Etheldrea sat awkwardly between her father and John. She kept her hands in her lap, and glanced over occasionally at what her father was doing. John looked over at the both of them now and then, obviously anxious.

"Ok, you've got questions." Sherlock said about ten minutes in to the ride.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene, next?"

"Who are you, what do you do?"

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective, but the police don't go to private detectives."

Etheldrea smirked along with Sherlock.

"I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world, I invented the job."

"What about me? Lestrade asks for me sometimes." Etheldrea asked.

"You're not a consulting detective, you're barely my assistant."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry," John asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"And me, sometimes Lestrade phones me too." Etheldrea mumbled.

John laughed, "But the police don't consult amateurs."

Etheldrea turned her head and glared at him. She opened her mouth to speak but Sherlock interrupted her,

"When I ask you yesterday Afghanistan or Iraq, you looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. The haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. The conversation as you entered the room says trained at Bart's, so Army Doctor. The tan above the wrists, you had been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limps really bad when you walk but you don't asked for a chair when you stand, like you'd forgotten about it. So it's at least partly psychosomatic. That means the circumstances surrounding that would mean tragic, wounded in action. Wounded in action, sun tan, Afghanistan or Iraq? Then there's your brother. Your phone is expensive, email and mp3 player. You're looking for a flat to share, you wouldn't waste money on that, it's a gift. Scratches, small ones, many over time. It's been used in the same pocket as keys and coins. One wouldn't treat any luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bits easy, you know it already."

"The engraving?"

"Harry Watson, clearly family member who's given you their phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who's can't find a place to live, unlikely you've got any extended family , certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now Clara, who's Clara? It's expensive, three kisses, an attachment, say's wife not girlfriend. Also, it's been given recently, this model's only six months old. There's trouble there, six months old and he's already giving it away? If she left him, he would have kept it, people do, sentiment, but noo. He wanted rid of it, he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation; you're not going to your brother for help? It 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?"

"Shot in the dark, but a good one. The scuff marks around the edges. Every night he goes to plug it I to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, you never see a drunk's without them. There you go, see you were right."

"I was right? About what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

"That. Was amazing."

Etheldrea and Sherlock both looked at John quizzically.

"You think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

John laughed, and Sherlock and Etheldrea smiled.

"Etheldrea, can you do the same?" John asked.

She smiled and nodded, "Of course, I learned from the best."

"Incredible, absolutely incredible."

"However, I learned its best not to show off." she said, nudging her father, "Especially when I started school."

"Really, are the kids awful?"

"Some of them are, very much so. But, it's the teachers I have issues with. Teacher's don't like being corrected, especially by someone three times younger than them."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh don't be, it's something you get used to after a while."

The rest of the cab ride wasn't as awkward as it had begun, and Etheldrea and John conversed easily. For Etheldrea, it was nice talking to someone new who didn't judge her on appearance and what came out of her mouth. John Watson was starting to grow on her.

When the cab pulled up to the scene, Etheldrea immediately spotted Sally and repressed a groan. Of course she was here, when was she not there?

The trio walked towards the scene, and Sherlock asked, "Did I get anything wrong?"

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

"Spot on then, I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"Harry's short for Harriet." John said, causing Sherlock to pause.

"Harry's your sister."

"And what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, taking in the flashing lights and tape.

"Sister?"

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

"There's always something."

In front of them, Sally walked to them.

"Hello Freaks." She greeted them.

Sherlock rested a hand on Etheldrea's shoulder while she crossed her arms and glared at the Detective Sergeant.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well you know what I think, don't you?" she asked as they stepped under the tape.

"Always. I know you didn't make it home last night."

Etheldrea smirked, but kept her face hidden from Sally.

"Who's this?"

"A colleague of my, Dr. John Watson. Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donavon."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited?" John asked.

"No, come on." Sherlock replied, lifting the tape.

"And what about the girl?" Sally asked, "How many times have we told you, you can't bring a minor to a crime scene?"

"And how many times has she been of use to the case?"

Sally glared, and then lifted her walkie-talkie to her mouth.

"The freaks are here, I'm bringing them in."

The four walked to the entrance, being greeted by Anderson as he walked out.

"Ah, Anderson, just when I thought I saw enough of you yesterday, here you are again." Etheldrea said.

"It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated. Got that?" he asked, ignoring her.

"Clear. Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh don't pretend that you worked that out, you're daughter told you that. She figured that out yesterday."

"If you recall, I never said anything about your wife."

"It's true; she failed to mention it to me. Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men."

"Well of course it's for men, I'm wearing it."

"So is Sergeant Donavon."

Etheldrea smiled sweetly at Donavon before walking into the house. Her father and John followed after, with Sherlock "suspecting" that Sally only scrubbed the floors.

As they met with Lestrade, Sherlock told both John and Etheldrea to put on the blue full body coats.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked, referring to John.

"He's with me."

"Yeah, but who is he?"

"I said he's with me."

"Aren't you going to put one on?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't say anything, his silence giving him the answer.

"He never wears one. Gloves are all he needs." Etheldrea said as she finished zipping up.

Lestrade led them down the hall, to the right, and up a rounded flight of stairs.

"I can give you two minutes." He said, "Her name's Jennifer Wilson. We found her credit cards; we're running them now for contact details. She hasn't been here long, some kids found her."

Etheldrea stepped into the room behind John, taking a place next to her father. She surveyed the room, and took in the body. The woman was decked in an atrocious amount of pink.

"Shut up." Her father said.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade defended.

"You were thinking; it's annoying."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and stepped closer to the body. Immediately, she noticed the word Rache carved into the floor with the woman's left hand.

Sherlock pushed her back a bit and knelt down. He ran a hand under her coat collar and it came up wet. Under her body, her clutch bag was dry.

Etheldrea moved to his left and looked over the woman's jewelry. The necklace, bracelets, and earrings were clean, but her wedding ring was very dirty.

"Have you two got anything?"

"Not much." Sherlock said.

"But it's better than nothing." Etheldrea added.

Anderson stood at the door, "She's German. Rache is German for revenge."

Sherlock walked over to the door and shut it in his face as he said, "Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course not. But she is from out of town. She was returning home to Cardiff."

"What about the message?"

"Dr. Watson, take a look at the body."

"We have a whole medical team down stairs." Lestrade said.

"They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here."

"Yes, because you need me."

Lestrade looked down, "Yes I do, god help me."

"Dr. Watson."

John looked to Lestrade for confirmation.

"Do what he says, help yourself." Lestrade said as he left.

Etheldrea walked around the body and looked at the ankles. Mud was splattered on one of them. She glanced around the room and saw no suitcase like she assumed there was.

She turned and walked out of the room, passing by Lestrade.

"Inspector, have you seen her suitcase?" she asked him.

"Suitcase?"

Etheldrea nodded once and turned away, walking around the hall and peeking into all the rooms. Not in a single one did she see a suitcase. She traveled downstairs and checked in all those rooms too but no cigar.

"SUITCASE! DID ANYONE FIND A SUITCASE! WAS THERE A SUITCASE IN THIS HOUSE?" her father yelled from above.

"SHERLOCK, THERE WAS NO CASE!"

Etheldrea walked towards the stairs and looked up.

"And?"

"There not suicides, there murders all of them." Sherlock clapped his hands, "We've got a serial killer, I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why do you say that?"

"Her case. Where is her case? Did she eat it?" he remarked sarcastically, "someone else was here and they took her case."

Etheldrea went into thinking mode, and mumbled to herself, "So he must have driven here."

She could have left it at a hotel." John said.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color coordinates her lips and her shoes, she never would have left- OHH!"

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"Serial killers, always hard, you have to wait for them to make a mistake." He said, rushing down the stairs.

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade said.

"Oh we're done waiting, look at her. Really look at her. He already make a mistake! Find out where she lives in Cardiff, find out her parents. Find out who Rachel is."

"What mistake?"

"PINK!" Sherlock stopped and yelled up to them.

Then he ran down and passed Etheldrea on the way out the door. She sighed at his eagerness, and looked up the stairs as Dr. Watson. He limped down the stairs, and Etheldrea waited patiently for him.

Silently they took off the blue suits, and walked outside. John looked around for Sherlock, but didn't see him anywhere.

"Where did Sherlock go?" he asked her.

"Somewhere, he takes off sometimes."

"Is he coming back?"

"No, he doesn't come back after he finished with the scene."

"I see. . . So he just left you here?"

"I can find my way back to Baker Street."

The two walked up to the tape, and Sally, and went under it.

"You're not his friend." Sally called out as they walked away.

John and Etheldrea turned back towards her. John walked closer, but Etheldrea stayed within ear shot.

"He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

"I'm- I'm nobody. I just met him"

"Ok, then take my advice and stay away from him."

"Why?"

"You know why they're here? Not paid or anything. They like it. The weirder the crime, the better it is for them. And you know, one day just showing up won't be enough. One day, we'll be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there. His daughter would follow soon after."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they're psychopaths."

Etheldrea glared and walked over to them, "My Father. Is. Not a murderer and he never will be. He is also not a psychopath; he's a sociopath. I'm the same. Get it right or don't bother commenting on things you have right on, or know nothing about."

"DONAVON!" Lestrade called from the house.

"Coming!" she called, and then turned to John, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes, and his daughter."

Etheldrea wanted nothing more than punch her in the face, but Sally was a cop and that would put her in big trouble, and Etheldrea preferred words over fists.

John shook his head and turned around, then held out his left arm to escort her.

"Coming?" he asked.

Etheldrea relaxed, and linked arms with him, "Sorry about that, she's not usually that. . ."

"Awful? Horrible?"

"Yes, usually she just calls us freaks and leaves it at that."

"It doesn't matter; she should have said any of that. No one should have to put up with that."

"Well, I have for over ten years, and my dad has for even longer."

A phone booth to their right began to ring, but they both ignored it. They continued walking towards the main road and down a walk way. Another phone rang as they passed a shop, and Etheldrea became a bit suspicious. Then as they passed another phone booth, that one rang too.

She rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what was going on.

"If you want to take it and find a ride later, I can go on by myself." She said.

"Are you sure? Its dark out, and-"

"John, I've found myself out in the dark many times. I've got money, I can get a cab."

"You'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine. Good evening Dr. Watson."

"Good evening."

She turned around and walked down the street, but she didn't get far when a black car pulled up and opened the door. Inside, a man sat waiting for her.

"Hello Harold, lovely to see you again."

"And you Miss Holmes. Home, I presume?"

"If you know where he is. Baker street is fine."