I tried to re-read this at least million times but there might still be few mistakes. Sorry for that.

Warnings for potential drug use, language and fingers.

Hope you enjoy!

He half walked and half dragged me behind him while striding off to Lestrade. He eyed carefully our surroundings before he opened his mouth. We were in a park, close to Grange Park's primary school.

"I assume you don't have any chairs nearby", he said pretty loudly, frowning. Lestrade turned around and sighed in relief.

"Oh, it's you. Finally", the police officer said when he recognized us. But then his facial expression became confused.

"Chair? Why would we have chairs here? It's a crime scene, Sherlock, not a family gathering!" Lestrade answered raising his voice due surprise.

"Oh, pity", he, Mr. Holmes, Mr. Sherlock Holmes snorted and tilted his head a little before continuing, "you should get a few. Maybe we could have a nice little picnic here. Eating somefingers between our hot dogs, perhaps?"

Even I knew he was being sarcastic, the expression on Lestrade's face didn't look like the police inspector understood it. After staring at Sherlock for few seconds with his mouth hanging open, Lestrade gathered himself.

"The main thing is that you are here. Come on now, follow me", the police officer said and waved to Anderson so he would come with us. Sherlock sneered next to me. He hated forensic scientist Anderson almost as badly as Anderson hated him. With a sigh he dragged me with him to follow Lestrade through the park and under the caution tape straight to the scene of the crime. There were dozens of police officers around searching for the clues and keeping the ordinary citizens out of the way. Lestrade led us through the crime scene and stopped in front of the biggest tree on sight. We were standing in the shadow of the tree and could see the Grange Park's primary school from the place we were at.

"We don't know yet who he is. He didn't have his ID with him. What can you tell from this?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, stepping away from the way so we could see they dead young man lying behind him. He was everything I had imagined; a pretty tall boy with many tattoos, piercings and short black hair. He had been beaten up badly but there were no signs of blood. Only his middle finger – or the place where it should have been – had caused a little pool of blood on the ground. Sherlock squinted his eyes a bit.

"John, can you stand on your own?" he asked, his eyes focused on the body on the ground. I frowned a bit when I nodded.

"Of course I can. I'm fine", I answered, trying to shake his hand off from my shoulders.

"You sure? You don't look like it" he checked. I could feel the corner of my eyes to start twitching. His worry – if you can call it that - was starting to become annoying. And you do not annoy people who suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. Especially if you don't want to get punched in the face.

"Yes, Sherlock. I'm fine. Stop asking that", I repeated, this time a little bit louder, clamping my lips together. When I looked up to see his face, he was smiling a crooked smile. It wasn't a happy smile, it was cynical and emotionless. He pulled his arm away – slowly, but did anyway – and took few steps closer to the victim. This was the first time I actually got a good change to look around. I had been too concentrated on him and his skinny arm around me that I hadn't even thought about the dead body lying in front of me. But before I had the chance to make deductions on my own, someone else did that for me.

"A member of a motorcycle-gang found really close to Grange Park's primary school. He has a helmet, but he hasn't been riding a motorcycle recently. Around his 30's, tough guy, has been beaten up badly before. These bruises are about… three days old, you can tell by their colour. All the signs of violence are old; none of them couldn't have been made at the day when he was killed. Except…" he had been speaking to himself, but stopped suddenly when he saw something interesting. He knelt down to the ground, closer to the body.

"He was choked to death", he reported suddenly.

"We already knew that", Lestrade said impatiently, rolling his eyes. Anderson snorted next to him.

"I knew he'd be useless. Why don't you let us do our job? We are capable of doing this. We don't need him around", he whispered to Lestrade.

I, personally, have always thought Anderson was just jealous to Sherlock. And maybe the fact that Sherlock used all his chances to insult him whenever they met had something to do with their constant hate against each other. It'd make perfectly sense. At least for me, I don't know what Sherlock thought about that.

Sherlock lifted his hand to shut Anderson up.

"Did you also know that the person who killed him was a she, or a really young man? And she was a really strong woman, to be precise. Killing someone that much bigger than herself... That must have been something", he said, standing up from the ground now. I was looking at him with confusion.

"H- How and where did you conclude that?" I asked, tilting my head a bit. I was actually used to constantly feeling either confused or amazed because of his special skills. His expression brightened. Here we went again. This was the Sherlock I hadn't seen in a while.

"Elementary, can't you see? Oh, it must be so nice to be that stupid. You don't have to deal with all these things. The marks around his neck! No man could have hands that tiny and slender. You can also find a bit of red nail varnish from the collar of his jacket", he said when he straightened, but stopped to look at the victims finger – or the place where there should have been a finger.

"And for the finger –", he started talking but he broke off his own little speech and rolled his eyes in frustration.

"For god's sake Anderson! Shut up!" he yelled suddenly, without looking at any of us. Anderson flinched with an annoyed look on his face.

"I didn't do anything-"

"Don't think! That's bothering me!" Sherlock snarled, closing his eyes. He took few deep breaths before continuing.

"Actually, just turn around and stop breathing. Your whole persistence is making my brainwork harder" he said coldly. Lestrade just shook his head and gave Anderson a sign to move further away from us. I couldn't help but smile a bit. Everything started to seem so normal again. Sherlock's rude behavior, his joy which leaked between his cold personal walls when he had something to do for his genius mind. It was like the past few weeks had never existed When Anderson sniffed at him and walked away, Sherlock finally opened his eyes to examine the body on the ground once more. Suddenly there was a little smile on his thin lips.

"The finger, yes, the finger! This is a sign. The murderer is giving us a sign. The finger has been cut off nicely, by a professional perhaps. What we need to do, is to find the connection between these three fingers which have went missing. What could she use them for? And why is he here? He is obviously too old to be a primary school student and he doesn't look like a teacher either. And I can't imagine a motorcyclist would like to spend some quiet time in the park" he wondered out loud, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Maybe she took those fingers for their fingerprints?" I guessed, trying to help. Although I knew he probably wouldn't need my help. And I probably wouldn't be very helpful even if I tried. I could feel the dizziness which had been bothering me for a few weeks already coming back. I shook my head and tried to focus again.

"Yes, that may be. This man didn't move after his finger was cut off, you can see that from that little pool of blood under him. It doesn't matter how much you look, but you can't see more of his blood here. So he was killed before the murderer sliced his finger off. And the victims seem to get younger every single time… Next one will probably be a woman, around the age of 20", he said turning around on his heels to meet Lestrade's stare.

"There can't be any next victim. We need to catch the murderer before that", Lestrade demanded.

"Yes, of course we'll try our best. But if we are not quick enough, I'll probably be right. No, actually, I'll be right. I'm always right", Sherlock said and dug his cellphone out from his pocket, handing it to me.

"Here, search for the closest hospital around this area", he ordered me, when he turned back to examine the body. I took the phone and opened the map on it.

"Nuffield Hospital is 0.9 miles away from here but I'm not sure if it's -", I started, but suddenly my voice was gone. I frowned, trying to force my mouth to form even a few words, but nothing came out. I heard Sherlock's voice when he said something to Lestrade, but I couldn't hear it clearly enough to understand the words he was saying.

The phone slipped between my fingers and fell on the ground, shattering into pieces. I saw him, Sherlock, taking one step towards me and opening his mouth to say something.

"John!" he yelled, reaching for my arm. I blinked few times hoping that the odd feeling would just disappear.

My head suddenly felt heavier than before.

I opened my mouth again, trying to say something to them. I saw the scared looks on Lestrade and Sherlock's face. I wanted to say something, tell them there was no need to worry. I was okay. I was always okay.

"I- I'm completely fin-", I tried to calm them down between my teeth.

And then everything went black.

tbc