Author's note- Thank you to those who have favourited, followed and reviewed my story! It really means alot and gives me the motivation to write! So please, leave a review if you are enjoying it so far. I should mention that I'm doing GCSE's at school, so I will try and update as much as possible.

Disclaimer- I unfortunately do not own Sherlock Holmes; much to my dismay.

Chapter 3

"The police are always out of their depth," Sherlock muttered to himself as he answered the call, "Where was the body found?" he asked, already knowing why Lestrade was calling.

"At another flat," Lestrade replied, "Looks like another suicide."

"The first wasn't a suicide!" Sherlock said exasperated. "It's so blatantly obvious!"

"Well, we would still like you to have a look at this body."

"Only because I'm always right." Sherlock said, and then paused as he got the address. "Oh, wait! Lestrade!" Sherlock suddenly said as though he'd just remembered something, "I'm going to have another friend accompany me, so you know."

"Sherlock..." the man started hesitantly.

"You allow John to come. You will allow Lucy to come if you want any help."

"Fine Sherlock," Lestrade gave in, although he seemed surprised that he wanted a girl to come along, "Only because we need you."

"The police always need me." Sherlock replied smugly as he hung up.

John had previously explained to Lucy what the case was about, but even he was surprised when he heard Sherlock say he wanted Lucy there. The consulting detective wasn't one to want lots of people around when working; but the icing on the cake was when he called Lucy his 'friend.' John guessed it was to convince D.I Lestrade, but Sherlock wasn't the sort to use that word much. After all, it did take him a while to even call John his friend. But the doctor brushed it off and ignored it.

Sherlock stood suddenly, grabbing his wool cape coat and scarf.

"Well?" He looked at John and Lucy expectantly as he put on his clothing.

"Huh?" The doctor made a noise of confusion. Sherlock huffed.

"Weren't you listening? We have another murder!" Sherlock's eyes lit up as he grinned.

"Lestrade says it's a suicide." John muttered.

"Yes, but when is Lestrade ever right?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well come on, we need to go." John got up to grab his jacket, however Lucy remained seated. Sherlock frowned slightly at her, "Are you ready to go?"

"You sure you want me coming? You have only just met me..." Lucy seemed extremely uncertain.

"Of course, you can't beat a good murder!" Sherlock told her happily, "It's better than sitting here watching stupid telly all day."

"If you're sure then," Lucy smiled, "I've never been to a crime scene." She disappeared into her room and reappeared wearing a black jacket that nice went with her black skinny jeans and band t-shirt. As soon as John came back wearing his jacket, Sherlock darted off downstairs. The two watched him with fascination.

"Is he always like this?" Lucy asked laughing.

"You get used to it."

Lucy and John took off after Sherlock and found him waiting for them as he held the front door open. "Hurry up." He said impatiently. "It's not far from here, just a quick taxi ride." The three ran into the road and proceeded to catch a taxi together.

The street outside the flat was quiet and mostly deserted apart from the police. The sun was just beginning to dip below as late afternoon approached- which meant a murder in broad daylight. Police tape separated the outside world from what had happened mere hours earlier, with police cars with flashing blue lights behind. Officers stood by; examining the area for any signs that it could have been a murder. With Sherlock in the lead slightly, the trio walked towards where Sergeant Donovan stood in charge of keeping people out of the crime scene.

"Oh great," She said sarcastically as they approached, "The freak's here." Sherlock shot her a cold glare as she then said, "And he's brought along a teenager. My, my Sherlock, bit young for you." She laughed at him, from just behind her, Anderson overheard and snickered.

"Let us through." The consulting detective demanded, already annoyed enough at her childish behaviour.

"Why would I do that?"

"Really you two," John interrupted before it escalated, "Let's not start here." Sally rolled her eyes and lifted the tape.

"Why have you brought her with you?" She asked as she nodded at Lucy.

"Because she's with me..." Sherlock then realised what he had implied and immediately corrected himself, "She's staying with us back home, and Lestrade has allowed her to come; so if you don't mind." He then barged past her with Lucy and John following. "Out of my way Anderson," Sherlock muttered as they approached the door. Anderson decided to ignore him and speak to Lucy:

"A word of advice kid, don't get caught up with him. He's a freak. He's no good to you, you're best to stay out of his way. You don't know what he's like." Sherlock winced at the harsh words. But he glanced to see Lucy's reaction, not that it matters, he told himself; but deep down he wanted to be at least somewhat liked.

"I think I'm capable of making my own judgements without rude opinions," Lucy suddenly said, slightly coldly yet politely. Anderson looked taken aback, but shrugged:

"Don't say you haven't been warned."

As they all descended the stairs, Sherlock looked back at the teenager.

"Thanks," he murmured to her.

"What for?" She looked surprised.

"For what you said to Anderson," he offered her a small smile- she returned it as they came to a stop inside the room of the murder. No-one apart from John had ever stood up for him, he was expecting Lucy to believe all that he said and then act the way Anderson and Donovan do to him. But no, she stood up for him; she ignored all that Anderson said. And Sherlock was surprised- happily so, maybe he was right about her.

The flat was of a decent size, with a particularly large living room. The walls were coloured in light pain that was colour co-ordinated with the furniture. Everything was perfect, neatly arranged, tidy, and from the decor it was definitely the home of a woman. Sherlock's sharp eyes took in every detail. Lestrade, John and Lucy watched him as he took a look around. Finally, he reached the woman's body in the middle of the living room, he frowned and bent down. It was the same as before; a cut on the neck and wrists causing her to bleed to her death. The woman's hand was clenched, with a gloved hand, Sherlock opened it. Inside, scrunched up, was a note. When the other people in the room started talking to themselves, Sherlock took a quick look. Once again, it was the same as before.

Sherlock.

Just one word- his name- nothing else. But why? Sherlock knew it wasn't a suicide, but the killer wasn't making it easy for him; Sherlock grinned, he didn't do easy.

"Got anything Sherlock?" Greg Lestrade queried as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Of course," the detective said as he stood up, "This is a woman; obviously, who only recently returned from a day out- you can tell by the way she's dressed in a woman's suit with make-up that she is most likely a business woman; and an important one at that. She likes things to be neat and tidy and appears to have slight OCD, which is blatantly obvious as everything in this room is perfectly in line with each other, all the mugs on the side have their handles facing the same way, and all the unused plugs are switched off. Also, everything on that table there- the pens, the paper, the coaster- it's all in line with the edge of the table. She is quite clearly seeing a psychiatrist judging by the medicine in her cupboard, but she rarely takes them as there are several unopened packets that have been collected from almost a year ago. However, contrary to your belief Lestrade, she was murdered." Sherlock concluded with a flourish.

"That was phenomenal!" Lucy murmured, amazed at the man before her. Sherlock turned to her in surprise, John smiled as she reacted in a similar way to him when he first heard Sherlock and his deductions.

"You think so?" Once again, Sherlock looked at her in slight disbelief- John was the only one who had ever been really impressed.

"Are you kidding?" Lucy grinned, awestruck, "It was bloody brilliant!"

"Oh, thank you," Sherlock flashed a happy smile at the compliment he was so unused to receiving.

"Yes, yes" Lestrade started to speak, "It's all good. But you can't prove it was a murder! Once again, we think it's just a coincidental suicide. We found a kitchen knife beside her covered in blood."

"A suicide committed in the exact same way?" The detective raised an eyebrow.

"You have proof otherwise?" The D.I sighed.

"I know it wasn't." Sherlock said as though that was enough evidence alone.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but we need proof." Lestrade said.

"If it carries on, and you haven't been listening, it will be your fault," Sherlock snapped frustrated. There was a moment of silence, no-one knowing what to say.

"It wasn't a suicide," Lucy suddenly said. All eyes turned to her in shock at her contribution. "I know I'm just a fifteen year old girl, but I know that wasn't a suicide." Sherlock was faintly impressed, but he was curious:

"What makes you say that?" Both Sherlock and Lestrade asked at the same time. They looked at each other, then back to Lucy.

"Well, this murderer is quite clever," she said taking a few steps to look closer at the cuts on the woman's neck and wrists, "But there's just one thing he's forgotten... Those cuts aren't self-inflicted." She looked at them confidently.

"How can you tell?" Greg asked her incredulously.

"It's a slight difference; the knife should make a clean cut if self-inflicted, nice and simple. But these cuts are different. They're jagged, that shows a slight struggle before she became too weak, it shows that someone else cut her by the way the cut is shaped. If it was herself, they would be cleaner and straighter. Also, why kill yourself in the middle of your living room? Most people would do it in a bath tub full of water..." She finished talking and looked up at their surprised faces with a small smile.

"Wow," John said.

"That was pretty impressive," Sherlock murmured, for once someone else's intelligence surprised him.

"How do you know all of that?" Lestrade was wide-eyed. Lucy shrugged in response.

"Trust me," she said, "I know what I'm talking about."

Sherlock was amazed; she had helped him to convince the police with surprising knowledge. But it actually concerned both him and John: how on earth did she know that much about cuts? And self-inflicted ones? Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of it, and neither he nor John asked her right away. They of course wanted to know how she acquired this knowledge, but something told Sherlock that perhaps now wasn't the time to ask those questions.

But now Sherlock had his proof.

The game is on.