I must apologise for the lateness.

Also for any spelling/ punctuation mistakes I have probably made and failed to correct.

I don't own, only Emily.

I know it's been about a week and a half since it aired but: OHMYGOD THE SERIES THREE TEASER TRAILER!

I lost sleep over it...

Anyway, leave me some nice things because I have the dentist this afternoon and I'm really not looking forward to it...

Sherlock turned back to the cab after he had set foot on the pavement, offering his hand out to Emily to help her out.

"Thank you." She mumbled and shot him a quick smile before taking in her surroundings. It was not a street that she would feel particularly safe walking down alone during the night time. Or the day time for that matter. But at that moment in time, she felt safe; she wasn't alone. She was with John and Sherlock.

As the three headed towards the police tape, Sherlock asked the question that he had been burning to ask since he had made his deductions about the pair. "Did I get anything wrong?"

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

"Emily?" He asked to get the blonde's attention. But she didn't turn to look back at him.

"Mike is a Father figure to me, has been since I started working at Bart's, I am a bored Filing Clerk, and I've never got on with my Mother."

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Emily noticed that he looked rather impressed with himself. She shared a quick look with John before he opened his mouth again.

"Harry's short for Harriet."

"And I have a half brother." Sherlock had stopped walking, it wasn't until they were a few paces in front of him that they stopped and turned around to watch the smile disappear from his face.

"Harry's your sister."

"Look, what exactly are we supposed to be doing here?" John asked for himself and Emily. Now that he thought about it, Emily really did have no need to be there with them.

"Half Brother!" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth. Emily could no longer contain the gloating smile that had taken over her face.

"No, seriously, what are we doing here?" John tried again.

"There's always something." Sherlock stated as he started walking again, ignoring the question. Again.

"Hello, freak." Emily looked up from the pavement to the woman standing by the police cars.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock informed her.

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"Why?" The woman tried again sounding frustrated. Emily had to wonder what this woman's problem was. Ok, so Sherlock wasn't part of the Police. But he had been invited, sort of. He wasn't wrong there.

"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock told her sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally." He ducked under the tape and took a sharp inhale of the sir through his nose. "You know you didn't make it home last night." Sally paused for a moment, and Emily thought from where she was standing, she could detect a hint of fear in the woman's eyes. Instead of supplying the taller man with any sort of remark, she decided to change the subject altogether and turned to the two who were still waiting on the other side of the tape.

"Er, who are these two?"

"Colleagues of mine, Doctor Watson and Miss Cooper." He turned back to look at the pair of them."Miss Cooper, Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." The last part of his sentence was filled with sarcasm.

"Colleagues? How do you get colleagues?! And a female one at that?!" She turned to look back at the other two. "Did he follow you home?"

"Maybe we should wait here?" Emily spoke up feeling extremely out of place as the 'Sally' woman kept flicking her gaze between her and Sherlock.

"No." Sherlock stated firmly as he lifted the tape. It really didn't seem like either of them had a choice. But Emily still fought. She crossed her arms and stood her ground as John ducked beneath the tape.

"We don't have all night Emily." Sherlock informed her when he realised she hadn't followed John under the tape.

"I'm not moving until you tell me exactly why I'm here." Her voice was filled with stubbornness, which irritated him even more. Instead of answering though, he simply stared into her eyes as his gaze took on an intense look. It was one that made Emily uncomfortable as she had never received that type of look before. Sally continued to look between the two, wondering just what they were to each other as John sighed heavily. He was certain of one thing, living with these two would certainly be interesting. That was of course, if he even took the flat.

Finally Sherlock had had enough and simply grabbed one of her wrists with his free hand and dragged her, for the third time that night, underneath the tape.

"Freaks here. Bringing him in." Sally spoke into her radio before walking towards a house. Sherlock dropped Emily's wrist as he began to take in the area and ground around him. John smirked to himself as Emily sighed and crossed her arms, she really did not want to be here.

"Ahh, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock spoke to the man that had made his way towards them and had taken an 'I'm important' stance in front of the trio.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" His whole demeanour reeked of distaste. Emily took an immediate dislike to him. She quickly caught Anderson's attention and it didn't take him long to look her up and down a few times.

"Quite clear." Sherlock stated, taking the attention away from Emily, something she was grateful for. He inhaled another deep breath as John and Emily simply stood to the side feeling like third wheels to whatever was taking place in front of them. "And is your wife away for long?"

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

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?" Anderson asked sounding genuinely confused.

"It's for men." Emily smirked at the quirky expression that Sherlock used as he spoke.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Emily's eyes widened at what Sherlock was insinuating. But by the way Anderson quickly turned to look at Donovan, a look of shock covering his face, she could tell he was telling the truth.
"Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in?" He sounded so casual, as if he did this thing every day.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." By now the Consulting Detective had made his way past the 'couple' towards the house. But he paused and turned back to face them for a moment. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Emily's eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets as Sherlock gave them a smug smile and continued on into the house. She watched as John made a point of looking down at Donovan's knees as he walked past her and followed Sherlock.

As Emily stopped in front of her, she too paused, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think you can do better." With that she continued on into the house to find her two companions.

It took her a moment to find her way through the maze of hallways, but she eventually came across the right room. She walked into the middle of a conversation.

"Who's this?" The man that had appeared at Baker Street asked as soon as he saw John. He then turned to the doorway that Emily was now leaning against. "And who's she?"

"They're with me."

"But who are they?"

"I said they're with me. Emily you'll need to put one of these on too." He picked up another spare blue coverall and passed it to her when she had moved close enough.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" John asked as he started to put his blue outfit on and Emily shrugged out of her coat. His question was met with more silence that was only broken when the grey haired man zipped his coverall up.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked

"Upstairs." He patiently waited for the pretty blonde woman beside him to zip her coverall up before he lead the way to the staircase. He didn't quite understand what exactly she was doing here. The same went for the limping man she lagged behind with. But he figured, if they were with Sherlock Holmes, they must be important or at least useful.

As the four of them made their way up the stairs, Emily scanned the building she was in. It had probably once been a beautiful house to live in. But judging by the size of it, it had to take some money to look after. Who ever used to live here, more than likely grew tired of continual TLC, or perhaps they couldn't managed it anymore. Either way, it was a shame. And now, after being a crime scene involved in suicides, or serial killings, or whatever these deaths were being counted as, it would never have that same amount of care put into it again. Who, after all, would want to live in a house where someone had possibly been murdered.

"...Some kids found her." She only caught the end of what the man was saying as she came out of her thoughts. Emily grimaced. Those kids would end up remembering that moment for the rest of their lives.

The four entered the rather depressing room that was devoid of any furniture except from a rather ominous looking rocking horse in the far corner.

"Oh God." Emily muttered as she laid eyes on the woman on the floor.

"Are you alright?" John asked her after a look of sadness crossed his face at the sight that had greeted him. "Do you want to wait outside?"

"I'm fine. It's just the dreadful colour." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. John and the grey haired man were sending her looks of disbelief. "What?" She asked them curiously. "I have seen a dead body before you know." She told them a little angrily. Did they expect that because she was a woman she would scream at the sight of a corpse. No. That wasn't in her nature.

Due to Sherlock standing with his back towards them, all three of them missed the smirk her words had caused.

Emily was trying very hard not to take any deep breaths. It wasn't due to the woman on the floor; she hadn't started to decompose yet.

It was just that, as soon as she had entered the room and her sight had landed on the body, she could smell chlorine.

In her mind's eye, she was no longer standing in a room in London next to John Watson. She was four years old again, sitting on her brother's hip as she watched a scene unfold from a balcony, and a boy splashed around in the water.

It happened every time she saw a dead body. It didn't matter if it was human or animal, she always smelt chlorine.

"Shut up." She was once again bought from her thoughts by a voice. But this time it was Sherlock who had spoken. His deep tone gained everyone's attention. She was a little startled. She had heard no one speak.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade spoke gently.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." His eyes quickly flicked to look at Emily. She was the only one who caught it, and it made her wonder if he had actually been talking to the police officer, or her.

She watched as Sherlock slowly lessened the space between himself and the woman on the floor. She moved to the left side of the door so she wasn't in anyone's way. She could feel a gaze on her and looked to see the grey haired man looking at her curiously. She sent him a polite smile that he returned before they both focused their attention back to Sherlock who was busy standing over the body. But it wasn't long before he was knelt next to her and inspecting different areas of her attire.

"Got anything?" The grey haired man spoke up after a while.

"Not much." Sherlock replied as he stripped his hands of his latex gloves and stood.

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something …" Anderson was leaning casually against the doorway, he didn't notice Sherlock moving towards him, phone in hand, he was too busy looking at Emily to care.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock told the man sarcastically as he promptly shut the door in his face. Emily had to quickly snatch her hand away from the doorframe, wary of catching her fingers.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"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." He replied never looking away from his phone. "So far, so obvious." He finished and finally pocketed the device.

"Sorry – obvious?"

"What about the message, though?"

Sherlock ignored him. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man." Emily was beginning to feel like part of the non existent furniture.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside."

"They won't work with me." Sherlock sounded somewhat bored.

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

"Yes ... because you need me."

"Yes, I do. God help me." He sounded helpless as his eyes lowered to the floor.

"Doctor Watson."

"Hm?" John turned his head to look at Lestrade, silently asking permission.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Emily couldn't help but notice he spoke this a little tetchily.

He moved towards her and opened the door to go outside, sending her a quick wink that made her smile.
"Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes." She heard him say.

"Emily." She looked up from the floor boards in front of her to see John and Sherlock on either side of the body. Sherlock had been he one to call her name.

"What?" She asked innocently. He flicked his gaze to the floor beside him then back up at her, indicating she should move to the spot beside him. She considered her options. She could just keep standing in the corner and sulk, but that would probably lead to Sherlock getting up and dragging her over to the body. Or she could just get it over with and move.

She took the easier option and walked towards them, hoping she didn't look too much like a pathetic puppy who obeyed every order.

"Well?" Sherlock asked quietly as Emily knelt next to him, tucking her hands between her legs. But before John could answer, Emily did instead.

"What am I doing here? I can see why you're here, I can see why John is here. But I can't for the life of me understand what the hell I'm doing here!" She whispered harshly.

"Helping me make a point." Sherlock answered her softly.

"But I have no medical experience, and I'm not a Consulting Detective."

"We're supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John added.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

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

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." As John inspected the woman for himself, Emily felt completely useless.

"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 informed him from his now kneeling position.

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

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?"

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade interrupted him.

Sherlock stood as he began to talk and offered his hand out to Emily again to help her stand. "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming and as Miss Cooper put it, dreadful shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Emily looked around the room for any sign of a suitcase but found none. She hadn't seen one in the downstairs rooms either.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked as John also started too look around.
"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, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade sounded as if he could not quite believe everything the consulting detective was saying.

"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."

"That's brilliant." All eyes turned to John at his words of praise. "Sorry." He added on.

"Cardiff?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me." John said as Emily just continued to look at Sherlock. There was no way he would not explain these things to them.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." Sherlock took a few seconds to look at each one of them in turn before looking back at the body. The man clearly had a thing for insulting people.
"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 retrieved his phone from his pocket once more. "Cardiff." Emily moved over to stand beside John.

"That's fantastic!" John stated as Emily simply smiled as she shook her head in disbelief.

"D'you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked him in a low voice so only John and Emily could hear.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's ... fine."

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?"

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." He spun around as he spoke as he searched for the item.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade sounded as if he had only just caught on.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German!" There was his sarcastic tone again. "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?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Sherlock pointed down to the woman's legs as he started talking. "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?" He squatted down again to examine her leg more closely.

"There wasn't a case."

Sherlock slowly raised his head to look at the man. "Say that again." He instructed.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." At these words, the dark haired man straightened and moved to the door.
"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" He shouted to the police in the rest of the building as he headed down the stairs.
"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade insisted as he followed the man out on to the landing. He was swiftly followed by John and Emily.

"They take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?" Emily leant her arms against the railing, looking down to watch Sherlock as he gradually got further away.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to." He really was like a child at Christmas.

"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."

"The killer has her case?" Emily spoke up now.

"Beauty and brains Miss Cooper." Emily looked over her shoulder to see who he was talking about. But no one was there. "Finally, someone else who understands. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." He sounded as if he was talking to himself now.

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

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." His sudden silence made Emily even more curious. "Oh." His face had lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh!" He clasped his hands together in delight.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

Lestrade leaned further over the railing. "What is it, what?

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!"

"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!" He disappeared from view as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!"

Sherlock ran up a few steps to make sure he can be seen before he yelled: "PINK!" With that, he was gone again.

But it wasn't just Lestrade that was baffled. Emily was too. A moment ago he had been raving about a suitcase, now he couldn't stop thinking about the word pink. Perhaps he had meant a pink suitcase?

But she had other pressing matters on her mind.

"Who was he talking about when he said 'beauty and brains'?" She asked John as everyone else began to make their way into the room they had just evacuated.

John's shoulder's sagged a little and his eyes rolled. "You." He answered as if it should have been obvious.

"Are you sure?" Instead of supplying another answer, he began to make his way down the stairs, certain his blonde companion would follow.