"A bloody umbrella?" cried Detective Lestrade, breaking the silence. "Don't get me wrong, I've seen an umbrella murder or two, but they're generally pissed off drunks bludgeoning someone outside a bar. This man had heart failure, not a skull fracture."

Molly nods in agreement, but waits patiently for Sherlock to explain. The rain outside had finally stopped, and now the room was silent aside from their voices and the sharp buzz of the cheap, fluorescent lighting. Somehow, without the pattering of rain on the window, Molly became more aware of the aching tension in her neck and knees. She'd been on her feet most of the day, and had missed out on her break earlier when Sherlock had burst in the room and insisted on her insight into a case. Molly knew well enough by now that he was really only needing her ID access in and out of the lab. He hardly ever asks for her thoughts. Still, she very well couldn't leave him alone with the equipment.

She sighs, retreating a bit into her thoughts. What you mean is, silly, that you very well couldn't leave him alone, period.

Molly suddenly pops out of her reverie. She looks back down at her cousin, beside her on the sill. She'd spend so many long nights venting her frustrations to her online pen pal that eventually, it seemed, her inner voice of reason had developed Katelynn's sassy American lilt. Katelynn was a romantic, much like Molly, but was also headstrong and sensible when it came to relationships. She'd been spending the last several months trying to convince Molly to drop her 'Sherlock Infatuation'.

"It's unhealthy." She'd insisted just the other day. "Molly, my dearest love, you deserve someone who treats you like the strong, brilliant woman you are. Not someone who strings you along only to exploit your resources. If you're really so keen, then ask him for coffee and be done with it. Honestly, he sounds like a dick to me, but I can see you won't shut up until you try."

Molly exhaled a small sigh through her nose, her eyes still on Kate. Then her heart tightened with guilt. And to think it's because of my damn infatuation that she was left to fend for herself. God, I'm such a terrible friend.

A sharp, deep voice cuts into the quiet. "You may have never seen a case like this, detective, but Scotland Yard has witnessed this very plot before. Didn't they ever teach you about the Georgi Markov assassination in your many years of training?"

Lestrade squints, casting his eyes up in thought. "Markov…sounds Russian. Communist?"

Sherlock taps his fingernails on the counter impatiently, clearly bored. "No, no. Bulgarian. Easy mistake for you lot, I suppose. Georgi Markov was a writer and defector from the Communist regime in his country. Many of his works were banned in his country and eventually he felt safer moving to Italy to be with his brother. When he realized his relations with Bulgaria were not improving, he moved once again and made his home in England. Here, he only continued to make enemies, working as a radio speaker for BBC World Service. He was assassinated by a KGB operative in 1978. Still not ringing any bells, Lestrade?"

Lestrade's eyes widened in recognition. "I remember! The 'Umbrella Assassination!' The poor bloke thought he'd been stung by a wasp, and was dead four days later. We only know it was an umbrella because Markov recollected seeing a man pick up an umbrella and bolt away shortly after he'd been stung. He didn't think anything of it until it was too late. Some sort of device disguised that could quietly fire a ricin pellet into a person. It was genius."

Sherlock was clearly pleased. "Yes. Clever. But what we have here before us is merely an imitation. Our murderer is clearly an expert in weaponry design and perhaps even in history. Whoever it is, they love what they do. It took Markov four days to die, but our man dropped dead by morning." He smiled, his eyes practically twinkling. "He made improvements on the original design. A higher dosage of ricin, to be sure."

He straightens up, reaches for his jacket, and pulls it on. "In the morning, check your databases for the aforementioned qualities, and cross reference them with individuals who may have access to black market poisons like ricin. That is all."

"Brilliant as ever, Sherlock. We appreciate your help." Lestrade is clearly eager to get home for some rest, and makes as if to follow Sherlock out the door.

"Wait!"

All heads turn to the window sill. Katelynn is sitting upright, still blinking her tired eyes. Her hand is outstretched towards the two men. Molly immediately starts and sits down beside her, reaching her arm over Kate's shoulder in a comforting embrace.

Katelynn's eyes lock onto Sherlock's.

"If this killer is some kind of master assassin or weapons expert, then why the hell was he bent on killing some innocent schoolteacher?" Her lips purse in frustration. "What's his motive here? That's what matters, right? The why?"

This makes Sherlock pause, and he matches her gaze.

"Something tells me, Miss Katelynn Roberts, that you have an inkling of an idea, yourself. Care to share with the class?"

Author's Note: Sorry that it took so long to add these last two chapters. Please consider leaving a comment in the review section to let me know how I'm doing, and thanks for reading! 3 (also if anyone sees any typos or grammar errors please let me know)