Thanks for the the reviews last chapter! I think I responded to everyone who wasn't a guest review. Love you all!

Just so you all know, I'm gonna do my best to balance the romance and the mystery in this fic. Sherlock isn't usually overtly romantic, but I'm a true sap at heart, and this is the Klaroline version! So it's coming...it's just slow :)

Enjoy!

"She's had a tough life. No parents, in and out of fosters homes. She's rough around the edges but who can blame her, she hasn't had it easy. Deep down she's a good person and a really good friend."

Caroline listened to Tyler as they strolled down Michigan Avenue, enjoying a couple of coffees. She was surprised when Tyler had caught her before the lecture started and asked if he could talk to her when class was over. Considering their first date at the party hadn't gone so well-thanks to Klaus almost beating up his friend-Caroline figured Tyler probably wouldn't be knocking down her door for a second. But he smiled at her when she walked into class that morning and gave her a little wave and she felt a small sense of relief that their potential connection hadn't totally been blown.

Caroline agreed to a quick coffee on the way to the train. She didn't have much time, needing to get back to Klaus-they were due at support group just after lunchtime. Fifteen minutes couldn't hurt to smooth things over with Tyler.

He began by explaining his relationship with Hayley. He told Caroline how she was an old friend, who had been in and out of his life growing up, and they had recently reconnected in Chicago when they found out they lived in the same neighborhood. Tyler explained how Hayley had had a history with drugs and a record to match, but was trying to turn her life around by going to school. Dean turned out to be a friend of Tyler's, and Hayley's quasi-boyfriend for the past few months.

"Dean's fallen kinda hard for her, so he's protective."

"I guess that's sort of romantic," Caroline said. "If you need some help with Hayley though, I know of some good resources. Rehabs, support groups for addicts, stuff like that. I've done some work in that field."

Tyler waved it off. "Thanks but I think Dean and I can handle it. We know how to talk to her."

Caroline nodded. She didn't want to press the issue, not knowing Tyler or his friends very well at all. In her experience, friends and family weren't always the best push when it came to recovery. Oftentimes, they were too gentle or worried about losing their loved ones by placing too much pressure on them.

"Oh, I need to get to the train," she said checking the time, "I have somewhere to be."

"Oh, okay," Tyler said seeming a little deflated. They said goodbye, Tyler lingering a bit, and Caroline skipped off to the train heading back to 221B.

"I sat there for days and days and just prayed. Every time I wanted a drink, I talked to God and he helped me through it all. He was always there to listen, even if I couldn't hear him talking back. The talking made everything better cause I know deep down, He's the only one that can judge me."

The woman speaking finished her testimony and the room applauded. There were a dozen or so people seated in creaking, metal chairs in the basement of a church that had been converted to what the sign over the door called a "fellowship hall". The smell of stale, cool air and cheap coffee permeated the small gathering.

Klaus wasn't paying attention to any of it. He was busy reciting the whole of David Copperfield to himself, which was far more interesting than what any of the sad people around him were saying. Caroline nudged him in the ribs and his gaze rolled to her. He put his hands together once, but refused to clap along with the rest of the sheep.

Caroline had remained professional, but he knew she was annoyed with him for his behavior at the party. Klaus wasn't going to play into that game though. He didn't have to answer to her or anyone else for his behavior and choices. He would go through the motions of her recovery plan and suffer through the rest of their time together. In a few weeks he would be rid of her and his brother's influence.

Another person approached the front of the room, and Klaus prepared himself for another dull story about some poor addict's road to recovery. He failed to see how any of their words should matter to him. The balding man in front opened his mouth before the vibrating chime of Klaus's cell phone interrupted. Everyone twisted in their chairs to see the disruption coming from the second to last row. Klaus retrieved his phone from his pocket, checking it with a smile. It was the timer that was going off. Klaus had taken care to set it at the exact moment the group meeting began. Silencing the chime, he shot to his feet and nodded at the others in the room.

"Well, it has been a sincere pleasure," he said before turning and striding out of the room.

He had hit the sidewalk breathing in the warm air of freedom, before Caroline caught up to him, screeching. "What the hell?!"

"You said I had to go to meetings," Klaus replied continuing on, "you didn't say anything about staying overtime."

"That was rude," Caroline said, slinging her purse strap across her body. "You know participating is also part of the deal. These groups and meetings are proven to help people maintain abstinence and grow within their recovery. I won't be around forever, you know."

"Glad to hear it, when are you leaving again?" Klaus smirked in her direction. Things were still rocky between them, to say the least. Any amount of friendship or understanding that had been growing had been undone by the events of the party.

Caroline let out a huge groan at his continued sarcasm and followed him around the corner and down their street. She had purposely picked a meeting near Klaus's home so he would have no excuse not to attend in the future. "I can't take the religious drivel those twelve step programs spout."

"You can be an atheist and still believe in a higher power, it doesn't have to be God. Just something...to turn to in times of crisis."

"I don't subscribe to any sort of faith," Klaus replied, "there is too much misery in the world. What sort of all-powerful being would allow his creations to suffer this much? You should know…you've witnessed first hand the evils of man."

He was referring to her father. Since deducing that little fact about her past, Klaus had taken the liberty of researching the incident online. The lack of progression on the Artist case left him without anything to focus on at the moment. He now knew everything the Internet had to tell him about the hate-crime that took her dad away from her.

Caroline didn't appreciate it being rubbed in her face at the moment.

"I chose to view it differently, I guess," Caroline said. "You would know if you ever had anything like that happen to you."

"Maybe I have," Klaus commented as he opened the gate to his home.

Caroline stopped, stunned, letting the iron gate slam behind her. It was the first time Klaus had voluntarily alluded to anything personal. For a moment she debated whether or not he was serious, or if he was just trying to prove a point. Caroline was about to ask another probing question, when Klaus's phone rang again. She joined him on the front steps as he answered.

"Alaric," Klaus said into the phone.

"Body found in an old abandoned factory next to I-94."

"The Artist?"

"Yep."

"I'm assuming you will be requiring my assistance?"

"I'll text you the address now."

Klaus hung up and two seconds later, Alaric had forwarded him the address of the crime scene. They arrived by cab about ten minutes later at a large, abandoned building right next to the interstate. It was dilapidated factory, covered in graffiti. A few cop cars were gathered outside, officers and yellow tape surrounding the scene. Alaric met them as they climbed out of the car.

"Oh Caroline," Alaric cleared his throat, attempting to cover his surprise. "Good to see you again."

Caroline smiled at the captain as Klaus pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket.

"What do we have?"

"A body found, reported anonymously this morning. Judging by the blisters and the swelling of the body, we're guessing the murder occurred sometime late Thursday night, early Friday morning."

"Let's have a look," Klaus said moving toward the entrance to the scene with Alaric. Caroline followed.

"Um," Alaric stopped just before they stepped inside, turning to Caroline, "You might want to wait out here."

He remembered her minor freak-out to the body and scene at The Bohemian. But Caroline had been staring at photos of dead and mutilated bodies for days, she wasn't worried about seeing a little blood and gore at this point.

"I'm fine," Caroline said, pressing onward.

It took about two seconds in the presence of the scene to realize she wasn't fine, though. The scene in front of her was different than the neat murder at the Bohemian, or the degree of separation provided in the photographs she had seen in the files or, on Klaus's smell alone was revolting. Caroline remembered being in junior high, riding her bike home from school, and passing by a poor raccoon that had been hit by a car. Every day for two weeks she would have to hold her breath as she passed by that particular spot to avoid the putrid smell of rotting animal. It was like spoiled milk and week old garbage and fish combined, making her gag with each breath. This was a hundred times worse.

On the floor was a body: bloated, bloodied, and twisted. It was the wrong color, the wrong shape; Caroline probably wouldn't have even realized it was a man if she didn't already know. The bones had been broken and rearranged so that the dead man was twisted into an 'S' sort of shape. The jaw had been dislocated into a ghastly, silent scream and his hands nailed to the sides of his cheeks. The eye sockets were empty, blood trailing down his grey, puffy face from where his eyes used to be. Instead they were filled with some sort of white substance. Around the body was a swirl of color-blues, oranges, yellows, and reds-and in the lower corner of the scene was a symbol. The star symbol.

"Interesting," Klaus said, "our first non-Renaissance themed work."

"The Scream," Caroline said, riveted by the carnage in front of her.

"Edvard Munch," Klaus added, kneeling down. "Why the change?"

Alaric passed a concerned look at Caroline before slipping back into his detective mode. "No ID on the victim yet. He's probably just another poor homeless bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Klaus stood again and walked the scene. He observed the "painting" the Artist had created, studying the care with which it was done. The murderer had gone to great lengths to recreate the famed masterpiece, down to the technique and brush strokes used. Once he was satisfied with the area surrounding the body, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. In the dust on the floor, he could see four precise squares.

"There was a table set up here," Klaus said pointing to the squares, which were left by the legs of the worktable. "The murderer had set up his or her tools here."

"We didn't find any murder weapons."

"No, you wouldn't," Klaus replied. "Like any good artist he keeps his brushes and tools with himself at all times."

"Or herself," Caroline corrected.

Klaus smirked. "Or herself." He leaned down to the floor again, noticing darker bits of dirt on the floor. "Cigarette ash. The killer smoked while he or she worked."

"How do you know it's from the killer?" Caroline asked.

"It's fresh. It's on top of the rest of the dirt on the floor which means it hasn't been here that long and only two people have been in this room in the past few days. The killer and the victim."

"What about the person who reported the body? Maybe they were smoking."

"No. They would have never gotten this close to the scene, much less stopped to light a cigarette."

Klaus placed a gloved finger and pressed it to the ash on the floor, picking some of it up. He observed it closely, lifting the finger to his nose so he could smell it. "Dunhills," Klaus said.

"How do you know that?"

"I can name over one hundred forty forms of cigars, cigarettes, and pipe tobacco based on their ash alone," Klaus replied. "I had a lot of free time during my stay at Sunlight Acres. Dunhills are an expensive and rare brand."

Caroline looked over to Alaric, who seemed to accept this explanation with a look of relief that he now had some sort of definitive clue about The Artist.

Before they left, Klaus took samples of the different paints around the murder scene as well as a bit of the cigarette ash.

"So what's next?" Caroline asked when as they walked outside. She was happy to breathe in air that didn't smell like rotting, dead person. A new cab had been called for them and was waiting outside. She grabbed the handle and climbed in, Klaus sliding up next to her.

"We're going to Baskerville," Klaus announced. The driver nodded and pulled forward as the door shut.

"Please don't tell me we're going to talk to Hayley," Caroline said. "I thought you were over that."

"Jealous, love?" Klaus quipped. "Don't worry, she's not half the thorn in my side that you are." Caroline made a face at his remark. "I'll drop you at the flat first."

"No way," Caroline said, "you are not going to Baskerville to talk to Hayley by yourself."

"I can't bring you along," Klaus replied, "not for what I have planned for the little she-wolf."

"Then change of plans," Caroline protested, "there's no way I'm letting you go alone. She's a drug dealer and last time you tried talking to her by yourself you got into a fight. So we're going together. I don't care if I have to steal Alaric's handcuffs and chain myself to you."

Klaus grinned at her. "I never would have guessed you were into bondage."

They arrived at Baskerville and checked in with the security guard at the desk. He placed a call to Hayley, who gave them the go ahead to come up. Klaus knocked onthe door and they waited for her to answer.

Hayley opened the door wearing a loose v-neck t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts, her wild curls swept to one side. The smile she gave Klaus fell from her face as soon as she saw Caroline standing next to him.

"You brought a friend," Hayley said.

"This is Caroline," Klaus said gesturing to her. "My bodyguard. I thought I might bring her along in case your boyfriend was around again."

Hayley let out a sultry laugh at his joke and let them inside. "Ex-boyfriend. If you can even call him that." They walked into the living room, the remnants of a party the night before laid around the room. A few cups were scattered over the coffee table, along with an ash tray and some half-smoked cigarettes. Next to it all Caroline spotted a few glass pipes and picked up the stale smell of weed in the air. She passed an uneasy glance at Klaus but he seemed unaffected, his blue-gray eyes following Hayley's movements around the room. "So, what can I do for you today?"

"I was hoping to finish our business from the other night," Klaus replied. "But first I was hoping you could point me to your facilities?"

"Through my room," Hayley replied. "I'm sure you remember where that is."

Caroline fought the urge to roll her eyes at the way everything Hayley said dripped with innuendo. Klaus disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the two girls alone. Hayley's semi-friendly demeanor dropped with Klaus's absence.

"Drink?" she asked Caroline.

"No, thanks."

Hayley shrugged and walked to the open kitchen, pulling out a soda for herself. It popped and fizzed as she cracked it open. "You're Ty's girl, right?"

"Ty?"

"Tyler. Lockwood."

"Oh," Caroline said. "Well, we've only hung out a couple times. I don't think that really makes me his girl."

"He likes you. A lot. Apparently a couple times was enough to put him under your spell." Her tone implied that she did not approve of her friend's choice in potential girlfriend. Caroline didn't appreciate Hayley's harsh treatment. The brunette didn't know her from Eve. She didn't get why there was such hostility there.

"He's a good guy," Caroline replied, not sure what else to say.

"If you hurt him," Hayley pinned her with a serious stare, "I will personally pull every strand of that pretty blonde hair from your head. Got it?"

Caroline gave her a tight smile, unafraid of Hayley's tough-girl attitude. She came off as girly, but Caroline wasn't going to let herself be pushed around by anyone, especially not tomboy, she-sluts with drug problems. "You know what, I'm thirsty after all. Got any bottled water?"

Hayley gave her cool stare, the corner of her lip twitching into a slight sneer. "Coming right up."

Klaus could hear the two girls talking in the other room as he searched through Hayley's room. He grinned to himself; Caroline seemed to be holding her own well enough while Hayley attempted to intimidate her. With all the commotion at the party, his companion had missed the looks Hayley had been throwing the Lockwood boy the other night at the party. Klaus hadn't. He could see that Hayley may sleep with some men and flirt with others, but her heart's true desire was written all over her face.

Klaus looked quickly through her drawers and closet trying to find anything that might connect her further to their killer. On her desk he found the same paper he had seen the night of the party with the symbol on it. He picked it up again and examined it, then his eyes focused on what was underneath. Klaus picked up the small, red, paper box and quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you mind if I bum a cigarette?" Klaus reentered the living room,holding up the pack of cigarettes he had found on Hayley's desk. "I haven't seen a pack of Dunhills since I left England."

"Be my guest," Hayley said. "They aren't mine. I don't smoke."

Klaus slipped the pack into his pocket. "Well sweetheart, thank you so much for your time. I think we'll be going."

He passed a pointed look to Caroline and she picked up his cue, hurrying toward him as he turned to the door.

"Stop," Hayley said and the two of them froze. They turned in unison to look back at the girl, who let out a slight chuckle. "Fuck. I had an instinct and I went against it. I'm so stupid. You guys are cops aren't you? Well maybe not Barbie here, but you damn well are."

"Hey!" Caroline yelled.

"Not cops exactly," Klaus said stepping back toward her. "I'm a consulting detective with the Chicago Police Department."

"What the hell is a consulting detective?"

"Have no fear. I'm not interested in your drug dealings. I'm interested in this."

Klaus slipped the paper with the star symbol from his pocket and held it in front of Hayley's face. She looked at it dejectedly and then back at him.

"What about it?"

"Cooperate sweetheart, or I'll be forced to pass your name along to someone who will be interested in your little business endeavors."

"It's a symbol," she replied. "I was doing research for a school project and thought it looked cool so I copied it. I was thinking of getting a tattoo."

"What kind of school project?"

"I'm an art history major. I was doing an independent study to make up for missing so much class," she said.

"So, why don't you tell me what you've learned about this symbol during your studies?"

Hayley snatched the paper from his hand with a sneer. "It was used by this group called 'Expressionists' that existed around the time of Da Vinci."

"Weren't expressionists like, 20th century?" Caroline interjected.

"Wow, look at the big brain on Barbie," Hayley said. Caroline fought the urge to slap her. "They were a different group."

"And what made them so different?" Klaus asked.

"Beats the hell out of me. It's some secret society like the Illuminati, but way more secret. You can't find anything about them online. I had to come up with a different project idea."

Klaus gave her a tight smile and a little knock of his finger under her chin. "Thanks for the cooperation," he turned, taking Caroline by the elbow and pulling her along with him.

As they walked down the street, Klaus pulled out his cellphone. "Captain," Klaus said into the phone, "I have something that may interest you."

Caroline thought they might head home, but instead they stopped at the police station. Inside, Klaus pulled out the pack of Dunhill cigarettes from his pocket and handed it over to the crime lab to be analyzed and catalogued. "Here, these might provide some interesting results."

They sat inside the small conference room, waiting for the results. Caroline nursed a small cup of coffee while Klaus stared at his phone, searching for anything he could find about Expressionists. It was as Hayley said, there wasn't much information to be found on the group, including any evidence that they ever existed.

"So, whoever's prints are on the cigarette box is the murderer?" Caroline asked, breaking the silence.

"If any prints can be found," Klaus replied, "it's likely. The brand is uncommon. There are too many coincidences lining up."

"Maybe the murderer is Hayley," Caroline suggested.

"Unlikely," Klaus replied. "She said she didn't smoke. Which is true."

"How do you know she's not lying?"

"Lack of nicotine under her nails or discoloration of her teeth, evident on most smokers. Not to mention it's an expensive brand. I doubt sweet Hayley is wealthy enough to spend extra money on fancy cigarettes."

"Oh," Caroline said, leaning back into her chair.

"You sound disappointed, love," Klaus smirked. "I get the feeling you wanted Hayley to be the murderer."

Caroline shrugged innocently. "Well she wasn't very nice. And she was lying about something."

"What makes you say that?"

"She kept touching her neck," Caroline answered. "Messing with the charm on her necklace. It's a classic habit of people who are lying." Klaus's attention left the phone and he looked over at Caroline. She shifted under the scrutiny of his gaze. "What? Psych student remember? Plus, it helps the whole sober companion thing if I know how to spot liars."

Klaus chuckled and continued scrolling through his phone. "Damn," he muttered, "there is absolutely nothing to be found about Expressionists. I suppose I'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

A thought came to Caroline then. "Hayley said that the Expressionists were part of like this super secret, secret society right?"

'That's correct," Klaus replied.

"Well one of my professors at school wrote like, a whole book on secret societies," Caroline said. "He might have heard of them."

"Perhaps we should pay your professor a visit."

"We could do that," Caroline said, "on one condition."

"You aren't exactly in the position to make conditions Caroline," Klaus said. "I can do this with or without you."

"But with me would be easier."

"I've never shied away from a challenge."

Caroline leaned forward over the table, meeting his gaze, the glimmer in her eyes matching his. "Neither have I."

"Fine," Klaus consented. "What is your condition?"

"You answer a question. A personal question about yourself. Truthfully."

"One question," Klaus consented. "Only one."

Caroline nodded, accepting the terms. She thought quickly. Of course she a billion questions that she would want to ask Klaus. Which one was the most important to her? Which answer might unlock a few clues into the man before her? If this was her only chance for free information, what did she want to know?

"Who is Rebekah?"

Klaus's expression soured. It was clear that was not a question he was expecting. Caroline thought he might go back on his word or tell her to piss off instead of answering. She didn't break eye contact with him as she waited for him to speak, hoping he would answer as promised.

"Rebekah was my sister," Klaus said. "She died. I did not take it very well."

Caroline's heart clenched at his confession, seeing the haunted look in his eyes. His hands were on top of the table and she felt like she should reach over and offer some sort of comfort. But knowing what she knew of Klaus, that sort of physical comfort wouldn't be accepted. Any sort of comfort wouldn't be accepted.

Rebekah's death could have happened years ago-Caroline had no idea-but the drawn look on Klaus's face made it seem like it had only been days. Her own face made that look whenever someone unexpectedly brought up her dad. She wanted to ask more. How, why, when, but she stayed silent. Keeping to her word of only one question.

Just then, Alaric walked into the room, breaking the tension.

"We found three sets of prints on the box," Alaric said, "yours, that girl's, and one other."

Klaus stood up, his demeanor shifting immediately. "Who is the third?"

"The third belongs to a guy named Connor Jordan."

Oooooh!

No?

haha

The cigarette ash thing is pulled from Sherlock Holmes canon. It's usually spread across many variations, so I chose to add it here.

Anyways hope you are still enjoying things :)

Thanks to my beta Kady (klausykins) for this one! You're a gem!

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