Hi! Sorry this took so long! I had the dialogue done for the longest time but I didn't know how much I wanted to change or remain the same. Merry what ever it is you celebrate. Here is chapter 2. Please look to the first chapter for the I don't own. This is still un-betad (so there may be some grammer mistakes that are not part of the dialogue) and still going a little by the script. I plan to change next chapter more dialogue and sequences, but pointingly they are just getting to know each other and I think the show dialogue is great for that. I also like to thank some people at the end of the document. I plan to have a short story of John and Sherlock at Christmas time with the theme of a Christmas Carol up tomorrow. There might be some points to whom ever gets it correct as to which song it is. Please Read and Review.
John blinked open his eyes slowly because he finally felt rested for once since he came back from Afghanistan. He shifted his back to a more comfortable position in an unwillingness to leave the bed, but he rolled his head over to check the time. He saw that he didn't have much time before he had to meet that man, 'Holmes' he thought trying to get used to the name. He rolled over till he sat up stretching, it had also been the longest stretch he has had since before the war. John grabbed his cane that was hung on the nightstand next to the bed and started his morning routine.
During the war he had gotten used to doing his routine under stress that it had become so familiar he could do it in a shorter time now than he ever did before the war. John snorted; well he also was in longer to impress the ladies back then too. After he finished, he went to the kitchen to finish out. Fed full of jam and tea, He decided to do more research on this Holmes starting with the website he looked at last night. He had already discharged yesterday so it wouldn't be much to skip today. As he read further and further into the blog, he only stopped for necessary interruptions. He wondered how a person could know this from so little to go on as the blog was written more like a dry textbook, it explained much but difficult read. As the sun made its way, John looked up and saw it was now time to meet the abrupt Mr. Holmes.
He hobbled out of the room, but not before locking the room down-tight. Though John didn't have many possessions, they were very precious to him, not to mention useful to other people. He thought about his wallet and the very few Euros he possessed. There wasn't enough to get to the end of the block not to mention the few streets to Baker Street so he decided to walk it.
As he walked, he marveled on the seeming change London had while he was gone. It wasn't a directions change or even an image change though there was the occasional shop that had changed locations or names. It was more of a feeling. John remembered soldiers that had gone home on their calls off and come back with stories about how different civilian life became. 'Humph' John thought, 'Just another way, my therapist would boil it all down to PTSD.'
He finally came to Baker Street and started to look at the doors counting down the numbers. 225…223….221….B. He knocked on the door as he heard a hello behind him.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes," he said twisting around seeing the man he met yesterday come from a taxi that just pulled up.
"Sherlock, please," Mr. Holmes said hold out his hand which John shook.
"Well this is a prime stock, must be expensive." John said looking around. He wondered how the man thought they could both afford it.
"Well, Mrs. Hudson, the land lady given me a special deal, owes me a favor.," Sherlock explained standing with his hands behind his back in a relaxed manor, "A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." He seemed to be scanning the road and the sidewalks distracted.
"Wait, you stopped her husband from being executed?" John asked in disbelief.
Sherlock focused on him and told him, "Oh no. I ensured it."
John paused at that new piece of information when the door opened before he could even start to think of a reply. John checked behind him to try to see what Sherlock was looking at earlier, but he did not see anything. At the same time, he heard, "Sherlock," in a grandmotherly voice. He looked back to the door to see his new flat mate giving an old woman dressed in purple a hug.
"Mrs. Hudson," he said backing up, "Dr. John Watson," he waved his hand over to John. John moved over to shake her hand but she waved him on. "Shall we?" asked Sherlock as he followed John in with Mrs. Hudson closing the door behind them. In the foyer, John paused. 'Stairs why are there so many damn stairs in London?' Sherlock passed him as he bounded up the stairs lightly with his curls bouncing along with him. John sighed and slowly made his way up the stairs to the next landing. He, then taking a breath, turned and saw his new flat mate standing in front of a closed door looking pleased with him.
As John approached, Sherlock lifted his eyebrows and swung open the door open. His body was turning gracefully with the doors opening. Sherlock then walked backward and swung away into what John assumed was the kitchen. John took in the room. It was filled with half bins and boxes, of which a union jack pillow rested on one, and books and papers were placed haphazardly on the selves or any surface to service them.
"Oh, this could be very nice," John said, "Very nice indeed." He hobbled over to Sherlock who was standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Yes, yes," said Sherlock looking back at the room and the kitchen, "I think so. My thoughts precisely. So I straight ahead moved in."
At the same time John said, "As soon as we get this rubbish cleaned out." He realized what his flat mate was saying. "Oh." He paused trying to find a readymade apology while Sherlock whirled away towards the boxes. John still tried, "So this is….ugh…."
"Well obviously I can straighten things up," Sherlock blustered. He hurried to move files and knifed a stack of envelopes to the mantel piece. "A bit."
John feeling that another try at an apology would just embarrass the man further. His eyes roamed and found a something near his flat mate. "It's a skull," he said pointing to it.
"A friend of mine," Sherlock said. He seemed to realize how odd the statement is to other people because he followed up, "When I say friend…ugh…." He left off and moved to take off his scarf.
"What do you think Doctor Watson?" asked Mrs. Hudson that had followed up behind them and started to clean some of the boxes. "There is another bed room upstairs if you'd be needing two bed rooms."
"Of course we'll be needing two," said John not understanding.
"Oh," Mrs. Hudson huffed, "Don't worry there's all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner next door got married ones," she ended off in a whisper. John looked over to Sherlock who was in the corner of the room pretending to put the books away as he listened in. John wondered what he told Mrs. Hudson for John was most exceptionally strait and they weren't even charge partners. John also wondered if the married ones were also charge partners. It was not uncommon for partners to become couples especially since they are around each other so often in their lives. Mrs. Hudson moved to the kitchen while John was pondering.
"Sherlock," she drawled in a fond voice, "The mess you made."
John's leg twinged more till he couldn't stand it. 'Bloody stairs' he thought cursing them with every foul word he learned in the army. He fluffed a pillow to sit in a sofa chair. And looked over towards his flat mate who was starting up a laptop on a very crowded desk.
"I looked you up on the internet last night." John said.
Sherlock whirled around, "Anything interesting?" he asked in a calm baritone voice.
"Found your website," pipped John, "The Science of Deduction."
"What did you think?"
John eyed Sherlock a little too long, "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airplane pilot by his left thumb?"
"Yes," Sherlock drawled out, "and I can read your military career in your face and your leg and your brother's drinking habits by your mobile phone."
"How?" demanded John. Sherlock didn't answer and turned away.
"What about these suicides then Sherlock," asked Mrs. Hudson as she carried a newspaper back into the room. "Thought that be right up your street. Three exactly the same."
"Four," interceded Sherlock moving to the window after hearing a car," There's been a fourth. There is something different this time."
"A fourth…" Mrs. Hudson asked twittering.
"Where?" Sherlock demanded of a man coming up the stairs in through the open doorway. The man had graying hair and what looked to be a daily worn suit.
"Brixton, Laurelston Gardens," the man puffed out.
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."
"You know how they never leave notes?" asked the man to which Sherlock gave an affirmative reply. "This one did. Will you come?"
Sherlock paused in contemplation. "Who's on forensics?" he asked.
"Anderson," the grey haired man said sighing a little.
Sherlock looked away in disgust. "Anderson won't work with me."
"Well he won't be your assistant."
"I need an assistant."
"Will you come?" the man forced again.
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."
"Thank you" the man sighed in relief and hurrying out the room. John looked watched him go puzzled at the exchange. Meanwhile, Sherlock waited till he saw the man exit the front door till he broke out with a smile.
"Brilliant!" he yelled jumping up. "Yes, Ah! Four suicides and now a note. Ah! It's Christmas. Mrs. Hudson? I'll be late; might need some food." He walked over to pick up his coat and head to the kitchen.
"I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson explained fondly.
"Something cold will do," said Sherlock continuing like Mrs. Hudson had not said anything, "John, have a cup of tea. Make yourself at home. Don't wait up." He finished tying his scarf around his neck and hurried out the door.
"Look at him dashing about." Mrs. Hudson sighed. "My husband was just the same." John glanced at her with a slight frown, 'Is this the same husband who Sherlock sentenced to death or a different one?'. Mrs. Hudson continued, ",but you're the sitting down type. I can tell." John's irritation about his leg came to the fore front, 'I would not be sitting here if I didn't have this leg.' "I'll make you a cuppa. You just rest your leg."
John's temper peaked,"Damn leg!" He shouted out then realized what he said. "Sorry, I am so sorry. Just sometimes this bloody thing." He gave a quick grimace.
"I understand, dear," Mrs. Hudson soothed, "I've got a hip."
" A cup of tea will be lovely, thank you," John said now calm again. He let his cane slide down out of his hand and he reached for a newspaper behind his arm.
"Just this once dear, I'm not your house keeper," Mrs. Hudson called back from the kitchen as John smoothed out the paper.
"A couple of biscuits too; if you got it," John requested distractingly.
"Not your housekeeper!" called back Mrs. Hudson. John wasn't listening for on the front page he spotted an article about the suicides Sherlock and the detective was talking about earlier. A small photo on the side featured the detective and underneath proclaimed, " DI Lestrade, in charge of the investigation". Just then John heard a noise.
"You're a doctor," the voice said slowly startling John out of his examining. John looked towards the door. There stood Sherlock fiddling with his glove," In fact, you're an army doctor." John hurriedly placed the paper down on the armrest.
"Yes," John said shortly clearing his throat as he grabbed his cane and hoisted himself out of the chair. He turned to face Sherlock who was still in the door way.
"Any good?" inquired Sherlock.
John feeling this was a test answered, "Very Good."
"Seen a lot of injured then," Sherlock lightly quipped as he walked forward. "Violent deaths?"
John stood his ground, "mmm...Yes."
"Bit of trouble to I bet."
"Of course; yes. Enough to last for a lifetime, far too much."
Sherlock paused, "Want to see some more?"
"Oh god yes," said John happily before his mind caught up. Then, he hurried after Sherlock who walked quickly to the door. As John hopped down the stairs he called back," sorry Mrs. Hudson. I'll skip the tea. Pop out."
"Both of you?" she inquired. ,
Sherlock paused and walked back, "Possible suicides. Four of them? Simply sitting at home when there is finally something fun going on!" He gave Mrs. Hudson's shoulders a little shake and noisily gave her a kiss on the check.
"Look at you all happy. It's not decent," grumbled Mrs. Hudson. "Do you need to recharge before you go?"
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" said Sherlock happily as he turned around and walked back through the door ignoring the question. When he got to the street, He turned and raised his right hand and called out for a Taxi. John stumbled next to him leaning heavily on his cane watching the Taxi to pull up for both of them. Sherlock quickly opened the door and slid inside of the taxi leaving John to hop in after him.
For most of the drive, John sat in silence glancing at Sherlock periodically while Sherlock texted on his phone. John wondered how he would begin on questioning Sherlock on where they were going or even, why he was asked for. Sherlock, finally, acknowledged John's glances.
"Okay, you got questions," he said with a deep breath.
"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked taking a small glance out the window at the passing sites.
"Crime scene, next," came the short answer. John paused, 'served me right. Okay then.'
"Who are you what do you do?" asked John thinking Sherlock answering this would give him his answer instead.
"What do you think?" said Sherlock in a noncommittal way.
"I'd say private detective…." John drew out to prompt Sherlock.
"But?" Sherlock prompted John instead.
"Police don't go to private detectives" was John's quick reply.
"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world I invented the job." Sherlock huffed out in irritation.
"What does that mean?"
"Means when the police are out of the depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock replied in a biting tone.
"The police don't consult amateurs." John said patronizingly. Sherlock looked over at his grin.
"When I met you for the first time yesterday I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' you looked surprised" drawled Sherlock.
"Yes, how did you know?" John quickly asked.
"I didn't know I saw," Sherlock drawled. "The hair cut and the way you hold yourself says military. Your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Barts so army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists you've been abroad, but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic — wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan; Afghanistan or Iraq."
"You said I had a therapist," said John in protest.
"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone — it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player," Sherlock explained holding out his hand for John's phone, " But you're looking for a flat-share; you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then," Sherlock turned it over, "Scratches; not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already." Sherlock finished angling it towards John.
"The engraving?" John couldn't help but ask.
Sherlock waved the phone around. "Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father — this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara — who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then — six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it — he left her. He gave the phone to you that says he wants you to stay in touch." Sherlock pause, "You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked confused and bewildered.
Sherlock angled the phone on its side so John could see the owner buttons and charging station. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection — tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see? You were right."
"I was right? Right about what?" John asked digesting all the information.
"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock punctuated.
John paused before looking up. "That was amazing." John breathed slowly. The cab drove on in silence for several seconds.
"You think so?" Sherlock asked slightly shocked.
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary," John reiterating his previous statement.
"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock confusingly said.
"What do people normally say?" John inquired.
"'Piss off!'"Sherlock piped with a small grin. John grinned back still thinking of Sherlock's deductions and went back to looking out the cab.
As the cab pulled up to the scene Sherlock was the first one out leaving John to crawl out behind him with a grunt.
"Did I get anything wrong?" asked Sherlock
"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker," John explained slowly as he walked with his cane next to him.
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything," Sherlock said narcissticly.
"Harry's short for Harriet," John said shortly.
Sherlock stopped short leaving John to walk on a bit. Sherlock grumbled put out, "Harry's your sister."
"What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked ignoring him.
"Sister!"Sherlock hissed out before continuing on.
"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John insisted.
"There's always something," Sherlock continued distractedly walking up to the police cars parked in the alleyway.
"Hello, Freak," greeted a clear voice.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock stated.
"Why?" the woman asked bitterly. She was a young officer who stood about 5'6" dressed in a grey jacket complete with a pencil skirt and, for an officer, un-sensible shoes.
"I was invited," Sherlock sarcastically answered her.
"Why?" she asked again not to be thrown off.
"Think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock continued sarcastically.
"Well ya know what I think don't you?" the woman said bitingly.
"Always, Sally," Sherlock answered pulling the police ribbon he was behind up and over his head. He sniffed after he passed under. "You know you didn't make it home last night," he said furrowing his eyebrows. John followed after him to the police ribbon before he stopped.
"I-I-I don- Who's this?" Sally stammered out distractingly, stopping John from moving to join Sherlock.
"Colleague of mine Doctor John Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donavon, old friend," Sherlock ended with a tone that implied she was anything but.
"A colleague. How do you get a colleague? What did he follow you home?" Sally scaffold between the two of them. John had enough of her and thought his attention would be better elsewhere.
"Would it be better if I just waited?" asked John waiving towards the street behind him.
"No!" Sherlock answered shortly, grabbing the police tape and stretching it up until John could walk comfortably under. Sally glanced between the two of them before grabbing her radio from her waist.
"Freaks here bringing him in," Sally squawked over it. Sherlock, as they walked in, looked around the ground noting discrepancies that might have been missed.
As his eyes took a last skimming he paused spotting a man walking quickly towards them. "Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," Sherlock drawled.
"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated! Are we clear on that?" Anderson growled threateningly like a dog when someone intrudes his territory.
"Very clear. Is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked bitingly.
"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out! Somebody told you that!" Anderson spit out. John could, as he studied the man before him, tell by their few sentences that they had a long history.
"Your deodorant told me that," said Sherlock shortly looking away from him.
"My deodorant." Anderson stated nonplused.
"It's for men," Sherlock teased.
"Well of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" Anderson exclaimed
"So's Sergeant Donovan and not in the way a substitute supplier would," explained Sherlock strait faced. Anderson quickly looks behind him while John quickly looked down to hide a smirk. "Ooh... I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"
"Now look, whatever you're imply-" Anderson covered.
"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat to help you recharge, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floor, going by the state of her knees," he said glancing down at them as he paused at the door of the building with a smirk before going in.
John continued after him after looking at Sally. He felt a little sympathetic to her, but he made no comment towards her. After all, they did start their war with words first.
Sherlock and John continued through a series of hallways to a room in which Lestrade was present putting on a forensic smock.
"You should wear one of these," Sherlock indicated to John pointing to a pile of them on the table. John quickly started to rifle through them
"Who's this?" inquired the DI speaking quietly to Sherlock.
"He's with me," Sherlock explained reaching for a pair of gloves in his size.
"But who is he?" insisted the DI Lestrade, while thinking that Sherlock was one thing a stranger was another.
"I said he's with me," Sherlock answered not giving up anything.
"Aren't you going to put one on?" asked John politely still getting used to the idea. When, Sherlock didn't answer, he looked away knowing he wouldn't get any and instead focused on finishing with his covering.
"So where are we?" Sherlock inquired.
"Upstairs," the DI answered. He, then, turned to make sure Sherlock's curious companion was complete before leading them out the room.
"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade stressed climbing the stairs.
"May need longer….." Sherlock drawled.
"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her," the detective summed up into a report. The odd group went up several flights of stairs where they had many officers in other rooms looking for forensics. They finally reached the room where they had a police officer standing guard. John was the last to walk in and was slightly hit with memories of other dead bodies from the woman lying face down on the floor with her hands lightly above her head.
"Shut up," came a sharp retort braking John of his memories. He slightly lifted his head to the noise.
"I didn't say anyth..." the DI denied.
"You were thinking. It's annoying," Sherlock retorted. Lestrade looked back at John with an indignant face. John had nothing to say on his future flat mate's retort looked down rubbing his head. He thought of the trouble would be if his fat-mate is this abrupt to the police on his own. John watched as Sherlock walked closer to the body and followed him slightly in the room taking in what Sherlock would do.
Sherlock twitched his head before reaching down and felt the back of the dead woman's coat with his gloves to inspect it. After, he reached to her side and grabbed a small pocket umbrella laying there and inspected it. John furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of his flat-mate's continued perusing of the clothing and jewelry beneath a pocket magnifier. Finally, Sherlock slowed to a stop after slipping one of her rings off and back on to her finger.
"Got anything?" The DI asked taking his cue.
Sherlock started to strip off the gloves. "Not much," He answered stuffing the gloves into his jacket.
"She's German," pointed out a voice behind John causing him to startle and turn. It was Anderson leaning on the door frame, "'Rache' German for revenge, she could be trying to tell us…"
Sherlock quickly moved to the door while on his phone and said, "Yes, thank you for your input," slamming the door closed.
"So she's German," thinking Sherlock's abruptness to mean Anderson was correct.
"Course she's not," Sherlock answered still punching into his hone, "She's from out of town though. Intending to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious."
"Sorry obvious?" John asked hearing the last statement.
"What about the message?" said Lestrade still stuck on why the woman was still not German as pointing out to her message.
"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked ignoring the detective.
"About the message?" asked John startled on why he had to give his input and why Sherlock ignored the detective.
"About the body, you're a medical man," Sherlock pointed out.
"We have a whole team outside," protested Lestrade.
"They won't work with me," Sherlock said smugly.
"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here," the detective grumped.
"Yes, because you need me," Sherlock pointed out. John looked back to the detective.
"Yes, I do," he answered giving up, "God help me.
"Doctor Watson," said Sherlock loudly to gain John's attention.
"Hmm?" John hummed pulling himself to face Sherlock before realizing what was asked of him. He then turned his head back quickly to Lestrade.
"Oh do what he says, help yourself," Lestrade huffed before going to the door and opening it. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes." John heard as he followed Sherlock to the body.
"Well?" Sherlock prompted him.
"What am I doing here?" John questioned instead.
"Helping me make a point."
"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent," said John shortly
"Yes but this is more fun," Sherlock ducking his head.
"Fun? There's a woman lying dead," John huffed.
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you go deeper," Sherlock said teasing John out. John gave up and laid his cane down. He angled himself onto his knees so he had full use of his hands. He first checked around her mouth and finally her hands which are usually the first places to show signs of any illness related to death.
"Yep," he said getting up. By that time Lestrade had entered the room. "Asphyxiation, probably, passed out, choked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her. Could have been a seizure, possibly drugs?"
"You know what it was. You've read the papers," reasoned Sherlock.
"Well she's one of the suicides, number four?" John drawn out.
"Sherlock, two minutes I said. I need anything you got," said the Lestrade annoyed.
"Victim is in her late 30's, professional person going by her clothes. I'm guessing something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today intending to stay for only one night going from the size of her suitcase," rattled Sherlock getting up.
"Suitcase?" asked Lestrade wondering where suitcase came from since there was one in the building that his team found.
"Suitcase, yes. She's been married for at least 10 years to her supplier, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married because she was a receiver." John remembered this fact; each pairing was paired up because the energies between them were compatible. The more intunned a pairing was the better the energy would "taste" to the receiver. If another receiver was to acquire the energy from the same supplier the energy would taste off from the connection of the first receiver. However, this did not go both ways as suppliers could not taste. John also knew the only ones to touch a person's lips because of this was their partner, whom it was common they married because of this or the occasional adventurous lover, though this was rare and lovers often showed their affection differently if they are not energy partners.
"Oh for God's sake. If you're just making this up!" Lestrade protested.
"Her wedding ring: ten years old at least. Rest of her jewelry's been regularly cleaned but not her wedding ring. State of a marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shiny but the outside? That means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. So for work: look at her nails; she doesn't work with her hands. So, what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover. She'd never be able to sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time. So more than likely a string of them. "
"That's brilliant," breathed John. "Sorry"
"Cardiff?" asked Lestrade to draw Sherlock's attention back.
"It's obvious, isn't it?"
"It's not obvious to me." John said slightly in awe.
"Dear God. What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring," Sherlock sneered slightly, "Her coat is slightly damp; she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too; she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff," he finished pantomiming to each of his deductions following by showing the DI his phone.
"That's fantastic!" John exclaimed.
"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked curious.
"Sorry. I'll shut up." John embarrassingly stated.
"No, it's... fine." Sherlock said with a slight smile.
"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked braking up their powwow together.
"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is," Sherlock said distractingly as he remembered what he was looking around the room for earlier while he was stating his deductions.
"She was writing Rachel?" Lestrade asked wondering why he got the word Rachel.
"No, she was leaving an angry note in German, of course she was writing Rachel!" Sherlock said frustrated. "The only other word it can be. Question is why did she wait till she was dying to write it?"
"So how do you know, she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked trying to get to get back to his other question.
'Back of her right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern in any other way. Small case going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes conscious could only be an overnight bag. So we know she was staying only one night. Now where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock said bending down to look at it further.
"There wasn't no case," Lestrade answered quietly.
"Say that again." Sherlock punctuated looking up.
"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase," explained the detective.
Sherlock rushed up shouting out the door and running down a flight of stairs to the next landing, "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"
"Sherlock, there was no case!" called down Lestrade leaving John the only one back in the room.
"They take the poison themselves. The chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs even you lot couldn't miss them," explained Sherlock franticly as John joined Lestrade on the landing outside the door.
"Right thanks, and?" grumbled the detective down to Sherlock.
"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but there are not suicides their serial killings. We got ourselves a serial killer, love those. There's always something to look forward to," he said pausing on another floor.
"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade said as Sherlock bounded down another flight.
"Her case," groaned out Sherlock, "Common, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here, forgot the case was in the car."
"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John said reasonably.
"No, she never got to the hotel, look at her hair! She color coordinates her lipstick and the shoes. She'd never left any hotel with her hair still looking...Oh... Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed as a thought came to him.
"Sherlock?"
"What is it what?" asked both of the men up stairs concerned.
"Serial killers always are hard. Have to wait for them to make a mistake," Sherlock excitingly muttered.
"Can't just wait!" Lestrade protested.
'Done waiting. Look at her, really look at her!" John had enough and looked back toward the room as Lestrade still stared down towards Sherlock, "Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family, supplier, and friends were, find Rachel!"
"Of course, yeah, but what mistake?" groaned out Lestrade in a shout. Sherlock had reached the base floor by this time.
He ran back and shouted back up to them, "PINK!" Then, he raced back out the door leaving the two men staring down at an empty stair well.
Reminder to please review. Thanks go out to people I got alerts from for this story so far: KlainersGunnaKlaine (for favoriting and following), wello12309 (following), JenPek (following), Burnedoutpixels (following), waterbaby84 (following), silverXshadow (following), Zara231 (favoriting), katrinamzack (following), IamSHERlocked4ever (following), and finally, JLlama (following).