Author's Note: Please excuse how late this is. My laptop broke half way through this chapter so I had to wait until it was fixed to finish this. Sorry. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson arrived at the crime scene with a swish of Sherlock's long coat. A uniformed police officer led them through a small patch of forest and to a wooden hut, possibly once a hunting cabin before suburban London became a wildlife free zone. Sherlock turned his collar up and John rolled his eyes in exasperation. They approached Sally Donovan who, although did not seem pleased to see either of them, didn't welcome them with her usual cold demeanour. In fact, she seemed quite content to fill them in as she led them to the room where Lestrade and Anderson were waiting, crouched over the body of a beautiful young woman.

"Here's Sherlock and Dr Watson for you," Sally said with a smile. She hadn't called Sherlock freak, now this was suspicious!

"Ah, Sherlock! Glad to see you're... not dead." Anderson said, holding out his hand to shake Sherlock's.

"Why are you being so nice?" Sherlock said bluntly, limply accepting Anderson's handshake. "You aren't usually nice!"

"Oh, I just thought... Well, you know, I felt partly responsible for the whole... Yeah, so I..." Anderson frowned, clearly unsure himself. John smirked at the almost-apology from the self-confessed Sherlock-hater.

"Please stop talking now." Sherlock raised one eyebrow. He turned to John and said. "Take notes for me, please,"

John obediently fished a notepad and pencil out of his pocket and poised himself, ready to quickly jot down Sherlock's often rambling thoughts.

"Well then, freak," Sally Donovan smirked. "Let's see if you're really back!" Although she had called Sherlock by his more than a little offensive pet name, her voice contained no hint of maliciousness and more than a touch of playful teasing. Sherlock felt rather put off by all this affection.

Never the less, he squatted down beside the body of the once beautiful woman, who lay in a puddle of her own blood. He quickly put on a pair of latex gloves before gently picking up her wrist, with thick rope still knotted around it.

"These are strong knots, someone with experience tied these. Looks like a nautical knot, too, but that doesn't necessarily mean sailor..." he leant in closer to the rope, his nose twitching. "The knots are slightly loosened, obviously whoever cut her free tried to untie her, but with very little success. Looks like the rope was cut with a hunting knife." He held the frayed end up for the small crowd of intruiged police workers. "The ropes are hemp too, strongly made, wouldn't have cut easily. Someone worked hard to cut her free, only to kill her themselves."

John smiled to himself, quickly scribbling down bullet point after bullet point as Sherlock worked. He could watch Sherlock deduce things for hours and hours, it was a truly amazing, beautiful and interesting site to behold. He was almost entirely lost in the moment when Lestrade's voice interrupted Sherlock's.

"Do you agree, John?" Greg Lestrade was asking.

"Er, what? Sorry, I zoned out for a moment there!" John Watson blinked a few times, forcing his brain to focus on Lestrade rather than Sherlock. Both of them were staring at him awaiting an answer, Sherlock's grey-blue eyes kept distracting him.

"Greg asked if you agreed with what I said..." Sherlock rolled his eyes, realising John had been distracted by watching his love work. "I think that she may have been dead, or at least near death, berfore she was shot."

"Why do you think that?" John asked, pocketing the notes and sliding on a pair of gloves to help Sherlock examine the body.

"Look here," Sherlock said, tilting back the victim's head and opening her mouth. "Vomit in the back of her throat, redness of the face, especially around the mouth."

"You think she choked to death on her own vomit?" John asked, peering past the mangled lips of the poor, dead woman.

"No, but I think she was choking as she was shot." Sherlock replied. "If she was dead before she was shot, there would not be bruises around the bullet hole, or so much blood. Am I right, Doctor?" Sherlock added with a playful wink.

It took every ounce of self control for John not to pull Sherlock in for a kiss. But that would be a bit not good considering that they were kneeling over the brutalised body of a young woman. Instead John nodded and said, "Right,"

Sherlock could tell that he was a big distraction for John. They'd barely been able to keep their hands off eachother since they were reunited and, although Sherlock loved being back solving crimes, he could not deny that he would quite like to be somewhere more private with Dr Watson right at this very moment. But he pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

Sherlock stood up and said, "Other than that, there are obvious signs of torture like you said. Have you done a rape kit yet?" Donovan shook her head. "Well, get one done quickly to see if we find any DNA. I doubt it, though, looks to me like she was violated with a blunt object." He tried to make the last part of that sentence a bit more empathetic than he usually would. "From the jutting of her bones & the discoloration and weakness of her nails and hair I would say she's been kidnapped for about a month and a half."

"Okay," Greg nodded. "We'll run her DNA to get an identity when we get her back to the morgue."

Sherlock smiled at the thought of seeing Molly again. He'd texted her to say that he had told John he was still alive but had not spoken to or thanked her since then. He knew he really ought to. The fact that she had done so much for him and he had left her without an apology or a word of thanks was, as John would say, a bit not good.

"As for the symbols," Sherlock continued, slowly approaching the wall where they were written. "I've seen them before but I... can't quite..." he frowned at his poor memory. "Some time when I was pretending to be dead I... hmm..."

"Well, tell us what you do know," John encouraged. Sherlock smiled at his blogger gratefully.

I know that I love you, John Watson. Sherlock thought with a smile. He realised that the room had fallen silent. Oh no, had he thought that out loud?

Sherlock glanced around the room. Anderson and Donovan, who had been deep in conversation about how Anderson would not leave his wife, were staring at Sherlock open mouthed. Greg Lestrade had dropped the mobile he was talking into onto the hard wooden floor. The rest of the police crew were also throwing quizzical glances and whispering in Sherlock and John's direction.

John was smiling (and blushing furiously) at his shoes. Sherlock stood with his mouth gaping open for a few long moments as everyone stared at him. He struggled to think of something to say, but John came to the rescue.

"I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes," he replied, striding confidently over to Sherlock and kissing him deeply. "And I'm not embarrassed or ashamed to admit it. Although, I think a crime scene is not the best place to get romantic."

Sherlock smiled, seeing the people around him chuckle and grin approvingly. He quickly kissed John back, before turning back to the symbols painted and scratched into the wooden panneled walls. John resumed note taking as Sherlock made quick observations.

Sally Donovan nudged Anderson who was still staring at Sherlock and John. When he turned back to Sally he simply smiled, rolled his eyes and said, "About bloody time!"