A/N: Hi, everyone! It's a bit of a short chapter tonight. So sorry about that but spring break is coming up which means I can write more. I hope you enjoy it and I'll update with more tomorrow. Thanks so much for everyone who reviewed and thanks for reading!- thefaultoflegend

"Okay. Explain again," stated Sherlock, barely passing a glance to the police who were holding the crime scene tape as he crossed over. He went straight from Molly's flat to the scene, sending a quick text to John on his way there. Now Lestrade led the pair inside the small flat where a woman laid face-down in the middle of the lounge. There were no obvious signs of blood anywhere, and her limbs were all spread out to her sides. She lay on the side of her face, her hair covering it partially. The living area looked clean, other than the obvious dead body that couldn't be missed as soon as one walked into the door. Sherlock looked around the room, taking note of everything as Lestrade talked.

"Her name is Angela Strong. Her mother hadn't heard from her in a few days," started Lestrade. Sherlock's mind buzzed with deductions. Lives alone. One coat on the coatrack, one pair of shoes by the door. Educated. Bookshelf is full and many have been used recently. Degrees hanging on the walls. "She came and found her exactly like this." Pants are put on haphazardly. She didn't do it herself. Rape attempt? "She has a gunshot wound to the chest. She was shot in the bedroom." Definite rape attempt. Use of a drug? No sign of a struggle. Why did he kill her?"

Sherlock walked into the near bedroom to check out the place where the actual murder happened while John put on a pair of gloves and examined the body. "Yes, gunshot wound but I suspect possible drug use, probably forced by him. He raped her and then shot her in the bedroom." Sherlock gestured around him as he spoke. Blood splattered the sheets of the girl's bed that were folded surprisingly neatly for someone to be murdered there. "And then he moved her," he continued. "But why would he move her? Why would he take the time to do that?"

"How do you know it was a guy?" asked Lestrade. Sherlock dismissed him easily. "Bruise marks on the girl's wrist. The marks are too big to come from a woman's hand." Sherlock put his hands to his mouth, trying to block out the noise from the other officers on the scene. Why did he move her? Why did he move her?

"He was obviously just trying to get rid of the body," yelled a voice from across the flat.

"Shut up, Anderson. You complete idiot," Sherlock yelled back and walked back out to the lounge where John had just finished looking things over on the woman. "He put her here purposely. Look at the way her body is laying. Her legs are equal distances apart; her arms are splayed out in the same way. If he was just trying to get rid of the body and failed to do so, she wouldn't look like this." Sherlock was seething by the time he was done and Lestrade waved for Anderson to leave. "Do you have anything, John?" Sherlock asked the doctor, who nodded rapidly.

"Female, age 33, height approximately 163 centimeters. Cause of death is confirmed gun-shot wound to the chest. Also, there are numerous marks on her left arm. They look to be about two days old which means that the killer most likely did it. Could be that he tortured her? Or that it's some type of message," replied John, bending to flip the girl's arm over to let Sherlock get a good look. Sherlock slipped on a pair of gloves. He held her arm and brushed the tips of his gloved fingers over the small cuts that lined her wrists. They were done with a simple blade, neatly lined in a row. The killer had done it after he killed her, so she wouldn't move around. It was a message, alright. The girl's skin was pale and something about the way her brown hair was splayed out sent a signal to Sherlock's brain. He stared at her turned head, lightly brushing away the strands that were covering her brown, open eyes. The girl held a sense of familiarity for Sherlock, even though he knew they had never met before. He looked at the girl for a moment longer, trying to place the weird feeling in his stomach, when he reached out and gently pulled down her eyelids. John watched the display from the side, wondering what had suddenly come over his friend. He looked almost saddened, when he was normally so hard during a case. He never had cared about a victim before. He had even been seen laughing on scene's before, but never looking as somber as he did in that moment.

"You alright, mate?" asked John.

"Yeah," he whispered before clearing his throat and shaking his curls, standing up now and returning to his usual indifferent self. "Yeah. There are thirteen cuts. It's a code. I don't know what for," he said with more force, and turned back to the people before him. "Are there any traces of the killer?"

"No. Nothing that we could find. We're trying to gather more information about her last day," said Lestrade, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay. That's all I need. I'll have my pathologist check for drugs in her system. In the meantime, I'll figure out the code." Both Greg and John just stared at him, confused looks on their faces and both thinking the same thing, his pathologist? "What?" asked Sherlock, looking at the two of them.

"Nothing," recovered John. Greg just shook his head. "Let's go catch this killer."

The next day, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, still trying to figure out the scene from the day before. Thirteen marks. Why thirteen? A date, apartment number, age, superstition. No. Why was the body like that? He wanted us to see. Will there be more? Probably. Beginnings of a serial killing. Who was he? Why did he kill her? His thoughts were interrupted by a ding from his phone.

He was her date. He had reservations at a restaurant but they never made it here. Nobody has a name. The reservations were under a Smith, not exactly a lot to go on. - DI Lestrade

Anything yet? - DI Lestrade

The name was fake. And not yet. Going to the lab soon. - SH

He stood up from the chair and started pacing around the room, suddenly thinking about to the girl lying on the hardwood floor of the flat. Why had she affected him so much? It was just another case. A confusing one, as there was nothing to go on. He needed a better look at the body.

Did you do Strong yet? - SH

No. Just about to start now. - Molly

Be there in twenty. - SH