling at anyone who tried to pet him.

Though the rest of the officers were stunned by Anderson's audacity, Sherlock had simply smirked and walked off.

Thirty minutes later, Sally had Anderson pushed up against a wall, hungrily devouring him as she clawed at his clothes. The first time had not been sweet or slow, but what it had lacked in intimacy it more than made up for in intensity.

It was not until later that Sally had realized that Sherlock had not walked away out of defeat but out of disdain. The idea that Sherlock could have wanted to be an officer but unable was ludicrous. By asserting that it was his hidden motive, Anderson had made himself a fool. But still, it had taken some time for Sally to admit it to herself.

A sliver of something shiny caught the corner of her eye. Just as she was leaning to pick it up, it started trilling. Surprised, her hand jerked back for a moment before picking up the mobile phone.

A familiar voice sounded through the speakers.

"Ah, good, you found it then."

"Sherlock? Why are you calling this phone?"

"Helping, obviously." She could almost hear his eyebrows being raised.

"Helping. Right. Who said anything about needing help?"

"Clearly since you picked it up almost immediately, you either already found it or, more likely, had just found it. If you had attempted to call it before, you wouldn't have needed to search for so long. Remember to use everything in your disposal to find your clues quickly."

"…o-kay?" Was the Sherlock Holmes truly just being helpful, or was there more—

"Now bring it back to Baker Street so I can get what evidence I need before your lab destroys anything that might be useful."

A small sound indicate that he'd hung up. Rolling her eyes, Sally put the phone into the evidence bag and sealed it. Anderson, of course, was right by her side as she did so, having appeared as soon as she had said Sherlock's name.

"What did the freak want? To know when you'd be coming home?"

A glare was the only answer she gave him before turning to go back to the car.

สสส

"Oi! Anyone in?" she called up the stairs after letting herself in through the unlocked door downstairs. Even though there was no answer, she continued on up the steps, opening the door at the top to reveal Sherlock stretched out on the couch, his eyes closed in thought with his fingers steepled under his chin.

"Hey!"

Sherlock looked up, clearly disgruntled over being disturbed. "So you ended up bringing the phone to the lab anyway, I see. Found nothing, I presume, or it's unlikely you'd be here."

"You don't think I'd come if I didn't have anything else to go on?"

"There wouldn't be any need, would there? If you had found something, you'd follow that lead until it inevitably lead you nowhere, upon which you would then come back here, asking for more help from me."

"Well, no, you're right. They found nothing on the phone."

"Give it here," he demanded, holding out his hand.

Sally plunked the device in his hand, sitting down on the chair next to him after doing so. She watched as his long fingers turned it over and over, his eyes seeking out all the hidden secrets it contained. The infuriating part for her was the knowledge that no matter how much she studied him, there was no way she'd ever be able to fully possess his natural deduction abilities. Git.

"New model, only a few months old, internet access, but the killer didn't want anything to do with that feature, only to make a call. Silver charm, dolphin, dangling from the top, no other distinguishing features. Classic boring black case, common phone, clearly meant more to gain access into social circles, not to set any trends."

Tossing the phone back to her, he continued.

"The real question is why he took the phone at all. He could have left it with the body. He didn't really need it, he could have made a call on any phone, or even asked to borrow a phone if it came to that. So what made Rashika so special?"

"You think the phone is related to why she was killed?"

"Of course, why else would he have anything to do with her? Besides, it's the only factor that all of the victims have in common."

Sally stared at him. "What? I thought there were no connecting factors among them."

"What did I tell you about looking?" Sherlock sighed in frustration. Tossing the files at the bemused sergeant, he continued. "All three victims had their phones taken, only to be found about a block or so away from their bodies. Each time, the killer used the phone before he tossed it, to call the same number. All three phones also had the same charm attached to it."

"I'll be dammed," she whispered.

"Highly unlikely over such an oversight, unless you're referring to a compilation of sins."

He almost expected the glare she sent at him. He had noticed that it was her standard response whenever she knew she'd been bested.

"Why didn't you tell us there was a link?"

"Why didn't you see such an obvious link?" he challenged.

"So what's our next step, then?" she asked, deciding it was better to move on to action rather than dither about placing blame.

"Isn't it obvious? It's the same way you catch any creature: dangle some bait and wait for it to bite."

Sally did not like the gleam in the detective's eyes. Nope, not one little bit.

พพพ

"Bloody git. I feel ridiculous," Sally muttered under her breath as she shifted back and forth in an attempt to ward off the cold. She was standing outside of a bar downtown, pretending to fiddle with her phone. Her phone just happened to have a shiny new silver dolphin dangling from it.

After playing with her phone in public for a good twenty minutes, she began to walk, being sure to keep the phone visible as she pretended to use it. In reality, she was scrolling through old emails and calculating just how much overtime she was racking up walking around the entire city.

When her phone buzzed in her hands, it startled her. As odd as it seemed, she had nearly forgotten it was there, it had been in her hand so long that it nearly felt like an extension of herself after several hours.

Opening up her message folder, she saw a new text from Sherlock.

Any news yet?

Yeah. My ass is about to freeze and fall off. Sally smirked as she hit the send button. Let the great detective make of that what he would.

A minute later, she received another text.

That would be a shame. Try sitting on it inside a coffee shop for a while.

Was he…flirting? No, that couldn't possibly be it. Maybe…

"Sergeant Donovan," came a deep voice at her elbow. Jerking her eyes from the confusing text to the sender himself standing next to her, she barely noticed as he took her elbow and led her into a nearby café.

"What's this, then?" she challenged as she slid into a chair that had been pulled out for her.

"I was concerned you might start losing body parts if you stayed outside much longer."

"Would that be a bad thing?" She crossed her arms and legs an leaned back. Oh, God, am I flirting?

"It would certainly hamper the investigation to have to bring someone else in at this point if you were to get sick," came the logical response. Sally's stomach dropped with unexpected disappointment before he continued on. "Besides, I wouldn't want anything to happen to such a nice ass-set."

Before she could blink in response, he was summoning a server over to order two coffees. By the time he turned back, the moment was gone, and he was clearly in a working mindset.

"We have been on the look for our suspect now for the past three hours, and we have not had any sign yet. I think we may have to resume this on another night. Tomorrow, we can try in a different part of town."

"I'm not sure we've given this area a decent chance yet," she challenged. "You were the one who said this night and place were the most likely to contain our man. I say we give it a bit longer."

"Can you stand any longer?" Although his question was said without any emotion, there was a glimmer of concern that she barely caught. Then again, maybe it was just her imagination.

"I'll be fine," she dismissed his question. "I've been on the force far too long to be a wilting violet like the women you're apparently connected with."

Sherlock scoffed as he thought about the other women of his acquaintance. Irene Adler was certainly not a 'wilting flower,' nor was Molly Hooper, who possessed surprising strength despite being such a people pleaser. Even Mrs. Hudson had a core of strength. Any woman who regularly interacted with him would need to have some measure of strength just to endure repeated exposure to his brashness.

No one could remain soft around him, not like…well, it wouldn't do to think of her at the moment.

"A few more hours, and then we'll see about calling it a night," Sally gulped down the rest of her coffee, bracing herself for the chill as she swept back outside, not waiting for a response.

Sherlock stared after her, annoyed and a bit…amused. She'd certainly keep any man on his toes.

ฯฯฯ

Sally walked along the darkened street, her phone idly sitting in her hand. Passing the mouth of an ally, she heard a noise that caught her attention. Looking towards the source, she saw an elderly woman with a cane struggling with an armload of parcels.

"Excuse me, ma'am, do you need some help?" Sally asked, stepping closer, just as another package tumbled from the woman's arms.

"Oh, dear," came the mumbled response seemingly half in an answer and half directed to herself.

Bending to pick up the fallen package, Sally heard a sudden, swift motion behind her before everything went blank.

AN: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay. Apparently starting a new story just before changing countries is not a good idea. The next chapter is nearly finished, so it should be up much sooner. Tell me what you think! Reviews are the fuel for my writing. When they are lacking, my motivation wanes.

Thank you to VivaCohen, Sorbus Acuparia, and a-few-of-these-verses for your reviews. Reviews motivate me to keep writing when I am wont to get distracted.