"Mr Holmes, I think someone is following me."

I sit in the leather winged chair opposite Lady Violet Hunter and contemplate her, as I am wont to do.

Proud, patrician, educated in England and Paris (probably the Sorbonne), married twice, widowed both times. Wealthy – old money, obviously, but a woman who has made her own way in the world, by virtue of her intellect. Impressive.

"You are a scientist, Lady Hunter."

Hands; fingernails; discolouration on wrist.

She nods, curtly.

"A biologist, with a special interest in biochemistry. Cheltenham Ladies College, Jesus College at Cambridge, then, numerous secondments around the world. I have lead expeditions in order to pursue my truest love – the world of insects, beetles in particular."

Hmm, a coleopterologist, how absolutely –

"Fascinating. I am, in fact, aware of your work. At college, I read Maria Sybilla Merian`s book, Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium – illuminating insight for the time it was written."

Understandably, Lady Hunter looks impressed, as I had intended her to. If a potential client is to become an actual client, then trust must be won.

"I actually based one of my leading papers on the Semollian Water Beetle on some of her original findings. She was, indeed, a great inspiration to me. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a woman of independent means. After the death of my second husband, I poured most of my energies into my work on insects, the beetle in particular."

"You have travelled abroad extensively, and returned, only recently – perhaps within the past two weeks."

She nods again. It is a simple enough observation of tan lines and mosquito bite scarring, but trust is emerging, I realise. Her left wrist sports a Cartier watch (vintage model, 1930`s, family heirloom) and her right, a simple silver bangle which appears out of keeping with her general ensemble and manner of dressing, so must also hold a special meaning for her. I am squinting slightly in my attempt to read the cursive inscription around it. I hope she doesn't notice.

`Scientia imperii decus et tutamen` - Science and security govern beauty. Interesting, and oddly familiar.

"I saw you at Reception when I was dealing with the idiot concierge, and I knew, sir, that I must meet with you. I quite understand you are here to escape and relax and I must extend my apologies to you and your wife for this impertinent interruption."

"Not married. I have, however, promised Doctor Hooper that I will try and limit my workload this weekend, but she understands my work and my needs very well, and I need to hear why you fear you are in danger. Be brief, but as detailed as possible. Waffling won`t help, but I do suspect that is not your forte."

She smiles. There you are – I have the trust, and I have her.

"I have heard much of you, Mr. Holmes, and none of it quite measures up to the real thing."

I shrug. I`ve heard it before.

"I did, indeed, arrive back from Suriname ten days ago. I am on the brink of publishing a paper which, with as little hateful hyperbole as I may muster, will probably change the world."

I do not show it, but I shiver a little inside. Delightful.

"My paper is the result of ten years of intensive research involving the Semollian Water Beetle and an enzyme found within a secretion from its glands. The road has been long, and incredibly difficult, but I know that the information I have uncovered is going to have as great an impact in the world of science as the discovery of radium – maybe even greater."

"You will, I suspect feel hyper-aware of plagiarism every moment of the day. It must appear that everyone is following you at this crucial time."

She waves me away with her hand and a moue of denial hovers about her mouth. I, once more, see the glint of the bracelet on her wrist and recall the latin – it is the motto of Imperial College London, well known for its ground-breaking scientific research. She is speaking, so I focus.

"Like you, yourself, I both see and observe. I have observed the same car parked outside my office at Imperial College no less than three times over the past week. And several times more in the weeks previous to my last expedition. I have checked the security and personnel data bases, and the registration does not belong to staff or student. It is there without permission, and yet has managed to breech our security system. Also, I have noted several burglaries around the college in recent months, all homes of colleagues of mine, with whom I sometimes lodge when I work late and don't wish to travel home alone."

I am, once more, struck by an odd familiarity. I have heard something of this before. John Watson, and his diatribe about `anarchy` within the Capital. South Kensington, Egham Hill and Wimbledon. All the areas around the Campus of the University.

"Was anything taken from these break-ins?"

"A considerable mess made, but nothing missing. They are clearly searching – probably for my research."

"It could be seen that way."

"It IS that way, Mr Holmes, I am convinced of it. I must assure you, that the final draft never leaves my side."

"It is, most likely, on the USB drive around your neck."

The way she has repeatedly worried at the cord around her neck, and the outline under her shirt tells its own story. Predictably, her hand rushes up to touch it again.

"It is my everything, and I won`t give it up until I choose to. Publication day is next Thursday. It will be uploaded on my website simultaneous to my presentation at the college at 11 a.m. There has been quite a fuss in the press. I need you to investigate who might want this, Mr Holmes. I strongly feel that I am assured of your discretion. I have spoken with your brother. I have known him, superficially, for twenty years."

I recall the white enveloped note from Mycroft earlier in the evening, hinting that an eye should, perhaps, be kept on Lady Hunter. I hate it when he`s proved right about things.

"Superficial is his forte within friendships," I cannot resist adding, and the quirk of her mouth confirms what I already know.

I like her.

"I will take your case. Do you feel safe here? I could arrange for protection…" The hand waves again. I did say patrician.

"Ugh, an attention I would not welcome. I am perfectly safe here – one of the reasons for my visit. I am on the third floor, Room 34, and security here is excellent. I have furnished reception with strict instructions to inform me if that car is sighted."

I decide that Molly Hooper has been out of my sight for a time long enough to have become a distraction to me. I do fancy I can sense the merest hint of strawberry in the air, which is the scent I associate with her, and can never smell without a pit of longing expanding in my gut. Extremely inconvenient at times, truth be told. I stand and offer Lady Violet Hunter my hand. Her skin has the dryness of a thousand washes in laboratory disinfectant. I feel another lurch as I recall Molly`s hands are exactly the same after long nights at Bart`s. I do need to gather myself. She is a little too consuming at present.

"Lady Hunter – "

"For heaven`s sake, I have entrusted you with safeguarding my life`s work – Violet, please."

I tilt my head in acquiescence.

"Then, it had better be Sherlock. It has been my pleasure, Violet."

She nods.

"You are rather extraordinary, aren't you?" she notes, gathering her Hermes bag and reading glasses (her glass of whisky is tipped over, but she barely notices).

And I smile.

X

I know she`s dead as soon as Sherlock gets the door open.

Rushing into Room 34, I drop to my knees and find that a pulse has long been absent. She has been dead for around six hours.

Sherlock is checking the parameters of the room; the closed sash window, the crumpled bed clothes and the bathroom. He has a blanched, set expression on his face which tells me how upset he is inside. This was his client, and he has let her down.

He kneels next to me; next to Lady Violet Hunter, and immediately feels gently around her neck. A red weal shows some pressure has been applied with a cord, or ligature.

"Blue lips, foam around the mouth – "

"These little purple haemorrhages on the face and neck – asphyxiation."

I nod.

Sherlock is texting rapidly.

"What did they use?" I look around for any sign of a murder weapon.

"You won`t find it, Molly. She was strangled with her life`s work. They`ve taken the USB stick, after killing her with it."

And I hear the thud of heavy feet in the corridor outside.

X

A/N:

Arcoiris - lovely observations, thank you! Sherlolly is kind of wonderful!

Guest: well spotted re: hummingbird! I do like a regular update (OCD? Maybe!)