Chapter Four
"Did you find the identity of our first victim?" Sherlock asked as Lestrade led them to the evidence room. "You know, for serial killers, the first kill is usually the most important."
"Yes, his name was Harry Whitefield, he was supposed to be on a plane to America to study, but considering the fact that his body is here, he never made it."
"When was this flight?"
"Two months ago."
The three entered the evidence room and approached the skeleton on the table. This one was slightly newer than the late Whitefield's, elderly, and female, but it was still in good condition. Sherlock immediately checked for the same cut marks he had seen on the vertebrae of the first victim. Sure enough, he did find them. But no crack in the skull... strangulation? No, chances the bones in the neck would've snapped. Drowning? The first kill was clumsy and messy, they wanted a kill with no blood. They wanted a skeleton in perfect condition. As serial killers, they were evolving, getting better, more efficient. He straightened his body to gain his full height.
"Very good, I'd like a list of all the people close to Harry Whitefield before he died." Lestrade, forseeing this demand, had a file waiting for him. He handed it over. Sherlock took it and flipped through the list of contacts. Then he stabbed a name triumphantly. "Joseph Colt: medical professor at Barts." His brow furrowed a little. "Why is it always Molly?" he wondered aloud before sweeping dramatically out of the room with John scurrying after him and rolling his eyes.
"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, I'm working with Scotland Yard. Hi." Sherlock introduced himself forcefully to drown out Colt's insists that they leave.
"Sir, I'm teaching a class right now!" Colt exclaimed indignantly at his lecture being so rudely disturbed.
"Not anymore." Sherlock pushed past the flustered professor and addressed the students. "Evening." he smiled warmly. "So sorry to interrupt your class, but Professor Colt is being called away to very important business." he explained, then he grabbed John by the shoulder. "But don't worry! John, here, will continue where Professor Colt left off. Do excuse us."
Sherlock quickly guided the shell-shocked lecturer out of the classroom, leaving John gaping after him in shock. The class door swung closed behind the detective with a resonating 'boom', sealing the poor doctor's fate. He turned to the bewildered class with a look of dismay. "Oh, Hell."
Sasaki sighed for the third time in the last ten minutes, she was staring out into Baker Street from Mrs. Hudson's flat window. Mrs. Hudson had gone out shopping for groceries and had adamantly declined every offer Sasaki gave to accompany her, saying that London was a lot colder and damper than Japan and that she didn't want Sasaki to come down with the flu. Although, Sasaki did have to admit that her nose was running.
She sniffed and cast another glance at the phone on Mrs. Hudson's kitchen counter. John had promised to call back with more information on the case and still the communications device hadn't stirred. 'Maybe it's broken' she thought absently.
Then she heard the flat door open and close quietly. "Mrs. Hudson?" she called out eagerly, near lunging toward the door. She heard Mrs. Hudson gasp followed by a crash of groceries hitting the floor and a 'thump'. Sasaki dashed out of the sitting room, fire poker in hand.
The first thing she saw was Mrs. Hudson curled in a heap on the floor. The second was the sight of the average-built man standing over her. A hand clamped over her mouth from behind to stifle her panicked shouts, the intruder wasn't alone. Sasaki twisted around in the man's grip, poker swishing through the air and catching her assaulter squarely in the jaw. The first intruder leapt on her, knocking her to the ground and squeezing a hand around her throat, stealing the breath from her lungs.
"Careful! Don't break her neck!" Sasaki barely registered a third intruder warning his partner as he tended to their injured comrade. The hand came away and air rushed into her lungs.
"You're right, death right now would be too easy for scum like her." The first intruder hissed, Sasaki heard an electric crackle and felt her hairs rise on end before her skin contacted the taser and she slipped into unconsciousness.
"A few questions." Sherlock intoned as he dragged the terrified professor down the hall and away from his classroom. "A few very important questions before Lestrade comes to arrest you..." Colt gaped at the tall man who still had a firm grip on his arm.
"What..! I didn't kill anybody!" Sherlock stopped walking suddenly and rolled his eyes at the professor in exasperation.
"I said 'arrest you' I never said 'with charge of murder'. Why can't you at least try to make things more difficult?" Colt executed a strikingly good imitation of a goldfish.
"...What...?" Sherlock's shoulders sagged as he blew out a puff of air in frustration.
"Questions, I ask them, you reply- hopefully in full sentences- with coherent pronunciation." Colt nodded dumbly. "Why? Why did you do it? Who with? Where?" Colt stared like he wasn't sure which question to respond to first.
"Why? They were going to leave us..." Sherlock felt a minuscule tremor from the man right before he went glassy-eyed and his knees buckled under him.
"Sherlock! There you are! Where the Hell..." Lestrade's steps faltered as their suspect fell bonelessly out of Sherlock's grip and to the ground. "What happened!" Lestrade demanded.
Sherlock paled, dropped to his knees and turned the man over onto his stomach, revealing a growing red splash on his back. He looked up at the hallway window and saw a tiny hole that was opened in the bullet's wake. He felt Colt's hand grip weakly around his wrist and turned the dying man over. "They're going to get another one...!" Colt gasped through a mouthful of blood. "Lovely... shade, like... black chocolate." Then he was gone.
Sherlock's phone chimed, he took one glance at the caller's ID and turned his phone off.
John noted the action. "Mycroft?" By the childishly stubborn look on Sherlock's face, he knew he had guessed right. Then John's phone chimed. "You forget he has my number." Sherlock shot John an irrate look.
John rolled his eyes and punched the 'pick-up' button. "Mycroft?"
"Doctor." Mycroft's usual cool voice filled the cab, causing Sherlock to jerk briefly in surprise. John had forgotten that he had set his phone to speaker mode when he was with Sasaki in the restaurant. "Please tell my dear younger brother that 221 Baker Street flats have been broken into." Sherlock looked at the phone John held between them.
"What's that?" he queried.
"You heard me clearly the first time, Sherlock, I won't repeat myself. Nothing was taken, though."
John and Sherlock exchanged glances. "And, Mrs. Hudson?" John asked worriedly.
"She is fine, if a bit shaken up. She's at the hospital now, having a few scrapes and bruises tended to."
"Sasaki...?" Sherlock almost whispered. 'Why? They were going to leave us!' His brain whirred, causing various gears to turn simultaneously. 'Don't worry! I came to England alone!' He gritted his teeth. 'Lovely... shade, like... black chocolate.' "Sasaki Ayumu, Mycroft, we left her in the flat with Mrs. Hudson."
There was silence on the other end of the line and John could imagine Mycroft pressing his cellphone to his shoulder as he barked out orders to find the Asian girl. Then came a fumbling noise and the phone was back at it's rightful place at Mycroft's ear. "My mistake, something was stolen from 221 Baker Street." John's eyes slid closed in despair as his jaw tightened. Christ! She's just a little girl!