Chapter 2:

What the sun brings

Once the impending shock had subsided, the two men put on their carefully constructed emotional protection and made their way to the crime scene. An uptown bleak neighborhood with rows of equally dull houses; nothing of true interest at first glance. Of course, that day the street was lined and swarming with officers and medics; a few ambulance sirens could be heard somewhere in the distance, among the tumultuous activity of the on-going investigation.

Sherlock walked through the doors and rooms of the house, his ever-perceiving eyes taking in every detail and John followed very close behind him as was the norm now. He stepped through the back door and out into the garden that bled out into the forest at the edges of the city; presumably where the corpse of the victim was located.

As they approached the body, something in the event gave the detective pause: Something was wrong. Something did not add up. For what Lestrade told him on the phone, the circumstances surrounding the murder seemed too bizarre to even be possible, and even if the genius always relied on his logical and analytic mind, the ambience on the scene felt off, like something was moving on the corner of his eye. He could not explain it, and the last thing he needed in this case was to fall victim to sentiment like that occasion in Baskerville. Still, he was not the only Consulting Detective in the world for nothing, and he had a few ways to contain that emotion and weaponize his intellect which only seemed to fail when certain army doctor was concerned. So he pulled himself together and confidently stalked towards the lifeless body.

The corpse was sprawled on the floor, in a position that would be hard to maintain had it not been completely devoid of any life. The forensics team were standing around the body, baffled; not even daring to touch it anymore, and just like that, words started materialasing in front of his eyes; words that described and attempted to uncover the person and situation that was displayed. "Female, early thirties, unmarried, part-time job as a temp, brother, no parents, suffered from anxiety, meticulous about her appearance, struggling with money, two dogs —no, three dogs— amateur painter and organised. Old surgery scar above the chest, possibly lungs, probably pacemaker, recently traveled to France. Her body has been moved, cause of death unnatural enough to frighten professionals, the murderer was careful but brutal, most likely a male, cold, intelligent. DANGEROUS-" A tug on his arm brought him back to reality as John motioned him to look carefully at something he had observed from afar.

He knelt next to his friend, trying to appear casual on how he leaned slightly towards his warmth. Closeness to his blogger allowed him to stimulate his own thought process, which was what this mystery certainly needed. The other talked about decomposition and rigor mortis, which on his brain translated as: the body in front of him clearly didn't have enough hours of being dead to be in the state in which it was.

"I've never seen anything like this." The doctor said, while checking multiple signs across the body. The confusion etched upon his face was disconcerting. Usually, John could get a bit behind in the face of a mystery —although not as much as other people— but he was always steadfast and confident when it came to examining a body. He raised his face to search for the detective's eyes, communicating his bemusement.

"The brother found her an hour ago." Lestrade piped in, fracturing the fragile dynamic between their silent conversation. "But that's not all. The really odd part is it was approximately two hours after the possible time of death." He said as he stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his coat; this body made everyone uncomfortable.

"How can you be sure?" The blonde asked standing up from his position, while his flatmate was still bent over the corpse inspecting the two red, glaring puncture marks on her neck. "You can't possibly be sure based on the lividity in this case." He said, unconsciously tracking his friend's movements.

"She was at a party until 4:23 am. We have various witnesses. Everyone saw her leave." The older man explained, eyeing the proceedings with an air of reluctance, the genius could detect the unwillingness to be there as an open book. Perhaps it was the unseeming brutality of the murder, or probably he was still fighting with his wife.

"There are no signs of suction," Commented the soldier, "So a pump is out of the question." The blogger was accustomed to tragedy and death, but not in that way; not in a way that made you doubt how it was even possible. One would think living and working with Sherlock Holmes would have gotten him used to the most bizarre of circumstances, but that was clearly not the case. Not to mention this mind-twisting puzzle couldn't have arrived at a worse time; when things in their personal lives were finally progressing as he wanted them to.

"The body was drained naturally." Came the expected interruption from the younger man. "It was definitely moved, an attack like this would leave traces of blood." Sherlock stated while raising himself up, already storing the data away inside his Mind Palace. "The real crime scene would be found deeper into the woods judging by the special brand of mud on her knees." He gloved his hands and extracted a sample of said dirt from said trousers. "Once we find it, we will be able to shed more light on the matter of her death."

John nodded, not questioning his friend's words. Lestrade walked towards where the boffin was already retreating and said. "Sherlock, her body has been completely drained of blood, I'm quite sure that's the way she died." The confusion of the police only served to exacerbate the boffin's simultaneous annoyance and excitement. The body was proving to be quite interesting, and just clever enough to provide the real distraction he needed since John decided to plant an undetonated bomb on his life and then dismiss the event altogether.

"As always Lestrade, you miss anything of importance." He turned around, raking his calculating gaze across their faces. "The cause of death is blatantly obvious, as you pointed out," The characteristic sarcasm and wit present as always, the two other men listened attentively; it made the detective glad that at least there were some people not stupid enough to dismiss what he said after seeing what he could do. "But there is no way to get the body drained fast enough for him to find in two hours, let alone to avoid a struggle, exsanguination alone cannot be employed directly, so how did her killer manage it?"

"Anderson says he can't think of any explanation for this." Lestrade commented, while the genius started ripping tree leaves from nearby, and the doctor stored them in bags for him.

"Well," Sherlock started. "Of that I'm not surprised." He said in a mocking tone that made the blogger grin manically even if he did utter a customary 'behave' to him. This companionship was the way they had always worked, and it will be how they uncover this mystery. Just as the detective was about to comment on the lack of evidence and how telling it was that this was a highly uncommon killer, a voice could be heard yelling from behind the tape.

"You!" He screamed in rage, looking directly at Sherlock. "I told you this was going to happen but you didn't listen," The curly-haired man never thought he would see the client again, maybe he had been too quick in assessing the situation and dismissing it. "And now my sister is dead!" The man yelled, balling his fists and walking swiftly towards them, trespassing into the crime scene.

The detective was fixed in shock, surely the universe would not be so lazy as to let this be the sole coincidence they experienced. "I told you," Samuel, the client he had called a useless moron for believing his sister was about to be murdered was rapidly making his way towards him. "The both of you!" He motioned to John too, and the blogger automatically stood straighter and moved slightly in front of his friend in defiance.

"Samuel, we assure you this is completely different-" He started saying, but the boffin could deduce he would not back down easily, if at all. Trying to reason with him was completely futile. The other officers at the scene had already stopped what they were doing and were gathering around to see what happened.

"No!" Samuel said, walking past the blogger and trying to grab at Sherlock. "You wouldn't help me, this is your fault! she is dead because of you!" The detective was completely frozen, and if it hadn't been for the soldier's quick reflexes that protected him as a human barrier, the furious client would have gotten a hold of him.

"We are going to get to the bottom of this to find her real killer-" Lestrade tried to placate him, as cops were grabbing him by the arms to remove him from the scene. But he was livid, possessed in his delusion and struggling against the hold. "You already know! I told you but you turned me away." He yelled, red in the face.

"Get him away from here." The DI barked,; leaving the two 'consultants' to gather themselves.

Samuel looked close to falling apart as he made his accusations. Sherlock could see the distrust in his gaze, clearly convinced of his fabricated theory. "I told you! you know who he is," He said as the others were dragging him away. "What he is!" The emphasis in the word sent a dark shiver down Sherlock's spine. He knew it couldn't possibly be real, but the conviction with which he said it shook him to the core.

John was looking intently at the younger man, with a mixture of worry and possessiveness. "Are you alright?" The blonde asked him, holding his friend's arm in affection. Said detective nodded and shook himself out of the stupor he had been in. If he focused his brain power, this could be the greatest case they ever had, he just had to ignore the strange circumstances. Yes, Samuel's statement was unsettling, but it only made him want to solve the mystery even more. This puzzle deserved an answer, the only variable was: how will he come to get it?

The three of them looked down to the body in bewilderment, as if it contained all the questions of the known universe. "What the hell happened?" John asked in confusion.