Chapter 3

'The act of dying is one of the acts of life'
Marcus Aurelius

Harriet awoke feeling refreshed despite the interruption to her sleep. Mrs Hudson had left a pint of milk in the fridge and Harriet found some bran flakes in one of the kitchen cupboards. She didn't like milk and the thought of dry bran flakes was not a desirable one instead she headed to a cafe a few streets over from Baker Street overlooking Regents Park with a chocolate croissant and espresso. The day was looking set to be much improved on the day before. For one, not a cloud in the sky could be seen. Perfect weather for Harriet to sit in Regents Park with her book enjoying the sun.

Harriet returned mid-afternoon with a bag of shopping. She really couldn't eat bran flakes for the rest of her stay. As she fumbled with the key to the front door of 221 Baker Street it swung open in front of her revealing John Watson. "Oh hello, heading out?" she caused John to jump in surprise.

"Err yes. We're out of milk, just popping to the shop," He replied.

"I've got some you can have," Harriet stepped through the open door.

"Don't worry I'll go out, won't take me long," he reassured her.

"No. I insist. I don't like milk. Mrs Hudson left it for me," John followed Harriet to Mrs Hudson's flat. He took the milk that she passed him and thanked her. He went to leave but stopped.

"Harriet. I don't suppose you are busy tonight? We could catch a film," Harriet was surprised more than anything. What could she say? Her plan for the evening had been to finish her book, she had just gotten to the bit where the killer made a mistake but that sounded like a pathetic excuse. She was sure that if she said no then John would take his partner.

"She thinks you and I are in a relationship," Sherlock had announced his presence as he again entered Mrs Hudson's flat without being invited. Harriet was mortified and stumbled with an apology having been proved wrong. Neither man heard it. Anyone could be forgiven for thinking they were a couple, right now they were bickering just like one. John was trying to explain the situation and Sherlock was nosing in the fridge. "Mrs Hudson said you weren't to date Miss Thornton," he interrupted the pair. Harriet's cheeks turned a rose colour. She had no intention of dating anyone for a while; it was the insinuation that embarrassed her. Did he think she was really that free and easy?

"She also said you weren't to put anymore holes into her walls," John replied.

"I was bored."

"Really, I never would have guessed. Read a book. Do an experiment," John suggested. Harriet lost interest and started to put her shopping away.

"Why when I know how it would end? I'm still awaiting results for my current experiment," Sherlock answered back.

"Is that what the congealed blob is that's taking up most of the fridge?" anyone could see from the look on John's face that he'd had a nasty surprise the last time he opened the fridge.

"We need a case," Sherlock stood behind Harriet watching her put the shopping away. It was more than a little intimidating.

"Mutilated bodies? Kidnap. How about theft of a really expensive yet hideous piece of art?" John mocked.

"Serial killer," Sherlock added to the list.

What were they going on about anyway? Bodies, serial killer. None of it made an ounce of sense to Harriet. "What are you talking about?" she asked. It seemed as if they had forgotten they were in Mrs Hudson's flat.

"Murder Miss Thornton. Do keep up," Sherlock said in a tone that implied she was stupid.

"Murder?" she repeated.

Sherlock sighed, "That's what I said. John your blog counter is stuck again." Still none of it made any sense to Harriet.

"You were on my laptop?" John accused.

"I confisc-" Sherlock replied.

"Just hold on one second. What do you mean by murder?" Harriet cut Sherlock off.

"I don't like being interrupted," he stared down at Harriet.

"Yeah well I don't like people coming in without an invite," she glared back at him.

"Sherlock is a consultant detective," John provided an explanation as a way of dissolving the tension. Harriet found 'Sherlock is an arse,' to be a better description of the man.

"The world's only consultant detective," Harriet added show off to her list of reasons not to like him. She was getting fed up. Most of the kids she taught were easier to deal with than this man. "Right. Enough. Out. Both of you," she pointed to the door with one hand on her hip.

"Sorry Harriet thanks for the milk," John made a quick exit expecting Sherlock to follow. They had been unfair to her. Sherlock stared directly at Harriet. He really didn't like being told what to do; he never listened when it happened.

Harriet was determined to win the staring contest she and Sherlock were having. She was used to kids knowing that she meant business. Sherlock didn't seem to be taking the hint or if he did he was ignoring it.

"221B is getting dusty," he said before finally leaving. Harriet shut the door with force. She didn't care if their flat was dusty. It wasn't her problem. The man infuriated her and it had taken less than twenty four hours. John she didn't mind but Sherlock was a different story.

Frustrated at the intrusion she poured herself a large glass of wine, heated up a microwave lasagne and sat down at Mrs Hudson's tiny kitchen table with her book propped up against the ketchup bottle.

After clearing away she sat down in front of Mrs Hudson's old TV and caught the news. 'Was a biologist at City University and lived in the Temple area, she was found hanging from Blackfriars Bridge in the early hours of this morning. It is thought to have been suicide, second one of its kind' Harriet caught the end of a local report. The only good news was the sun would continue to shine tomorrow meaning Harriet could make the most of site seeing. On her list for tomorrow were, Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park.

The following day was a quiet one. Harriet heard nothing from 221B Baker Street. No strange bangs at ridiculous hours in the morning and no uninvited visitors. It was brilliant. Harriet had seen Bucking Palace, Hyde Park and today had been to Madam Tussaud's. Tomorrow she was going to have a quiet day with another trip to the park. Her bank balance couldn't take anymore sightseeing for a few days.

John Watson was relieved to find that Sherlock had found something to clear his boredom. For the past four days a string of suicides had occurred. Initially Sherlock Holmes had thought nothing of it but now he was rethinking his initial conclusion. Lestrade had sent him a text. They suspected it was more than suicide. It was exactly what Sherlock had been waiting for. A case. His boredom was cured.

Harriet was hovering Mrs Hudson's flat when she saw a sleek silver car pull up outside. Her curiosity got the better of her so she took the hoover over to the window and hovered so she could nose. Hurried footsteps on the stairs proved that the car was for Sherlock and John. They met a man with grey hair at the car and got in. 'Consultant detective business' Harriet thought and decided she didn't need to know anymore.

As the car pulled away Sherlock looked at the window of 221 Baker Street where he had seen Harriet. She was disguising her nosiness with hovering. Mrs Hudson usually did their flat as well. He knew Harriet wouldn't do it but he would change that. John was being equally as stubborn in cleaning as if to prove a point but when they were running out of clean cups something had to be done.

Sherlock looked down at the lifeless body in the morgue. Molly Hooper had done the autopsy. She was fumbling through an explanation of her findings. Sherlock could have read the report quicker but he had to keep her on side if he was to keep getting body parts for his experiments. Speaking of which Molly should have another batch of fingers for him to take away. He got out his slide-open magnifying glass to take a look at the marks around the victims neck. This many similar suicides in four days was not suicide but murder. "The morgue has never been so full," Molly commented.

Sherlock snapped his magnifying glass shut, "Molly don't make small talk," so much for keeping her on side. He would still get his fingers though. Molly Hooper's attraction to him was to his advantage.

"I need to see the rope," Sherlock left the room without any goodbyes, John and Lestrade followed behind after a hurried goodbye to Molly. Sherlock's thoughts were confirmed when he arrived at New Scotland Yard. It was definitely murder. The rope he had looked at hadn't been long enough for the victim to fasten it around their necks and climb over the side of the bridge. They were already dead when they were dropped off the edge of the bridge but how? Nothing had shown up in the toxicology report Molly had done.

Sherlock and John had a silent journey back to Baker Street. One was deep in thought the other was respecting the need for silence having learnt on several occasions that for him to talk would only make matters worse.

Sherlock went over the details he knew so far. The first victim had been twenty five years old Gabriella LaRoche an accountant in Chelsea found hanging from Albert Bridge. Second victim Amrit Singh, again twenty five, a biologist found hanging from the Blackfriars Bridge. Third victim Sally Wilson, twenty five again, a conveyancer found hanging from the Charing Cross Bridge. Sherlock and John had today seen the body of victim number four. Amelia Fergus a twenty five year old chemist hanging from Chelsea Bridge yesterday. There were no drugs found and no obvious signs of injury in the autopsy. No identifiable DNA had been recovered.

The Albert Accountant, the Blackfriars Biologist, the Charing Cross Conveyancer and now the Chelsea Chemist. This definitely head Sherlock's attention.

Lucy brown was a geologist with the British Geological Survey and was currently staying in London at a conference. After dinner with an old university friend she was walking back to her hotel. She had left her purse on a bench whilst having lunch. Lucy was prone to forgetting things. Lucy turned down Exchange Street in Romford; it was a shortcut back to her hotel. Without her purse she couldn't afford a taxi. It was already late and the street was deserted. Lucy felt an unease sweep across her and shivered. She picked up her pace as she passed by the railway arches. As she walked past the third arch someone stepped out beside her. Before she had time to react a hand clamped down over her mouth.

Thanks for taking the time to read.