Just to clarify, her name is pronounced as 'Bye' not "Bee' so like, 'Byetha'

Deductions are difficult, I tried my best here :) And well, you all know what happens when they play Cluedo :D

"H-how can she be sure?" John asked, stunned by what Sherlock had just revealed.

"Well, beca —"

Ding.

"Excellent! Come John, Lestrade needs us,"

Sherlock shot up, grabbed his coat from behind the door and trampled down the stairs. With a sigh, John got up and followed after him. Bytha heard them just before they were out the door and she peeked out at them from 221C.

"Where are you off to, Sherlock? Got a case?"

"Hmmm, yes. Some murderer has got Scotland Yard stumped. Not as if that's too difficult. They're idiots the lot of them. Care to come along, Bytha? I'd like to if you've improved,"

"I have," she grinned.

The trio walked into the modern, pristine apartment and were greeted by Lestrade. A few forensic investigators were puttering behind him snapping pictures and collecting evidence. Anderson, to Sherlock's chagrin, was present.

"Well, well, well. Hello Sherlock," he spat.

"Shut up, Anderson. Stop infecting the air with your vile breath," Sherlock retorted.

He turned to Bytha.

"Oh and who's this? Have you gotten yourself another dog to trail after you?"

At that, Sherlock snapped, but she beat him to it.

"Anderson yes? I would advise you to stop and listen to me. Just because you're a miserable wretch with greasy hair and an IQ in the single digits, doesn't mean you can be awful to Mr. Holmes here. I suggest you do in fact, shut up and stay out of our way, unless you want your wife to hear about your affair with a certain co-worker,"

Anderson stared at her blankly before walking away with his cheeks red. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, who's she?"

"She's with me,"

He looked at her suspiciously but reluctantly carried on, seeing no point in arguing with him. He led them into the master bedroom where there was a woman's body on the floor. Sherlock and Bytha's eyes scanned the body taking every single detail in, occasionally going through her pockets to look at things. With a nod from Lestrade, John went to examine the body.

"She's been dead about twelve hours," John began, "Give or take an hour or two,"

"I'll need what you have, Sherlock," Lestrade stated.

Sherlock gave a subtle nod and to Lestrade's and John's surprise, Bytha started speaking.

"In her mid to late thirties. Married happily. She has three children. Works as a teacher at a school not too far from here. Money has been a bit tight recently," she paused.

John and Lestrade looked at her dumbstruck.

"How—" Lestrade started.

"Wedding ring's perfectly polished and on the other hand is a diamond ring which says, 'ten years of pure bliss' on the inside. Not to mention the texts she's been receiving talking about having a dinner date soon to 'get away from the kids for awhile'. Her being a teacher wasn't a far leap. Red pen and marker marks on her hands. In her pocket was a crumpled piece of paper with some message scrawled on it, no doubt something she confiscated from one of the students in school. She has a Rolex watch, but it's a rather old model. Her skirt is old as well, and has a bad rip on one side but she sewed it up — quite badly might I add — instead of getting a new one, or getting it sent to a professional tailor. She had money once, but not anymore," she paused to look at Sherlock, "Correct?"

"Close. She has two children, not three, but I can see how you made that mistake. That's not baby food on her shirt; it's some salad sauce,"

"Oh. Yeah, I was wondering about the absence of a baby photo in her wallet when the rest of her kids where there. I just guessed she hadn't had time to print one out,"

"Never guess. It is a shocking habit — destructive to the logical faculty. But yes, you have improved,"

Lestrade just stared. John chuckled under his breath.

"Who is she?" he yelled, "Why is there a young woman who is like you and Mycroft? I want a straight answer, Sherlock,"

"Use your brain, Detective, surely it is not all that useless,"

"Sherlock," he growled.

"I think she'd prefer it if she introduced herself, instead of me doing it,"

"Bytha Holmes," she smiled, "Nice to meet you,"

"H-Holmes. As in related-to-sherlock-and-mycroft sort of Holmes?" he squeaked.

She nodded smugly and Sherlock smirked.

"There are three of you?" he gaped.

"Yes, they've been very successful at keeping it a secret. But carrying on,"

"The murderer," Sherlock started, "is about six foot tall, he smokes a very unique Brazilian cigar brand, I'm sure that'll narrow the search down,"

"Right, is that all you have?"

"Hmmm yes. Tell me when you've caught him. Keep me updated," he started to walk out, but said in a low voice, "Keep my sister a secret or perhaps the next time you find yourself in need of a superior mind, I'll be conveniently occupied. Evening,"

Back at Baker Street, Bytha was desperately looking through the cupboards of her brother's kitchen for something, anything edible. She had been greeted by expired pasta, mouldy bread and a jar of severed pinky fingers in formaldehyde — although she was used to finding body parts in strange places, she couldn't help but grimace. In the process of her search she had knocked over a test tube filled with a strange solution which ended up discolouring one of the tiles in the kitchen.

"Apologies brother, I do hope that wasn't important,"

"Hmmm? Oh, no, not at all, but Mrs. Hudson won't be too pleased about that tile though,"

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair absentmindedly plucking at the stings on his violin while John continued writing up his blog on the table. She sighed and got a cloth to wipe up the spillage which in fact, discoloured the cloth as well, so she threw it away.

"How do you boys feel about pasta? Spaghetti more specifically,"

"Oh, are you cooking? Thank you, pasta's fine. How pleasant," John smiled.

"Try not to burn the kitchen down, it's been through enough abuse today," Sherlock drawled.

"Sherlock. My cooking isn't that bad,"

"Oh yes? Then what about that affair with the beef stew?"

"Let's not talk about that," she said embarrassed, "I've gotten better,"

"We'll see,"

After dashing down quickly to her flat to get some ingredients, she started cooking. Within the hour there was freshly cooked spaghetti sitting on the table, its tantalizing aroma filling the apartment. John took a plate and silently complimented Bytha on her cooking stating that he 'hadn't had spaghetti like this in a long time'. Sherlock thanked her for not blowing the flat up and declined the plate she was offering him.

"Have you forgotten sister? I don't eat while I'm working —"

"I know, 'digestion slows me down',"

He smirked at her then his expression changed and he suddenly jumped up, pulling is phone out.

"Lestrade, yes, Sherlock here. It was the janitor. No, not that one. The other one. Yes. Case closed, mystery solved," then he hung up.

"Perfect then, now have my plate of spaghetti, Sherlock,"

"I'd rather not chance indigestion," he teased.

"Yeah and you'd also rather not chance me hitting you with a cushion. Try it,"

"Really, Sherlock you should. It's rather good," John interjected.

Bytha put some on a plate for him and after sniffing it a few times, he took a mouthful. And another. And another. She was amazed. Getting him to eat was something rare, for him to actually take a few mouthfuls of something she cooked was a miracle.

"John's right. You've improved,"

With small victory smile on her face, she sat down to eat with them. After getting the dishes done she sat in an armchair, eyes scanning the bookshelves.

"So what do you guys do for fun around here?"

"Well, Sherlock's idea of fun is a murder," John meekly said.

"As is mine. But I mean normal people fun,"

"I suppose —"

"Hey! Cluedo!"

And for the rest of the night, their shouting voices could be heard from the flat next door.