Author's note: once again I am indebted to Ariane Devere's Live Journal transcripts of the Study in Pink; obviously, the dialogue from the episode is the property of Moffat/Gatiss and Hartwood Films, as well as the BBC. I make no apologies for including the canon dialogue- I am hoping, however, that you will appreciate the back story behind the dialogue and how it links up with the past stories. As ever in this story line, it is seen from Greg Lestrade's point of view.
Chapter Twenty Nine- 2010 A Third Party (Part Three)
Two days later, Greg got the lucky break he was praying for. Sally was explaining how the team was pulling together data about how the poison pills were made, and that they were now contacting every pharmaceutical company they could find to get their client lists.
"That will take ages to collate- and our murderer could be getting the stuff anywhere- outside of London or even overseas." He tried to keep his scepticism down; he didn't like discouraging initiative, especially when he wasn't coming up with investigation ideas of his own.
It was so frustrating. None of the other lines of enquiry led anywhere. The pill bottles were the sort that travellers used to deal with airline regulations. Literally dozens of different manufacturers and thousands of outlets world-wide. The four victims had never met, shared no common contacts, had no characteristics in common. There was nothing to draw together a banker, a teenager and an MP. They were born in different places in the UK, lived in different parts of London, had no common activities. It was utterly baffling. Yet, at the same time, Lestrade knew that there had to be a link.
The medical examiners were adamant. It was the same poison, made up into pills. Not a common one, this was tailor-made by someone who knew his stuff. Yet, all three of the lethal ingredients were actually easy to source, however, so it would not be simple to find someone who had bought all three and knew how to put them together. The bodies showed no signs of duress- no ligature marks, no bruising, nothing to suggest that they had been forced against their will to take the pills. Yet, none of the forensic teams had managed to find a suicide note- not with the bodies, or on any e mails, letters or texts to loved ones.
He could hear that snide comment echoing in the back of his mind. You observe, but you do not see, Lestrade. He stood in front of the evidence whiteboard with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Yea, Sherlock, but what is it that I am not getting here, apart from the obvious link that they've all taken their own life the same exact way?
As if his thoughts had been read, his mobile went off- incoming text message.
12.45 Flatmate nearly secured. Meeting him at Baker Street at 7pm. How's the investigation going? SH
Greg breathed a sigh of relief. If Mycroft agreed, then he might just get that magic back to work, and not a moment too soon. The Chief Super had not been impressed with Lestrade's handling of the press; headlines ran one of two directions, either criticising the Yard for not having a clue, or talking about the mystery texter, and wondering if it was a serial murderer playing with them.
The team was steadily chewing its way through the phone calls, when news came in from the Brixton police station- another body had been found at Lauriston Gardens.
After an hour at the scene, the DI was really at a loss- the body of Jennifer Wilson had been found by some kids who'd broken into a flat that was undergoing a complete refurbishment. The tell-tale pill bottle beside her, she had been dead for some hours. Unlike the previous occasions, which had seen weeks between the murders, this was the second within two days. Clear escalation- and that was something typical of serial murders. Once the oxygen of publicity hit, as it had with the MP's death, the psychopath would be excited enough to try again much more quickly.
The Forensic Team assigned to the case was run by CSE Anderson, and he was the one who pointed out the scratched floorboard, with the letters RACHE and the body's damaged nails. "A note? Maybe this one took longer to react to the poison and had time to scratch this word out."
Greg stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed Sherlock. He walked back onto the landing outside the room and called Mycroft's number. Once again, a female voice answered.
"Detective Inspector, how may I help?"
"I need to talk to Mr Holmes right now."
"Mr Holmes is in a meeting that cannot be interrupted at the moment, but I will pass on a message."
Greg decided he could risk it, especially if Mycroft's attention was momentarily elsewhere.
"You can tell Mr Holmes that his brother is meeting his new flatmate at Baker Street in…" he checked his watch "less than an hour. I need Sherlock's help NOW. There's been another murder and I need his eyes on this crime scene without further delay. So, tell him that I intend getting Sherlock involved. He can vet this guy later."
oOo
The squad car slammed on its brakes outside 221b Baker Street, and Lestrade sprang out, dragging the key from his pocket. He'd had it made when he helped Sherlock move the books and heavy boxes into the flat, part of their reciprocal arrangement."If you can walk into my flat anytiime, I can with yours. You know the rules," he'd explained to Sherlock. He came up the stairs and saw the tall brunet standing in front of the window, with an expectant look.
"Where?" There was electicity in that look he gave Lestrade- a half breathed, but unsaid, at last!
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." He didn't need to say more; Sherlock would know that this meant he was able to start work, that either Mycroft had agreed, or Lestrade had decided enough was enough.
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." He could hardly keep his excitment contained.
Greg stepped into the room but kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock. "You know how they never leave notes?"
"Yeah."
"This one did...Will you come?"
Sherlock didn't even question whether Mycroft had agreed. It didn't matter. He had his new flatmate actually sitting in Baker Street, so was free to say yes. But, he could see Lestrade's eagerness and decided, cruelly, to play it out a bit. It was only fair. The detective inspector who had willingly accommodated Mycroft's rules, and even contributed to them. Suddenly, now that he knew he'd won, he wanted to tell Lestrade just how much it had cost him to wait these twelve weeks. So, he cooly asked,"Who's on forensics?"
"It's Anderson."
Sherlock grimaced. "Anderson won't work with me."
"Well, he won't be your assistant." Greg's evident sarcasm showed how much his frustration had grown over the years with how Sherlock abused and ordered around the Forensic teams. He sensed the undercurrent from the young man, and wasn't about to let him come back and lord it over his team. Behave, Sherlock!
Sherlock just blurted out, "I need an assistant."
Greg decided to ignore that. "Will you come?" He didn't hide his impatience with the tall brunet. Sherlock had been whining for weeks about getting back onto cases; the DI knew that he'd accept the work.
Sherlock then nodded. "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."
With a sigh of relief, Greg just said "Thank you." Then he looked around at the other two people in the room. The older woman, Mrs Hudson, he'd met before, when he and Sherlock were moving the boxes in.
The bloke sitting in the arm chair he assumed was the new flatmate. Greg was glad to see that the person actually existed. He wouldn't put it past Sherlock to invent an imaginary flatmate in his eagerness to get involved. But, as no call or text had been received from Mycroft to stop Greg, he was prepared to get Sherlock working on the cases unless advised otherwise. The DI didn't have time for introductions, so he just turned and rushed back down the stairs.
He hadn't reached the front door, however, when he heard a triumphant baritone voice shout out, "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" With a wry smile that accompanied him back into the police car, Greg couldn't agree more. Welcome back to case work, Sherlock!
