A/N thank you for the review wawa: Haha you'll find out more about their link in this chapter! and yeah I tried to make them a little creepier cuz I hate them D:
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I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter! dig in!
*Edit* I only just realized how much the transfer messed up the first paragraph so I changed it as soon as I noticed it! Sorry for that guys and enjoy! (I should really start proofreading before I publish...)
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The downpour of rain hit the windscreen of the police car I gazed through the now blurred window thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, my head so full of thoughts I couldn't focus and just let them swirl around in a sick, reminiscent dance. In order to calm my messy mind I started to focus on people I saw, burning their faces into my mind for a second and then forget them again, an exercise I did so often it became second nature. However soon I couldn't make out the faces of the pedestrians, so I recalled the faces I saw today, handily skipping Villain and Donovan, I had a special place for people like that in my mind. The army doctors face appeared before me and I quickly realised an error in my previous reading, he had a psychosomatic limp, at first I thought it was a real one until I remembered that he refused to sit during the conversation, curious. Then I stared into the warm brown eyes of a greying detective, his face adorned with an equally inviting toothy smile. If he wasn't significantly older than me, and married, I'd let myself fall for him. A nudge in my arm broke me out of my thoughts before I could proceed to the next target of my interest, and I turned my head to look into the same eyes that stared at me in my head.
'We're here' Lestrade stated while opening his door and I let a small sigh escape my lips, not quite sure myself of what origin though. Donovan and Anderson had already vacated the car to set up the scene while I took a little longer to stretch my stiff limbs out before taking my bag and following Lestrade to the house of the victim.
I assumed that at such close proximity to death after such a long time I'd feel something, anything, any sort of emotion, but there was just nothing. Had I gotten that good at masking my own emotions I was fooling myself? Doubt rose in the pit of my stomach, so that was a no. Lestrade stood beside me in the doorway trying to stay as dry as possible and I couldn't help but be glad that Donovan had to stand out in the rain in her stupid little police hat. Just as I began savouring in the sight of a soaked Donovan a London cad stopped in front of the police tapes and two figures stepped out, both Lestrade and I sharing a knowing smirk at the approaching silhouettes. We could hear them argue with Donovan, the stubborn woman with an IQ lower than her shoe size trying to outsmart the legendary Sherlock Holmes. As they got past the tape I could hear Donovans voice crackling through the walkie talkie
'Freak's here. Bring him in' the distaste in her voice evident even through the terrible quality audio emitted from the speakers
'Ah, Anderson. Here we are again' Sherlock smiled a charming fake smile at Anderson, who must have grimaced if the look of amusement and awe on the doctors face was any indication. The slick haired man stood in front of Lestrade and I so I sadly didn't have an opportunity to see his face, though it must have been priceless.
'It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?' he almost growled, but Sherlock just leaned into the man's neck and took a long sniff, leaning back with a smirk after he had deduced something.
'Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?' oh, ohhh, burn. I let a giggle escape me as I could guess what he was playing at, seeing as I noticed him doing something similar to Donovan. So, an affair then? Well this was more and more interesting.
'Oh don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that' Anderson must have been fuming, this was too amusing. I wonder how long they would imagine torturing me for finding this amusing, but the loud rain splashing onto the ground did a good job in hiding my amused giggles at Sherlocks indecency, interfering the sound waves with their own.
'Your deodorant told me that' Sherlocks smirk grew, while Anderson let out an irritated huff.
'My deodorant?' the incredulous sound of Andersons voice was just too good, c'mon Sherlock, hit him with it lad.
'It's for men' his face was almost quirky now
'Well, of course its for men! I'm wearing it!'
'So's Seargent Donovan' I couldn't help it now, and broke down into a full on laugh, much to everyones surprise. I felt everyone's eyes on me but didn't care, this scene itself should be framed. Anderson and Sherlock returned to their little testosterone test while I tried to gasp for air, but my stomach had already started hurting from the outburst and taking a full breath was almost painful. The stress and anxiety that I had been bottling escaped along with the laugh, and I had a sneaking suspicion that those emotions had something to do with the stronger than usual outburst, but I let it slip for now.
'I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.' Sherlock calmly walked past a flabbergasted Anderson, but turned on his heel two steps away 'And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.' Now I wish that my outburst was in this exact moment, Andersons face was just priceless, why did I never have my phone with me on those situations? Not the one Mycroft gave me though, he'd see the image immediately and probably fume out of his ears that Sherlock had insulted a Sergeant.
A smug faced Consultant walked up to Lestrade and I, and looked at both of us pointedly signalling us to turn inside, and we complied without a word, no point discussing this in the pouring rain.
'You need to wear these' the consultant told his army friend, who sprung to action.
'Who is this?' Lestrade was referring to the partner.
'He's with me' Sherlock dismissed the detective, pulling off his leather gloves to change them with latex ones.
'But, who is he?' Lestrade pressed, much to Sherlocks annoyance.
'I said hes with me' right, that clarified so much. I never even caught the mans name, it'd be nice to refer to him as more than just 'you there' or 'yer'one', the one with the limp' or something.
'Aren't you gonna put one on?' the sand haired man asked his companion about the coverall, quickly to realise the stupidity of his question and rolling his eyes at Sherlocks clear disregard of the gown.
'So where are we?' Sherlock turned to Lestrade who was observing me putting on my coverall, making sure I didn't rip it, or so he would like to believe.
'Upstairs' he snapped his gloves on and stalked up the old stairs. 'I can give you two minutes' he continued as we climbed the winding steps.
'May need longer' Sherlock casual remarked, the doctor standing beside the towering man, he looked adorably short beside Sherlock, though I know for a fact I am the shortest person here at a mere 5'4" I was a whole 4" smaller than the army man. We followed Lestrade into the room, I let the lads ahead of me, I was in no hurry unlike Sherlock here. Once inside my eyes wondered around the room, it was almost completely empty except for the rocking horse in the far corner, interesting thing to leave behind. The emergency light must have been placed by the police, and there were poles holding up the ceiling where there was a hole in the wall. After my analysis of the room was complete I turned my gaze onto the victim. Female, middle aged, left handed. Those were my very first conclusions. I paid no mind to Sherlock prancing around, instead focused on what I saw on the woman's body.
'Lestrade, did you recover a suitcase by any chance? A wheely one' my gaze turned to the detective who shook his head.
'Not that I recall, let me check' and with that he rushed downstairs. Sherlock gave me a sideways glance while the army doctor just stared at me, but I paid them no mind as I crouched next to the body, opposite to Sherlock. I traced my gloved finger over the word carved into the wood, 'Rache', I know it means revenge in German, I am in fact fluent in the language as I lived in Hamburg for 5 years, my parents liked to travel around in search for new jobs. Now, looking at her she hardly looked like someone fluent in many languages, so I thought about what else it could mean, Rachel perhaps? But why carve another females name into the wooden boards? Was she the next victim? I see Sherlock run his hand underneath the victims bright pink coats collar, and see it is wet when he removes it, so it was raining. The downpour here only started when we left the Baker street apartment so she wasn't caught in that, I should've paid more attention to the weather report. Sherlock removed and replaced her umbrella which was dry, perhaps the rain wasn't strong enough to justify an umbrella? Or maybe it was too windy for one. I watched as the consultant took out a magnifying glass inspecting the womans jewellery, as to why, I don't understand. He removes the womans wedding band and studies it thoroughly, had he fallen on one knee I'd have screamed 'Yes!' but sadly he didn't, shame.
'Got anything?' Lestrade returned with Anderson behind him, the Villain leaned in the doorway like he was some hot shit.
'Not much' Sherlock shrugged, trying to show off his nonchalance at the series of deductions I am sure he was about to release off his chest.
'She's German, 'Rache', it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something...' Oh Anderson, stop while you're ahead hunny, just this once, please.
'Yes, thank you for your input' Sherlock retorted sarcastically, I simply rolled my eyes at the men, or rather, children. John was busy scribbling on his notepad, but stopped as soon as he noticed the lack of conversation.
'Ahem' I cleared my throat getting everyones attention once again, it was so easy to be forgotten when you're small, 'Clearly English, first off, probably lacking any other languages considering hew flamboyant dressing, she relies on looks rather than knowledge, so probably employed in media or the like. Left handed, died of asphyxiation presumably, she was here for one to two nights, more than likely one, judging by the size of the suitcase she was trolleying around behind her, married, though probably not happily considering she's here overnight without her husband, that's all I've got so far, anything I missed?' my question was pointed in Sherlocks direction, who now eyed me suspiciously, what was he thinking? That I read his mind?
'She's from Cardiff' he added showing us the weather report for the past couple of hours. 'And she's having affairs'
'Affairs? How do you know that?' Lestrade asked looking at me but I just shrugged and shook my head, no idea how he figured that out if I'm honest.
'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 amazing' the doctor exclaimed in awe, looking between Sherlock and I, we both just look at him, well that's a first. 'sorry' he quickly mumbled turning his gaze back to his notepad.
'Suitcase?' Anderson asked challenging Sherlock.
'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.' This time it was my turn to enlighten the present company, the Doctor grunting in something that sounded like 'of course' and awe mixed together. It was a weird sound.
'Ok and Cardiff?' I let my eyes wander to Sherlock who was all too eager to show off.
'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 asked as if expecting an answer, but he never waited for it, whipping out his phone again to show us the weather report which showed clear rainfall in Cardiff.
'Cardiff' he added smirking
'Thats fantastic!' the doctor said once again in complete awe as he scribbled notes on the piece of paper. Sherlock turned to him with the slightest of smiles hinting at the corners of his lips and asked if the man beside him knew he was doing it aloud, to which the army man quietly replied that he'd shut up.
'No, its fine' Sherlock and I said together, he just stared at me at that and I couldn't help but giggle at his face.
'So where is the suitcase?' I asked Lestrade, who shook his head in response, indicating he had no idea. So it wasn't here when they found the body, that could only mean one thing/
'The killer has it, not anymore if he's in any way smart' I stated, the killer would have thrown it out as soon as he noticed it. I sighed, my head hurt and I felt heat in my ears, I needed to sit back for a bit, not working cases had me exhausted after such a short period of time. Focusing was hard, especially for a mind as erratic as mine, and I had just focused on one thing for the past 3 minutes, though it's far from fantastic it was more than I was usually capable of. I need a drink. Being small had the added benefit of not being noticed, so as everyone returned to their conversation, Sherlock of course taking centre stage, I took the stairs down to the first floor, turned into the nearest room and let myself slide down the wall.
The hipflask that I always carry with me had a little glass circle in the middle so you could see how much you had left in it, I gently swayed the flask and saw the clear liquid sway from side to side as if in rough waters. After one more glance and a breath stilling listen to the conversation above my head I decided it was safe, unscrewed the cap and swung it back, and took a quick but relatively satisfying gulp of the alcohol, a relieved sigh escaping my lips as it burned its way down, the warmth quickly spreading into the depths of my body. After another couple of minutes I felt the retched liquid hit my head, my thoughts slowed down to an almost comical slow motion speed, and I could finally relax.
I stood up and walked out of the building, asking one of the police officers for a lift which they rudely declined, so I was forced to find a cab. Happily I jumped into the back of an older cabby and gave him my address, my eyes still on the sidewalk trying to focus on faces as the driver sped down the road. Everything was a blur anyways, so why am I trying to see faces? My body warmed as I stepped into my own little apartment, merely 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room, not much bigger than the one I was in earlier today. Without even changing out of my clothes I let myself flop on the king size bed and stared at the ceiling, memories flooding over me. The faces of my past family and friends flashing across my eyes, tainting the white ceiling in many different colours, between sky blue to blacks and greys and miserable days in cells, or amongst the street folk.
As I shook my head to get rid of the heavy thoughts the scenery switched to that of a very posh looking building that I was taken to in a black car driven by a nice young lady called Anthea.
Mycroft had noticed me when I was at my lowest, just after I quit my job in the Gardaí, and took me in for an evaluation. At first I hated the idea of working for the British government, my Irish education shining through. First time I heard the name Mycroft Holmes I thought I was in some bad James Bond movie, that was the most villainous name I had ever heard. His parents must have hated him. I wasn't pressured, he left the offer to me in a dark office on a very nice mahogany desk, and let me leave at my own will. Something in his eyes had me captivated though, despite being cold and hard on the outside I saw something more behind them. Sorrow. Why was he sad? It was almost regret, as if he failed someone.
My curiosity got the better of me and I accepted the offer, under the condition that he always be honest with me. Of course he wasn't, who am I trying to kid. He lied to me more than anyone ever had, but he helped me when everyone abandoned me. All my friends were in with the Guards, and none of them knew my... affliction. As soon as anyone found out of my deep relationship with the liquid I'd be kicked out of the unit, so when one of my cases found out I was forced to quit. Mymy had me go through rehab, but it didn't work. My brain was too erratic for me to handle, and no matter how many high grade psychologists he assigned to my case they all got kicked, figuratively and in some cases quite literally.
He had me work some less strenuous cases for him, ones that required more leg work than actual thinking, so I was let at ease. More thoughts threw me around memory lane, but they faded fast as sleep took over my body, and for the first time in a long time, I fell asleep peacefully.