A/N: This chapter is much longer than the last few have been. I like to think that's good. That is good, right? Anyway, things that appear like this are things Kat's seeing in her mind. That section might be a bit confusing. What's going on is she's seeing one thing in her head, and at the same time she's watching what Sherlock's doing. I hope that helps. I sort of like how that part flows.
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The Lady in Pink and Post-Cognition
We sit in silence for a long time. Sherlock's looking at his phone, John sits next to him and keeps glancing at me, and I'm in the seat across from them, looking out the window. Sherlock looks up from his phone to me then turns to John.
"Okay, John," he says, "clearly you've got questions."
"Yeah," John replies. "How come you're coming with us?" he asks, looking at me.
"Sherlock invited me," I respond. "Next?"
"Who are you? What do you do?
"Sherlock tried to figure that out yesterday. Got most of it wrong," I say, and John's eyes widen while Sherlock's narrow, "but he did try. Care to try again, Sherlock? I'm curious, though. How did you come to your deductions yesterday?"
"I'll start at the beginning, then. Lower middle class or upper lower class, judging by the clothing you wear and the state of your phone," he states. I pull out my phone for John to see. "Right or wrong?"
"Wrong," I answer. "I won the Lotto about a year back. I have money. I just don't like showing it off. Next?"
"Born and raised in London—judging by, again, your clothing and your friendship with Molly—in a large family—your contact book on your phone is full of cousins and other family members—with whom you don't get along—none of those people were in your call list, or your text messages. Possibly because of your temper—you telling me off yesterday for my treatment of Molly—more likely because of your religious preferences—you've got a pentagram on that necklace, but it's usually hidden under your collar," he continues. I pull my necklace out. "Right or wrong?"
"Pentacle," I respond instead of answering. Sherlock raises he brows. "It's a pentacle, not a pentagram. Pentagrams are drawn, pentacles are jewelry. Mostly right, but bits are wrong."
"Explain," he says.
"I was not born and raised in London," I start, before switching to my native accent, "I was born and raised in America." I switch back to my English accent. "I'm quite good at acclimatizing. I do have a large family, and I don't get along with them. As for my temper, that's wrong, although I get the feeling you're going to test that. I'm usually very sweet and happy, but I was not in the mood for how you treated Molly yesterday."
"You work in a café—there was powdered sugar on your sleeve, and you smelled of coffee," he states.
"Wrong. Completely. The powdered sugar was from a powdered pastry I'd gotten when I met Molly in the cafeteria when she was getting you coffee," I glare at him a little. "The coffee smell was from the lunch I'd brought with me to surprise my boyfriend. I sort of dropped everything on the floor. I hadn't even noticed that I got coffee splashed on me. Next."
At this point, John jumps in. For the most part, he's been sitting there, watching us with wide eyes.
"So, where do you work?" He asks. I sigh.
"Recently unemployed, actually," I answer. "Just put in my letter of resignation this morning before coming to see the flat."
"So where did you work?" Sherlock asks. I smirk.
"You'll find that out soon enough," I answer cryptically. He sighs. "Next?"
"Sharing a flat with your boyfriend—middle class, don't get along with your family—who you'd just caught cheating that morning—you were angry over my treatment of Molly and your eyes were rimmed with red like you'd been trying not to cry," he finishes. John gasps. "Obviously not relevant now. You're looking for a new flat. And judging by the way your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket, you're ignoring him."
"Completely right," I respond. "Extraordinary. Not one hundred percent, but quite extraordinary."
"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock responds.
"What do people normally say?" I ask. John and Sherlock share a look, before turning to me.
"'Piss off'," they say at the same time, grinning. I laugh.
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The cab pulls up and we get out, Sherlock stepping around to pay the cabbie. John is in the middle of telling me about the first time he and Sherlock met.
"And then he gets all impressed with himself and says 'Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything'," John says in a very good imitation of Sherlock.
"Wait, wait, and let me guess," I interrupt. "Harry's short for Harriet, isn't it?"
"Yes!" John says, laughing. "Oh, you should have seen the look on his face. He literally stopped dead in his tracks! Oh, I wish I'd taken pictures."
"Would've been funny to see," I respond, chuckling. We walk up to the police tape, and I see Sergeant Donovan standing there.
"Hello, freak," she calls. Sherlock's unaffected by it. I, on the other hand, am pissed.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock replies.
"Why?" Donovan asks.
"I was invited," Sherlock deadpans.
"Why?" Donovan asks again. At this point, I can she Sherlock's getting irritated with her.
"I think he wants me to take a look," he replies sarcastically. I roll my eyes.
"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" she asks. Sherlock lifts the tape and ducks underneath it.
"Always, Sally," he answers. He breathes in through his nose, catching something. I do the same. Men's deodorant? Must be nice to have someone faithful. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."
"I don't…" she trails off, then looks at John and me. Her eyes widen when she sees me. "Kat?! What're you doing here? You quit this morning. And who's he?"
"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock responds, turning to John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan," he introduces them. "Old friend." This last line is so sarcastic, I can't help but roll my eyes. Then he turns to me. "Scotland Yard?"
"Told you you'd find out soon enough," I respond.
"A colleague?" Donovan interrupts. "How do you get a colleague?" She turns to John. "What, did he follow you home?" At this point I am beyond pissed.
"Listen, Sally," I say, and she turns to me. "You are aware, as a member of Scotland Yard, that discrimination of any kind is a crime, correct?" I ask sweetly. Her eyes widen, and she nods. "Good. Now, if I ever hear you call Sherlock a freak, or even imply it, I will be in contact with the Chief Superintendent, and I will do everything in my power to make sure you receive some form of discipline." I look her straight in the eye. "Am I understood?" She just nods. I smile as sweetly as I can, glad I've knocked her down a peg. "Good. Now could you please take us to the crime scene? Lestrade wanted Sherlock here for a reason, and any more delay could result in another victim."
Donovan just stares at me, wide-eyed. John looks like he wants to bust out laughing. Sherlock's eyes are widened just a tiny bit, not enough to see unless you make observations for a living. The corners of his mouth are turned up into a small smile as well. Sherlock lifts the tape up to let John and me through. Donovan turns and starts walking away, lifting her radio up.
"Sherlock's here," she says into the radio. "Bringing him in."
She leads us towards the house. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as we approach. When we reach the sidewalk, Anderson comes out the door, dressed in the typical crime scene coveralls.
"Ah, Anderson," Sherlock greets. "Here we are again." Anderson looks at him in disgust.
"It's a crime scene," Anderson replies. "I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"
"Quite clear," I respond as Sherlock takes another deep breath through his nose. I do the same. Oh, goodness! That's the same deodorant that Donovan's wearing. He's cheating on his wife with Donovan? Anderson glances at me, and then does a double take.
"Kat?" he asks.
"Yep!" I reply, popping the "p". "And is your wife away for long?"
"Somebody at work told you that," he retorts. Sherlock scoffs.
"Your deodorant told us that," he says. Anderson looks confused.
"My deodorant?" he asks. Sherlock gets a quirky expression on his face.
"It's for men," I state. Anderson looks more confused.
"Well, of course it's for men!" he replies angrily. "I'm wearing it!" Sherlock and I look at each other before turning back to Anderson.
"So's Sergeant Donovan," we say at the same time. Anderson turns and looks in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffs the air again. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May we go in?" he finishes. Anderson turns back and points at us, infuriated.
"Now, look: Whatever you're trying to imply…" he starts, before I cut him off.
"We're not implying anything," I say. Sherlock and I head past Donovan towards the door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." I turn back and beckon John to come with us. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."
Anderson and Donovan both stare at me in horror. Sherlock smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. John walks past Donovan, and looks down to her knees, before following Sherlock inside. I look at them in disgust, shake my head and turn to head into the house. I see Lestrade putting on some coveralls and John doing the same. John and Lestrade are making small talk. Lestrade looks up at me and stops talking to John.
"Kat?" he says.
"Oh, for the love of…" I start. "Yes, Lestrade. It's me." I turn to Sherlock. "Why is everybody shocked to see me?" Sherlock just smirks.
"What're you doing here?" Lestrade asks as I start pulling on some coveralls. Sherlock speaks up.
"She's with me," he says, taking off his gloves.
"But what is she doing here?" Lestrade asks again. Sherlock picks up a pair of latex gloves.
"I said she's with me," Sherlock replies. I roll my eyes and turn to Lestrade.
"I'm moving into the flat above his," I explain. Sherlock gives me a look. "I was coming back downstairs to speak with Mrs. Hudson about the rent just as you were running back to your car. Sherlock invited me along. Something about being 'more clever than the usual idiots'. Aren't you gonna put one on?" I ask Sherlock, pointing to a pair of coveralls. He stares at me blankly. "Right, sorry. Silly me, what was I thinking?" Sherlock turns to Lestrade.
"So where are we?" he asks.
"Upstairs," Lestrade answers, picking up another pair of latex gloves.
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Lestrade leads us up a circular staircase. He, John and I are wearing coveralls with white shoe coverings. John and Lestrade are both wearing latex gloves. Sherlock is putting his latex gloves on as we walk. My gloves are in the pocket of my coveralls, and I have a hair tie around my wrist, trying to pull my long, straight, brown hair into a ponytail.
"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade says.
"May need longer," Sherlock replies casually. I chuckle.
"Yeah, right," I say. John and Lestrade look at me curiously. "I've heard stories, mostly from you, Lestrade, and I've seen his work firsthand. He won't need more than the two minutes to get exactly what he needs." Lestrade turns back. I hear Sherlock chuckle. Lestrade continues.
"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards," he explains, glancing at me. "We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."
"Oh, gods," I whisper.
Lestrade leads us into a room two stories above the ground floor. The room is empty of furniture, save for a rocking horse in the far corner. The Yard set up portable lighting so the entire scene could be seen. In the middle of the room, a woman's body is lying face down on the bare floorboards. She's wearing a bright pink overcoat and pink high-heeled shoes. We all walk into the room, Sherlock focusing on the corpse, John looking sad, and Lestrade looking expectantly at me. We stand there in silence for a time before Sherlock speaks up.
"Shut up," he says, looking at Lestrade. Lestrade looks back at him, startled.
"I didn't say anything," he replies.
"You were thinking," Sherlock states. "It's annoying."
Lestrade and John exchange a look of surprise and I just shake my head. Lestrade looks back at me while Sherlock starts making his deductions.
"Can you do it?" he asks quietly. John looks at us.
"I don't know, Lestrade," I respond in a whisper. "I don't know that I want to, either."
"Please, Kat?" he pleads. I look up at him, then back at Sherlock.
"Fine," I reply. "But you owe me." Lestrade lets out a sigh of relief.
"Thanks," he says.
I step away from John and Lestrade, over to the window. I turn to face the middle of the room, clasp my hands behind my back and close my eyes. I take a deep breath and concentrate. And then I see.
I'm looking out the window. A car pulls up. Sherlock is running his gloved hand along the back of her coat. He lifts his hand again to look at his fingers: Wet. I can't see it clearly, but I can tell there are two occupants: The murderer and Jennifer Wilson. Sherlock reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the material, he then inspects his glove again: Dry. The driver gets out and goes around to Jennifer's door. He pulls it open and pulls a gun out from his waistband. He points the gun into the car. Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, Sherlock moves up to the collar of her coat and runs his fingers underneath it before once again looking at his fingers: Wet.
I can't hear anything yet, but I can tell he's threatening her to get out of the car. She does, shaking.He steers her towards the door downstairs, and I hear footsteps and crying. Reaching into his pocket, Sherlock takes out a small magnifier, clicks it open and closely inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist: Clean. They finally make it up to the floor I'm on into the room where the body will be found. Then the gold earring attached to her left ear: Clean. The murderer is shrouded in a dark shadow, and I can't see him clearly. Jennifer is still crying, begging for her life. And then the gold chain around her neck: Clean.
"Oh," the murderer says, and I try to place his voice, "I'm not going to kill you. I'm just going to talk to you, and then you're going to make a choice." Before moving on to look at the rings on her loft finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring are different: Dirty.
As I stand there, the murderer talks to Jennifer, getting into deeper and darker topics, finally settling on why she's a serial adulterer and why her marriage is unhappy. Carefully, Sherlock works the wedding ring off the woman's finger and holds it up to look at the inside of the ring: Clean. Her daughter, Rachel. When he finishes, he pulls two small bottles from his pockets and places them on the floor.
"One of these pills is poisoned. The other is not. Choose," he demands. Jennifer looks at him. As Sherlock lowers the ring and slides it back onto the woman's finger, he has already reached a conclusion about the ring…
"And if I refuse?" she asks. The murderer smirks.
"Well," he responds, "you could take the fifty-fifty chance, or you could take a bullet to the head." The same conclusion I've made from the observations and what I'm seeing in my own head: Regularly removed. He holds the gun up and aims it at her. "Which will you choose?"
Jennifer looks at her murderer, and looks at the two bottles. She thinks for a moment, chooses a bottle, picks it up and unscrews the cap. Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looks down at her and makes his final deduction about her: Serial adulterer. She shakes the pill into her hand and looks up at the murderer.
"They will find you," she says, before taking the pill.
I bring myself back fully to reality, shaking my head.
"Got anything?" Lestrade asks Sherlock.
"Not much," Sherlock responds nonchalantly. He stands up and takes his gloves off. He pulls his mobile out from his pocket and begins typing. I unfold my hands and walk back towards John. He looks at me curiously.
"You okay?" he asks. Sherlock glances in our direction as I shake my head. It'll be a moment before I can speak again.
"She's German," calls Anderson, leaning in the doorway. "'Rache': It's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something…"
As he's speaking, Sherlock walks towards the door and begins to close it in Anderson's face.
"Yes," he says sarcastically, "thank you for your input." Slamming the door shut, he turns and walks back into the room, still typing on his phone.
"She is trying to tell us something, though," I say hoarsely. The three men look at me. John and Sherlock look confused. Lestrade looks at me closely. I clear my throat.
"What do you mean, she's trying to tell us something?" John asks at the same time Lestrade asks, "What did you see?" I shuffle uncomfortably.
"You're post-cognitive," Sherlock states. I look at him, surprised, and nod.
"Yes."
"Interesting," he says, trailing off. I try to turn the attention away from myself.
"So, I know she's not German," I start, "but where is she from? She's either not from London and is only visiting, or she is from London and only just got back." Sherlock is still looking at his phone, smirking
"She's from out of town. Intended to stay for one night," he pauses and smiles smugly, clearly finding the information he's looking for, "before returning home to Cardiff." He puts his phone back in his pocket. "So far, so obvious." John and Lestrade are clearly confused.
"Sorry," John starts, "obvious?"
"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asks. Sherlock ignores him and looks at John.
"John, what do you think?" He asks.
"Of the message?" John asks back, baffled.
"Of the body," Sherlock replies. "You're a medical man."
John looks to Lestrade, silently asking permission. Lestrade nods, turning to the door and opening it.
"Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes," he orders. John walks over to the body and starts examining it. After a minute, he starts explaining the cause of death.
"Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs," he states.
"You know what it was," Sherlock says. "You've read the papers."
"What, she's one of the suicides?" John asks. "The fourth…?" Lestrade looks to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, two minutes, I said," Lestrade said. "I need anything you've got." Sherlock and John both stand up.
"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase," Sherlock explains. John looks around for the suitcase. I start concentrating on it. I can only guess it will be the same sickening shade of pink as her outfit.
"Suitcase?" Lestrade asks.
"Suitcase, yes," Sherlock responds, glancing at me. "She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."
"Oh, for God's sake," Lestrade protests, "if you're just making this up…."
"Her wedding ring," Sherlock interrupts. "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry 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."
John looks at him admiringly. I smile, but not for the reason they think. Found it!
"That's brilliant," he says. Sherlock looks over at him. "Sorry."
"Cardiff?" Lestrade asks.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock responds. John frowns.
"It's not obvious to me," he says. Sherlock pauses as he looks at the three of us.
"Dear God," he said. "What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He turns back to the body.
"Her coat," I say, smiling. I'm glad I'm sort of keeping up with him. He turns around again and looks at me. John and Lestrade do the same.
"Her coat," I repeat, starting to go over everything Sherlock observed. "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." I pause to take a breath, then plow right on ahead. "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. The only place where there has been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time is Cardiff." I turn to Sherlock. "That's what you were checking on your phone, wasn't it?" He nods, smiling. Lestrade doesn't seem at all fazed by my doing this; he's seen it too many times. John, on the other hand, is stunned.
"That's fantastic!" he exclaims. Sherlock turns to him.
"D'you know you do that out loud?" he asks in a low voice. John looks at him sheepishly.
"Sorry," he says. "I'll shut up."
"No," I respond. "It's… fine."
"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asks. Sherlock spins in a circle, looking around the room.
"Yes, where is it?" he asks. "She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."
"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asks. Sherlock looks at him like he's oblivious.
"No," he replies sarcastically, "she was leaving and angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: Why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"
"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asks again. Sherlock points down by the back of her right calf.
"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left," he explains. "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." He squats down by the woman's body and examines her legs more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" I start walking out of the room, taking my gloves off as I go. I know that Sherlock is going to be running down these stairs in a minute, leaving to search for the case. I figure I'll meet him outside and save him some time.
"Suitcase!" I hear him call. "Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" John is following him quickly, but Lestrade is still up on the landing.
"Sherlock," he calls down, "there was no case!" Sherlock slows down, but is still making his way down the stairs. I'm at the front door by this point.
"But they take the poison themselves," he says. "They chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."
"Right, yeah, thanks!" Lestrade calls back. "And…?"
"It's murder, all of them," Sherlock says. "I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings—serial killings." He holds his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to." John starts shaking his head.
"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade shouts. Sherlock stops and calls back.
"Her case!" He states. "Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." I walk out and into the middle of the street. I know he's close to where I got earlier when he first mentioned the suitcase. The next thing I hear is Sherlock shouting "PINK!", and then they're running towards and past me.
"Sherlock!" I shout, jogging to catch up to them. "Wait up!"
"No time," he calls back. I sigh.
"Sherlock Holmes, you make time to come listen to what I have to say!" I yell. "You get your skinny ass over here NOW!" He stops in his tracks and turns around, his eyes visibly wide even from this distance. John and I finally catch up to him, slightly out of breath. "Good. Now follow me."
"But-"
"No buts!" I cut him off.
A/N: If anyone can tell me how she knows where the case is, I'll give you a virtual hug! And I hate to ask, but reviews help keep me going, so: REVIEW! Please! =^u^=