The next morning when Céline woke up at 6 am Sherlock was gone. He had left her folio on the coffee table and had neatly put back all of the papers. He also had sent her a text that read.
Moving in. The new address is 221b Baker Street. Five minutes away. Still make that key.
After returning her folio to her bag where it belonged she got dressed. That morning she put on a black long sleeved skater dress, her sheer tights, and her black heeled oxfords. She packed up her bag for work and put on her trench coat, heading out the door. She stopped by the shop at the corner to make a copy of the key and she pocketed it until she was able to pass it to Sherlock. When she got to work she stopped at the small coffee shop on the bottom floor but before she paid Lestrade swooped in and ordered his own coffee, paying for both of their drinks.
"You are really too kind." Céline blushed.
"It's the least I can do. I couldn't take you out last night after all." Lestrade quickly replied. As they waited for their coffee they talked about their mornings. Céline didn't mention Sherlock's visit or how he stayed over.
That evening around 7 pm Céline was packing up to go home. She decided to stay in the office late that evening. Lestrade was also staying late, he was in his office. She heard a call come through as she was packing up and Lestrade took it. After speaking for a few minutes Lestrade rushed in.
"I just called in Sally and the forensic's squad on call.." He began. Céline put her bag down.
"There's been another?" She worriedly spoke, Lestrade nodded.
"You and I can take the car over, they found her in Brixton at Lauriston Gardens." He spoke. Céline nodded and fetched a small notebook and pen from her folio that she put in her trench coat pocket with her phone. She also locked her handbag into her desk drawer. Lestrade waited for her at the door. As she walked over she made sure to text Sherlock.
There's been a fourth.
As they got into the car Lestrade quickly pulled out of the parking complex and began to drive. A call came in from Sally, Lestrade put it on speaker.
"What's it look like?" Lestrade asked. Céline listened.
"This one is different." Sally began. "She scratched up the floor and left a message. Just get down here as quick as you can." Sally hung up.
"Lestrade. We should really get some help." Céline suggested. "I don't think we're going to get anywhere if we don't…"Lestrade thought for a long moment before agreeing.
"Fine, where is he?" He asked, knowing that Céline probably knew.
"221b Baker Street," Céline replied, directing Lestrade there. She texted Sherlock again.
Be there in 10. Have the military doctor ready.
Lestrade and Céline arrived at the address within minutes and Céline led them upstairs. The door was open and Sherlock was standing there and a thickset, weathered looking man with a cane, John Watson, was sitting in a recliner. Miss. Hudson was standing in the kitchen. Sherlock was expecting them. When Céline came in Sherlock greeted her.
"Where?" He asked her. Watson watched them, he had no idea who she was. He was surprised when Sherlock took her hands into his as he spoke.
"Brixton. Lauriston Gardens." Céline replied, squeezing his hands.
"Céline dearie, I haven't seen you in so long!" Miss. Hudson exclaimed. Céline went to over and greeted her as Lestrade came in behind her. Miss. Hudson and Céline had met when Sherlock decided he wanted to move in there. Céline had helped Sherlock find the apartment and put in a good word for him just before he helped Miss. Hudson with her husband in Florida.
"What's different about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something new." Sherlock barked at Lestrade.
"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes." Sherlock quickly replied.
"This one did. Will you come?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock smirked, Céline knew he would say yes. As Sherlock thought for a moment she knelt beside the man on the chair and offered her hand.
"I'm Céline." She introduced herself. Watson shook her hand.
"I'm John Watson." He replied.
"It's a pleasure." Céline smiled.
"Who's on Forensics?" Sherlock suddenly asked. Céline stood and crossed her arms. Her and Lestrade exchanged a glance.
"Anderson," Lestrade answered. Sherlock scoffed.
"Anderson won't work with me." He pouted.
"He won't be your assistant," Lestrade argued.
"But I need an assistant." Sherlock pouted again. Céline walked over to Lestrade.
"Sherlock, please. Will you come?" She softly asked. Sherlock's face curled up and he took a peek outside. Watson saw his face soften and his arms cross once she asked him.
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind you." He replied to Céline. Céline smiled.
"Thank you." She spoke before leaving with Lestrade. "We'll get you a taxi."
Once they left Céline flagged down a cab for them. The two men had come down and got into the taxi to follow Lestrade and Céline. Sherlock made a mental note of Lestrade's conduct around Céline, he opened the door for her and helped her inside the car before getting in on his own side.
Lestrade and Céline made it to the crime scene a few minutes before Sherlock and Watson. Lestrade went to go talk with Sally and Céline went upstairs to look around. Once Lestrade went inside Sherlock and Watson got there and began toward the crime scene.
"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" Watson asked. Sally saw them as they approached and walked up, blocking them from the crime scene.
"Hello, Freak." Sally snapped, crossing her arms. "You're girlfriends inside already." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade and Céline, although she is not my girlfriend." Sherlock matter-of-factly spoke.
"Why?" Sally asked.
"I think they want me to take a look." Sherlock sarcastically replied.
"Well you know what I think, don't you?" Sally asked, getting into Sherlock's face. Sherlock looked her up and down and took note of a few things.
"Always, Sally. I even know you didn't make it home last night." He slyly spoke. Sally glared, she tried to change the subject.
"Who's this?' She asked, gesturing toward Watson.
"Colleague of mine, Dr. Watson. Dr. Watson…Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." Sherlock introduced. Watson stood there awkwardly. Sally laughed.
"A colleague, how'd you get a colleague?" She asked, amused. She turned to Watson. "Did he follow you home?"
"Look, would it be better if I just…" Watson began, not wanting to fight.
"No." Sherlock snapped. He and Sally stared each other down for another moment and she raised her walkie-talkie.
"Freak's here. Bringing him in." She raised the caution tape and Sherlock and Watson followed her. Sherlock studied the house closely as they walked up. Watson noticed and looked around too. A lanky man dressed in forensic garb suddenly stormed out of the house.
"I was hoping Céline had misspoke when she told me you were coming." Anderson glared.
"Anderson! Here we are again." Sherlock knowingly spoke.
"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. We clear on that?" Anderson scolded. Sherlock was getting annoyed.
"And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock retorted. Anderson turned red.
"…Don't pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that!" Anderson snapped.
"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock quickly retorted. Anderson's face curled up in confusion.
"My deodorant?" He asked.
"It's for men…" Sherlock spoke, amused.
"Of course it's for men, I'm wearing it." Anderson snapped.
"So is Seargent Donovan." Sherlock quickly snapped back. Anderson and Sally both exchanged mortified glances. "Oh! And I think it just vapourised! May I go in?"
"You listen to me, okay. Whatever you're trying to imply…" Anderson began, his face turning bright red.
"I'm not implying anything…I'm sure Sally just came round for a lovely little chat and happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees…" Sherlock responded. Céline had wondered where he was and wandered down, she poked her head outside and saw the group standing there.
"Sherlock, Watson, what's keeping you? Come on." Céline waved them in. Sally and Anderson shared a glance and Sherlock triumphantly strode past them, Watson in tow. She led them upstairs. Lestrade was in full crime scene gear, Céline and Watson also got geared up as Sherlock and Lestrade talked.
"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade spoke.
"I may need longer," Sherlock argued. Lestrade saw Watson and frowned.
"Who is this?" Lestrade asked.
"John Watson," Céline replied. "He's with Sherlock." Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock but then nodded. Lestrade and Céline then led them upstairs to the crime scene. Céline read off some notes from her notebook.
"Her name is Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit card, Sally is running them now for contact details. She hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Céline explained as they all entered the room and stood around the body. The woman laying on the ground was wearing a bright pink coat and matching pink shoes.
"Shut up!" Sherlock suddenly snapped at Lestrade after a brief silence.
"I didn't say anything." Lestrade snapped back.
"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock quickly replied. Sherlock took a couple steps around the body. He took a peek at Céline and noticed her studying the message on the ground that had been scratched into the floor. His eyes followed her gaze and he knelt beside the message. After a few minutes of Sherlock looking around, he turned to Lestrade.
"Anything?" Céline asked. Sherlock gave her a smirk.
"Not much." He triumphantly replied, giving her a little wink.
"She's German." Anderson suddenly spoke from the door. "Rache is German for Revenge. She could be trying to tell us something."
"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock flatly spoke. Sherlock quickly waltzed over and shut the door in his face as he checked the weather on his phone.
"She's German?" Lestrade asked.
"Of course, she's not German. She's from out of town though. Planned to spend a single night in London, before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious." Sherlock spoke. Céline giggled a bit.
"Sorry, obvious?" Watson asked.
"But what about the message?" Lestrade pressed.
"Dr. Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked Watson, eyeing him expectantly.
"Of the message?" Watson asked. Sherlock shook his head.
"Of the body, you're a medical man," Sherlock replied.
"We have a whole team right outside…" Lestrade protested.
"They won't work with me." Sherlock flatly spoke. Lestrade scoffed, looking to Céline for back up, she shrugged.
"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Lestrade protested again. Sherlock stepped close to him.
"Yes, because you need me," Sherlock replied.
"Yes, I do. God help me." Lestrade observed, leaving them in the room. He gave Céline a look as he left. She knew he wanted her to keep an eye on the two men.
"Dr. Watson!" Sherlock asked once Lestrade left, telling Anderson to keep everyone out.
"What am I doing here?" Watson asked kneeling beside the body.
"Helping me make a point," Sherlock spoke.
"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent!" Watson argued. Céline watched the two men argue.
"Yeah, but this is more fun," Sherlock replied. Watson looked taken aback.
"Fun? There is a woman lying dead!" He snapped.
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock quickly retorted. Watson sigh and began to examine the body. Lestrade came back in and stood beside Céline.
"Asphyxiation probably. Passed out, and choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her, could've been a seizure, possibly drugs?" Watson suggested.
"You know what it was, you've read the papers," Sherlock replied.
"Sherlock, two minutes I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade asked.
"Victim is in her late forties. A professional person going by her clothes, I'd guess something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. She's traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay for one night, that's obvious from the size of her suitcase…" Sherlock began.
"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked, exchanging confused glances with Céline. She took out the updated list of evidence and looked it over.
"Suitcase, yes. She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them have known she was married…" Sherlock continued.
"For God's sake. If you're just making this up!" Lestrade snapped.
"The wedding ring, ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding rings, state of her marriage, right there. The inside of the rings are shinier than the outside. That means they're regularly removed; the only polishing they get is when she works them 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 time - so more likely a string of them. Simple!" Sherlock continued.
"Brilliant!" Watson observed. The other three looked at him. "Sorry."
"But Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.
"Obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asked back.
"Not obvious to me," Watson replied.
"Dear God, what's it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring." Sherlock laughed.
"It's the rain isn't it?" Céline asked, checking the weather report on her phone. She had noticed the coat was damp when she came in and just realized that was how he got Cardiff. She made eye contact with Sherlock and he smirked and nodded.
"Her coat!" Sherlock pointed out to Watson and Lestrade. "It's slightly damp - she's been in heavy rain within the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London at that time. Under her coat collar is damp too. She turned it up against the wind! She's got an umbrella in her left pocket but it's unused and dry. Not just wind, strong wind - too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she's staying overnight so she must have a come a decent distance. But she can't have traveled more than two or three hours, because her coat hasn't dried. So where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff." Sherlock explained.
"But, Sherlock. We haven't got her suitcase." Céline spoke, finishing looking over the evidence list forensics gave her when she got there.
"How do you know she had a case?" Lestrade asked, looking from Céline to Sherlock.
"Back of her right leg. Tiny splashes on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her, with her right hand - you 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 spoke as he waltzed out of the room. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase, was there a suitcase in this house!?" He shouted. Lestrade and Céline walked out behind him. Watson followed behind them.
"Sherlock, there was no case," Céline shouted down at him from the top of the stairs.
"Céline it's murder. All of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings. We were right…serial killings! We've got a serial killer. Love those, there's always something to look forward to." Sherlock spoke to Céline.
"Why? Why are you saying that?" Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"Where's her case? Come on, where is it? Did she eat it? Someone else was here and they took the case." Sherlock trailed off. "So the killer must have driven her here forgot the case was in the car…"
"Maybe she checked into her hotel, left her case there?" Watson suggested.
"She never made it to her hotel! Look at her hair! She color coordinates her lipstick and her shoes, she'd never have left a hotel with her hair still like…" Sherlock suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence and gasped. "OH! Serial killers are always hard. You've got to wait for them to make a mistake! And Houston, we have a mistake!"
"Lestrade get on to Cardiff, find Jennifer Wilson's family and friends, find Rachel. She wasn't writing an angry message in German she was writing Rachel." Sherlock snapped.
"Of course, yes. But what mistake?" Lestrade pressed.
"Pink!" Sherlock shouted before running out. Watson watched him go and frowned Céline put her hand on his shoulder.
"Dr. Watson, meet me outside and I can take you home," Céline spoke. Watson nodded and took off his crime scene garb, going to wait outside. "Lestrade, I trust you can take care of the crime scene?" Céline asked. Lestrade nodded.
"I'll call you once we wrap up to let you know our next plan," Lestrade spoke. Céline nodded and got out of her crime scene gear. She put on her trench coat and put her notebook into her pocket and checked her phone.
will find it in the next hour, bring Watson.
She replied with an okay as she went to go and find Watson. He was talking to Sally.
"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. Weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there." Sally snapped. Céline walked up. "Perhaps it will be his girlfriend's body?" Céline sent Sally a look before turning her attention to Watson.
"Doctor are you ready?" She asked. Watson nodded, glad he didn't have to continue this conversation with Sally. The two took off toward the main road to hail a cab but before they could hail one a familiar black limousine pulled up. Céline frowned. "It's going to be a long night." She spoke.
"Sorry?" Watson asked, looking from her to the car. A large security man got out and opened the door for them.
"Get in the car, Miss. Brown, Doctor Watson." He spoke. Céline got in and Watson followed her. She seemed really annoyed the entire ride. There was a woman sitting in the back next to Watson. Céline got her phone out and texted Sherlock.
will be late, it's Mycroft.
Sherlock replied immediately.
come quickly afterword.
"What's your name then?" Watson asked the woman sitting beside him. She continued typing on her phone and didn't look at him. Céline watched their interaction.
"Anthea." The woman replied after giving the question some thought.
"Is that your real name?" Watson asked again. She gave him a look of annoyance.
"No." She replied again.
"I'm John." Watson introduced himself.
"Yes, I know." The woman flatly spoke.
"Any point in asking where I'm going?" Watson asked,
"None at all, John." She replied. Watson looked at Céline with a confused glance and Céline just shrugged.
"This is just some dramatics." She spoke, annoyed. When she and Sherlock met a few years ago Mycroft had done the same thing to her. He would drop by to see her or pick her up like this every couple of months, so it was usual for her. The two were dropped off in an empty parking garage. They got out of the car and Céline saw Mycroft waiting for them, there were two seats in front of him.
"Have a seat, Dr. Watson, Céline," Mycroft spoke as they walked up. Watson looked to Céline again, he reasoned that her demeanor meant they weren't in danger.
"You know Mycroft. Last time we did this you made me give you my number. The one for my phone." Céline snapped, crossing her arms. "One that you can call me on."
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet," Mycroft replied. Céline rolled her eyes.
"You know I just tell him when you do this? Not great for being discreet." Céline quickly retorted. Mycroft ignored her and looked behind her at Watson.
"Your leg must be hurting, sit down." Mycroft encouraged. Watson was annoyed at how the man spoke to Céline, and he was annoyed at how they took them both out of the blue like this. "You don't seem very afraid," Mycroft observed.
"You don't seem very frightening." Watson quickly snapped back. Céline smirked.
"Ah, yes, the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think. What is your connection with Sherlock Holmes?" Mycroft asked. Watson gave Céline a confused look before shaking his head.
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him yesterday." Watson answered. Mycroft chuckled.
"And since yesterday you've moved in with him, and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" Mycroft sarcastically replied.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"An interested party," Mycroft responded.
"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends" Watson observed. Céline kept quiet.
"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has other than this lady here?" Mycroft responded. "I'm the closest thing Sherlock Holmes is capable of having to a friend."
"And what's that?" Céline asked, laughing at how dramatic Mycroft was being.
"An enemy." Mycroft snapped at her.
"An enemy?" Watson asked, looking at Céline again in confusion.
"In his mind, certainly. If you asked him he'd probably say his arch enemy. He does love to be dramatic." Mycroft observed. Céline laughed at him, Mycroft perked an eyebrow at her.
"Well thank God you're not the slightest bit dramatic." She sarcastically retorted. Céline and Watson's phones both beeped. They were added to a group chat with Sherlock. They both checked their phones then exchanged a glance.
Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.
"I hope I'm not distracting either of you," Mycroft spoke to both of them.
"Not distracting me at all, no," Watson responded, putting his phone away. Céline stayed quiet.
"Dr. Watson, do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" Mycroft asked.
"Far as I remember, and I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business," Watson responded. Céline looked from Watson to Mycroft to see his response.
"It could be?" Mycroft suggested.
"It really couldn't." Watson insisted.
"If you do move into Baker Street, I would be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money, on a regular basis, to ... ease your way." Mycroft offered, he gave Céline a warning glare. She had turned down the offer when she and Mycroft met.
"In exchange for what?" Watson asked, confused.
"Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just ... tell me what he's up to." Mycroft explained. Watson frowned.
"Why?" He asked.
"I worry about him. Constantly." Mycroft further explained.
"That's really nice of you," Céline spoke up. Mycroft sent her a glare and turned back to Watson.
"But I would prefer, for various reasons, that my concern went ... unmentioned. We have what you might call, a difficult relationship." Mycroft began. Watson and Céline's phones both went off again. She looked at it.
If inconvenient come anyway.
"No." Watson suddenly answered.
"I haven't mentioned a figure." Mycroft quickly replied, annoyed.
"Don't bother." Watson snapped.
"You're very loyal, very quickly." Mycroft began, smirking and eyeing Watson.
"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested." Watson snapped again. Mycroft pulled out a notebook from his suit jacket pocket.
"Trust issues, it says here," Mycroft observed. Watson glared at him and looked at the notebook.
"What is that?" He asked. Mycroft ignored his question.
"Can it be you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes? Of all people?" Mycroft asked. Céline just watched the two men as they spoke.
"Who says I trust him?" Watson asked.
"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," Mycroft observed. Watson went to Céline and grabbed her arm to go. His back towards Mycroft.
"Are we done?" He asked.
"You tell me." Mycroft snapped. Watson and Céline exchanged glances and they both nodded, taking off back toward the limo.
"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him. But I can see from your left hand, that isn't going to happen." Mycroft called after them. Céline felt Watson stop dead in his tracks and he turned back to face Mycroft.
"My what?" Watson asked, getting angry.
"Most people blunder around this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. But when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?" Mycroft chuckled.
"What's wrong with my hand?" Watson asked again. Céline set her hand on his shoulder to hold him back.
"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service…" Mycroft read from the notebook. Watson pulled away from Céline and took an aggressive step toward Mycroft.
"Who the hell are you, and how do you know that?" Watson growled. Mycroft snapped the notebook shut.
"Sack her, she's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now, but your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson…you miss it." He spoke as he put the notebook away. "Welcome back."
"Let's go," Céline told Watson, he nodded and followed her back to the limo.
"Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson," Mycroft shouted as Watson and Céline got back into the limo.
"Address?" The woman asked them.
"221b Baker Street," Céline replied. Watson cut in as the limo driver pulled out of the parking garage.
"I need to stop off somewhere first," Watson spoke.
