The cab came to a stop not too far from the blinking police cars. This was the closest she'd been to a police car since she was sixteen and got a speeding ticket.

Danielle followed John out of the cab.

Sherlock went up beside them, seemingly taking the lead. "Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." John reported.

Sherlock did this excellent impression of a pleased peacock. "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet." John finished.

Sherlock stopped in the middle of the street. "Harry's your sister."

Danielle couldn't help herself. His expression was priceless. She laughed.

"Look, what exactly are we supposed to be doing here?" John asked Sherlock.

Sherlock furiously, through gritted teeth "Sister!" He gave Danielle another glare. The redhead started snickering, like an imp. "And your mother!"

"No, seriously, what are we doing here?" John asked, indifferent to Sherlock's mental collapse and Danielle's giggles.

Sherlock huffed, with the exasperation of a long suffering man. "There's always something."

He walked off towards the police cars and yellow tape. Danielle followed alongside John.

"Hello, freak." A dark skinned female inspector (with outrageous black curls, I mean really those had to be fake) greeted with false civility.

Danielle paused for a brief moment. What really surprised when Sherlock replied "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?" The female inspector asked.

"I was invited." Sherlock answered.

"Why?" The inspector insisted.

Sherlock turned to the woman with an air of sarcasm. "I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" The woman asked snidely.

"Always, Sally." Sherlock replied, climbing under the police tape. He paused, taking a breath through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

The woman seemed nervous at that. Danielle moved to pull up the police tape. "I don't-" The woman stopped Danielle, and apparently John too. "Er, who're they?"

"Colleagues of mine, Doctor Watson and Danielle Nolan." Sherlock lied. Well maybe it was a lie. Danielle couldn't tell either way. "Doctor Watson, Miss Nolan, Sergeant Sally Donovan." Sherlock looked at the woman with barely held back distaste. "Old friend."

"Colleagues? How do you get colleagues?" Donovan asked, obviously about to take the mickey out of him. "What, did he follow the two of you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and-"

"If it's just us being a bother-"

Sherlock lifted the police tape. "No." He made no outward sign of backing down.

Danielle thought it was a better idea to listen to Sherlock. It'd only gone a little wrong the last time she did. She went under the tape, standing beside Sherlock. She felt like a child in school, waiting in line behind the line leader, unable to move without the teacher's stupid okay.

Unable to resist the sudden temptation, Danielle sniffed the air slightly, masking it as the frigid London air affecting her. She had wanted to find whatever could have possibly told Sherlock that Donovan made it home, but all Danielle could smell was the petrol on the road and cinnamon.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." Donovan reported into her radio. If Danielle had any chance of liking the woman before, it was gone now.

Donovan walked the three of them towards the house. Sherlock seemed to find something interesting about every step they took. He was moving his body this way and that, trying to notice everything and coming up with nothing. He stopped once a man came out from the building. Danielle thought he had a bit of horse face.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock greeted.

The aforementioned Anderson watched Sherlock distastefully. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" He warned Sherlock.

Sherlock took in another deep breath. "Quite clear." He emphasized each word in an almost child-coddling way. No, it was exactly in a child-coddling way. "And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson sneered.

"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock stated.

"My deodorant?" Anderson asked, sounding surprised that Sherlock answered at all.

Danielle took a quick breath in. Nothing strange, just the same petrol, cinnamon, and some added disinfectant.

"It's for men." Sherlock whispered.

The other man certainly didn't like that implication. "Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan."

John half smiled. And Danielle snickered, trying to hide it under her hand.

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporised." Sherlock humiliated them just a little bit further. "May I go in?"

"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply-" Anderson warned, anger rising.

Unfortunately Sherlock was faster. "I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." Danielle and John followed him, pausing when Sherlock made a dramatic turn back. His coat flew in the breeze at his rapid spin. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Oh now that just made Danielle blush.

She went inside the building, pointedly avoiding looking at Donovan. Danielle knew she'd end up looking at her knees, or worse making eye-contact. That would just set Danielle's giggles off. She always did laugh at the worst of times...

She and John were guided into this big circular room. The man that came to Baker Street was there-Detective Lestrade.

Sherlock pointed down to a pile of blue suits. "You need to wear one of these."

Danielle reached for one, hoping they were one size fits all.

"Who're they?" Detective Lestrade asked Sherlock.

Sherlock was taking off his winter gloves. "They're with me." He stated, as if that made all the difference.

"But who are they?" Lestrade stressed.

"I said, they're with me." He repeated.

Lestrade seemed to give up, this time.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" John asked Sherlock.

Danielle was stepping inside of her's. She didn't see the stern look Sherlock gave his new flatmate. She could feel it in the air though. Danielle tried fitting the blue plastic over her blue dress. She didn't want it to look lumpy was she zipped up.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked.

"Upstairs." Lestrade answered.

==NKMHLY==

She had zipped up her blue scrub suit, and the additional white shoe covers. She was putting on a pair of latex gloves as she climbed behind Sherlock.

"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade instructed.

"May need longer." Sherlock replied.

Lestrade didn't argue. "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."

He walked them up the rest of the way. Danielle followed dutifully into an empty room.

Her first thought should've been something sad, she knew. She should've been thinking about how awful it was that this woman died. She saw John from the corner of her eye, face contorted in sadness. Danielle knew he was thinking about something sympathetic for the woman.

Danielle wasn't.

Her first thought had been 'Oh god Umbridge died!'

Yeah. She knew it wasn't what a normal person would've thought.

She followed it up with 'poor Jennifer, dressing up like Umbridge and then dying.'

There was a long pause as the four of them stared.

It was broken by Sherlock's stern "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade defended himself.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock replied.

Danielle had to remind herself that telepaths didn't exist. Then again, if they did, Sherlock would totally be a crappy one.

Danielle stared at the word Rache scratched onto the floor. She hadn't heard of it before, but it looked like she was trying to write 'Rachel'. It wasn't her name. Maybe someone that died? It wasn't her killer, Danielle doubted Jennifer knew her killer's name.

She saw Sherlock check the woman's pink coat. He pulled away his glove, rubbing his fingers together. He seemed to think something was off, because he pulled an umbrella out of the woman's coat pocket. Danielle was momentarily jealous, as she could never fit an umbrella in any of her coats.

Sherlock checked the jewelry next. Danielle couldn't see anything special about them.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much." Sherlock answered, nonchalantly.

She noted Anderson arrived. He didn't walk in, just leaned at the door. Danielle would have given more attention to him, but Sherlock pulled out his phone.

"She's German." Anderson remarked from the doorway. It seemed to surprise the others in the room. Danielle wondered how Anderson had snuck up on the detective and consulting detective. "'Rache'. It's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something-"

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock slammed the door in his face.

Danielle hid a small smile.

"So she's German." Lestrade stated. It sounded on the edge of being a question.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night. Before returning home to Cardiff." Sherlock reported, typing in on his phone. He was looking something up. Danielle peaked. 'Why was he looking at the weather report in Cardiff?' He found what he wanted, stuffing it away. "So far, so obvious."

"Sorry-obvious?" John asked, lost.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked.

He disregarded the detective, turning to the doctor. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

John stared at Sherlock in confusion, turning to Lestrade for an answer. The detective didn't have any. John turned back to Sherlock. "Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man." Sherlock clarified.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade argued, for the first real time that evening.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock countered.

'Certainly not that Anderson bloke.' Danielle thought.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Lestrade reminded.

"Yes...because you need me." Sherlock stated.

The official detective stared at Sherlock a long moment, before giving in. "Yes, I do. God help me." He ran his hand through his thin hair.

"Doctor Watson." Sherlock prompted again.

"Hm?" John was still so very lost about all of this. Danielle would've thought it was funny if she wasn't just as lost. The doctor looked over to Lestrade.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Lestrade rose up to his feet. Danielle opened the door for him. He gave her a thankful look before walking out. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

Sherlock and John knelt by the body. Danielle hesitated-she has been wearing a dress. It took her a second to realize she was covering it up, even then she stared at the body of Jennifer Wilson in hesitation. She wasn't sure why she was so weirded out now, rather than with that body in the morgue. Was it because Danielle knew things about this woman, instead of the other? Was it because this was more public?

The young landlady stayed on the sidelines, just watching, even though she felt worse about staring at the body.

"Well?" Sherlock prompted.

"What am I doing here?" John asked, quietly.

"Helping me make a point." Sherlock answered.

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

"Yeah, well, this is more fun." Sherlock gave a small smile.

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

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

Lestrade came back in. Danielle jumped back a bit. Her moccasin clad feet nearly smacked into the dirty old wall. Danielle didn't like the wall much, or most of the room. She felt like her scrubs were keeping the crime scene from contaminating her, rather than vice versa. Based from what she remembered from the stairs, this room was the relatively cleanest. And that said a lot, considering the room had a rusted rocking horse in the corner. The kind a child would have used, ages ago.

'Why would someone have killed her in here?' Danielle asked herself.

"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." John reported.

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

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth...?" John looked up at Lestrade.

"Miss Nolan, what about you?" Sherlock spoke up, before Lestrade had the chance.

The young landlady was surprised she was being acknowledged. "Me?"

"What can you see?" Sherlock prompted.

"I'm not a doctor, or a detective." Danielle tried to shift focus from herself. Why not ask the actual detective? Surely he knew something!

"Try." He stressed, impatient.

"Alright!" She huffed. She looked down at the woman again, trying to think. There was something here she couldn't...get to connect to her head. Something about this was wrong. They must've taken her purse, but if she'd come from Cardiff with only a purse...

"If she's from that far out of town then she has to have a suitcase. I don't see one, so they must've taken it, probably." Danielle reasoned.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly brightened. Lestrade would've thought it a trick of the light if it wasn't for his widening smirk.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked. John was just as confused.

Danielle winced. If Lestrade questioned it, then maybe she was wrong. "Am I right?" She asked Sherlock.

"Yes. Keep going." Sherlock rolled his hand in impatience.

Lestrade looked at them in confusion.

"This place too. I don't like it." Danielle squinted at the dusty old wood, spots definitely covered in black mold. "If she came here just to kill herself like the papers said, then it's gotta mean something to her-which I don't think it is-or she didn't chose this place." Danielle felt herself smirk, more out of humor then pride. She pushed it down. 'Time and a place, Nolan.' "If I wanted to kill myself, I'd choose someplace nicer. Especially if I had traveled all the way from London from Cardiff. What, did she look at the cabbie and say 'take me to the dirtiest abandoned place you know'?"

For one shining moment, Sherlock knew people in the room had brain cells.

"Sherlock-two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade reminded.

"Victim is in her late thirties." Sherlock rose up to his feet. John did as well, albeit slower. Danielle wanted to assist him, before remembering how he had shouted at Mrs Hudson for trying. "Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

Lestrade was only more confused by the second mention of a suitcase. "What suitcase?"

Danielle felt her cheeks color.

"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." Sherlock went on, ignoring the stares he was getting.

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up-" Lestrade began.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery 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-that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; 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." Sherlock explained in a rush.

"That's brilliant." John spoke in awe.

"Awesome." Danielle added, sounding just as in awe.

The consulting detective gave the two a look of 'okay seriously stop doing that.

"Sorry." John and Danielle replied.

"Cardiff?" The detective tried getting things back to a sort of professional investigation.

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

"It's not obvious to me." John answered.

Danielle raised her hand. "I mean, I got it." Sherlock gave her a questioning look, wondering if someone other than him could be right twice in one night. "But I cheated. You had the weather report on your phone, and I saw the umbrella."

Sherlock scoffed, speaking at the other two. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

Danielle wasn't sure if she was happy that she wasn't scolded on the cheating. Was it really cheating if you took it from Sherlock? She would ponder on that later.

"Her coat, it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. 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: not just wind, strong wind-too strong to use her umbrella. 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, showing John and Lestrade the weather report on his phone. Sherlock noticed Danielle was trying to hide behind her hair. It wasn't working. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John laughed.

"It's genius."

"D'you two know you do that out loud?"

That time John's cheeks colored with Danielle's. "Sorry. I'll shut up."

"Me too, yeah." She bowed her head, hoping her hair would fall over her face.

"No, it's...fine." Sherlock replied. Slow. He had never told someone to stop complimenting him before.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser." Sherlock reasoned. "Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked. Danielle got the feeling he did that a lot around Sherlock.

The taller man stood in Lestrade's face, nearly glaring his icy blue eyes at him. "No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

'It was her child.' Danielle thought suddenly, eyes landing on the rocking horse again. She immediately dismissed the thought once she had it. You wouldn't write your daughter's name down in your dying moments unless she was your killer. Danielle doubted that, and doubted the daughter had committed the order suicides/murders before killing her mother. 'I mean, unless it was all some big test run before killing mum. That'd be smart. Well smarter, still stupid to kill her so far from home.'

Again, Danielle dismissed the thought of it being the daughter.

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, forgetting Danielle had said it first.

"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." Sherlock explained.

John turned to Danielle. "How'd you know?" He asked.

The redhead tried to nonchalantly shrug. "If she came from Cardiff, she must've had a bag. No one comes to London from Cardiff for a pit stop." She reasoned.

"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, cutting off the mini-conversation on the side.

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade answered.

Sherlock frowned. "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Lestrade explained, frustrated with Sherlock now.

"Most women tend to notice when they leave their purse in a stranger's car." She suddenly remembered. If she took it at face value, it wasn't relevant. If she thought about the suitcase, then it was.

Sherlock stood up straight. He made his way out the door. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

Danielle followed him out, walking down some of the stairs as Lestrade came behind her. "Sherlock, there was no case!"

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them." Sherlock stressed, walking down more stairs. Danielle followed.

"Right, yeah, thanks! And...?" Lestrade asked.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings-serial killings." Sherlock answered.

Danielle would've stopped in shock, but she wasn't shocked. She had thought that was why they were called, because this one was a murder. 'Oh wait, Sherlock just said they were all murders, so I guess they really are lost.'

"We've got ourselves a serial killer." Sherlock clapped his hands together, turning on the balls of his feet to face Danielle. "I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

And they were moving again.

Lestrade leaned over the railings. "Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case." He shouted up at them. He spoke softer next, as if only for him and Danielle. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

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

Sherlock scoffed at that. "No, she never got to the hotel. 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 froze. "Oh. Oh!"

Danielle walked up to his other side. "Sherlock?" She asked, cautious. She His eyes widen and his face lights up.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade called down.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock was smiling brightly. Danielle had no idea what he was talking about.

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade shouted.

"Oh, we're done waiting! 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!" Sherlock ran towards the door.

Danielle ran behind him. She briefly wondered about John, and when he was coming down.

"Of course, yeah-but what mistake?!" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock turned back, only to shout one word. "PINK!" He ran out.

Danielle, well, you can guess what she did.

==NKMHLY==

AN: Danielle is in Hufflepuff. I made her take the test. This is my third updated story this week, I'm going for six. I'm going to see Ragnorok on Thursday, and I want to know I have all of them updated!

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