Holmes Alone: Series 1

by LizzeXX

Sherlock/OC - Once upon a time Sherlock Holmes had a best mate, Leena. This is not that story. When Sherlock grows up all alone, how would his friendship with Leena develop if they never had those years together? One thing is certain, when the two meet as adults, trying to solve the mystery of a woman in pink, things will never be the same. First in the AU Jackie Holmes Chronicles.

A/N: Hiya! Welcome, welcome everyone to Holmes Alone: Series 1, an AU revision of Sherlock's Series 1 based on my Jackie Holmes Chronicles, a set of stories that include my OC Jacqueline 'Leena' Jerrard, a very old friend of Sherlock's who eventually becomes his wife. In my original series, Leena was working with the BAU in America until Mycroft orchestrated for her to return to England, leaving her to get a job with Scotland Yard and eventually reuniting with Sherlock in the Great Game episode. This story will be a 'what-if' where, instead of having known Sherlock since she was a child, Leena meets him for the first time during Study in Pink as she's trying to help the Yard create it's own Profiling Unit ;)

Even though this is an AU retelling and essentially a new story, I would still recommend reading the Jackie Holmes Chronicles (Holmes, Sweet Holmes to Holmes Again) for more about Leena, her skills, her history, and her original relationship with Sherlock :)

Some notes:

~8~ is a scene break

This story will be largely focus on Sherlock and/or Leena, and their experiences/thoughts :)

As this is an AU, I consider it to be a 'side story' (either an AU, Sequel, or Spin-off of a series) and will not be updated as frequently as my main stories. I've been working to getting back to posting my stories online and so I'll be updating this and all other side stories very slowly. We can expect at least 1 more chapter of this story this year, which will complete the first episode :) I will try to get more side stories updated more frequently as I go, but for now I don't want to over promise ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock...or Eurus would have been around from the start :)

~8~

A Study in Pink: A New Challenge

A blonde woman in a white blouse, black slacks and flats, stood off to the side of a conference room, her arms crossed as she listened to Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard speak. The man was seated at a table, one of his Detective Sergeants, Sally Donovan, beside him as they fielded questions from the assembled members of the press. She almost felt bad for the man, he looked terribly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

Almost.

Because she had told him, numerous times that these supposed 'suicides' he was reporting on right at that very moment were NOT suicides but murders and he was convinced they weren't.

SHE had been the one he had requested join her during the conference, but when she pointed out that she would not just go along with his 'it's suicides' explanation but give her own facts and reasonings for why they were murders, he'd had to ask Sally instead or else risk appearing like they were not a united front or on the same page. She wasn't exactly surprised he'd passed her up, nor that he hadn't believed her about the murders. She had only started at Scotland Yard a mere fortnight ago, on a probational sort of arrangement. The Yard was trying to expand and add a profiling unit, one designed specifically to help identify the unknown criminals to make it easier to identify and catch them. She'd been working with the American Government for a few years, with their profiling unit, the BAU, learning all about the nuances of profiling and so she'd been the prime person to come back and help set the Yard up, or at least that was what they told her when they requested she end her 5-year stay in America a year earlier than expected. Her team had been wonderful about her leaving, sad to see her go but very proud that she'd be carrying their legacy 'across the pond' and offering any assistance or advice she had need of when she got back.

Dealing with officers who didn't believe what she did was actually legitimate and not 'guesswork' was not something she'd expected to face when the entire reason she was there was to build their profiling unit, so, clearly, someone higher up knew it was a real branch of criminal research.

She hadn't expected this to be quick or easy, but she'd thought her remarks and the profile she'd built for the first three 'deaths' would be enough to at least have the Yard consider it was murder.

So no, she did not feel bad for Lestrade at all.

Because the questions he was likely to receive from the press would just make it glaringly obvious that she had been right the entire time.

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London," Sally reported, "Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" a reporter called out.

"Well," Lestrade cleared his throat, "They all took the same poison, um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be, none of them had shown any prior indication of…"

"But you can't have serial suicides."

"Well, apparently you can."

The blonde scoffed off to the side, one way to have serial suicides was if they were influenced by something or someone. Like a series of dares that went wrong or some sort of cult leader convincing their followers to 'drink the cool aid.' Someone was behind it, random, unconnected people didn't do this unless someone drove them to it, which would mean murder not just simple suicides, not that suicide was ever simple.

"These three people," another reporter called out, "There's nothing that links them?"

"There's no link been found yet," Lestrade confirmed, "But we're looking for it. There has to be one."

The blonde looked down when her phone pinged with an alert, as did every other phone in the room. She pulled it out, frowning when she saw 'Wrong!' was the only thing sent.

"If you've all got texts, please ignore them," Sally called out.

"Just says, 'Wrong,'" the first reporter announced.

"Yeah, well, just ignore that. Ok, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end…"

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?" the second reporter asked.

"As I say," Lestrade repeated, "These...these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an…" he glanced over to the side of the room where the blonde merely raised an eyebrow as though to say 'you were saying?' before he sighed, seeming to have to admit to himself something he hadn't wanted to, "It's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating…"

The blonde looked down when the phone alerted again, another 'Wrong!' written there. She almost smirked at that, whoever had sent it, she very much agreed. They did NOT have their 'best people' investigating if they kept sidelining her. She wasn't trying to toot her own horn or anything, but THIS is why they brought her over, THIS was exactly what the profiling unit was supposed to be used for…only no one was using it.

"Says, 'Wrong' again," the first reporter stated.

Lestrade, from her perspective, seemed to know exactly what was happening as he turned to shoot Sally a pleadingly despairing look.

"One more question," Sally called out.

A third reporter spoke up, "Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

The blonde nodded, as though her point had been proven.

"I…" Lestrade glanced at her before shaking his head, and turning back to the reporters, "I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered."

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"

"Well, don't commit suicide."

The blonde dropped her face into her hand and shook her head at that response, glancing up in time to see Sally whisper, 'Daily mail!' to Lestrade in warning.

Lestrade winced and turned back to the reporter, "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

The blonde almost expected the next text alert, seeing the pattern to when they came, and knew the 'wrong!' would be there before she even looked. She did, however, frown, her grey eyes narrowing slightly when Lestrade's phone was delayed by but a moment, his eyes scanning the message longer than a single word would take. He was clearly exasperated when he shoved his phone back into his pocket and stood, "Thank you," he called to the reporters, walking off the stage, the conference at an end.

"Who is it, and what did yours say?" she asked as Lestrade walked past her, turning to go with him.

"How do you know I didn't just get 'wrong' like everyone else?" Lestrade frowned at her, startled because she'd certainly been too far away to actually see or read his phone.

"Takes all of a second to read 'wrong' and you were staring for at least 3," she said simply, "And you were too exasperated to not have dealt with this before," she added, knowing he was going to ask her how she knew that he knew who had sent the alerts, "So you know who sent it because they've done it already."

"You got all that from a glance at his expression and 3 seconds staring at a phone?" Sally scoffed as she followed them.

"Profiler," she stated, "It's not just a title I made up."

"Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade huffed, "He's always bloody doing this," he pulled out his phone to show her the message, 'You know where to find me. SH.'

"You've got to stop him doing that," Sally muttered, "He's making us look like idiots."

The blonde woman snorted, "I think you lot did that yourselves when you started off stating they were just suicides."

"You're not still on that, are you?" Sally rolled her eyes, "It's NOT murder."

"Sherlock Holmes seems to disagree," she pointed out, "I think I'd like to meet him," she bit back a laugh when the two turned an incredulous look at her, "Great minds think alike, and if he's the only other Detective who thinks this is murder, maybe WE can get this solved while you two twiddle your thumbs."

It said a lot about how Lestrade seemed to be genuinely be considering it could be murders now that all he could say in response was, "He's not a detective, Jackie."

"Then what is he?" the blonde, Jackie, asked.

"He calls himself a 'consulting detective,'" Sally scoffed, "Always sticking his nose into our cases, showing off solving them. He's a bloody nightmare."

"I take it back, you've made yourselves look like idiots when an amateur can solve your cases before you can," she turned to Lestrade when Sally sputtered indignantly, "I'd like to meet him, if he has time."

Lestrade sighed, "You probably will," he had to admit, resigned, "If one more suicide pops up, we're gonna have to ask his help or the press'll have a field day that we let another happen."

"I take it you're also gonna listen to me about the profile I build for the murderer?" Jackie emphasized, giving Lestrade a pointed look and pointedly ignoring Sally's scoffing, "I can tell you much more if you actually let me SEE the crime scene," she reminded him.

Lestrade could only nod his head, he'd need all the help he could get solving this.

~8~

Lestrade let out a long breath as he reached 221B Baker Street, the car pulling up outside the flat, ready to wait as long as it took for him to convince Sherlock Holmes to take up their latest case. Jackie had merely given him a look that clearly was meant to read as 'I told you so' when he stopped by her office to inform her that yet another suicide had occurred, and that, this time, she'd be taken to the scene to investigate and that, yes, he would be going to collect Sherlock to assist.

Not that he was pleased about it. He hated the fact that he couldn't work this out himself and he was kicking himself because, maybe, if he'd utilized Jackie at the first case when she'd asked about assisting with it, maybe they would have had a better profile to go after and the case could have been solved already.

Now he had to lick his wounds and swallow his pride and ask Sherlock Bloody Holmes for help.

He took a breath in and headed into the flat, grateful that Sherlock seemed to leave it unlocked whenever he was in, always expecting clients to crop up, and made his way up the stairs to 221B.

He had just reached the sitting room, about to announce himself when Sherlock, who had been standing by the window, spoke first, demanding, "Where?"

He glanced around the room, noticing Mrs. Hudson standing off by a desk, straightening up, and another man with short hair sitting on an armchair, a cane beside him, not wanting to have to talk about the case in company…but Sherlock didn't seem inclined to move and the man was always fond of being asked for help in front of an audience. So he bit his tongue and replied, "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one?" Sherlock turned to him, "You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did," he rubbed his face.

Jackie had insisted it was important.

Because she was convinced it was murder, and if someone left a note then it was intended to be a clue to find the killer and it could lead to an escalation on the killer's part if he thought he was about to be caught. He wasn't fully convinced it was a murder though, it COULD be a suicide note, but he could admit suicide didn't completely fit and he was out of his depth, "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson," he sighed.

Sherlock grimaced at the thought, which didn't surprise him. Jackie didn't seem to care for the man either, so at least he knew it wasn't just Sherlock who was put off by him.

"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock stated.

"Well, he won't be your assistant…"

"I need an assistant."

"And you'll have one," Lestrade huffed, "Our newest agent, Jacqueline Jerrard, she's…"

"Probably as incompetent as the rest," Sherlock cut in, "I don't need some…noob…mucking up my work."

"She's hardly NEW," Lestrade rolled his eyes, "She's spent the last 4 years working or the FBI in America, a liaison to the British Government, in their profiling unit. And before that…"

"Don't care," Sherlock waved it off, "I'll find my own assistant."

Lestrade rubbed his forehead, "So you'll come?"

"Not in a police car," Sherlock shook his head, "I'll be right behind."

"Thank you," Lestrade bit out, glancing at Mrs. Hudson and the other man, nodding politely at them before he hurried out of the room and down to the police car outside. He took a deep breath when he hit the backseat, mentally trying to prepare himself for what was to come. Sherlock was not known for his manners nor tact and Jackie wasn't one to hold her tongue. He'd nearly had to suspend her on her first day with the Yard for 'threatening' Sally.

He really just hoped he could survive the night and that something productive…like his two assistants NOT killing each other…would come of it all.

He waited till he saw Sherlock open the front door and step out with the man from the flat before he gave the driver a nod to go on, now assured that Sherlock really would be right behind and not distracted by another case.

~8~

"You may need to go down there," Jackie spoke as she glanced out the window of the crime scene, keeping an eye out for this Sherlock Holmes Lestrade had gone to collect.

"What now?" the man groaned, having just come up the stairs to check on her and her own progress examining the scene.

"Seems like Donovan is holding him up," she called.

Lestrade very carefully made his way through the room, knowing he should really be wearing the same white suit that Jackie was so as not to contaminate or move anything, but he didn't have time right now and he was just looking out the window.

Sure enough Sherlock and the man from the flat were at the police tape, Sally standing before them with her arms crossed. They could tell, even from there, that Sherlock was very annoyed and tense just in how he held himself. Lestrade gave it a minute before he huffed and made his way back across the room, ready to go intervene, when his radio crackled, "Freak's here," Sally reported, "Bringing him in."

"Does she usually call him that?" Jackie spoke before Lestrade could fully disappear around the doorframe, "Freak?"

"Uh, yeah, she does," he nodded.

"That's unbelievably cruel, no matter who he is or how he is," she remarked, "And if he's as much of a sociopath as you say he is, then she's poking at something he has no control over. Just cos he doesn't work for the Yard doesn't mean she, as an officer, can disrespect any civilian like that."

She hated women like Sally, who poked fun at people who were different. The number of looks and comments her friend Spencer had gotten, just because he was so smart and rambled a little…she hated them. She'd grown very close with the man, both of them having a better memory than others, he was like a little brother to her, to most of the team really, and they all did their best to ensure he was given all the respect his position (and his status as a human being) deserved. She would not allow Sally to continue to mock and tease anyone while she as around.

Lestrade nodded, "I'll have a talk with her."

"Good," she nodded, glancing out the window, seeing he'd moved past the tape, "Is Anderson just as bad?" she asked.

"Not as much," he offered, "Why?"

"He's the next 'line of defense,'" she rolled her eyes.

Lestrade slumped, knowing it meant Sherlock was almost there and he'd have to intercept him and get him past Anderson now, "Wait here, keep on," he gestured at the notepad in her hand as she took notes to improve the preliminary profile she'd been working on, reviewing the other suicides like she anticipated there WOULD be a fourth.

She waved him off and Lestrade headed down the stairs to where the white suits were set up, spotting Anderson luckily bringing Sherlock over to him, and gestured to the second pile of other white coveralls they'd be required to wear to enter the scene.

"You need to wear one of these," Sherlock instructed the man with him.

"Who's this?" Lestrade looked over.

"He's with me," Sherlock said simply, pulling his outside gloves off so he could put some latex ones on.

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with me."

"I think he means a name!" Jackie's voice shouted out from above them, the walls and floor were not particularly thick, she could easily hear them just as they could hear her.

Sherlock frowned, "Who's that?"

"Jackie," Lestrade said, "I told you she'd be working this case, too," he reminded Sherlock, "Now, who IS he?"

"Dr. John Watson," Sherlock huffed, gesturing between them in a quick introduction, "Detective Inspector Lestrade."

John offered him a polite smile and a nod, moving to pick up the coveralls and put them on without complaint…until he saw that Sherlock was only utilizing the latex gloves, "Aren't you gonna put one on?"

Sherlock just gave him a look and turned back to Lestrade, "So where are we?"

"Upstairs," Lestrade murmured, turning to lead them up a circular staircase, "I can give you two minutes," he warned as they approached the room.

"May need longer," Sherlock remarked.

"Then you're not as impressive as Greg said you were," a voice from within a room called.

Sherlock's lips pursed at that, especially when Lestrade let out a snort that he failed to try and mask as a cough.

Lestrade cleared his throat, "Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

Sherlock frowned as they stepped into the room, his eye drawn not to the body of a blonde woman in a garishly pink outfit lying face down on the floor…but to the other blonde woman standing over her, looking at the body, the toe of her foot moving along the lines of the woman's side, not touching her, but more like she was noting something. She wrote down a few more notes on a pad of paper before she turned to them.

His lips pursed even more when he realized he couldn't quite deduce her as well as he'd like, she was wearing the same white suit as Lestrade and John were, he couldn't see her own clothes, only really her neck up and her posture, how she held herself. He'd get a more thorough assessment of her once that horrendous suit was off, but for now he knew that she came from a well-off family.

She smiled politely at them, her teeth white and straight, care put into keeping them strong and healthy, likely her parents who made the decision, and could afford to spend the money on the orthodontics. There was no odd hue around her irises, so she did not wear glasses nor contacts, nor had she had Lasik surgery. Her hair was a natural blonde, as indicated by the roots. She was somewhat more tanned than normal for London this time of year, which meant she'd very recently come from America, though Lestrade had mentioned that.

"You're French," Sherlock stated instead, detecting a hint of an accent under her English one, just barely there under the American twang he heard on some words.

She gave him an unimpressed look, "Jacqueline Angelique Jerrard," she said, putting an emphasis on a French Accent, "It's in the name, isn't it?" she added, reverting back to her normal accent, "Doesn't get more French than that. You're going to have to do better than that to impress me, Mr. Holmes."

His eyes narrowed as she turned back to looking down at the body.

"What do you make of all this?" Jackie asked, gesturing around, cutting off any response he might have been about to make, much to John and Lestrade's amusement.

Sherlock stepped forward more, looking down at the woman and then around the room. It was empty except for a rocking horse in the corner, emergency portable lights had been brought in and set up by the Yard, with scaffolding poles holding up part of the ceiling where there were some very large holes. The woman herself was lying face down, wearing a bright pink overcoat and high heeled pink shoes, her hands flat on the floor before her, on either side of her head. He stepped closer and crouched down, examining her hands and a scratch of 'Rache' in the floor near her left hand, her fingernails nearly broken and ragged as though she'd scratched it in herself. He crouched down and patted her clothing, reaching out to peer at her left hand, tugging her wedding ring off and sliding it back on, examining her coat with a small magnifying glass, before he sat back on his haunches.

"Shut up," he said suddenly in the silence that followed, pulling out his mobile to look something up.

"I didn't say anything," Lestrade frowned when Sherlock pointed back at him.

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

Jackie snorted at that, earning a look from Sherlock to see she appeared amused by his rudeness…which he was the smallest bit surprised with given how she had seemed to be almost on Lestrade's side earlier. Something in his expression must have reflected his slight confusion.

"I have the opposite problem with him," she shrugged as an answer.

Sherlock felt his lip quirk up in a smirk when Lestrade began to sputter behind them, "He doesn't think at all?" he guessed.

"That," she nodded, "And I do all the thinking for him, and end up ignored for it anyway," she rolled her eyes at that, "So I'm interested to see what you think of all this."

"Why should I do all the thinking?" he challenged.

"I would say halfsies," she shot right back, "I think we're thinking of two very different things right now."

"Are we?"

"I suppose we'll find out," she gestured around, "If you would."

"Ooh," he hissed mockingly, "Ladies first, please, I'm a gentleman."

She just crossed her arms and gave him a look that said she didn't believe that for a moment.

"Yes," Lestrade shifted, "Have you got anything?"

"Not much," Sherlock remarked, standing, his eyes on Jackie as though challenging her or rising to her challenge.

"She's German," Anderson called from the doorway, "'Rache,' it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something…"

"Mr. Anderson," Jackie sighed, sounding so exasperated that Sherlock got the feeling she'd made this request of him before, "Please don't open your mouth unless you're either right, contributing something meaningful, or complimenting someone."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed, striding over and shutting the door in Anderson's face, "Thank you for your input."

"So she's NOT German?" Lestrade frowned, trying to keep up.

"Obviously not," Jackie said at the same time Sherlock remarked, "Of course she's not."

Both turned to look at each other for a moment before Jackie gestured for him to continue, "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff."

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade gestured at it as though it was proof she had to be German.

Sherlock ignored him, gesturing for John to step forward, "Dr. Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?" John blinked.

"I think he means the body," Jackie offered.

Sherlock nodded, "You're a medical man."

"Wait, no," Lestrade shook his head, "We have a whole team right outside..."

"They won't work with me," Sherlock said simply.

"I'm breaking every rule letting YOU in here."

"Yes, because you need me."

"What's the harm, Greg?" Jackie called, "The rules are already broken."

Lestrade opened his mouth and shut it for a moment, before he sagged and waved John on.

"Doctor Watson?" Sherlock gestured to the body.

John glanced at Lestrade, still unsure if he should actually approach the body or if the man would get in trouble if he did

"Oh, do as he says," Lestrade sighed, "Help yourself," before he headed to the door to call out, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes…"

John glanced at him once more before he walked over to crouch down beside the body, wincing as he had to help his one leg bend, leaning heavily on his cane as he moved so he could get a better look.

"Well?" Sherlock asked the man.

"What am I doing here?" John asked him quietly, glancing at Jackie as she stood nearby, watching, both in interest to see what Sherlock had learned and also to make sure they didn't muck up the crime scene.

"Helping me make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

"Before Greg has an aneurism, please, Dr. Watson?" Jackie spoke, cutting in, though she had a pen ready in hand to make any notes that would help her profile.

John nodded and peered at the body, sniffing some areas, reaching out to lift her right hand, before nodding to himself, "Yeah…asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure, possibly drugs."

"You know what it was," Sherlock huffed, "You've read the papers."

John startled, "What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth…"

"It's not a suicide," Jackie said just as Sherlock opened his mouth. He shot her a look, seeming genuinely surprised she thought that, "What would your assessment be if you look at it from the lens of murder and not suicide?" she wondered.

John blanched at the thought that he was not just in the location of a suicide but of a murder.

"Look," Lestrade cut in, sending Jackie a look as though she were trying to influence their assessment, "Two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."

Sherlock stood easily even as John struggled to do the same, "Victim is in her late thirties," he began to rattle off, "Professional person, going by her clothes, I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink," he glanced over when Jackie snorted again though he could see her nodding, as though what he said made perfect sense, "Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Jackie perked up at that, looking around before quickly writing down something on her notepad when she didn't see one.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake," Lestrade huffed, "If you're just making this up…"

"Her ring gives it away," Jackie said absently, still jotting down her notes…until the silence that followed made her look up to see them all staring at her, "What?" she shrugged, before rolling her eyes, "Every other piece of jewelry is spotless and well taken care of but NOT her wedding ring? Means she doesn't care about it as much."

Sherlock actually grinned and pointed at her, though he assumed her notice of it was due to being a woman herself, "Her wedding ring," he nodded, "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside, which means…" he pointed at Jackie, before rolling his eyes when he saw her making notes and snapped his fingers to get her attention.

"Snap them one more time and you'll be trying it with a broken finger," Jackie muttered, "I work for the Yard, Mr. Holmes, not your beck and call," she continued to jot her notes, answering only when she was finished, "She takes the ring off a lot and the motion polishes the inside."

He nodded, "It's not for work," he added, "Look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant," John breathed.

"But where do you get Cardiff from?" Lestrade shook his head.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock frowned.

John shook his head, "It's not obvious to me."

"You," he spun to Jackie, pointing at her but not snapping his fingers, "Reasonably intelligent one…"

"Jackie," she corrected.

"That's what I said."

"No, it's not," she gave him a look, "And unless you want me to call you Man-with-foot-up-his-arse, you'll call me by my name."

"Fine then, Leena you…"

"Jackie," she frowned, "Where the hell are you getting Leena…"

"JacqueLEEN AHngelique…" Sherlock waved it off, it was easier to say and if she was so casual with her name as to let the Yard call her by a nickname, why would HE ever use the same one Anderson did? He wouldn't, "But that's not important, important is Cardiff," he pointed to her again, "Now, Leena, is it even somewhat obvious to you?"

She blinked, glancing at Lestrade as though to ask if this was actually normal behavior for the man, but even HE looked startled and confused, "Um," she cleared her throat, glancing at the body and recalling how he'd felt along the collar of the woman's jacket before flicking some dampness off his fingers, "I'm guessing it rained in Cardiff?"

The way he grinned almost looked evil in the portable lights filling the room.

"Because?" he prompted.

"Her coat is wet, but it hasn't rained here?"

"It's not wet," he huffed, though he didn't sound like he was chastising her but more trying to make something clearer, "It's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time," he nodded that that was correct, "Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused…"

"So it was a strong wind, one that would have broken the umbrella and made it useless anyway," Jackie reasoned.

"Exactly," he nodded, "We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" he pulled his phone out and showed them a weather map he'd found just before, "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John blinked.

Sherlock turned a smug look at Jackie, "Impressed yet?"

She smiled a little, more amused than impressed, "You hit the victim…but what about the murderer?"

Sherlock blinked, seeming surprised and opened his mouth to speak, when Lestrade cut in, "Why d'you keep saying suitcase?"

"Yes, where is it?" Sherlock looked around, though his mind was quite preoccupied trying to work out what he could deduce of the actual murderer from his victim, "She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel?'"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German," Jackie huffed sarcastically, "I told you it wasn't German," she reminded him, "I told you it wasn't a suicide note but a clue. Find out who Rachel is, and it'll be important. At her age, I'm guessing family member, maybe her daughter or something…"

"Better question," Sherlock cut in, "Why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"She had to wait till the unsub left her alone so he wouldn't see her do it," Jackie said simply.

"Unsub?" John frowned, confused.

"Unidentified Subject," she said, "Sorry, that's what they're called in America. The, er, murderer."

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade got back to that, because there hadn't been one at all and that meant evidence might be missing.

Sherlock pointed down at where the woman's tights had small black splotches near the back of her ankles, "Back of the right leg, tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case when we got here," Jackie told him.

Sherlock frowned and stood, "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case," Lestrade said for her, "There was never any suitcase."

"You," he pointed at Jackie, "Leena, did anyone find a case?"

"No," she said, "We searched every room to make sure this was the only one involved. I'm pretty sure even THEY," she gestured to the door where Anderson was on the other side, "Would spot something so bright pink in such a drab room."

Sherlock's lip quirked, someone from the Yard who appeared to understand how woefully daft most of the others were. Color him curious.

"So if it's not here, with the victim," Jackie continued, "Then someone else WAS here with her and took it, or didn't let her take it. It's with the uns…murderer."

"Oh for god's sake," Lestrade huffed, "It's not murder!"

"Of course it's murder," Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man, "They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves. But there are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them. It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings, serial killings," he seemed absolutely delighted as he added, "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Really?" Jackie asked, an eyebrow raised, "They're a bit boring, aren't they?"

"Deal with them often?" Sherlock scoffed, as though she hadn't.

"Yes, actually," she remarked, "BAU, Behavioral Analysis Unit. It's what we do. Identify the criminals, get in their heads, a good portion ARE Serial Killers. They ones that don't go dormant or spread out their killings are much easier to catch than the one-off killer, they have patterns, they leave clues with every victim if you only know how to read the crime scene."

Sherlock eyed her a moment, "Enlighten us."

She merely smirked, "What I'm hearing is that you don't know anything about the murderer from all this?" she gestured around. She seemed to take pity on him and how HE looked unimpressed now and continued, "Statistically, it's more likely to be a man. Older, mid-sixties, very ordinary. He'd have to be to be unnoticed in a crowd, doesn't stand out, is overlooked. You see him every day but you don't notice him. Someone the victims trust for a short time without question, who would follow without notice, to these unusual locations," she looked around, "All these people had NO reason to be where they were found, which makes this tricky…because it doesn't fit the profile either. Someone capable of this would want to prove his ability, to go longer than anyone without the police catching him. Putting them here, means discovery is eventual so he WANTS them to be found. But it's not for mass fear like the press would say, otherwise they wouldn't be positioned like suicides and they'd be in far more common and public areas. Our unsub has to make it so, make it discoverable, so it's in the papers as…proof, of the murder's completion."

"Sorry," John interrupted, "You sound like you're talking about two people."

"I am," Jackie confirmed, "There's one man who's actually committing these murders, the enforcer. And another who's thinking them up, a planner. THIS unsub," she gestured around, "Is the enforcer.

Sherlock blinked at that, having never considered there were TWO serial killers out there, something Jackie seemed to pick up from his micro-expressions for she smirked.

"The planner will be trickier to catch, he's likely very well-connected, wealthy, with enough influence and charisma to manipulate someone to murder. He's clever, to do it so intricately. This is CLEAN," she gestured around, "It's not brutal or graphic or gruesome, so it's not rage driving him, it's likely not the result of a traumatic incident in his past. No…this is for sport, but he doesn't want to be personally connected, he wants to keep his hands clean and get others to do it for him, to get others to think THAT man is the murderer and the only murderer. He's narcissistic, careful, methodical, practical even, sophisticated if he can mask these as suicides. I'd say younger than the enforcer, probably late 20s, early 30s, who wants to make a name for himself, prove himself, possibly an up-and-comer in the criminal world. But he's not the problem…"

"He's NOT?" Lestrade frowned, having been jotting down notes as she spoke.

"No," she shook her head, "You need to focus on the enforcer. HE'S the one you'll get even more information out of. Get him alive and there's a chance you could get a name or description out of him. We need to look for someone in a position that requires him to be very familiar with the paths and locations of the area, knowing what's open when and what's empty when. And someone who has a car of his own…"

"How could you possibly…" Lestrade nearly sagged, shaking his head and praying to god that the Yard hadn't just hired on a second, though bit more polite, Sherlock Holmes.

"He clearly drove her here himself," Jackie said simply, "And probably forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there," John offered.

"No, she never got to the hotel," Sherlock seemed to not only agree with her assessment, but appeared quite impressed with her own deductive reasoning. He understood now what she meant when she said they were both thinking two very different things. While he was focused on the victim, she was piecing together their murderer, "Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…" he cut himself off suddenly as a thought struck him, or, really, something Jackie said had caught up to him, "Oh…oh!"

"…Sherlock?" John asked when the man began clapping.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade shook his head.

"Serial killers are always hard," Sherlock began.

"Ish," Jackie murmured behind him, they could be easy when they were on their spree, it was harder when the case went cold, but this one was very active at the moment.

"You have to wait for them to make a mistake," Sherlock continued, "And we're done waiting!" before running out of the room and heading for the stairs, "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"What mistake?!" Lestrade shook his head.

"Pink!" Sherlock shouted up to them, before Jackie spotted him running out of the house from the window.

"What?" Lestrade turned to her.

"Don't look at me," she shook her head, "I can tell you plenty about the unsub, you're the one who said the victim and the crime scene were his specialty."

"At a guess?" Lestrade begged, because she had a very strong gasp of psychology and maybe, if anyone could understand Sherlock, it would be a profiler meant to get into the heads of others.

"The case would be pink and very, very noticeable?" she guessed, not sure if that's what Sherlock actually meant but at least knowing her own assessment of what the color pink could mean was accurate and realistic, "The first thing the unsub would do is get rid of it somewhere."

Lestrade ran a hand down his face, turning to one of the officers at the door, "Have someone look around the area," he called, "For a pink suitcase."

"Can we get on with it now?" Anderson huffed as he and his team tried to enter the room, "Are you lot done now?"

Jackie looked over at Lestrade who was looking at her, "I may need one more minute, just to make sure I've gotten every last detail in here," she tapped her head, even if that was an outright lie as she'd already gotten everything squared away in her memory. She just wanted to make Anderson huffy for another minute, "But then I can head to the Yard and get the profile written up."

"Didn't you just…" Lestrade gestured around.

"Preliminary profile," she shrugged, "I need to fine tune it for the official report."

"Right, right," Lestrade sighed, "Get on with it."

Jackie glanced over to see John seeming very out of place before the man shuffled out. She would have offered to walk him out on her way, but she also liked irritating Anderson and the opportunity to to make him wait even longer was too tempting. He'd be fine.

~8~

It wasn't unusual for Jackie to get a text while she was working or typing up her reports at the Yard. On cases, at the scenes, her phone was always on silent. In the small office she'd been given at the Yard, though, she would let it ring, each with a custom tone for the person calling. Her parents, sadly, had passed on, she would never receive a text or call from them again. But her friends, her team in America, she would get texts from them at random times, checking in on her, letting her know they were alright after a case. Penny, especially, loved to send her cute dog videos while JJ, another friend of hers, would send videos of the cat she'd sadly had to leave behind with the woman in America.

She knew all their tones at heart, so when her phone pinged the generic tone for an 'unknown' number, she picked it up automatically, expecting to see some sort of spam.

221B Baker Street.
Come at once
if convenient.
SH

Was not what she expected to see.

Her brow scrunched for only a moment in confusion as to how Sherlock Holmes, for who else would it be, had gotten her number, before she remembered Lestrade and how she worked for the Yard. If he could hack into numerous phones to send an alert, he could easily figure out her personal cell number.

& if its NOT convenient?
J

She sent back.

If inconvenient,
come anyway.
SH

U'll need 2 do better
than that, Mr. Holmes.
Make it worth my while.
J

Could be dangerous.
SH

Was the instant reply.

Tempting.
But I could just cross
the street 4 a thrill.
J

There were a few blinking dots before Sherlock responded, not with an answer in writing, but a photo, of a very pink suitcase sitting in the middle of a couch.

Followed by another photo of Sherlock, seeming to take a selfie in front of the case, smirking at the camera as though to say 'look what I found.'

I'll put the kettle on.
SH

He added, one final taunt that he knew she'd come over if just to obtain the evidence.

Ur an ass.
J

:)
SH

She snorted, who would have thought the great Sherlock Holmes used emoticons. She shook her head, saving her work and printing out the official profile, before she closed the internet browser she had up, the Science of Deduction website. She'd sent the link to Spencer, he was always looking for new tricks and techniques and while it was all quite boring to her, (when would anyone need to know how many different forms of ash there were?) he might find it interesting.

She grabbed the paper off the printer, pulled her white peacoat off the hook behind her door, and headed out.

~8~

If Sherlock hadn't been standing at the window of his flat, watching the cars drive by, he would have thought the person coming up the stairs was the new Scotland Yard operative and not John Watson. Well, that and the footsteps and cane tap were too indicative of a man with a, well, cane, to not be John. He let a soft breath out through his nose, feeling mildly irritated it wasn't the girl. In terms of which of the two were more helpful on this case, he had to begrudgingly admit that Jacqueline Jerrard did seem to know what she was doing, or at least she seemed convinced of her own ability to narrow down the murderer.

HE wasn't entirely convinced that there were two people, nor was he fully certain of the statistics and likelihoods she'd given. It was all based on just that, psychology and statistics, not fact, not evidence. He knew, for a fact, everything he identified about Mrs. Wilson was correct, he had the evidence to back it up. Ms. Jerrard was all guesswork, he was sure of it.

But she seemed so certain he was curious to how much she might be getting right.

And she seemed well aware that the Yard was filled with morons and HE at least had a better chance of cracking this case than they did. She was willing to listen and take him seriously, and…if she WAS correct about their criminal…then, between the two of them, they might just stop this person going further with a fifth suicide.

While he wouldn't care one way or the other if another person bit the dust other than that it would provide more clues, he wasn't overly fond of having to deal with the Yard, especially not Donovan and Anderson, and any chance to wrap a case up quickly was worth the effort. That and he could then rub it in their faces that THEY hadn't worked it out.

This Jacqueline Jerrard might be someone interesting to work with, at least this time.

He'd hoped John would prove to be a better assistant than he'd been, but the man was limiting himself, caught up in his own difficulties and lost in his own sense of purpose. Perhaps if he could get the man up and moving, get the blood pumping, once more, John would be more on top of his game. Still, for now, he was more eager for Ms. Jerrard to arrive than John.

"What are you doing?" John's voice spoke behind him as he began clenching and unclenching his left fist, trying to stimulate the nicotine patches he'd placed there.

He turned for a moment, pulling his sleeve up to show him the three stuck to his arm, "Nicotine patch. Helps me think."

Well, it did, but he'd also promised his mother he'd try to cut back. His brother Mycroft hadn't, so an opportunity to be 'the better child' in his parents eyes and also rub THAT in Mycroft's face was worth the minor withdrawal.

"Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days," he added with a shrug, "Bad news for brain work."

"It's good news for breathing," John remarked, stepping further into the room.

Sherlock scoffed, turning back to the window, "Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring."

"Sorry, hold on, did you have three patches stuck to you?" John frowned.

"It's a three-patch problem."

John nodded, but fell silent quite quickly after, shifting and looking around when Sherlock didn't say anything else, "Well? You asked me to come," he pulled out his phone and held it up as though to remind him of the texts asking him to come 'if convenient,' "I'm assuming it's important."

Sherlock was quiet a moment longer, before he smirked, seeing a cab pull up to the flat, a blonde in a white peacoat getting out. Oh this was what he was waiting for, clearly she was in her normal clothing now, not that horrendous white crime suit, he'd be able to get a better read on her now. Which reminded him, "Oh, yeah, of course," he turned to John, "Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" John blinked.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

"I was the other side of London," John grit out, getting a bit angry now that he'd been called all the way over there just for a phone call.

Sherlock eyed him a moment, "There was no hurry," and their hadn't been…then.

Right now though he'd much rather have John use his phone before Jackie got up the stairs to the flat. He'd looked into this BAU she'd mentioned, her team, what they did, some articles of their accomplishments. They seemed close knit and he doubted she, as part of the Yard, would be willing to use something like what he had planned to catch their killer. If he could get this done before she arrived they'd have a chance and she wouldn't try to stop them or call Lestrade in for it.

John's frown turned into a glare before he huffed and held the phone out to him, "Here."

Sherlock gave him a nod, reaching out to take the phone and begin texting a number he'd discovered into it.

"So what's this about, the case?" John asked.

"Her case," Sherlock murmured.

"Her case?"

"He's found Mrs. Wilsons's suitcase," Jackie spoke as she reached the top of the stairs to the doorway of the flat.

"He…what?" John looked back and forth between them, "Sorry, what…what are you doing here?"

Jackie shrugged, "I take it you got the same text, 'come to 221B?'" she asked, wiggling her phone before she put it in her pocket.

John let out a huff, "Yeah. I was halfway across London."

"I was working on my profile at the Yard. But needs must if it solves the case sooner than later."

"So you found the case?" John sighed, turning to Sherlock.

"The murderer took her suitcase," Sherlock nodded, "First big mistake."

"Ok," John gave him an odd look, it sounded more like he hadn't paid any attention at all to what they'd just said, "He took her case. So?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just kept tapping away on the phone.

John huffed, "I met a friend of yours, you know."

"A friend?" Sherlock looked up, seeming genuinely confused.

Jackie laughed, "That look?" she shook her head, "I'd guess he's got more enemies than friends."

"Oh, an enemy," Sherlock nodded, relaxing even, "Which one?"

"Your arch-enemy," John said, "According to him. Do people have arch-enemies?"

Sherlock considered something a moment, as though trying to find something to narrow it down, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No!"

"Pity. We could have split the fee," Sherlock murmured, before glancing over at Jackie, who had wandered over to his bookshelf and was perusing his collection, "If he offers you the same," he called to her, "Feel free to take it."

"Thanks," she called back, not even turning, "Just might," she added, before looking back at him, "I could use some spare cash, find a better flat."

She was currently residing in a small hole-in-the-wall room that was more like a closet with the tiniest bathroom attached and a kitchen across from her bed…and that was pretty much it. Anything else would be better than that. She was fairly certain there were mice living under the floorboard and in the walls.

"Who is he?" John looked at Sherlock.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met," Sherlock said, dead serious, "And not my problem right now. Here," he handed John back the phone.

John looked down at the last text sent, "'What happened at Lauriston Gardens?'" he read, "'I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come?'" he frowned, turning to Sherlock, now a bit concerned, "You blacked out?"

"Hold on," Jackie came over, peering over his shoulder at the message, "Is that…have you just texted the unsub? How did you get his number?"

Because if he had the number, why would he be texting instead of using GPS to track it?

Sherlock grinned, moving into the kitchen and pulling the pink suitcase out, bringing it over to the coffee table of his sitting room. He flipped it open, revealing a good amount of clothing, all in various shades of pink.

"That's...that IS the pink lady's case," John realized, hearing Sherlock found it and having him actually HAVE it were two very different things. He thought he'd submitted it to the police as evidence not kept it, "That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Again," Jackie cut in, "How did you get the number?"

"It's not the murderer's number," Sherlock said simply, "It's her phone's number," he glanced at them, seeming to realize something, "Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did," John defended.

"I never thought you did," Jackie agreed.

"Why not?" Sherlock eyed them, "Given the text I just sent and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John frowned.

"Now and then, yes."

"They clearly have no concept of profiling then," Jack cut in, "You don't fit the profile."

"Profile could be wrong."

"Not mine."

"You're very confident about that."

"I have reason to be."

"And what does it say now?" he challenged, "Anything new to add now that we have the case?"

"Possibly."

"Such as?"

"I believe I was promised tea," she countered, crossing her arms.

Sherlock grinned and stepped past her into the kitchen, coming back with a teacup he'd already prepared for her, "Earl Grey."

She gave him a somewhat narrow-eyed look, "Should I assume you deduced that about me?"

"Possibly," he mimicked her.

He had, in fact, gotten it more from a photo he'd found online of her and her team in America, she had been holding a to-go cup with the teabag label still hanging out of it, the coloring and the brand he was familiar with as being earl grey. But he HAD been able to deduce more about her since then.

"And what else have you deduced?"

"I believe I was promised a profile," he taunted.

"I don't believe you were," she smirked, "You only asked me to come to the flat, nothing more. I'm here, so…fire away."

Sherlock tilted his head, "You own a cat," he began, before rapid firing everything he'd assessed about her since he saw her in the doorway, "From a wealthy family, well educated. French origin, but you came to the UK when you were young, before going off to America. Mother and father passed on, different causes. You detest telling lies, but know when you have to for a job and when you have to lie you do a grand job of it. You're a terrible shot with handguns, but a fair one with a rifle, experience hunting. You're obsessed with the Harry Potter stories and, if you weren't a profiler, you would have been a child's therapist. You're particular about your hair and the length of it, never allowing it to grow longer than it is presently. And you're very careful about your skin, taking care to wear sunblock. Unmarried, never been engaged, never been in a serious relationship, tried one once with a coworker, didn't work out but you're better as friends. For all the care you put into your hair and skin, it's less about presentation and more about efficiency, you have a terrible habit of biting your nails so you paint them to kick the habit. Only child, tomboy growing up, you hate heels and so only wear flats or trainers. You work better in a group than alone."

He smirked as he finished.

"I think I can work out how you came to most of those," Jackie remarked after a moment, "Except for the Harry Potter…"

He nodded at her pockets, "Your phone case has the Deathly Hallows symbol on the back of it."

She nodded, realizing that.

"How'd I do?"

"I actually can't stand Harry Potter," she said, "Robin Hood is my favorite story."

"But your case…"

"Was a gag gift from my team," she smiled, "Because I was the only British one there so, obviously, I had to LOVE the stories," she rolled her eyes.

She missed them and didn't have the heart to change the case till it broke down. Sue her.

"Hmmm," Sherlock hummed, "There's always something."

"Color me impressed though," she offered.

Sherlock grinned.

John had to look out the window for a moment, honestly believing he would see fire and brimstone raining down from the heavens because…he could be wrong but…he had the strangest feeling Sherlock Holmes was doing some sort of odd flirting thing with Jackie. Granted he didn't know the man well or long, but what he did know made him feel like this was not something Sherlock Holmes ever did. And, reasonably, it could be assumed, it was a sign of the apocalypse starting.

John shook his head, "Question," he cut in, "How did you get the case?"

"By looking," Sherlock said, as though it should be the simplest thing ever.

"Where?"

"Well, the unsub drove her to Lauriston Gardens," Jackie reasoned, sipping her tea, "He likely didn't realize it was still in the car and it is garishly pink," she eyed it, "People would notice. He'd get rid of it the first chance he could."

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, "I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens...and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"And he had a head start over the Yard," Jackie agreed.

"Pink," John realized, "You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?"

"Just as I guessed," Jackie nodded.

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock remarked.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John breathed, more to himself than to them.

"Because you're an idiot."

Jackie scoffed and whacked him on the shoulder from where she was standing near him, "Rude."

"I didn't mean it like that," Sherlock huffed, "Practically everyone is compared to me."

"Oh, nice," Jackie scoffed, setting the tea down.

"You're…reasonably intelligent," he offered, repeating what he'd said at the crime scene.

"I suppose I'll take it," she replied dryly.

"Now, look," Sherlock turned, seeming to sense that the conversation was growing into 'insulting' territory and the last thing he wanted right now was for both Jackie and John to storm off, "Do you see what's missing?" he gestured at the case.

"From the case?" John deadpanned, "How could we?"

"Leena?" he turned to her.

"There was nothing sexual in nature with the crime scene," she frowned, ignoring that weird nickname for the sake of getting more details for the profile, "So I doubted he stole any of her underthings…"

"No, no, no," Sherlock grimaced, "Her phone! Where's her mobile phone?"

"No one keeps their cellphone in their suitcase," Jackie argued, "You keep it in your pocket or your purse, ON you, not tucked away."

"Ah, but there was no phone on the body," Sherlock smiled, "Which means the only other place would be the case…but there's no phone in the case. We know she had one, that's the number I texted," he tapped the travel tag on the case, Wilson's contact information if her case was ever misplaced or lost.

"Maybe she left it at home?" John offered.

"No," Jackie shook her head, thinking on it, thinking of the 'profile' Sherlock had made of the victim, "It wouldn't fit HER profile," she agreed, "If she IS a serial adulterer, she would never risk leaving her phone anywhere her husband could find it and see messages popping up."

"So now the question becomes," Sherlock grinned, "Where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it," John tried, desperately not wanting to think about where the phone was or who his own phone had just been used to text.

"Possible," Jackie tired to be sympathetic, "But it's more likely that the unsub kept it."

"The uns…" John cut off, "You mean the murderer? You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case," Sherlock shrugged, "Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing?" John freaked out just a little then at the implication, the confirmation, "Did we just text a murderer?! What good will that do?"

Before another word could be said…his phone began ringing.

A/N: Holmes Alone will be the title for all the stories of this AU series :) I felt like it was fitting since this story will explore how everything would happen if Sherlock had been alone as a child and not had Leena as his dearest friend from the start :)

I hope you like this new take on Sherlock and Leena :) I know Leena may seem a bit different compared to how she is in the main story, but if she never grew up with Sherlock then some of her quirks and the things she's learned over the years (like patience) never developed :) Here she's never been hung up on Sherlock, so she's had other relationships, she's developed other friendships. She's less familiar with his way of interacting and more vocal about things she might have kept quiet about or discussed in private. She's going to be taking a more 'psychology' approach to Sherlock, at least at the beginning, using all her skills and training to understand him while he's trying to deduce things about her which will be interesting to witness :) I like the idea of exploring what Leena would be like without having known Sherlock so long, since we already know what he's like without Leena from the show ;)

That said...she still doesn't like Anderson or Donovan, but who does? :)

I hope Sherlock was in character when it came to Leena, meeting her and choosing to bring her onto the case with him and John. I figure, at the very least, he'd be mildly interested in someone who can 'deduce' the criminal the way he deduces the victim. He might see her as a bit more 'reasonably intelligent' compared to the rest of the Yard and be curious how much of her profile is right. Given that she was the only one in the Yard who thought it was murder and not suicide, he'd see some sort of potential in her, at least for this case ;) Whether he decides to keep bringing her into the fold after this case, we'll have to wait and see ;)

I know it may be a few more months till the next chapter, apologies for that, but slow and steady is better than nothing ;)

As a reference, an actress I picture to be similar to how I see Leena is Brianna Brown ;)

Lastly, just putting this here because I've promised my sister I would always put it in at least one chapter, I made a page called ko-fi, where people can show support of a person by contributing a 'cup of coffee' to them. It's not a real cup of coffee, it's a donation that is roughly the cost of a cup of coffee, or about 3 dollars. The link is up on my profile or on my tumblr's LINKS page if anyone is interested. There's no obligation, requirement, or commitment, it just sort of feels to me like a little 'let's talk about your work over a cup of coffee' ;) They should really make one for tea though, I love tea :)