AN: Another really hard chapter for me to write; but hey it's here! As always I don't own anything and please read and review!

Ch. 4 - "Be Our Guest"

The next day Jane found herself hurrying to get to St. Bartholomew Hospital, because Sherlock Holmes had texted her to meet there. She managed to catch a cab and as the cab sped off, Jane mentally cursed herself for not doing more research on the mysterious Sherlock Holmes, but when she researched him that morning; she found herself so immersed in his personal website that she didn't even think about any more research.

As the cab pulled to the side of the road, Jane dutifully paid the cabbie and slowly made her way towards her old stomping grounds; where she had trained to become a doctor. As soon as she was inside the building, she mumbled to herself, "A bit different from my day," before a voice called out, "Ah! I hoped you would come." Jane flinched in surprise at the sudden voice and quickly looked around to see Sherlock standing very close to her. 'How did he sneak up on me like that?,' Jane wondered to herself. "Come on, Jane; I've left my riding crop in the mortuary." Jane was utterly confused, "That's why you texted me to come here?!," she demanded. Sherlock just ignored her and continued leading the way to the mortuary.

When Sherlock barged into the mortuary, Jane noticed a small, brunette girl in a white lab coat look at Sherlock in surprise and adoration. "Ah, Molly," Sherlock greeted, "Have you seen...Ah, here it is," Sherlock mumbled as he picked up his riding crop. The mousy girl named Molly looked up at the tall man and started saying, "Um Sherlock, I'm glad you're here," in an awestruck voice, " I was just about to text you and ask if you wanted to go out for some coffee?" Sherlock looked to be ignoring Molly before realizing she was still talking and said, "Oh yes, coffee would be nice. Black with two sugars please." "Okay," Molly said dejectedly as she left the room to get Sherlock's coffee.

While they were waiting, Jane asked Sherlock who the old woman that had answered the door at the manor. "Oh, that was Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper. Been there ever since I helped her when her husband found himself on Death Row, " Sherlock answered smugly. "You got him out of it?," she questioned.

"I insured it," he said with a smile, "What do you think of the manor?"

"Yes, yes; I think it will do quite nicely, if we could just clean up your study a little bit," she said as she remembered the chaotic mess of the study.

"Ah, yes. I suppose I could clean up a little," Sherlock quietly said.

"There's also a skull on the mantle," Jane pointed out as she thought of the human skull that sat on the fireplace mantle.

"Ah yes, a friend," Sherlock explained, "Well, I say 'friend'," Before Jane could comment, Molly came back in with Sherlock's coffee. "Did you do something with you lipstick?," Sherlock asked her. "It wasn't working for me," she nervously replied. "Mmmm...mouth is too small now," he said as he grabbed the coffee, Jane, and his riding crop and practically flew back to the manor in the back of a cab. "Looked you up on the internet this morning," Jane said to Sherlock in the back of the cab, "'The Science of Deduction'." "What did you think?," asked Sherlock with a hint of hope in his voice. "It said that you can tell a software programmer from his tie and an airline pilot from his left thumb," she responded with obvious doubt in her voice. "Yes, just like I can read your military career in your face, hair, and leg and I can tell your brother's alcoholism from your mobile phone." "How?," she asked. Sherlock just smiled and turned to look out the window.

"How about these suicides then, Sherlock? There's been three already, thought it be right up your alley," Mrs. Hudson said as she picked up the newspaper. "Four," replied Sherlock as he spotted a police car that parked right outside the manor, "and there's something different about this one."

Jane was baffled as she found herself sitting in on of the armchairs with a Union Jack pillow against her back as a tired, gray haired man in a trench coat came trotting into the room. "What's different?," Sherlock questioned without even greeting the man or even turning around from his spot by the window. "You know how they never leave notes? Well, this one did," explained the gray haired man. "Who's on forensics?," questioned Sherlock.

"Anderson."

"Anderson!," Sherlock exclaimed with disgust dripping from his baritone voice, "He won't work with me! That's why I'm going to have an assistant!," Sherlock exclaimed, quickly glancing at Jane.

"Will you come?," the gray haired man questioned tiredly, ignoring Sherlock's outburst.

"Yes," Sherlock finally conceded, "but I'll follow in my own ride." The gray haired man just nodded appreciatively and quickly left the room. As soon as the man left, Sherlock jumped in excitement and spun dramatically around the room as he put on his long gray coat and blue scarf and left the room in a flurry of activity. "Look at him!," Mrs. Hudson sighed with a smile on her face, "All excited for a suicide, it's not right. Don't you worry dear, he'll be back soon, you just rest your leg and I'll make you a cuppa." "Damn my leg!," Jane suddenly exploded, yet again not realizing her brain-to-mouth filter had failed once again. "Sorry," Jane said meekly, "It's just...," she said as she hit her leg with her cane. "It's alright dear, I have a bad hip," Mrs. Hudson said understandingly as she left the room. Jane grabbed the newspaper and began to read about the serial suicides that were being investigated by D.I. Gregory Lestrade and Jane recognized the picture of the gray haired man that had just left as the inspector. A sudden voice interrupted Jane's reading and said, "You were a doctor, an army doctor in fact," Jane looked up to see Sherlock standing in the doorway pulling on his leather gloves. "Yes," she said as she grabbed her cane and stood up.

"Seen a lot of injures, violent deaths, and a bit of trouble, I bet," Sherlock stated.

"Yes," Jane said solemnly, "Too much for a lifetime."

"Care to see some more?"

"Oh, God yes!," Jane exclaimed as she followed Sherlock out of the door.

"Don't wait up Mrs. Hudson, we'll be late!," Sherlock exclaimed as he and Jane rushed to leave the manor. "What both of you?," Mrs. Hudson asked incredulously. "Of course Mrs. Hudson! Three serial suicides and now another with a note! Oh it's Christmas! No time for staying in here, the game is on!," exclaimed Sherlock as he gave a peck on Mrs. Hudson's cheek and led Jane out of the manor and towards the main road to hail a cab.

Jane soon found herself in the back of a cab next to Sherlock as the cab sped off through London as the day slowly turned into night. "All right," Sherlock's baritone voice suddenly cut into Jane's thoughts, "You have questions."

"Yes," Jane answered, baffled at how her day has gone, "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next," he answered curtly.

"All right, you live in a manor, why are we in a cab? Don't you have your own personal driver or something?"

"I prefer cabs. Next."

"What exactly is it that you do?"

"What do you think?"

"I would say private detective, but..."

"But?," Sherlock questioned, hoping that his potential live-in assistant could be more interesting that all the other dull people he had to see every day.

"The police don't consult with private detectives," Jane said, looking over at Sherlock just in time to see a quick smirk grace his face.

"I'm a consulting detective; only one in the world. Created the job myself."

"What does that mean?"

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

"The police don't consult amateurs"

Sherlock glanced over at Jane before saying, "When I met you for the first time, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq,' you looked surprised,"

"Yes, how did you know if Mike didn't tell you?"

"I didn't know nor did Mike tell me. I saw. Your hairstyle, the way you hold yourself, and the fact that you don't seem to have a problem with co-ed living says military. But you mumbled when you entered into St. Bart's saying, 'a bit different from my day,' and the fact that Stanford knows you says trained at Bart's; so army doctor, obvious Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrist, so you've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limp is really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand; like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic; which says that the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, so Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist," Jane said, baffled at Sherlock's quick analysis of her.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone, it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. You're looking for a job, you wouldn't waste your money on this; it's a gift then. Scratches on it, not one but many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins; the woman sitting next to me would not treat her luxury item that way, so it has had a previous owner. Next bit is easy, you know it already."

Jane quickly thought about her phone and realized what he was talking about after remembering there was an engraving on the back of the phone that said "To Harry, From Clara, XXX." "The engraving," she said flabbergasted

"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who has given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget, could be a cousin, but you're a war hero considering to move in with me; clearly you don't have much of an extended family, certainly not one you're close to. Now Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment, it's expensive, which says wife not girlfriend, it's been given to you recently; this model is only six months old. Six months old and he's giving it away? If she left him he would keep it. Sentiment, people do that. But no, he wanted rid of it, he left her. He gave the phone to you, which says he wants to keep in touch. Your willing to live with me and not go to your brother's? Says maybe you've got problems with him; maybe it's because you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark, good one though. Power outlet; the scuff marks around it will tell you that every night he plugs it in to charge, his hands shake. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone and you never see a drunk's phone without them. There you go, you were right."

"Right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs," Sherlock concluded with a smile.

Jane was dumbstruck. How on earth could this man know so much about her with basically one look? "That...was amazing," she honestly replied.

"You think so?," Sherlock asked as if he didn't get praise very often.

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

"That's not what most people say."

"What do most people say?"

"'Piss off,'" Sherlock said with a smile. Jane just smiled in bewilderment as she watched the busy streets of London pass by her window as the cab drew closer to the crime scene.

As soon as they were at the crime scene, Sherlock left the cab, leaving Jane to pay the fare. Sherlock buttoned up his coat and said to Jane as the cab sped off towards its next customer, "Did I get anything wrong?" "Harry and me don't get on, never have," Jane began as they walked towards the building, "Clara and Harry split up three months ago, they are getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker."

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

"Harry is short for Harriet."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, "Harry is your sister," he said, almost disappointed in himself.

"What exactly am I doing here?," questioned Jane, ignoring Sherlock.

"Sister!," he exclaimed.

"No seriously, what am I doing here?"

"There's always something!"

"Hello, freak," a female voice cut in before Jane had a chance to respond. Jane looked over to see a curly, dark-haired woman standing next to a police car and was tapering off the perimeter with a disgusted look on her face when she saw Sherlock. "Inspector Lestrade wanted to see me," Sherlock said, ignoring her obvious dislike for him.

"Why?," she asked, voice dripping with disdain.

"I was invited."

"Why?"

"Maybe because he wants my opinion," Sherlock said as he crossed over the police caution tape.

"Oh, you know what I think?!," the woman said with disdain.

"Always Sally," Sherlock said as he lifted the tape for Jane.

"Wait a minute, who is this?," Sally asked, pointed to Jane.

"A colleague of mine, Dr. Jane Watson. Jane this is Sargent Sally Donovan,: Sherlock quickly introduced, hoping to speed this dull conversation along so he could get inside faster.

"A colleague? Since when do you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?," Sally asked Jane.

"Look, I can wait here," Jane said, trying not to cause trouble with her presence. "No, come on Jane," Sherlock said as he once again lifted the police tape for her.

As they passed by Sally, Sherlock caught a strange smell coming from her, "You didn't go home last night," Sherlock pointed out. Sally just cleared her throat awkwardly and turned on her walkie-talkie, and said, "Freak's here, sending him up." As Sherlock and Jane neared the building's entrance a man with stringy, black hair, small eyes, large nose, and wearing a blue protective suit came walking out of the building straight towards Sherlock. "Ah Anderson," Sherlock greeted, "Here we are again."

"This is a crime scene and I don't want it contaminated! Is that clear?!," he roughly asked Sherlock.

"Quite clear," Sherlock said, "Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men."

"Well of course it's for men, I'm wearing it!," Anderson retorted

"So is Sargent Donovan." Anderson quickly turned towards where Sally was standing, "Wooh," Sherlock said as he smelled the air, "I think it just evaporated. May I go in?"

"Now whatever it is that you're implying..," Anderson said waving his hands around as he tried to explain.

"I'm not implying anything," Sherlock said as he walked up to the door to the building, "I'm sure Sargent Donovan just came around for a nice little chat and just happened to say over, and I assumed she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees," Sherlock said with a quick smile and turned dramatically away to enter the building with Jane following close behind.

"You should put on one of those," Sherlock told Jane as he pointed towards the pile of blue protective suits near the gray haired man, who Jane remembered from the paper as Inspector Lestrade, as he was putting on his own protective suit. The detective inspector looked over at Jane and asked Sherlock, "Who is she?" "She's with me," Sherlock quickly replied. Lestrade looked over at her again wondering about the short blonde wearing her hair in a military style bun, a cream colored jumper, and grasping a cane; Lestrade said, "Yeah, but who is she?" "I said she is with me," Sherlock explained in a tense voice as Jane quickly zipped up her blue protective suit.

As they were heading upstairs, Lestrade said to Sherlock, "Her name is Jennifer Wilson, hasn't been here long; some kids had found her. We're looking for some contacts now." They approached an open door and Jane could see a blond woman dressed entirely in pink lying face down on the ground and her hand outstretched towards some markings in the floorboard that read 'Rache.' "Shut up!," Sherlock suddenly yelled at Lestrade. "I didn't say anything," Lestrade said confused. "You were thinking, it's annoying!," Sherlock said in a huff. Lestrade just looked over at Jane, who just shrugged apologetically as she watched Sherlock look over the corpse.

After a few minutes of Sherlock looking, Lestrade asked, "Got anything?" "Not much," Sherlock said with a smile before Anderson suddenly came into the room, leaning on the doorway, "She's German," he said, "'Rache,' it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something." Sherlock just quietly closed the door in his face and pulled out his phone saying, "Yes, thank you for your input." "So she's German?," asked Lestrade, ignoring Sherlock's rudeness to his team. "Of course she's not German! She's from out of town though, intending to stay for only one night, before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious." "Sorry, obvious?," Jane asked incredulously "What about the message?" asked Lestrade. "Dr. Watson, what do you think," Sherlock asked, ignoring Lestrade. "Of the message?," she asked confused as she looked at the two men. "Of the body, you're a medical woman," Sherlock said. "We have a whole team outside," Lestrade said, quickly losing patience. "They won't work with me," explained Sherlock.

"I'm breaking every rule just letting you in here," Lestrade said exasperated.

"Yes, because you need me," Sherlock said smugly.

"Yes, I do," Lestrade said quietly, "God help me."

"Dr. Watson?," Sherlock called out.

Jane looked over at Lestrade seeking permission. "Oh do whatever he says, help yourself," Lestrade resignedly said as he left the room, making sure to let his team know to leave Sherlock and his new colleague alone for a couple of minutes.

Jane and Sherlock crouched on either side of the body of Jennifer Wilson and Jane put her cane on the floor and asked "What am I doing here?" "Helping me prove a point," Sherlock said in a whisper.

"I'm going to be your assistant and this is what you want me to do?," Jane asked incredulously.

"Yeah, it's fun isn't it?!" Sherlock asked with a smile.

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I hoped that you could go a little deeper."

Jane just resignedly got closer to the body and automatically checked for a pulse, knowing she wouldn't find one. As she got closer to her face, Jane could smell the sickening stench of vomit; Jane checked the body over once more before saying, "Asphyxiation, probably chocked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her so it could have been a seizure, possibly drugs," Jane said as she noticed Lestrade had come back into the room.

"You know what it was," admonished Sherlock, "You've read the papers."

"She's one of the suicides?"

"Sherlock, I can't give you any more time," Lestrade interrupted, "I need all that you got."

"Victim is in her late thirties. A fashionable person going by her clothes, possibly in the media going by the alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, only intended to spend one night judging by the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?," Lestrade questioned, "What suitcase?"

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married."

"Of for God's sake," Lestrade said, crossing his arms over his chest, "If you're just making this up..."

"Her wedding ring; ten years at least," Sherlock explained, crouching down next to the body, "Rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of marriage right there, the inside of the ring is shinier than the outside; that means it's regularly removed, the only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands; so what, or rather who, does she remove it for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fixation of being single for a long time, so a string of lovers. Simple."

"That's brilliant," Jane said in awe.

Sherlock looked taken back at the sudden praise before Jane apologized for interrupting.

"Cardiff?," Lestrade asked Sherlock, getting his attention back on track.

"Obvious isn't it?," Sherlock asked.

"It's not obvious to me," Jane said.

Sherlock looked back and forth between Lestrade and Jane before saying, "Dear God, what must it be like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Her coat! It's slightly damp, which means it's been raining, but there hasn't been any rain around London recently. Under her coat collar is damp too, she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left hand pocket, but dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind; too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, but she couldn't have traveled for more and two to three hours, because her coat isn't dry. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius for that travel time; Cardiff," Sherlock explained, showing a weather map on his phone to Lestrade and Jane before putting his phone away.

"That was fantastic!," Jane exclaimed excitedly. "Do you know you do that out loud?," Sherlock questioned with a smile. "Sorry," Jane apologized meekly, "I'll shut up now." "No it's fine," Sherlock meekly replied. "Why do you keep saying 'suitcase'?," Lestrade interrupted. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer; we must find out who Rachel is."

"So she was writing 'Rachel'?," Lestrade asked.

"No, she was writing an angry note in German," Sherlock sarcastically replied, "Of course she was writing 'Rachel'! What can be questioned is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"So, how do you know she had a suitcase?"

"Back of her right leg. Tiny splash marks on her heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand, you won't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman in these clothes; conscious decision to have an overnight bag. So we know she was staying for one night. Now where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock questioned Lestrade.

"There wasn't a case," Lestrade shrugged.

Sherlock slowly turned to look at the detective inspector before saying with narrowed eyes, "Say that again."

"There wasn't any case," Lestrade repeated, "There was never any suitcase."

Sherlock quickly spun out of the room, calling to the team of investigators, "Suitcase! Did anybody find a suitcase?! Was there a suitcase in this house?!," He yelled and began running down the stairs.

"Sherlock!," Lestrade called down, "There is no case!"

"They take the poison themselves, the chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot wouldn't miss them," Sherlock explained before rushing down the stairs again.

"Ya thanks," Lestrade called down to him sarcastically, "And?"

"It's murder. All of them. I don't know how and they're not suicides, they're killings; serial killings! We got ourselves a serial killer, I love those! There's always something to look forward to!," Sherlock said excitedly, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"Why do you say that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case?! Did she eat it?! Someone else was here and they took her case! So the killer must have driven her here, forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel and left her case there," Jane said.

"No, she never got to the hotel, look at her hair! She color coordinates her lipstick with her shoes, she never would have left the hotel with her hair looking like..," Sherlock stopped, before suddenly gasping as he had an epiphany, "Serial killers are always hard, you have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!," Lestrade exasperatedly yelled.

"We don't have to wait! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Go to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were; find Rachel!"

"Of course, but what mistake?"

"Pink!," Sherlock yelled as he rushed out of the door, leaving an awed and slightly flabbergasted Jane behind.

Jane slowly made her way down the stairs and took off the ridiculous blue protective suit off before leaving the crime scene, looking around for landmarks as she realized she had no idea where she was and Sherlock was nowhere in sight. "He's gone," Sally's voice called out, "He just took off, he does that sometimes."

"Is he coming back?," Jane asked with a sigh.

"Didn't look like it," the dark-haired woman said.

"Right," Jane sighed, "Sorry, where am I?"

"Brixton," Sally said, slightly feeling sorry for the poor cane-wielding woman before her.

"Do you know where I can get a cab?"

"Try the main road," Sally said as she lifted the police caution tape for Jane to pass under, "But you're not his friend. He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

"I'm nobody, I just met him," Jane said.

"All right, but I should warn you to stay away from that guy."

"Why?," Jane asked, trying to push down the feeling that she needed to protect Sherlock, even if it was from Sally's awful words.

"You know why he's here? He doesn't get paid or anything. He likes it, he gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off and you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. Someday we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes would've been the one to put it there."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a psychopath and psychopaths get bored. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes," Sally warned before returning back to the crime scene. Jane just shook her head before resigning herself to walk towards the main road.

AN2: Whew! That was a long one! It was actually longer, but I decided to split what I had originally wrote. So see y'all next time!