Chapter Three: Her Case

Alice was paranoid. Her mind kept saying that they were coming for her, but Alice kept dismissing it. As she turned onto Baker Street, she heard something approaching her. Alice quickly turned, her hair whipping her face. There were two figures walking behind her. Alice quickened her pace - and so did the figures. A cold sweat ran down the girl's face.

'One. Two. Three.'

Alice, with a sudden burst of speed, began sprinting down the street and the two figures began pursuing her. Luckily, 221B was close by.

"Dr. Watson!" Alice said with relief when she saw the doctor at the door. John turned to face her as she jogged up to him.

"Alice?" He asked, "Shouldn't you be with Sherlock, and why are you paler than normal?" Alice looked back. No one was there.

"He said he had to do something. He sent me home." John nodded as the two entered the flat.

John and Alice came through the door to their flat, but John stopped and stared as Sherlock, who was laying on the sofa, repeatedly clenched and unclenched his left fist. Alice dismissed it and leaned slightly against the door. She was fatigued, and besides, it was normal Sherlock behavior.

"What are you doing?" asked John.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think," Sherlock said. He lifted his right hand to show that he had three round nicotine patches stuck onto his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork." He loudly clicked the 'k' on 'work'. John walked further into the room.

"It's good news for your health and breathing," said Alice with a slight laugh. "I don't want you dying on me."

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring." John frowned as he looked more closely at Sherlock's arm.

"Is that three patches?" He asked. Sherlock pressed his hands together into the prayer position under his chin.

"It's a three-patch problem." Alice rolled her eyes. Like hell it was a 'three patch problem'. She really needed to get rid of those patches one day. Sherlock closed his eyes. John looked around the room for a moment, then looked down at Sherlock again. Alice walked over to one of the armchairs and used it to prop herself up.

"Well?" John said. Sherlock didn't respond. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important. Not to mention your assistant came running up to me like she saw a ghost!" Sherlock still didn't respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snapped open. He didn't bother turning his head to look at John, but instead looked at Alice through the corner of his eye. She nodded to him.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone. Alice has one."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear, and Alice won't let me touch hers."

"It's true. I won't," The dark haired girl said with a grin.

"I was the other side of London," John said angrily.

"There was no hurry," replied Sherlock mildly. John glared at him as he gazed serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually John dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and held it out towards him.

"Here." Without opening his eyes, Sherlock held out his right hand with the palm up. John glowered at him for a moment, then stepped forward and slapped the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifted his arm and put his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turned and walked a few paces away before turning around again. "So what's this about – the case?"

"Her case."

"Her case?" said Alice curiously with a yawn. Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case," John said, "So?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Sherlock said quietly to himself. Raising his voice a little, he imperiously held the phone out toward John, still not looking at him.

"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text." John half-smiled in angry disbelief.

"You brought me here...to send a text." Alice stifled a laugh, which wasn't hard.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk," Sherlock continued to hold the phone out while John glowered at him, possibly wondering if he could get away with justifiable homicide. Eventually he stomped across the room and snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolded his hands under his chin and closed his eyes but instead of going to the table, John walked over to the window and looked out of it into the street below. Sherlock opened his eyes and tilted his head slightly towards him.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Just met a friend of yours," John answered. Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"A friend?"

"An enemy." Sherlock immediately relaxed.

"Which one?" asked Alice. She laid her head down on the back of the armchair. "He has at least...well I can't remember. I lost track around...what? 142?"

"His arch-enemy, according to him." John turned toward Sherlock. "Do people have arch-enemies?" Sherlock looked towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Did he offer you money to spy on us?" Sherlock said.

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?"

"The most annoying and dangerous man you've ever met, and not our problem right now..." Alice muttered loudly. She caught Sherlock giving her a look. "Well, it's true."

"I know, and I agree about being him being dangerous," Sherlock said before turning his attention back towards John. "On my desk, the number." John gave him a dark look but Sherlock had already looked away again so John walked over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. He looked at the name on the paper.

"Jennifer Wilson," He read. Alice looked over at the label. "That was...Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Shaking his head, John got his phone out and started to type the number onto it.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Ye-hang on!" Alice giggled a bit at John's frustration. To her, any frustration besides her own was amusing.

"These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'"John started to type but looked briefly across to Sherlock as if he was concerned at what he just said. Sherlock continued his narration. "'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'" John looked across to Sherlock again, frowning. Alice raised one of her dark eyebrows in confusion.

"You of all people blacked out?" Alice said in disbelief.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock flipped his legs around and stood up, taking the shortest route toward the kitchen – which involved walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it. "Type and send it. Quickly." Going into the kitchen, he picked up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brought it back into the living room. Walking over to the dining table, he lifted one of the dining chairs and flipped it around, setting it down in front of the armchair Alice was leaning against. He put the suitcase onto the dining chair and sat down in the armchair. John was still typing.

"Have you sent it?" Sherlock asked.

"What's the address?"

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" John finished the message, then looked around as Sherlock unzipped the case and flipped open the lid, revealing the contents. Alice leaned over to take a quick glance. There were a few items of clothing and underwear – all in varying shades of pink – a washbag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled "Come To Bed Eyes". As John turned towards the case he staggered slightly in shock as he realised what he was looking at.

"That's...that's the pink lady's case," John said in shock, "That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes, obviously," Sherlock said while studying the object in question. As John continued to stare, Sherlock looked up at him and then rolled his eyes.

"Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her. Neither did my shadow." Alice sighed at the nickname.

"I never said either of you did."

"Why not?" yawned Alice once more, "Given the text he just had you send combined with the fact we that have her case, it's a perfectly explainable conclusion to me."

"Do people usually assume you two are the murderers?" Sherlock smirked.

"Now and then, yes. Mostly me, though," He answered as he put his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifted his feet up and under him so that he was perching on the seat with his backside braced against the backrest, then clasped his hands under his chin.

"Okay..." John limped across the room and dropped heavily into the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. "How did you get this?"

"By looking," Sherlock answered.

"Where?" John repeated.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink," Alice said as she put more of her weight against the chair, "You got of all that because you realised that the case would be pink? That makes no sense, even to me."

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously. I'm surprised you didn't see it. Maybe you need to read a little bit more."

"I'm ten years old, Sherlock. I do notice things, but I don't notice everything."

"Why didn't I think of that?" John muttered to himself.

"It is because you're an idiot?" John looked across to the girl, surprised to hear such words come from someone like her. Sherlock noticed them and made a placatory gesture with one hand.

"No, no, no, don't look like that," said he, "Practically everyone is." Sherlock refolded his hands and then extended his index fingers to point at the case. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?" said John. Alice leaned in, steadying herself on the back of the chair.

"I can't see anything," said the girl, "It looks like a normal suitcase to me." Sherlock gave her a look.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone?" he said, "There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home," John suggested. Sherlock put his hands onto the arms of the chair and raised himself up so that he could lower his feet to the floor, then sat down properly on the chair.

"She has a-"

"Had," Alice corrected, "If I recall, Jennifer Wilson is dead. You meant to say had." Sherlock shot a glare at Alice before continuing.

"She had string of lovers, and she was careful about it. She never left her phone at home." he said, emphasizing each past tense word, as he put the slip of paper back into the luggage label on the case and looked at John expectantly.

"Er…" John muttered as he looked down at his mobile phone, which he had put onto the arm of his chair. "Why did I just send that text?" Alice laughed tiredly, which actually made her sound as if she was drunk.

"Silly John," she laughed, "The only question that remains is who has the phone?" Sherlock looked over at the girl.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"She ran all the way back here from Lauriston Gardens," explained John, "She must be oxygen deficient for the moment as well as having fatigue. She'll be fine."

"You're the doctor, but Alice is right. Where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or...?

"The murderer…" said John slowly before he realized what Sherlock was talking about. "You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason," said Sherlock, "Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" As if on cue, John's phone began to ring. He picked it up and looked at the caller I.D. before looking across to Sherlock as the phone continued to ring.

"A few hours after their latest victim bites it," giggled Alice, "And then they get a text that can only be from her! Most likely if some random moron just found the phone, they would just ignore that text. However, the murderer-" She paused as the phone stopped ringing- "Would of course panic!"

Sherlock flipped the lid of the suitcase closed and stood up, walking across the room to pick up his jacket. Alice took her chance and fell into the chair where the detective had once been. John continued to stare down at his phone as Sherlock put on his jacket on and walked towards the door.

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked, finally looking up.

"Four people are dead," said Sherlock, "There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to me?" Sherlock reached behind the door to take his greatcoat from the hook. He looked across towards John and Alice before noticing that something was missing from the mantelpiece. He then looked towards his giggling, tired assistant.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull. And Alice is about to fall asleep any second."

"What?" Alice laughed, although offended, "Sherlock, I'm not going to-"

"Five...four...three...two...one." On the last number, Alice's giggling ceased as her eyelids finally gave out into a dreamless sleep.

Long after Sherlock left, Alice was awoken by a hand she knew too well. Her midnight blues opened slowly. She didn't even have to move from her spot to see who it was.

"Don't touch me," she hissed as she sat up to meet the face of Lestrade, "Why are you even here?"

"Drugs bust," the Inspector said simply. Alice pulled her feet up onto the chair and looked around quickly. There were other policemen and women around the flat.

"Get out." The Inspector looked at the little girl. "There's nothing here that would categorize as something that you would consider 'drugs'. I know what you want. Get out."

"I'm not listening to a little girl. When you were younger, maybe. But not now."

"...I will bite you, Lestrade. I'm not afraid to." Lestrade laughed.

"I'm not Anderson." That's when Alice heard the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs. She mouth curled into a smirk. Sherlock burst through the door, John following him. They both walked into the living room. Sherlock stormed over to Lestrade with an angry look on his face.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock snapped.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case," said Lestrade, "I'm not stupid." Alice sighed.

"You can't just break into my flat."

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well, I didn't let you in, and I doubt that Mrs. Hudson did," said Alice. "So therefore, you broke in. That's the term, isn't it? Entering private property without permission?"

"She's right," said Sherlock, "And what do you call this?" Lestrade looked round at his officers and Alice before looking back to Sherlock innocently.

"It's a drugs bust," he said simply. Alice felt like both laughing and groaning with frustration.

"Seriously?!" John said in surprise, "This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" Sherlock turned and walked closer to John, biting his lip nervously. Alice shifted uncomfortably.

"Dr. Watson…" Alice said, drawing a line across her throat. John ignored her.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

"John, you probably want to shut up now," Sherlock said sharply.

"Yeah, but come on…" He looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment, and John realised how serious he was being. John looked at Alice, who shrugged innocently before shifting again.

"No."

"What?"

"You?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock said with slight anger before he turned back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," said Lestrade, nodding towards the kitchen. Alice raised an eyebrow before looking over the chair.

"What, An…" The closed doors to the kitchen slid open and revealed several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson, who was among them turned towards the living room and raised his hand in sarcastic greeting. Alice rolled her dark orbs.

"Great…" she said sarcastically, "Looks who here. Hello, Anderson. What the heck are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered," the officer said venomously to the child. Sherlock turned away, biting his lip angrily. Alice dug her fingernails into the arm of the chair.

"They all did," Lestrade explained, "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Donovan then came out of the kitchen holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it. Alice looked over to see that she was holding a jar of eyes.

"Are these human eyes?" Donovan asked.

"Put those back!" snapped Sherlock.

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment."

"Keep looking, guys," said Lestrade as he turned to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly, and I'll stand them down."

"You're acting like a child," Alice muttered, crossing her arms.

"I am dealing with two children." Alice stuck her tongue out briefly at the inspector. "This is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Either of you. Clear?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Alice stood up with her hands openly balling up, unlike when she had shoved them into her coat earlier.

"Sherlock Holmes is entirely clean," she said, getting angrier by the word. "And I know for a fact that he is. I checked everywhere when we moved in to this flat! This is a waste of your time. You should be trying to find Jennifer Wilson's killer!"

"Is this flat? All of it? He could have snuck something in."

"Oh please," cut in Sherlock, "I don't even smoke." He unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pulled it up to show the nicotine patch on his lower arm.

"Neither do I," Lestrade added. He pulled up the right sleeve of his own shirt to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away as they both pulled their sleeves back down again. Alice rolled her eyes and walked away from the chair and stood beside Sherlock and John, who had been strangely silent.

"Would you two work together? You know what they say, two heads are better than one." There was silence between them until Lestrade spoke.

"We've found Rachel," he said.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that," cut in Anderson, "We found the case." He pointed to the pink suitcase in the living room. Alice had completely forgotten about it. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath." Alice's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson," said Sherlock in a sharp tone. "I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turned back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead," said Lestrade.

"Excellent!" Alice exchanged a look with a startled John. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." John grimaced sadly and turned away. Sherlock, on the other hand, just looked confused. Alice blinked several times.

"That makes no sense…" Alice commented. "Why would Ms. Wilson do that? Why would she-"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?"Anderson cut in again. "Yup – Sherlock is imprinting himself on the girl."

"Shut up!" Alice snapped as she turned on her heel to face the man. "She probably wasn't thinking about her daughter. All she did was scratch her name on the floor, with her fingernails may I remind you. It would have hurt. Why don't you think?"

"Why don't you let the adults handle this? You're not important anymore. You don't have to be part of this case." Alice's body tensed with anger as she took a step towards the man insulting her. However, Sherlock held her back.

"Calm yourself," said the detective as he released his assistant. Alice sighed angrily.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it," John said, repeating an earlier observation. "Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." Sherlock turned to him.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset? I know I wouldn't." John stared at him. Alice blinked out of pure confusion for the last statement. Sherlock hesitated as he realised that everyone in the flat has stopped what they're doing and has fallen silent. It was most likely at the last saying. He glanced around the room and then looks awkwardly at John. "Not good?" Alice shook her head.

"I'm just confused…" she said. Sherlock shook it off and stepped closer to John and Alice, looking at them intently.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" he asked.

"'Please, God, let me live,'" John said instantly.

"Oh, use your imagination!"

"I don't have to." Alice looked over at Dr. Watson. He had a painful look on his face. Then, she remembered that John had been an army doctor. He had faced death before.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson was running all those lovers: she was clever," Sherlock continued, beginning to pace across the room. "She was trying to tell us something." Mrs. Hudson then came to the door of the living room.

"Isn't the doorbell working?" she said, "Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." He continued pacing as Mrs. Hudson looked around the room.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"Drugs bust…" Alice muttered.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." Alice raised an eyebrow, confused by the situation. With his back to the door, Sherlock stopped his pacing.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up!" he shouted. "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off."

"What? My face is?!" said Anderson as Alice held back a laugh.

"Everybody quiet and still," Lestrade ordered. "Anderson, turn your back."

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Your back, now, please!" Anderson groaned, but complied.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock muttered loudly to himself.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted, turning towards his landlady. She went to turn and hurry away down the stairs, but Alice stopped her.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson," said the ten year old. "I'll do it." Before the old woman could say anything, Alice turned and headed down the stairs.

Alice sighed as she went down the stairs. The door was still open and cabbie stood there. He was an old man and looked like he was not native to London.

"I'm sorry, but Sherlock Holmes did not call for any taxi. Please leave," Alice stated. She went to close the door, but the cabbie held it open.

"Who are you to say so?" he asked. Alice blinked several times.

"Alice Liddell. I'm Mr. Holmes' assistant." The cabbie smirked and pulled something out of his pocket that made Alice's midnight eyes go wide for a split second. She then sighed. "Are you really going to do this?"

"Yes. Now move."

"It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street…" Alice heard John say as she was forced up the stairs.

"How can it be here? How?" said Sherlock's voice.

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere," Lestrade's voice added.

"What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?"

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," added John.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…" Lestrade ordered. By now, the cabbie and Alice had reached the top of the stairs. Alice looked over at Sherlock, blinking rapidly. Sherlock was standing lost in thought in the flat and did not see her. Alice prayed silently for him to turn around. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see the taxi driver take out a pink smartphone from his pocket and pressing the screen to send a text. A moment later, Sherlock's own phone trilled a text alert. Taking his phone from his jacket pocket, he looked at the message. As Sherlock turned his head towards the door, the taxi driver turned Alice around and calmly headed off down the stairs with the assistant as his hostage and bargaining chip. As she was forced outside, Alice could hear Sherlock hurrying down the stairs after them.