A/N: Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. It was quite complicated to research and write. As you may have gathered, I am in no way a medical professional so any errors are down to my poor research and rubbish info on the interweb. Be warned, it gets a bit gory.

At some point in the not too distant future I will reach the events of Chapter 1 and continue the story from there.

I'm not quite sure where the next chapter is going to take me. Any comments or suggestions would be appreciated.

Thank you for reading.

WARNING: blood, crime scene, murder

Arriving at UCH just ten minutes later, Sherlock made his way directly to John's office. Opening the door he was greeted by a uniformed constable blocking his way.

"Oh, sorry Sir. Dr Watson said you were coming. This is a right mess." The constable stood aside to allow Sherlock access to the room before again blocking the now closed door.

"Constable Patterson isn't it. You were on the Thompson case. You found the glove in the drain. An excellent piece for observation."

John looked up in surprise at the exchange. It was so unlike Sherlock to treat any of the idiots in the Met with anything but disdain, but he obviously had seen something in this young officer that had piqued his interest. The PC in question was positively glowing with the praise, standing taller and more solidly than ever in front of the door.

And as quickly as it was there, Sherlock's interest in the young man switched off, turning instead to the evidence bags arranged on John's desk.

"Tell me."

John took a deep breath. "Young woman aged between 20 and 25, Mediterranean decent, brought in at 06:24 with major trauma to the abdomen and significant blood loss. Unconscious and tachycardic. Also suffering from an overdose, probably cocaine, later confirmed by blood test. Initial examination showed several incisions on her wrists and hands from a sharp blade, and a vertical incision from the xiphoid process of the sternum to the mons pubis. Her stomach had been dissected. Her intestines, large and small, were almost entirely removed. I cut away her clothing and placed it in evidence bags whilst she was prepared for emergency surgery. Prognosis is …" John paused and took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face. "Christ Sherlock, she'll need a bloody miracle to survive what some bastard has done to her, and even if she does live she'll need full medical support for the rest of her days. Her surgeon, Wilson, and his team are the best. But trauma like this, and the blood loss. They'll be lucky to get her stabilised." He shook his head, his eyes on the floor as he felt a great sadness for the girl who had briefly lain in his emergency room.

Sherlock nodded and grasped John's shoulders to acknowledge his distress and give some small measure of comfort even as the data flowed and organised itself in his mind. Releasing his partner and grabbing a pair of surgical gloves John had left in a dispenser on his desk, Sherlock began to examine the victim's clothes under the watchful eye of PC Patterson.

In the bags were bra and knickers, blouse and denim jacket. In another bag a denim skirt. One bag seems to contain blood soaked white towels and, in a separate bag, ankle high cowboy boots in a garish cacophony of colours. Sherlock's hand skimmed over the bags, gently flattening the plastic in places so labels and stains could be seen more easily. Fingers flew over his phone as he searched for manufacturer's names.

"Purse, handbag, phone, passport, ID, anything to identify her?" The question was thrown over his shoulder towards the PC, catching him off guard.

"Er, no sir. Not that I'm aware. DI Panesar is the person to ask about that. She's at the scene at the moment, but should be back within the hour."

"Where was she found?"

"Luigi's sir. The barber's on Drummond Street. Tony Cusano was opening up for the early morning trade at 6 a.m. when he found her in one of the chairs. He grabbed some towels to stem the bleeding while he called for paramedics. It was quite a shock for him, I can tell you."

Sherlock was well aware of Luigi's and had frequented the establishment on many occasions when he felt the need for some indulgence. It was famous as one of the few remaining traditional barber's in London, specialising in luxurious shaves with exquisitely sharp straight razors. If women went to have facials and manicures to feel pampered, the male equivalent was Luigi's.

-0-0-0-

Luigi Cusano had come over from Italy in 1953 as a young man in his early twenties. He needed to escape the confines of his own country and thought London was the place to create new roots. He brought the remains of his family's ancient fortune, such as it was after years of unrest and war, which he placed in the bank and carefully ignored for four years. Having been taught the art of the prefect shave by his father, he took a position as a trainee barber at the newly refurbished barber shop on Drummond Street, just behind Euston Station. It was owned by a spiv called Fred Barrett who'd made a small fortune on the black market during the war, and now ran a bookies out of the back room. Unfortunately for Fred, his criminal past caught up with him when he was glassed by a disgruntled punter in a pub on the Mile End Road.

By now Luigi was happily married to a lovely Italian girl called Maria who he had met at St Aloysius Roman Catholic church. Having begun to establish a reputation as an excellent and discrete barber and in need of an assured future for his burgeoning family, Luigi raided his bank account and bought the barber shop. He stocked it with the finest straight razors and shaving brushes he could find, he used only the best shaving creams and soaps, and found a selection of elegant aftershaves and oils. He purchased the highest quality towels he could afford, found an excellent local laundry that left his towels soft and pleasantly fragrant, and ensured that his leather chairs always reclined just so to give the perfect shaving position.

He laid off almost all of Fred's old staff. Most of them were petty criminals and Luigi would not tolerate that on his premises. The golden rule in his new establishment was that everyone was welcome but crime stayed at the door. Initially his customers were locals, gentlemen gangsters and senior coppers. Despite several attempts at coercion, nothing that was discussed at Luigi's ever left the premises, be it betting tips, stock advice or the latest City rumour. Slowly, as his name spread through the private rooms in pubs, clubs and board rooms, his clientele became business men and increasingly the upper classes. His customers appreciated the excellent shave, the quiet discretion of the staff and the relaxed conversations between barber and client when the most contentious question was "Something for the weekend sir?"

And so it remained. Luigi trained his son, Marcello, to take on the family business, and it thrived. The proximity to Euston station and the reputation for quality attracted a diversity of clients who enjoyed a little luxury to set them up for the day of high pressure negotiations, to survive that crucial board meeting, or for the evening of promise with an elegant companion.

-0-0-0-

Yes, Sherlock had spent many a pleasant afternoon after a trying case, his face wrapped in warm towels, before the application of lather, the frisson of three passes of that sharpened steel across his face and throat in the hands of a trusted master and finally the application of the lotion. Sherlock did not like to be touched, but Marcello and now Tony were trusted hands at the top of their craft and their shaves were perfection. For that to be sullied by the desecration of this poor girl angered Sherlock. The crime had to be solved, and quickly, not only for the still unnamed girl, but also for the Cusanos.

The phone on John's desk rang. He paled and his jaw tightened as he received the message imparted by the voice on the line. Sherlock recognised the voice giving instructions as that of Captain Watson. "Leave the operating room exactly as it is and the patient untouched and in situ. The police will need to get a team in. I'm coming down now. Has anyone contacted DI Panesar?"

The answer was obviously in the affirmative. John hung up the phone. Sherlock already knew the girl had not survived. John knew this and addressed his remarks to PC Patterson. "The patient has died in surgery. DI Panesar is on her way here now. I've ordered the theatre to be secured. We're heading down there now. Either you can stay up here and guard the evidence or you can come with us and I'll lock the door."

Patterson thought things over before coming to a decision. "Chain of evidence doctor. I'll stay up here and ensure nothing is tampered with. The crime scene is only a short distance away, so I'll radio in that you're heading down to the body and I'm sure the DI will be here shortly."

"OK Patterson. You've got my number so call or page me if you need anything." With that, they left the office, leaving the PC speaking into his radio to give an update to HQ.

John and Sherlock made their way towards the operating theatre where the girl's remains lay. Unusually it was John who led the way, his back straight and his fists clenched as he marched down the corridor, ever the soldier. Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Mary warning that this case was triggering some of John's anxieties. A brisk five minute march later they arrived beside the body of the unknown girl.

John took a deep breath to steady himself as he approached the bloody figure on the operating table, the detritus of surgery strewn on the floor.

"Wilson did the best he could. He would have been aiming to stabilise her, stop the blood loss and the secretion of fluids into the abdomen. Giving her any kind of quality of life would have been complicated and left for later surgeries, had she survived. It looks like he had cleaned up the worst of the contamination from her intestines, and that her other organs, liver, spleen, kidneys, were largely undamaged. Sepsis would have been a major concern. With this kind of trauma, Wilson knew going in he was likely to lose the patient, but he did it anyway. Good man."

With great care, he picked up the girls left wrist in his freshly gloved hands turning it gently so Sherlock could see the lacerations. "It's the same on both wrists and hands. Defensive wounds. Despite the cocaine she must have been conscious enough to realise what they were doing to her. And see here, on her abdomen. These shallow incisions look like hesitation marks. The final incision itself was excessive, as though they had no idea where the organs they were looking for were located in the body. Simply started at her bra and slashed down to her knickers." He stepped back and looked at her face, now peaceful in death. "Poor kid."

Sherlock looked closely at the incisions, not touching, merely observing. There was something in the stomach, he could just see. She had obviously crashed before they had got to suturing her stomach. He'd just asked John to pass him some forceps when the theatre door opened to reveal a whirlwind of anger.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my body?"

John looked up just as he placed the forceps in Sherlock's gloved hand. "Ah, Detective Inspector. This is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is DI Panesar, recently transferred to the Met from Manchester."

Sherlock glanced at the DI and gave a brief nod before returning to the body. "I need an evidence pot. There is something here in the remains of the stomach. It's already highly degraded from the gastric juices. We need to collect it before it is lost."

The DI leapt forward. "Don't touch. I've heard about you and I'm not having you contaminating my evidence."

Sherlock bristled at the sleight, before taking a breath and passing the forceps to John. "Doctor, would you be so kind as to retrieve the evidence for the DI as I am not to be trusted."

Seeking the approval of the DI before proceeding, John carefully retrieved what appeared to be a miniscule piece of latex from the stomach. Apart from large quantities of pink antacid there appeared to be no other stomach contents.

Sherlock stepped back, stripped his gloves and began tapping on his phone. Placing the evidence in a sterile collection tub, John passed it to the DI. "The bagged evidence is all up in my office being guarded by Constable Patterson. The bags have not been opened since I sealed them immediately after they were cut from the patient. Other than that the patient has only been touched by medical staff trying to save her life. Unfortunately, her injuries were too extensive."

DI Panesar stepped forward to examine the body. "So, this is our Jane Doe."

"Juanita Doe would be more accurate."

DI Panesar's gaze snapped to the detective's. "What do you mean?"

Looking up from his phone and shoving it in his pocket, Sherlock turned towards the DI. John stepped back and watched as his partner let his brain fly over the facts he had observed and deduced.

"Young woman, not wealthy judging by her clothes and what remains of her makeup, but not poor either. Nothing ostentatious, just pleasantly normal looking. The kind of girl you would assume was a student or an au pair and largely ignore. Obvious Hispanic features, not Mediterranean as there is some South or Central American heritage there. Clothes are mainly from the US, but the underwear is from a retailer in Mexico City. So, Mexican. Her boots are well worn and comfortable: a favourite pair comfortable for travelling in. She has no ID or belongings other than the clothes she was wearing. And she arrived in A&E with a cocaine overdose and her abdomen sliced open and ransacked by people with no knowledge of anatomy. The final indicator is the empty stomach and the vast quantity of antacid she had ingested." Sherlock looked expectantly at the DI, who looked just as expectantly back at him.

John smirked as Sherlock gave an exasperated huff and continued with his deductions. "She's a drug mule obviously. A flight was due to land at Heathrow from Mexico City at 10:30 last night. It was delayed by bad weather over the Gulf of Mexico and didn't land until 1:54 this morning. By the time this young lady cleared customs and immigration it would no doubt have been somewhere around 3:30 am. She was obviously met by someone. By this time, the drugs she had swallowed were making themselves known, and she had been drinking antacid to prevent the balloons from being digested. The delay in the flight no doubt caused her and her contact great anxiety. There were emergency road works on the Western Avenue last night and a lorry shed its load in the road works causing significant delays for the traffic heading into central London. By the time the vehicle reached the Marylebone Road I suspect at least one of the balloons had ruptured causing her to show the symptoms of cocaine overdose. Her contact panicked and needed to get the rest of his drugs out of her as a matter of urgency. No point letting a significant quantity of cocaine be digested by a strung out mule. But where to perform this surgery? Ah, yes, Luigi's barbers on Drummond Street with its fully reclining seats and sharp cut-throat razors. They must have broken in through the back as the front is always securely shuttered. So, someone who knows Luigi's, since it was a detour off the main road to get there, yet not someone who knew that they opened at 7am for the early commuters. The now semi-conscious girl is carried in, her personal belongings remaining in the vehicle. She is placed in a barber's chair, her shirt opened and the first hesitant incision made. She revives long enough to try to fight her attackers off, see the defensive wounds on her wrists. Unfortunately she is unsuccessful and they make the incision into her abdomen. Not knowing where in her digestive tract the drugs are, they remove her small and large intestines in their entirety – a messy business. Then they slice open her stomach and rummage around to remove any balloons still lodged there. Once satisfied they have recovered their merchandise they leave the way they came, out the back, leaving the girl to bleed out in Luigi's chair. No doubt only minutes later, Tony Cusano opens up at the front and walks in to discover a young woman bleeding out in his barber shop."

DI Panesar looks thunderstruck, her mouth hanging slightly open as she listens to what Sherlock has deduced. John just shakes his head with a wry grin from his position leant against the instrument table. "Amazing as always, Sherlock."

Closing her jaw with a snap the DI tries to regain control of the situation. "Is that all then?"

Sherlock smirks, recognizing the comment for what it is. "Not quite. Given the route and the victim I'd say you're looking for two men: the son of a Mexican politician, businessman or drug lord, who is based in London, probably Islington given the route from Heathrow. Also his trusted body guard."

"So you think some Mexican drug cartel is trying to muscle in on London?"

"No, I think some wealthy and well connected father doesn't trust his play boy son's welfare with the drug suppliers over here. Too much risk of contaminated product or leverage. He probably sends a mule bearing high quality supplies for his son and entourage several times a year. Unfortunately for this young lady, the combination of bad weather, bad roads and bad luck lead to her death. Now, if we can go to the crime scene I can see what your team have missed."

Shaking her head in disbelief, DI Panesar stepped back, holding the door open for Sherlock and John to pass through. Leaving a PC to guard the operating theatre until the pathologist and forensics team could arrive, they headed up to John's office to check on Patterson, before walking the short distance to Drummond Street and Luigi's.

"Sherlock, I need to stay here and finish my shift. I can't abandon the team any more this morning. They've already had to do without me for nearly an hour. Make sure you text me if you need anything and on no account go running off without backup. Promise me."

"Yes John, of course. I'll text you when I'm finished and I'll see you and Mary later." And with a swirl of Belstaff, Sherlock stalked down the corridor.

DI Panesar turned to John, a look on her face like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "Is he always like that?"

John grinned. "Yeah. And he's brilliant. Don't listen to all the gossip at the Yard. If you really want to know if he'll do you any good talk to Lestrade and Dimmock. And don't let anyone tell you he's a psychopath, because he really isn't. I should know, I've lived with him for years."

"Are you coming Detective Inspector?" echoed down the corridor in a terse baritone.

DI Panesar shook John's hand. "Pleasure to meet you Doctor. I'd better get going. Thanks for the advice. I'll call you to arrange a time for your statement and I'll send someone to help Patterson get this evidence back to the Yard." And with that, DI Noor Panesar walked sedately down the corridor, not giving the Consulting Detective the chance to see her dashing after him.

John smirked to himself. "Well played Detective Inspector. You're going to do just fine."

-0-0-0-

Arriving at the scene, Sherlock headed straight for Luigi's rear door. An inspection of the lock with his pocket magnifier showed evidence of an attempt to pick it. Stepping inside, the simple alarm system had clearly been disabled.

"Ahh, so our bodyguard has skills." Sherlock smirked.

"What do you mean, skills? And why do you think it's the bodyguard?"

"Simple, my dear Inspector. There is no reason why some over indulged play boy should have knowledge of breaking and entering. And don't forget, they were in a hurry. This had to be done by someone who could get them in quickly and quietly. Leaving evidence of their access wasn't an issue, but not being disturbed was a priority and an alarm certainly would have caused a disturbance."

Sherlock moved forward into the barber shop. He noted the rack where the towels had been grabbed, the hooks where the barbers' personalised work jackets hung, and the drawer where the straight razors were stored. Also, the box of polypropylene gloves used by the barbers when colouring hair.

"They used gloves, and Marcello's jacket is missing so they at least made an effort to keep blood off themselves."

Addressing the forensics techs in the room, DI Panesar bellowed "Get shots of all of this back room including the gloves and the overalls. Dust everything in here for fingerprints, especially the glove box and the razor drawer."

Moving to the row of six reclining chairs, only the one nearest the back room was awash with blood. Sherlock felt a quiet relief that the girl had not died in Marcello's chair. Marcello and Tony always used the two chairs at the front of the shop. Sherlock felt a sadness that, after all the years the Cusanos had kept to Luigi's golden rule, crime stops at the door, someone had brought not just crime, but cold-blooded murder into this haven.

"Make sure you check all the blood both here and on the victim. Using a straight razor is a dying art, and holding them is not easy. Marcello keeps his razors well stropped and deadly sharp. I suspect it was the body guard who carried out the evisceration, and I have no doubt he cut himself in the process."

DI Panesar waved her hand at the blood. "You heard the man. Somewhere in this mess is the blood of our killer. Find it."

Sherlock stood and addressed the DI directly to her face for the first time. "You'll want to secure CCTV footage from Heathrow. They will have been discreet but not furtive after all they had done this many times before and were simply collecting a passenger. It was not until later that they became desperate. Check previous flights from Mexico City for the same vehicle and driver. They'll have done this several times before. Also, have a word with Marcello and Tony Cusano. See if they remember a Central American play boy type who would have come in once, maybe twice over the last year. He'll have come during the day, most likely late afternoon, to experience the shave and no doubt to impress the latest girl-friend. He'll have been accompanied by his body guard, who would have declined the shave and hovered close to his charge throughout, especially when the blade was being used."

DI Panesar scribbled notes into her book. "Will do Mr Holmes. And thank you. Maybe you're not as much of a pain in the arse as I was lead to believe. "

Sherlock smirked back. "No, I really am. Just ask Lestrade."

As Sherlock made to leave the shop via the front door, he turned back to the DI. "I'll come in to give a statement with John. And, if you need me in future, feel free to text. I think you'll do very nicely."

Watching the mad man walk away, Noor could only smile and shake her head, thinking "This could be interesting. I'd better talk to Lestrade before I get in too deep." Then she turned back to her team, running her eye over the collection of evidence as she called back to the Yard to request CCTV footage from Heathrow, passenger lists and any CCTV from along the route, and to add Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson to the list of witnesses.