Detective Inspector Tobias Gregson of the Serious and Organized Crime Command received a call on his mobile at dawn. He mumbled and rubbed his eyes as he reached for the bedside table.

"Yeah?"

"It's Jones. Sorry to wake you up but we have an emergency situation." Gregson frowned and sat up. He ran a hand down his fair hair and got ready to climb out of the bed.

"What happened?"

"It's about Fred Porlock." Gregson noticed that Jones's voice was slightly shaking. "I received a call from the surveillance team that he's been missing for the past 12 hours."

"What?" Gregson exclaimed and jumped out of bed. He stumbled towards his dressing closet. "What do you mean, missing?" He demanded as he grabbed a fresh pair of shirt.

"He went out for an evening stroll around four in the afternoon. It wasn't unusual, he does it every day and comes back after half an hour but this time he never came back. We can't contact his mobile phone either."

"Why didn't I hear about this earlier?" He exploded as he pulled on his trousers.

"The team thought he would be back after a while. He does that occasionally. He goes for a stroll, disappears and comes back after several hours saying that he felt like taking longer walks. The team knew that he was saying the truth because they were always tailing him but this time they lost him. They didn't bother to find him. They thought that he would come back again." Gregson swore under his breath. Fred Porlock was a petty thief and a drug addict, who had promised to testify against a lethal drug trafficking member in court. He had gone under a witness protection scheme. There was no reason for Porlock to run away. A lump formed in Gregson's throat.

"The surveillance team's been searching the perimeter for hours but they need reinforcements and so they contacted me." Jones said wearily. "I'm sorry, Sir. I should have known…"

"Take command of the situation until I arrive at office." Gregson ordered briskly and turned off the phone.

Detective Inspector Lestrade flipped through the documents that he received from the drugs directory. The local patrol officer found the young man heavily drunk on the road side at midnight that day. They questioned him and found that he was unable to reply properly. They noticed his unnatural behavior and realized that he wasn't a typical drunk. They searched his belongings and found a small plastic bag with an unknown white powdery substance in it. They immediately held him under arrest and escorted him to the nearby police station where he was filed and put in custody. The blood sample and the substance proved to be a mixture of several Class A and Class C drugs. Sherlock Holmes is now waiting to either be bailed out or be sent to court for a trial.

The detective looked up to see a haggard-looking, gaunt man dressed in slim jeans and dark turquois blue open collar shirt enter the interviewing room. His hands were cuffed in front of him. Despite the young man's unstable footing and debilitated state, Lestrade noticed that there was something elegant about his face. Sherlock Holmes had sharp, light blue eyes and a prominent nose. His jaws were closed tightly and his lips were drawn in a straight line. His hair was short, chestnut brown and had a slight curl around the tail and the ears. If Lestrade didn't know better, he would have believed that Sherlock Holmes was an innocent, pampered, Boy Scout charmer. It was the kind of boys that Lestrade never got along with when he was in school. The detective inspector shook the thought away from his head. This man wasn't exactly an innocent Boy Scout. He's been caught using drugs three times already. But he had to admit that the man was pampered. Somehow he had managed to get away with the last three charges with just a minor fine. He must have hired a pretty darn good lawyer. That means his parents or something must be backing him up. What a spoiled kid… Sherlock Holmes sat in front of Lestrade, across the small table. Constable Riley hovered at the door before he exited it.

"Would you like something to drink, Sir?" Lestrade turned to Riley and asked for two cups of coffee. Then, he leaned back on his chair and looked at the convict.

"My name is Detective Inspector Lestrade from the Metropolitan Police Service." A crooked smile broke across Holmes's face.

"Ah, the one from the Homicide and Serious Crime Command… What is a serial murder investigator doing here at a time like this? Found a new body, I presume?" Lestrade stared back at bewilderment. At first he was surprised to find the man's voice lower than he had expected. Then, he was taken aback by the elegant manner of his speech, which matched his intelligent facial features perfectly. Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes didn't look as young as Lestrade had first seen him. He didn't even dare ask how he knew about the body. Holmes beamed back and widened his smile

"Please, I read the papers, Detective Inspector." He answered gleefully as if he had read his mind. Lestrade opened his mouth but he couldn't find the right words to say. The man's unexpected ostentatious attitude took him by surprise. He was only saved by Riley who had entered the room at the perfect timing and delivered them two cups of steaming hot coffee. The crispy smell wafted in the room and cleared the detective's head up. Lestrade thanked Riley politely and cleared his throat.

"I want to ask you some questions concerning the process of obtaining this drug of yours." He said in a dead pan tone. Holmes reached for the cup with his cuffed hands and raised a brow quizzically at Lestrade. The detective inspector didn't like the gesture at all. It felt as if he was being mocked. Holmes wrapped his long fingers around the cup and dragged it towards him.

"Interesting" There was a momentarily pause before the young man opened his mouth again.

"Either you found a similar batch at a crime scene or it was found in one of the victim's body…judging from your speediness, I assume that it's the latter. And considering the unconventional time of your visit…" Sherlock Holmes lifted the cup carefully with his two hands and sipped the coffee. "You found the body somewhere around 2 to 3 in the morning. Am I right?" Before Lestrade could stop himself, he was nodding with an astonished look on his face. Holmes lowered the cup and leaned back on his chair. He scratched his cheek and sniffed before he bit his lip and furrowed his brow. He gazed at Lestrade with a studying look. Lestrade was simply paralyzed like a rabbit in the headlights.

"That means the body wasn't abandoned indoors. It had to be found somewhere people passed by twenty four seven. Possibly a public restroom..." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "No, all bodies in public restrooms so far are found in the time period between 6 to 10 in the evening or late mornings…then where else…" The young man tapped his fingers on the table. Lestrade opened his mouth.

"No don't tell me." Sherlock Holmes said briskly. Lestrade glowered at him.

"I wasn't going to. Look, that's none of your business. I just want to know where you got your drugs." He needed to regain control over this conversation. He had accidently let Sherlock Holmes dominate the rally. Holmes didn't reply for a while. He aligned the tip of his fingers together neatly and drew it up to his chin. "Holmes-"

"Aha, the traffic" Sherlock smiled. Lestrade ignored the remark and pressed on.

"Tell me where-"

"Am I right?"

"You don't need to know."

"But I am right?"

"Look-"

"Am I?" Sherlock Holmes demanded and leaned forward.

"Yes." Lestrade paused to take a breath. "Now if you don't mind, I would like you to-"

"If you're hoping to identify the victim through the drug dealer, you're up to no luck."

"What, why not?" The moment Lestrade blurted these words out he wanted to slap himself in the head. Sherlock Holmes was flinging him around all over the place, Lestrade was losing grip of his authority. He should have said something like, "That's for me to decide." Or "That's not what I'm implying to do." He couldn't believe that Sherlock Holmes was under the influence of drugs at the moment. Didn't Riley say that he was heavily intoxicated? Lestrade ran a hand over his face in frustration.

"Anonymous trade, I never meet the dealers. I leave the money and my request at a particular place and after a few days, I'll find the supply hidden in another different place. We never meet. Besides, there's a hierarchical system among the consumers. The dealers rank us." Lestrade expected Holmes to continue his explanation but the young man didn't say anything. He simply looked back at him, expecting Lestrade to draw his own conclusion. Noticing that the detective inspector was incapable of doing so, the young man sighed and rolled his eyes. Lestrade threw a look of resentment at him.

"The dealers categorize us according to the degree of addiction and financial capability. They are a highly well-organized group and they don't like to end up causing unneeded friction between the consumers and the suppliers. If one of the buyers demands for more quantities of drugs, and yet they are financially incapable of doing so, the dealers refuse to sell them anything. In short, they will only collect money from where they know there is one. No debts, no losses, no risk, and absolute profit. They occasionally assess their clients and when they find out that it's time for them to go, they break all contact with the buyer and let them to rot or become foolishly desperate and steal the supply from somewhere else." Sherlock licked his lips. "Your victim and I probably share different dealers."

"You don't know that for sure. You use the same drug, and this is a very peculiar type."

"Yes, well, about that..." Sherlock shifted in his seat. "You see, I'm not listed very high up in their so called ranks. I'm not a frequent user, and I only buy them in small quantities. My income isn't as hefty as the others either. I'm just a small customer. On the other hand," Lestrade found himself leaning forward with anticipation. Sherlock Holmes smiled contently.

"The latest victim of the serial murder must be a very heavy user and he must have been listed pretty high up." Lestrade tilted his head to one side questionably. How did he know that?

"It's true that he had been a heavy addict but so are you." The detective reminded him. Sherlock Holmes scoffed.

"I'm not really an addict. I only use them when I'm bored." Lestrade didn't really get the difference but he didn't bother to dig into the topic. "Besides, this is the first time I used this mix." He shrugged. "And I regret it. It was too strong for me. I asked for a stronger dose but I didn't expect it to be this strong." He laughed weakly. "It's definitely for people who are more immune to stimulants. I'm sorry but your lead had just evaporated." Lestrade opened his mouth slightly as if to be saying "oh". Lestrade slumped back on his chair and gulped down the now cold coffee. He didn't like Sherlock Holmes. Not one bit. Not only did he take Lestrade by surprise, and pelt him with unneeded exchange of conversation, and he also delivered him very disappointing news; another dead end.

"Unless…" The boyish man said hesitantly.

"What?" Lestrade demanded. He didn't bother trying to act professional anymore. It was too late for that.

"I can direct you to its dealer."

"I thought you just said that you never met the dealers."

"Yes but that doesn't mean I can't." Sherlock Holmes flashed a malicious smile at Lestrade.