This chapter took forever! Glad I finished it though! Remember to review if you've got time! I really appreciate it!
_
Over the past few weeks, two more apparent suicides had occurred. These suicides we're all linked together by one common factor. A Pill.
When I heard that there was going to be a questioning session, I just had to go! I could finally satisfy my curiosity and ask about the murders without people finding it odd. They'd just think I was with some small new station somewhere, and pass me off as an over zealous reporter.
I made my was to the police station and found a line of people waiting to get in. I looked to the front of the line to find a dark, curly haired security officer checking people's phones.
"Are you here for the questioning session, miss?" He asked when I had finally reached the front. I smiled and nodded,
"Yes. Don't you think it's a bit odd for them to be so similar? The suicides I mean. If you ask me-"
"May I see your phone Miss?"
"I haven't got one." The man looked at me for a second before deeming my words true.
"Indeed you don't. It appears you spend most of your time taking care of your mother and father whom you still live with, quite sadly I must say. You're parents are both overbearing it seems, but secretly want you out of the house. You spend most of your time this morning walking through the woods somewhere out of town before going to a cafe and having a doughnut, most likely with tea. For some reason you found yourself here, perhaps just out of curiosity, but one things for sure; you are not a news reporter." The man spoke without even pausing between sentences. I stared at him in awe. How in the world...
"Wow... That was..." I shook my head in disbelief. The man looked at me, waiting for some sort of reaction, and I may be wrong, but I think I detected perhaps even a bit of nervousness in his eyes.
"Rude." The man frowned, obviously not the reaction he was hoping for, but honestly he shouldn't of seen any other outcome with how bluntly he spoke of people.
"But...it was also brilliant." I couldn't contain my smile now. The man seemed a bit taken back this, and stared at me with what seemed like an almost fascination. We stood there in silence; just staring at one another.
"Excuse me, you have a twig on your shoulder." The man said suddenly, extending his hand to brush it off for me, his hand lingering on my shoulder briefly.
"Anyway, if you ask me, I think it's a serial killing." I got back to the matter at hand. The man smiled, but it seemed to be more of a smile to himself.
"Indeed..." He muttered quietly before taking off his police jacket and hat; dashing off into the city. I watched his retreating figure until it before it became lost in the sea of people, like a spec of dust. However, I could tell he was no ordinary spec of dust. He was different. I almost hoped that he would just come back if I stayed there and stared but quickly remembered why I was there. The "suicides".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of sir Jeffery Patterson and James Fillmore. In the light of this these incidents are now being treated as linked." I knew it! They aren't really suicides at all! I could hardly contain myself as I excitedly shifted in my seat. At one point, I had even caught Greg's eye and got to wave at him. He just rolled his eyes, but I could tell he was secretly happy to see me. "The investigation is on going, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."
"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" A man asked first, causing me to roll my eyes. What a silly question! Surely they teach you to ask better questions than that!
"Well they all took the same poison...um...they were all found in places they 'ave no reason ta be...none of the had shown any prior indications-"
"But you can't have serial suicides!" The guys stupidity rang through my ears.
"Well apparently you can." Lestrade finished. I took this moment to finally get to speak up.
"So there was nothing linked between these three people?" They all looked at me, but I kept my eyes fixed on Lestrade.
"There's none ta be found yet, but...we're looking for it, there has to be one." Before Lestrade even finished his sentence, the room filled with the sounds of phones going off. Since I didn't have one, I looked over at someone else's.
"Well apparently you're wrong." I looked back to Lestrade with a quirky smile on my lips.
"If you've all got texts, please ignore those." Donovan attempted to keep control over the room.
"It just says wrong." The previously obnoxious man spoke up.
"Yeah, well just ignore that. If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade I'm going to bring this session to an end."
"If they're suicides, what are you investigating?" A different man spoke up this time.
"As I say, these suicides are clearly linked, um, it-it's an unusual situation, we've got our best people investigating-" the phones went off again.
"It appears you're wrong again." I said. Lestrade gave me a look, but I just smiled at him. To be honest, I was quite enjoying this.
"One more question!" Donovan said, clearly aggravated by whomever was doing this.
"I think that these are Serial killings." I spoke up, getting everyone's attention once more.
"That's not a question miss." Donovan hissed at me. I smiled at her.
"Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" A red head with glasses helped me out.
"I-I know that you like writing about those, but these do appear to be suicides, we know the difference. The, um, poison was clearly self administered-"
"Yes, but if they are murders?" I cut him off, not needing the whole spiel on how to tell a suicide from a murder.
"How do people keep themselves safe?" The red head extended my question.
"Well, don't commit suicide." Lestrade said quite simply. "Look, obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be." Cue the phones!
"Wrong yet again, Lestrade." I said without even looking at the text. Lestrade paid no attention, however, because it appeared something had caught his attention on his phone. He gave an exasperated look at the text before shoving his phone in his pocket and giving a quick thank you.
I stepped out of the building into the unforgiving cold of London, feeling particularly curious now. I would've continued on my way home if I hadn't felt something particularly cold touch my shoulder. I ran my hand across the sleeve of my dress to find a small metal clip that had apparently caused the chilling touch. I held it up eye level to inspect it closer. A bug. I smiled.
"Very clever, Mr. security guard." I remembered his hand lingering on my shoulder after brushing off a twig just before I had gone in. "Although now I suppose it's safe to suspect you weren't a security guard at all." I spoke into the small microphone before dropping onto the pavement and squashing it with my heel.
I decided to take a walk the rest of that afternoon. I found a nice, quiet park and wound up strolling along for hours, just people watching. I found a woman sitting on a bench reading, multiple people eating lunch, a few couples, and someone with a very cute dog. I took a quick break to sit down on the edge of the fountain. I looked a few feet away at two men shaking hands. One was a blonde-gray haired man with a cane, while the other was a larger man with a suit and glasses on. They both seemed to be exchanging pleasantries before grabbing some coffee and sitting down together. Old friends? I mused before deciding to take a closer look.
"You still at Bart's then?" The thinner one asked.
"I'm teaching now. Yeah, bright young things like we used to be. God I hate them." They both laughed at this statement. I had ever so stealthily positioned myself against a nearby tree, pretending to wait for someone. "What about you, just staying in town or are ya gettin' ya self sorted?"
"Bah," the man scoffed,"I can't afford London on an army pension!"
"And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know." John, hmm? What a lovely name. I smiled at my newly acquired information.
"Yeah, well, I'm not the John Watson you.." John stopped himself. This caused a very awkward silence between the two. I couldn't quite hear what the man said, but whatever he said, John scoffed at. I cautiously got closer to them, still pretending I was looking for someone, and sat down at the bench across from then. I attracted Johns attention for a brief moment, but he was sucked back into the conversation.
"I dunno...get a flat share or somethin'?" John looked back at him.
"Come on. Who'd want me for a flat mate?" He said before continuing his interested gaze on me. We made brief eye contact, so I gave a small smile before finding someplace else to look so I wouldn't give myself away. He seemed to want to talk to me for some reason, but his attention was drawn back to his old friend when the chubby man spoke.
"Well, you're the second person that told me that today." John looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Who was the first?" The man didn't answer, but instead stood up.
"C'mon, I'll take you to him. He should still be in Bart's." John stood up, giving me one last glance before reluctantly following. I gave him one last smile before laying back and finding another conversation to follow. I may be crazy, but I was beginning to think John had an interest in me. My subconscious spoke, but I shook my head. If he knew what I was like in real life, he'd think I was a crazy. I shot myself down, quietly watching the other passerby's.
Tomorrow, I woke up to my mothers excited voice yelling about something I couldn't quite make out. I'm sure that to most I would seem like a morning person, but trust me, I am not.
I grumbled into my pillow before begrudgingly lifting myself from the warmth of my bed.
"What?!" I called back, rubbing my eyes and stretching; a mighty yawn escaping my lips.
"I said I spoke with Mrs. Hudson this morning." Her mother stepped into her room and began cleaning. "Jesus Lucy...you really ought to take better care of you're room." She began heaving the books back to the bookshelf.
"What did Mrs. Hudson say?" I began brushing my hair with my fingers, still not motivated enough to get out of bed.
"What? Oh, right. She said that she managed to rent out one of her flats! You know what that means?" This woke me up.
"Neighbors." I said with a smile that probably came off as a bit maniacal. I sprung up from bed, startling my mother, and began frantically looking through my closet before finding a lovely plain white button-up blouse with a V-neck. I threw it onto the bed before rummaging through my drawers for a particular dark blue skirt I had in mind.
"Honestly, you should've waken me up sooner!" I stripped off my clothes and quickly shimmied my way into the skirt.
"Well I just now found out!" Her mother pleaded, but I wasn't really listening. I tried to button up the shirt quickly, but my fingers were fumbling all over the place, frustrating the hell out of me.
"Honey, just calm down." Her mother soothed, helping me with the mismatched buttons. I smiled at her, feeling a bit less crazy. When she was done, I tucked my shirt into the waist high skirt that fell just above my knees and slipped on some plain black heels.
"You know I've always wanted neighbors." I sat down in front of the vanity and slipped on a string of pearls.
"I know. And so have we, but there's no need to go crazy-"
"Neighbors? What neighbors?" Uncle Elliot said, barging into my room.
"Didn't you hear? Someone's moving in to Mrs. Hudson's flat!" I chirped as I combed my dark hair.
"Well we'll just have to introduce ourselves, now won't we?" He said, clearly as excited as I was. I let out a small giggle as my mother gave him a stern look,
"Elliot..." My Uncle cringed at my mothers tone. "You aren't trying to skip out on the job interview today, are you?"
"O-Of course not! I just thought that, uh-"
"You know you have to get a job!" My mother scolded. My Uncle pouted and looked to me for help.
"I'm afraid she's right. She's just barely getting by the rent!" I said as I began to put on a bit of mascara and lipstick and drew in my incredibly thick eyebrows (Yes they're thick, but they're shapely too!).
"Don't think sticking up for me will get you out, young missy. You need a job too." Now it was my turn to pout. I decided it would be best not to argue, so instead I stood up and took my leave; grabbing a black wool coat that stopped just above my knees to keep my mother from worrying about the chill (though I realized my legs weren't covered at all).
It had been only 30 or so minutes and I was already feeling anxious that no one would show up.
"Here's some tea, Lucy." Mrs. Hudson smiled down at me. I gave a quick smile before anxiously awaiting my new neighbors arrival, tapping my foot excessively. "It's so nice of you to visit! An old woman like me doesn't get to many visitors anymore."
"You? An old woman? Why, you don't look a day over 30!" She laughed before turning around to get some biscuits.
"Tell that to my hip." I smiled and took a sip of my tea, giving a content sigh and letting my foot lay still. My stillness was brief, however, and was quickly ended by a knock at the door.
"That must be-" Mrs. Hudson began, but I wasn't there anymore. I had sprinted towards the front door to finally meet the neighbors I had always dreamed of. The neighbors that would become my greatest friends. My first friends.
I opened the door to a face I thought I would never see again.
"Security guy?!" I pointed dramatically as he turned to face me.
"Wait a sec... Aren't you the girl from the park?" John looked at me with just as much confusion as Sherlock. We all stared at each other in an awkward silence until Mrs. Hudson came in.
"Sherlock, hello!" Sherlock?...I know that name...don't I?
"Oh, this is Lucy Avila. She lives next door in flat 219." Mrs. Hudson introduced me.
"We've met." We all three said at the same time, surprising Mrs. Hudson.
"Well I hope it wasn't under bad circumstances. I'd hate for their to be bad blood between neighbors!" I smiled. These men were my new neighbors. I supposed the universe must have a weird sense of humor, having these men move next to me. I couldn't of asked for more.
"Well, let's not freeze to death. Come in!" Mrs. Hudson ushered them inside. Once inside, John drew his attention to me.
"I'm afraid I never got to introduce myself. I'm-"
"John Watson." I finished, much to his surprise. He gave Sherlock a look, but was ignored. "I listened in to your conversation that day in the park. I do that sometimes. Good to see you found a flat mate after all!" John looked taken back at first, giving a sort of half-smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but due to a lack of words, shut it.
"I haven't upset you, have I?" I quickly asked, "It's just that I like to people watch. I didn't mean to upset you."
"No no, it's, uh, it's fine." He scratched the back of his neck gingerly and I smiled.
"John, shall we?" Sherlock scurried up the stairs. John looked at him, then nodded, following him up the stairs. I, being the curious little creature I am, followed them.
The flat was a dark, dusty mess; very much contrasting to my flat. Books and rubbish piled up in every inch of the flat, making me wonder what sorts of odd things I could find amidst the clutter. I ran my fingers across some of the books, reading a few of the titles here and there.
"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John hobbled over next to Sherlock.
"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock smiled.
"So I went straight ahead and moved in."
"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out" they spoke simultaneously.
"... Oh. So this is all..."
"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock began tidying up a bit, obviously embarrassed.
"I think it's lovely." I twirled around, looking at all the oddities in the room, occasionally stopping to pick something up and examine it. "You know, I love the smell of old books, and I think that's exactly what this flat smells like." I found my way to the mantel piece and held up what appeared to be a real, human skull.
"That's a skull." John pointed at me as I played with the jaw, opening and closing it.
"Friend of mine." Sherlock plucked It from my hands and placed it back, causing me to pout. "When I say 'friend' ..."
"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." I giggled into my hand. Poor John.
"Of course we'll be needing two." John furrowed his brow at Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones." John looked to Sherlock for help, but Sherlock either was ignoring it, or was in too deep of thought to hear Mrs. Hudson's inquiries.
"I'm not gay." He looked at me with a 'please don't think I'm gay' look.
"Oh, Sherlock! The mess you've made!" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. I went over to help her clean up as John found a nice cushion and sat down.
"I looked you up on the internet last night." John got Sherlocks attention.
"Anything interesting?"
"Found your website, The Science of Deduction-"
"The Science of Deduction!" I realized aloud as I burst back into the living area. I pointed a dramatic finger at Sherlock, "That's why I know your name! You're the one who wrote that funny little website I found!"
"What did you think?" Sherlock smirked, but quickly frowned when John gave him a look.
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John said in disbelief.
"Yes, isn't it wonderful? I could barely follow along, but I thought the idea of it was absolutely brilliant!" Sherlock ignored me, still upset by Johns comment.
"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."
"How?" Sherlock just smiled and turned away.
"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen reading a newspaper.
"Four." He looked out of the window, and I noticed the red and blue lights reflecting in the window. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."
"A fourth?" I asked, just as Lestrade came in.
"Where?" Sherlock went straight to the point.
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."
"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?"
"Yeah."
"This one did." My eyes lit up with excitement. "Will you come?"
"Who's on forensics?"
"It's Anderson." Sherlock scowled.
"Anderson won't work with me."
"Well, he won't be your assistant-"
"I need an assistant." Lestrade sighed.
"Will you come?"
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."
"Thank you-" he said before he finally noticed me standing there. "Lucy?!"
"Hello Greg!" I smiled and gave him a small hug.
"My god, do you know everyone?" Sherlock muttered, briefly glancing at me.
"I haven't got time for this!" Lestrade reminded himself. He dashed back down the stairs, obviously going to the crime scene, where he was needed. As soon as we heard the door shut, Sherlock leapt into the air and began spinning about the room, much to everyone's surprise.
"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock cheered as he put back on his coat and scarf. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."
"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."
"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" He said, running down the stairs.
"Wait!" I went after him, catching him near the bottom of the stairs.
"What?!" he said, unable to remain still.
"I'm coming with you!" I rushed to put my coat on.
"What? No you're not! Or are you?" He spoke quickly.
"You, Sherlock, are my pass to finally be allowed into the crime scene." I explained. "They said I needed police I.D., but I think you'll do just as well." Sherlock paused for a moment and thought.
"Alright."
"Wonderful!" I smiled, "Also, I think we should bring John."
"We can't bring the whole town!"
"Yes, but I feel bad with him having to stay home alone! Besides, he's a doctor, he could be helpful."
"..."
"I really think we-"
"Of course! A doctor." He grabbed my shoulders, "You're a genius!" He ran back up the stairs to retrieve him, passing Mrs. Hudson, so I took the opportunity to call my mother.
"Mom?...yeah, I may be a little late coming home...No, it's not cause of a boy! I mean, he is a boy, but... It's not like that! Alright, I gotta go. Tell Uncle that there's some leftovers in the fridge! Love you!" I hung up right as Sherlock came bounding down the stairs, John close behind.
"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out!"
"All of you?" Sherlock turned to face her.
"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He kissed her cheek.
"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson attempted to sound angry, but her smile gave her away.
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" He sprinted out into the cold. I lingered in the door frame, briefly staring at him. He really is different, huh?
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"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock said, breaking the silence that had filled the taxi. Usually I would have been chatting away, but something didn't quite feel right about it.
"Yeah, where are we going?"
"Crime scene. Next?"
"Who are you? And why do the police let you in and not me?" I asked. John gave me a questioning look, but I ignored it.
"What do you think?"
"I'd say private detective ..."
"But?"
"but the police don't go to private detectives."
"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." He smiled smugly.
"Interesting. I never thought of inventing my own job before!" And that's saying something, considering all I ever did was sit around and think crazy thoughts.
"What does that mean?"
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."
"The police don't consult amateurs!" Sherlock threw him a look.
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."
"Yes, how did you know?"
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your 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 traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." John paused before saying,
"You said I had a therapist."
"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." John handed his phone over and allowed Sherlock to continue, "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. Next bit's easy. You know it already." Sherlock looked up at me.
"The engraving!" My eyes widened in realization.
"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 it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have 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. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but 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?" Sherlock smiled.
"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. 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?"
"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock awaited a reaction just like he did with me. I wouldn't of been surprised if John punched him in the face, but he did instead made me smile.
"That ... was amazing." There was a long pause.
"Do you think so?"
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." I could tell I was going to like John.
"That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?"
"'Piss off'!" They both grinned and I laughed. Yeah. Definitely gonna like these two.
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock said as we headed towards the crime scene. John paused,
"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." Sherlock looked impressed with himself.
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."
"And Harry's short for Harriet." Sherlock stopped.
"Harry's your sister..."
"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"
"Sister!" Sherlock hissed.
"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"
"You're a doctor, John." I decided to answer for Sherlock, who was currently complaining about there always being something wrong, "You may have some very useful skills we can use later on." John seemed to accept my answer and nodded.
"Right.." We approached the police tape. I gave it a quick glare, but smiled, immediately remembering I had permission now.
"Hello, freak." I frowned at Donovan before realizing she was talking to Sherlock. Does he have to deal with her too?
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock explained.
"Why?"
"I was invited."
"Why?"
"I think he wants me to take a look." I smiled. Sherlock was saying everything I wanted to say but never had the guts to.
"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"
"Always, Sally." He went under the tape and inhaled sharply. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."
"I don't ... " Donovan looked at me. "Lucy, I told you you're not allowed in here!" I cringed at the harshness of her tone.
"She's with me." Sherlock spoke up. I smiled and nodded at Donovan, feeling quite triumphant.
"You're kidding?! Of course! I should 'ave seen it comin'." She rolled her eyes.
"Thank you!" I ducked under the tape. I turned and smirked at the yellow barrier; Oh, would you look at that. I've managed to cross you once again. Better get used to that.
"And who's this?" Poor John stood there, unsure of what to say.
"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."
"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" She looked at John, "What, did he follow you home?"
"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."
"No." Sherlock lifted the tape for John.
"C'mon John!" He smiled at me and went under. "Doesn't that feel great?"
"What?"
"Crossing the police tape! Isn't it wonderful?!" I smiled. John chuckled and pretended to know what I was talking about.
"Freak's here. Bringing him in." We followed Donovan towards the house. As we neared the door, Anderson came out.
"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Anderson grimaced, then looked at me.
"What are you doing here?" I smiled.
"Don't worry, I've got permission this time." He narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"Look, it's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" I nodded my head politely as Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose.
"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" I smiled. Oh, I've been waiting for this. My subconscious spoke. Don't be rude, me!
"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."
"Your deodorant told me that."
"My deodorant?"
"It's for men."
"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"
"So's Sergeant Donovan." Anderson gave a nervous look at Donovan.
"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?" I tried to stifle my giggles with my hand.
"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply..."
"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock looked at Donovan pointedly, "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." He smiled, much to their horror and my delight. He headed into the house, me and John close behind. We walked into a room where Lestrade was currently putting on a strange blue suit that was supposed to keep you from contaminating anything.
"You need to wear one of these." Sherlock said to John and I, notifying Lestrade of our presence.
"Lucy!?" I waved at Lestrade. "And who's this?!"
"They're with me."
" Okay, I understand why you brought Lucy, but who is he?"
"I said he's with me." Sherlock picked up some latex gloves while John began putting on the coverall. Seeing how no one was really paying attention, I took the opportunity to slip away. I ran up the stairs, pardoning myself to the police officers that we're chatting on the stairs. I looked into each room briefly before finally finding the one with the body. Oooh...
I stepped cautiously into the room, walking over to the dead woman and bending over her. I slipped on a pair of the latex gloves before giving the body a poke. Then another poke. And another.
"LUCY!" I jumped at Lestrades voice.
"All I did was poke it! And look! I'm wearing gloves! See? Gloves!" I held up my hands for him to see, making him sigh.
"Jesus Lucy, I take my eye off of you for one second..." He trailed off. "I can give you two minutes."
"May need longer." Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"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."
"Those lucky children..." I muttered, earning a look from Lestrade. Sherlock stepped a bit closer to the body, looking it over. We stood there in silence.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything!" Lestrade defended.
"You were thinking. It's annoying." Lestrade and John shared a look as a laughed, covering my mouth so that the people outside couldn't hear. I watched Sherlock begin to examine the body, wondering what in the world must be going through that brilliant head of his. After a few moments he gave a satisfied smile.
"Well?" I asked excitedly.
"Got anything?"
"Not much." He pulled out his phone and began typing something as Anderson walked into the door frame.
"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something-"
"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock slammed the door in his face. I thought about checking on Anderson, but instead just laughed. I was certainly enjoying this.
"So she's German?"
"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."
"Sorry – obvious?" John looked at him as I tried to see what he saw.
"What about the message, though?" Sherlock ignored him.
"What do you think?"
"Of the message?" John looked confused.
"He's talking about the body. You're a doctor, remember?" John smiled at me.
"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside-"
"They won't work with me."
"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here-"
"Yes, because you need me." Lestrade paused.
"Yes, I do. God help me..."
"Doctor Watson." Sherlock urged him to examine the body. He looked to Lestrade for permission.
"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." He then opened the door, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes!"
"Well?" They lowered their voices to a point where I could no longer hear them. I sighed at their secrecy.
"Fun?! There's a woman lying dead!" I finally managed to hear.
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." I watched as John began to examine the body himself.
"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."
"You know what it was. You've read the papers."
"What, she's one of the suicides?"
"The fourth." I smiled.
"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade said.
"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."
"Suitcase?" I asked, looking around for the aforementioned case.
"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."
"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up!-" Sherlock pointed at her hand.
"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not 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 sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."
"Now that is brilliant!" I said. Sherlock looked at me, but I just tilted my head to say, 'Well it was'.
"Cardiff?" Lestrade brought us back on topic.
"It's obvious, isn't it?"
"It's not obvious to me." John spoke up. Sherlock looked at us,
"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring!"
"You'd be surprised." Sherlock ignored me.
"Her coat: it's 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?" He showed us his phone, "Cardiff."
"That's fantastic!" John said in awe.
"You both realize you do that out loud?"
"Sorry. I'll shut up."
"No, it's ... fine." I smiled at the detectives secret craving for praise. Then I realized something funny.
"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Sherlock began to look around the room,
"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."
"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked.
"No, she was leaving an angry note in German. Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"
"How do you know she had a suitcase?" I spoke up again.
"Back of the 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 any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" Lestrade looked confused.
"There wasn't a case." Sherlock slowly raised his head and looked at Lestrade.
"Say that again."
"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Sherlock ran out of the door and began yelling at the officers if anyone found a suitcase. We all followed him, watching his frantic figure scurry down the stairs.
"Sherlock, there was no case!"
"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."
"Right, yeah, thanks. And ...?"
"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings."
"I knew it!" I cheered.
"We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."
"Why are you saying that?"
"Her case! Come on, 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 called down.
"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking like... Oh... Oh!" Sherlock clapped his hands together with an expression of pure delight.
"Sherlock?" John said.
"What? What is it?" I called down. I wanna know!
"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake..."
"We can't just wait!" Lestrade argued.
"Oh, we're done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" He disappeared from our view.
"But what was the mistake?!" I called after him. Sherlock came back for a brief second just to yell "PINK!" then run off. John and I looked at each other briefly before heading outside.
"He's gone." Donovan informed us.
"Who, Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yeah, he just took off. He does that."
"Is he coming back?"
"Didn't look like it." I frowned.
"Right. Right...yes. Sorry, where are we?"
"Brixton."
"Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er...well... my leg." Donovan looked at him with bit of sympathy before holding up the tape for us.
"Try the main road."
"Thanks!" I smiled and ducked under the tape.
"But you're not his friend." I turned towards her.
"Aren't I?
"He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" She directed the question towards John.
"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him."
"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy."
"Why?" I said a bit defensively.
"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."
"Why would he do that?"
"That's the difference between you and him. He's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored." She began to leave, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."
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Woot! Chapter 1 is DONE! Tell me what you thought in the reviews please!