Author's note- Thanks for the continued support guys! Please, leave a little review if you like it, as it really gives me the motivation to continue. I apologise for not updating recently, but a supposed 'friend' (as I mentioned on my Glee fanfic) has said some nasty stuff about my fan fictions and stories I write on here. It's really knocked my confidence a little. One complaint is the way I describe things, and the fact I use my name a lot- which I do because I find it better for me to use my emotions in that character. So I'm sorry if you don't like it...

Disclaimer- I don't own anything.

Chapter 5

It was around nine in the morning when John woke up. As he got dressed he noted the fact that the flat was silent, very silent. No noise from Sherlock, or Lucy for that matter. Chances are that Sherlock didn't sleep at all last night- not an uncommon thing for him- but would he have stayed the whole night with Lucy? John very much doubted that, but Sherlock continued to surprise him. The doctor padded down the stairs towards the teenager's new room, the door was still shut, but John couldn't hear anyone else moving in the flat so he quietly opened the door.

Light streamed through the curtains, lighting up the dark room and illuminating the pair on the bed. It appeared that Lucy was just beginning to wake up, and Sherlock was still in the exact same place as he was last night; lying on the bed slightly with Lucy leaning on him. Have they spent the whole night like that? John wondered incredulously, surprised at Sherlock's gentle behaviour which was admittedly beginning to scare him.

"Morning," John announced cheerily as he entered the room and moved towards his flatmates.

"Are you announcing the fact that it's morning, or is that meant to sound like a general greeting?" Sherlock queried. John smiled at the detective being his usual self.

"I think he meant it as a general greeting," Lucy suddenly mumbled sleepily, "But it could have been both." She chuckled at the man. "Good morning you two." The teenager said, a little more awake, as she sat up and moved off of Sherlock. "I haven't slept on you all night have I?"

"Yes, you did," Sherlock answered with no annoyance evident in his deep voice.

"Oh, I'm really sorry..."

"Don't be," Sherlock stretched, "I don't mind. It's not like I sleep much anyways."

"Anyone want breakfast?" John offered.

"No," both Sherlock and Lucy said at the same time.

"Are you sure?" John frowned, "You don't want anything Lucy?"

"No thanks, I don't really eat breakfast..."

"Okay then, I'll leave you to get ready," John shrugged as he went to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

Sherlock glared at his phone, the text message last night was still bugging him. It was from an unknown number, and was untraceable, so he didn't really have that much to go on. He'd received an email from Lestrade saying that the fingerprints on the knife were those that matched the victims; the consulting detective actually wasn't surprised by this finding, but the detective inspector was. Which is why he wanted Sherlock to go down to the morgue at St Bart's to have another look at the bodies. Much to Sherlock's surprise he also said that Lucy was welcome if she wanted to join them- which would be useful as before she had helped to prove they weren't suicides. But now it looked like Lestrade may need a little more convincing after the whole fingerprint fiasco. It was sometime near eleven, when Sherlock decided to get dressed into some fresh clothes. When he came out of his room he adorned some black trousers and black shoes, along with a very nice looking purple shirt that clung to him- showing off his lean but toned body.

"Nice shirt," Lucy complimented as he entered the living room.

"Uh... thanks," he replied, unused to receiving compliments. From the back of a chair he retrieved a black blazer style jacket and he walked towards the kitchen as he shrugged it on. The consulting detective walked into the kitchen, then out of the kitchen, before proceeding to look around the living room. Lucy watched him with mild amusement.

"Lost something?" She asked.

"John." Sherlock muttered as he went towards the doctor's bedroom.

"John?" Lucy frowned, "Did you not hear him shout to you, saying that he had just popped out to get some more eggs as we had run out?"

"He never shouted anything to me," Sherlock stopped in his search as he came out of John's bedroom with a laptop under his arm, "How long ago was this?"

"About ten minutes- just before you came out." Lucy laughed.

"What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing, John said you do this sometimes."

"John didn't exactly give you a nice description of me before you came here did he?" Sherlock huffed. Lucy seemed to hesitate at this.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he didn't exactly say nice things I'm guessing."

"He did," the teenager shifted to look into Sherlock's gaze, "But he mostly just warned me that you can do some things, like not realise that John's gone out even though he told you. He also mentioned that you may not like me or even attempt to be nice to me. But you are so it doesn't matter."

"I'm not that bad you know," Sherlock whispered.

"I know." Lucy told him gently. They then fell into a comfortable silence. The dark haired man looked at his new flatmate. Today, she was wearing black skinny jeans, and another long sleeved top of some kind. But there was nothing unusual about that given the typical, cold London weather.

"Right, come on," Sherlock suddenly said, he got to his feet as he put on his grey coat.

"Huh?"

"We're going to the morgue, Lestrade wants me and you're coming too. I'll text John when we're on our way."

John ended up meeting them in the morgue along with Lestrade and Molly, he seemed annoyed that they hadn't waited for him but he didn't say anything. In the middle of the room lay the body of the dead woman from yesterday, on a sterilised examination table, with a sheet covering the person's modesty. The cut on her neck was looking better than it was the other day, not that it really mattered anymore.

"It's a murder."

"No it's not Sherlock!" Lestrade countered, "When will you listen and admit you're wrong? There is nothing to say it was a murder."

"My name," Sherlock said as evidence.

"What?"

"Don't you remember?" Sherlock turned away from the dead body to look at Greg, "My name was scratched on the wall in the first murder," he said with added evidence on murder, "Then, it was written down in the second."

"There was nothing written down, or anything to do with your name with her suicide." Lestrade frowned.

"Oh, right," Sherlock fumbled around in his pocket before pulling out the paper with his name written on in an elegant script, "See? My name. I took this from her clenched hand, must have forgotten to show you..."

"Why would you take the evidence from the crime scene?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me anyway," Sherlock glared, "You want these to be suicides. But isn't it too much of a coincidence that they both committed suicide in the exact same way? A cut to both wrists and the neck; you have to look past the obvious. This is what the killer wants you to think, he's playing a game, don't you see?"

"Sherlock, I'm sure other people have killed themselves in this way," Lestrade told him matter of factly, "And for now, we have to treat it as suicide."

"A study in pink," Sherlock hissed, "You thought they were 'serial suicides' then didn't you? And look what that turned out to be."

"Well can you prove to me that this is a murder?"

"I need more time." Sherlock turned away from Greg but continued speaking, "How many more murders is it going to take for you to realise?" There was a brief moment of silence; no-one really knew what to say.

"Anyone want coffee?" Molly piped up, breaking the quiet with her cheerful voice. Everyone declined, but she went to go make herself one anyway. Suddenly, Lucy spoke up:

"What sort of knives did you find with the victim's fingerprints on?"

"Huh?" Lestrade, surprised at her sudden question, took a moment to answer, "They were both kitchen knives, both of which were covered in blood."

"What are you getting at?" Sherlock queried Lucy. He had now turned to face her and the other's again in interest.

"Can I take a look?" The teenager asked, gesturing to the body. Lestrade nodded, and she went to examine the body at a closer distance. "John," she looked over her shoulder at the doctor, "Can you come here please?"

"Sure," he stood beside her.

"Oh," Lucy's eyes widened, "Has anyone had a proper examination of her yet?" She nodded towards the dead body.

"Not a thorough one," Molly said as she walked back in with coffee.

"John, can you open her mouth slightly?" Lucy asked him. "Has anyone looked inside her mouth?"

"No," Molly frowned. John, in the meantime, had pulled on some thin surgical gloves, and had began to pry open the mouth of the dead woman.

"Oh!" John Watson said in surprise.

"What is it?" Greg asked. Reaching into her mouth, John retrieved what looked like a scrap of paper. And Sherlock observed that it was the same type of paper as the one he found in her hand.

"Paper," John muttered as he held it in his hand, "And it says something, although it's been smudged a bit- probably from her saliva."

"What does it say?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, hope you like games..." John read with his eyes wide.

"Are you serious?" Greg said, shocked.

"Now are we going to treat this as a murder?" Sherlock said, looking at the detective inspector.

"I... Well that doesn't seem as though the victim wrote that, and I doubt we can get a fingerprint analysis because it's been in her mouth..." He turned to Lucy, "How did you know to look in her mouth?"

"Hm? Oh, I didn't." She said, but looking at his confused face, she continued: "I was originally going to say something about the cuts on her body, but then I thought that the skin around her mouth looked a little odd, as though something was in it. So I wanted to check, just in case." She shrugged.

"The cuts..." Sherlock suddenly said before Lestrade could say anything. "Yes! Oh yes how stupid are you and your team of idiotic police officers?"

"Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed, exasperated at the consulting detectives attitude towards the police force. Sherlock ignored him and continued:

"Ah, I didn't realised at first, but now I do," he turned to Lucy and said, "The other day you said these cuts weren't self inflicted because of the way they are shaped."

"I did," she nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.

"And you're right. But you also said they are jagged?"

"Yeah, well, they are..." Her eyes suddenly widened in realisation. "Oh!"

"Exactly," Sherlock grinned triumphantly.

"Anyone going to explain for the idiots?" John interrupted.

"Look you two, really look," Sherlock said as Lestrade and John looked at the cuts, "Can't you see? They're jagged. I didn't even think about that yesterday. Stupid, stupid."

"Sherlock! What is it?" Greg raised his voice above the detective's rambling.

"Those cuts aren't from a kitchen knife!" Sherlock exclaimed, "They're jagged! The only sort of knife that can make those cuts is a serrated one!" John and Greg nodded in realisation, "Wow, are Lucy and I the only intelligent one's here?" Sherlock muttered. Lucy looked quite touched at the compliment, but John and Lestrade didn't apparently feel the same way.

"Well then," Lestrade sighed heavily, "It looks like we have a murder on our hands."