Chapter 2

Sorry for the long wait, life is hard.


"Anything wrong?" I asked as we got off the cab, Dad payed and looked at John, we walked towards the police tape.

"Harry and me don't get along, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and are getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker."

"Spot on then, didn't expect to get everything right."

"And Harry's short for Harriet." Both Dad and I stopped in our tracks,

"Harry's your sister." I said, and turned to look at Dad.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, continuing on,

"Sister!" Dad spitted out furiously and through clenched teeth, it's always a tiny bit amusing when Dad get's something wrong.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

I jogged a little to catch up to John, leaving Dad to mourn over his mistake.

"There's always something." Dad said, exasperated, and we reached the police tape to be greeted by a truly delightful Sally Donovan.

"Hello, freak." She glanced pointedly at Dad, then at me, "And freak's daughter."

"Hello, Sally." I said, smiling an award winning smile, "We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"We were invited." Dad said. Sally glanced at Dad, annoyed. Me and Dad continue each other's sentences easily, since we have such similar minds, and it annoys some less intellectual people *cough* Donovan *cough* to no end.

"Why?"

"I think he wants us to take a look." I said sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you."

Dad ducked underneath the tape, I followed quickly behind,

"Always, Sally." Dad said, smiling, then took a deep breath through his nose, I smirked, "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't..." Failing to come up with something, she glanced at John, "Well, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." Dad turned to John, "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague other than your freak daughter?" She laughed, I rolled my eyes, seriously, does this woman have nothing to do but laugh at people much smarter than her? "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and..."

"Absolutely not." I said, and lifted up the tape, John struggled to get under it, since I'm shorter than him, but he managed.

"Freak and daughter's here. Bringing them in." Sally talked into the radio.

We managed to get to the front door before we were barred by another obstacle, this time in the form of a hideous creature, otherwise known as Anderson.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Dad said, and Anderson eyed him distastefully,

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear." I said, then took a deep breath, "Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, like father like daughter. Don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that, you gossiping-"

"Don't you dare continue that sentence." Dad said furiously, his teeth clenched and glaring at Anderson.

"Something did tell me, Anderson." I said, after Anderson had recovered from Dad's eruption of anger, "Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men." I said, with a quirky smile and raising my eyebrows, I'm enjoying every single second of humiliating Anderson.

"Of course it's for men. I'm wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan." I said, Anderson looked at Sally in shock, and I sniffed again.

"Oh, it just vaporised... May we go in?"

"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply..." Anderson said and pointed at me threateningly,

"She's not implying anything and it's hardly polite to point your finger at a young woman, don't you think?" Dad said, and draped his arm over my shoulders.

"I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." Dad said, and guided me towards the front door, John trailed behind us. Dad looked at me and winked,

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." I said smugly, and we entered the door. Anderson and Donovan stared after us in horror, John walked past and looked pointedly at her knees.

"You need to wear one of these." I said, and held the disgusting coverall towards John.

"Who's this." Lestrade asked, pulling on his own coverall,

"He's with me."

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with me."

"Sophia, I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to go up."

"And why is that?" I turned so I was fully facing Lestrade and placed my hands on my hips, cocking my head to the side.

"A crime scene is hardly the place for a young woman..." Lestrade said but trailed off at my glare.

"What is this, 1895?" I snarled, Lestrade has a principle that he works with, and unfortunately one of those principles is to treat a woman the same way a knight in a shiny armour would. "And you let me in last time."

"Well, this one is different, Sophia." Lestrade said in a coaxing tone, I hate it when he does that, I'm not a child.

"How so?"

"Well, last time it was a break in, this time there's an actual body."

"So?"

"It's not exactly a healthy image for such a young age."

"Oh please, Lestrade. I am the daughter of Sherlock Holmes, I've seen much worse than a dead body."

"But..." Lestrade looked close to wringing his hands, but instead he slipped on his latex gloves for something to do, "I'm already breaking every rule letting your father in, I can't let a teenage girl in a crime scene!"

"Sophia, I will fill you in later, OK?" Dad coaxed. I glared at him, but he only smirked. We both know that Lestrade was immovable, but I hate this sitting outside treatment.

I glared at Lestrade, who looked away, and I leaned against the doorway, pulled out my phone and ignored any further attempts at making conversations or apologies at three of them went up the stairs, and I slowly felt my rage subside inside me. Anderson smirked as he passed me on his way upstairs.

"I see, waiting for your father, aren't you?"

'No, I'm doing some research for him." I replied, smiling sweetly,

"What research?" Anderson asked.

"Oh, nothing much. Just the behaviour patterns of idiotic police officers and whatnot."

Anderson huffed angrily, and walked up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Dad came blundering down the stairs, I looked up and saw Lestrade and John leaning over the railings and looking at Dad.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Dad hollered as he leapt down the stairs three at a time. I straightened up and got ready to follow him out.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade, in his usual exasperated voice, called out to Dad, leaning over the railings with John.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Dad said, slowing down slightly but still going alarmingly fast.

"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." Dad smiled and I could feel a grin spread over my face, A Serial Killer!

"We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked, seriously, is that a question you ask Dad after knowing him for so long?

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case." Dad called up to John and Lestrade, "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 offered, he seemed even more confused than I am, and I have not a single clue what's going on.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes, she'd never left any hotel with her hair still looking…" Dad paused, "Oh! Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"What is it, what?"

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Dad said, smiling cheerfully, the very image of improper behaviour at a crime scene.

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Dad said, and started running down the steps again. "Look at her, really look!" As if anyone except the Holmes can do that. "Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course, yeah. But what mistake?"

Dad dashed back into their view and yelled, "Pink!"

Then he took off, I ran after him.

"So, what's with the pink?"

"Jennifer Wilson, unhappily married, string of lovers, the sorts." Dad explained, we were walking down a dark alley, the brick walls covered with graffiti, and the mysterious stench of streets like this filled the air around us. "From Cardiff, dressed in appalling amounts of pink."

"Member of the media?"

"Yeah." Dad said, smiling, "And she scratched 'R-a-c-h-e' into the floorboards."

"German?" I offered, "Revenge?"

"Unlikely, Rachel."

"Oh." I said, and a silence fell between us, Dad was looking inside every nook and cranny we came across. He turned back as we came to a split that lead to two narrow alleys. "So, what are we looking for?"

"A pink suitcase. Small one."

"OK."

For the next forty minutes, we scourged the alleyways of the surrounding area of the crime scene, looking for a pink suitcase. We finally found it in a dumpster, and Dad made me carry it back so he can put his hands in his coat pockets and look cool.
As soon as we arrived at the flat, Dad located the nicotine patched in my old Algebra textbook where Mrs. Hudson had hidden them and plopped down on the sofa to enter his mind palace.


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WANTED: Beta Reader, I really need one because I'm very good at making typos and grammar mistakes.