Chapter 2- A Study in Pink (Part1)
A/N: Welcome back! This chapter is the first official part of a Study in Pink. The last chapter ended with Elise and Sherlock leaving the flat to go to the crime scene so I'll pick up from there.
Thanks and Happy Reading!
-TheCurlyGal6218
Elise sped down the stairs after her father. Her boot clad feet pounded against the wooden steps, hopping over a particularly creaky one when she came to it. This was so exciting! They weren't even at the crime scene yet, but she already had adrenaline pumping in her veins. As she reached the last landing, she made to open the door when to her surprise, a gloved hand shot out in front of her. She looked up at its owner in surprise.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't say anything and instead just looked down at her. Elise sighed in exasperation. Why did he stop her? They were supposed to be heading after Lestrade!
"Dad. We kind of have to go now."
He looked up to the flat.
"Wait here. I'll be back in a second."
The detective rushed upstairs, leaving Elise behind. She stared at his retreating form, dumbfounded. Elise leaned against the banister. She could faintly hear the sound of Sherlock and John's voices as she picked at her fingers. She didn't even register when the two men came bounding downstairs until her father gently pried her hands apart.
"Stop it." he said firmly.
"You know I can't." Elise pouted.
"At least try. Your hands look like they've were torn apart by a vicious animal."
She was about to make a biting retort but decided against it. There was a sixty percent chance she would lose the argument she was considering waging. Instead, she opened the door and stepped out into the London Street.
Her breath billowed out in a blanket of fog, dissipating almost as soon as it was expelled. The late afternoon was comfortably chilly, per usual. While most people cringed against the bitter cold, Elise welcomed it. Always had, always would. Cold meant days in front of a crackling fireplace, sipping tea as she turned the pages of her favorite book. When she was younger, Sherlock would sit her on his lap and read the stories to her himself. She could tell that he hated the tales of princesses being saved by knights in shining armor, but he read them to her anyway until she had fallen asleep. Some of her best memories involved her father reading those stories to her. They hadn't done that in such a long time. After all, she was way past the point where she needed help deciphering words on a page.
"Taxi!" Elise was brought out of her musings by the familiar baritone.
The cab stopped at the curb and Sherlock bustled inside, closely followed by the younger Holmes and Watson. Elise wriggled around in between the two men, squished. While neither adults were particularly wide in build, they were still much bigger than her skinny frame. She frowned and drew her shoulders in, fruitlessly attempting to get more room. Finally getting comfortable, she stared out the window on her left, watching the cars whizz by.
Sherlock tapped on his phone. John stole curious glances towards the unusual family. He still had no idea what to make of them and he had so many unanswered questions. They were unlike anyone he had ever met before. That didn't say much being that he hadn't really met many prominent figures, but it didn't lessen his fascination.
Elise noticed the former soldier's eyes more or less discreetly studying her and her dad. At first she was puzzled, but then the pieces clicked into place; he craved information.
Sherlock seemed to realize this too and looked up from his phone.
"So you have questions."
John perked up considerably. "Yeah, where are we going?"
"Crime scene. Next question."
"Who are you? What do you do?"
"What do you think?"
He hesitated. "I'd say private detective…"
"But?" Sherlock pressed.
"… The police don't go to private detectives."
Elise smiled. "Good."
Sherlock rolled his eyes at his daughter. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."
"He wanted to be a ballerina but the positions were taken."
"Careful daughter dearest." Sherlock hissed.
"I was only kidding." She defended innocently. "Besides, you would look good in a tutu."
John bit his lip to stifle the impending fit of laughter. He was beginning to like the sharp tongued teen even more.
"What does that mean?"
Sherlock, ignoring Elise's comment, answered. "It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."
"The police don't consult amateurs." John pointed out.
The consulting detective threw him a warning look. "When we met I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq' you looked surprised."
"Yes how did you know?"
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's hospital, so army doctor- obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad but haven't been sunbathing. Your limp is really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partially psychosomatic. That says that says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, suntan- Afghanistan or Iraq."
Elise grinned proudly at her father's deductions and began theatrically clapping.
"Bravo! Brava! You're on sparkling form today."
Elise leaned in towards John. "I love it when he does that."
The blonde man was lost for words.
"You said I had a therapist."
"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist. Now Elise."
She looked up in surprise at her name.
"Yes?"
"Care to make deductions based on Mr. Watson's mobile phone?"
Elise's grin broadened at the permission to hone her growing deduction skills.
"Gladly. Always looking for a chance to practice. Can I see?" she held out her hand for the device.
He complied amusedly and watched as her expression shifted from that of teasing to sheer concentration.
"Hmm. Internet access, Mp3 player, so it had to be fairly expensive." She paused and looked at Sherlock for encouragement.
"Go on."
She sighed and wet her lips anxiously. "However you're looking for a flat share and don't strike me as the type to fork over cash for pleasantries, so it was a present." She turned the phone over in her hands. Her fingers traversed over the scratches on the device.
"Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as coins and keys. You wouldn't treat a luxury item like this, so you aren't the original owner. The next bit is easy. The engraving. Harry Watson is clearly a family member who gave you his old phone. Not your father because the elderly can barely work computers, much less a high tech smartphone. Could be cousin, but you're a war hero who needs a place to live. Unlikely you've got extended family and if you do, it's safe to assume you're not close. I'd say brother. Younger brother to be more specific. Then we have Clara."
She tapped the woman's name written in elegant script on the back of the phone.
"Probably a romantic attachment of your brother's if the three kisses are truthful. A girlfriend is unlikely to spend money on an expensive gift so a wife. It's fairly new judging by the model- I'd say at least six months. Marriage is crumbling since he gave the gift away to his older brother. He left her and got rid of the phone. Wants to stay in touch with you although you're not fond with him at the moment. You liked his wife. Didn't like his alcoholism."
John looked at her in admiration. "How could you possibly know about the drinking?"
She smirked and gestured to the chinks near the charging port. "Never see a sober man's phone with these."
Elise handed the phone back to John who gingerly took it and stuffed it in his pocket.
Sherlock gave his daughter a broad smile. "Well done."
The girl shook out her hands. "Bit rusty."
She absentmindedly pick at her fingers.
The trio sat in silence for a few moments.
"You were right." Sherlock said, watching as Elise picked with a concerned frown.
"About what?" John asked.
Sherlock pulled Elise's fingers apart, forcing her to stop her bad habit momentarily.
"The police don't consult amateurs."
John shook his head in wonder. He still had questions, but they were pushed to the back of his mind as he took in this new information.
"That was amazing."
The pair looked at him in surprise.
"Daddy, can we keep him?"
"Shut up." He rolled his eyes affectionately. "Really?" he directed towards John.
"Of course! It was extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary."
"That's a first. People usually say something completely different."
John raised his brow. "And what's that?"
Sherlock and Elise looked at John, smirking.
"Piss off." They said in unison.
/
The cab rolled to a stop once the group reached Lauriston Gardens. They stepped out and after paying the cab, strode over to the black and yellow police tape. The air was thick with the commotion of chattering people, the blare of the red and blue lights floating against the ground. A normal person would be fretful at the display. This wasn't the case with Elise. Even with her anxiety, she had managed to keep calm.
For her, there was no reason to be nervous at a crime scene.
The sight of the officers and forensics team mucking about had been familiar to her for as long as she could remember. Even before her dad allowed her to tag along with him for investigations, she spent plenty of time at Scotland Yard and Bart's hospital. Lestrade used to let her read in his office while he worked at his computer and Molly would let her color with printer paper while did paperwork for the morgue. This was nothing new.
Still, she felt that same excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach as they got closer.
"Did we get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Harry and me don't get on." John started thoughtfully. "Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting divorced. Harry is a drinker."
Elise smiled, not even trying to mask her satisfaction. A similar expression was on the detective's face.
"Spot on then. Didn't expect to be right about everything."
"Harry's short for Harriet."
The Holmes' groaned in unison.
"Well… There's always that one thing." The curly haired teen said with a shake of her head.
"Sister." Sherlock said in annoyance. "It was a sister. Ugh! Just once I want to be right about everything!"
Elise rolled her eyes. "Your ego is big enough. If on the off chance that did happen, your head would explode. You can't show off with the remnants of your big brain splattered everywhere. Now wouldn't that be troubling."
"That's medically impossible. Now shut up." Sherlock snapped.
"I was being facetious." She mumbled dejectedly.
"I wasn't. Now hush."
"Why?" Elise asked stubbornly.
"I'll either send you home or I'll call you by your full name in front of Anderson. The teasing would be immense."
"Okay, Okay." She said with a huff. "I'll shut up till we get inside."
"A sister!" Sherlock said disbelievingly
John cleared his throat. He was trying so hard not to laugh at the father daughter spat. It was proving to be even harder of a task than he anticipated.
"What exactly am I doing here?" he asked once he had fully regained his composure.
His question remained unanswered as the small group approached the police tape.
A sharply dressed woman with curly hair almost up to par with Elise's stood in close proximity to the approaching Holmes' and their guest. As always, she didn't look particularly happy to see them.
"Hello freak." She said with a sour smile directed at Sherlock. "Baby freak." Elise didn't even bat an eyelash.
"Affair." Elise said simply.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing." She said innocently. "Just observing."
Sherlock glanced at his daughter then glared at the bitter specimen before him.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."
"Why?" she asked dumbly.
"We were invited."
"Why?"
"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock said sarcastically.
"Well you know what I think don't you?"
Elise snorted. "Wow Donovan! I wasn't aware you were capable of actually forming a thought." She cocked her head to the side. "Must have taken some effort."
The Sergeant sent a withering glare towards the thirteen year old.
"You're no better than him."
"Always Sally." Sherlock said with an exaggerated sniff. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."
Sally shifted uncomfortably on the spot under the man's accusatory words.
"I don't… who's this?" she was quick to drive the conversation away from her.
"Colleague of mine, John Watson." He turned to face John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. An old 'friend'."
"A colleague?" she scoffed. "How do you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?"
John looked highly uncomfortable. "Would it be better if I just waited and…"
"No." Sherlock said firmly. He held up the tape for Elise and John. They quickly ducked under it as Sally raised her radio to her mouth.
"The freak is here. He brought baby freak with him." She shook her head at the 'freaks' disdainfully. "Bringing him in." The feedback crackled.
They were lead to the two story house, Sherlock and Elise scanning the area in search of helpful clues. Much to the young girl's dismay, she didn't see anything relevant. She could tell that Sherlock was having the same trouble that she was. His brow furrowed, creating a shallow crease on his forehead.
A short male figure came striding out of the residence, his body clad in plastic blue coveralls. Elise groaned in disgust. She would recognize the insufferable creature anywhere; Anderson.
"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."
The grumpy man looked at Sherlock in distaste. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" he turned towards the dark haired teen beside Sherlock. "Especially you mini-Holmes. Don't think I've forgotten about the ice cream incident of '07."
Elise smiled menacingly. "Affair." She said simply, just as she did to Sargent Donovan a few minutes prior.
John looked at her in confusion. Why did she keep saying that?
"Didn't you say that to Sally earlier?" he whispered.
"Patience is a virtue, John." She stared down at her nails, picking.
Sherlock inhaled deeply through his nose. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"
Anderson scoffed. "Don't pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that."
"Your deodorant told me that."
"My deodorant?"
"It's for men." Sherlock smirked at his daughter. They both knew where this was going.
"Well of course it's for men. I'm wearing it!"
"Could've fooled me. Sargent Donovan's wearing it too." Elise pointed out.
The two parties tensed considerably. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "May we go in? I think it just vaporized."
Anderson's expression turned from that of shock to one of pure anger. "Now whatever you're trying to imply…"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice chat and then decided to stay over."
He grabbed his daughter's arm and started ushering her inside. He swiveled around at the last moment.
"She probably scrubbed your floors too judging by the state of her knees."
Donovan and Anderson looked as if they were going to burst with embarrassment. Elise snickered and followed behind John and Sherlock who had already gone inside. She couldn't help but feel a tiny sliver of pride. Her deductions had been correct. She had even put the pieces together before Sherlock himself. Now that was an accomplishment.
"So when you said 'affair'…" John asked as they walked towards the cluster of officers. "You meant…"
"Exactly."
/
Lestrade was dressing in the standard pair of plastic coveralls as the group entered the space. Elise picked up a spare garment. She looked at the hideous plastic ensemble before gingerly putting it on. Although she absolutely hated the outfit, she was breaking enough rules by even being here. She didn't want to add to the list and risk being sent home.
Her dad explained to Lestrade why John was tagging along as Elise battled to get her thick mane into a ponytail. The black curls sprung out at every angle and refused even the smallest effort to tame them. Her arms ached and she could feel the elastic straining under the weight of her locks. Seven bobby pins and two broken hair ties later, the monster was up and out of her now flushed face.
She noticed the three older men looking at her in amusement as they trekked up the flights of stairs. She sent them a challenging look and they snickered but backed off. "Men." Elise mumbled to herself. "Why don't they spend time and energy taming a savage beast of hair and see how much they like it."
Sherlock pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the rubber snapping in place against his skin.
Lestrade turned to the younger detective as they approached a rustic, wooden door.
"I can give you two minutes."
He casually adjusted the gloves. "May need a bit longer."
The DI reluctantly agreed. "Her name was Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them in now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her.'
He opened the door and led the party into the room. Elise smothered the familiar sense of apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach. Instead, she focused on her surroundings. The room was barren of any furniture besides and old rocking horse in a dusty corner. The police had set up emergency lighting all around the room. A few holes punctured the walls.
She mustered up the courage to look at the body.
The first thing she noticed was the shade of her coat; a vibrant pink. The woman even had shoes to match. She lay face down in the middle of the room, her blond hair tickling the baseboards.
Elise felt the overwhelming need to turn tail and flee, but she couldn't bring her feet to move. Her palms began to sweat inside the rubber clothing her hands. When she felt all the warmth leave her body, it was undeniable what was happening; she was about to have a panic attack.
Elise had become good at hiding these instances. Whenever one was triggered, she would usually just grit her teeth, clamp her eyes shut, and wait for it to pass. That's what she did now. Just grin and bear it.
Keep calm and breathe deep.
She felt a firm hand rest on her shoulder. Dad.
She relaxed under the familiar touch and managed to unscrew her eyes a few moments later. The anxiety ebbed away before it could morph into a full blown attack.
"Ok?" he asked her.
Although the initial crisis had passed, she couldn't find her voice just yet and found herself having trouble breathing. She nodded her ok.
John and Greg looked at the girl in concern. John remembered Sherlock saying that Elise suffered from Moderate General Anxiety when they met yesterday. He was quite impressed with her ability to diffuse the situation quickly at such a young age. I wonder how old she was when it started.
Lestrade looked to her father for assurance that she was ok. He nodded uncertainly, gauging his child's reaction.
Elise calmed her air intake and eventually found her voice. "I'm okay. Let's just get on with it."
Sherlock composed himself and brushed the incident off. He would check up on her later. Right now there was work to be done. Still, he felt concern for his daughter niggling at the back of his brain.
He stooped down so that he was at the deceased Jennifer's level, Elise copying. The Holmes' settled into deduction mode with no further inquiry of the incident that occurred just moments before.
John watched as the two made their deductions, an admiring gaze pasted across his face.
Elise trailed a gloved finger under the woman's collar. Damp. She showed the wet digit to her father who nodded encouragingly. She lifted the woman's left hand and slid of the gold wedding band, passing it to the man on her right silently. He studied the inside of the ring. Then he studied the outside. After a few moments of silent deducing, trading clues back and forth, and several concentration induced frowns; they stopped. Both were smiling.
"Got anything?"
Sherlock looked up at the DI. "Nothing much."
He tugged of his gloves and helped Elise to her feet. She took off her gloves and brushed herself off, still a tad unsteady after her ordeal. He tapped something into his phone.
"She's German. 'Rache' is German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…"
"Yes, thanks for the input." He strode over and slammed the door straight in the forensics specialist's face.
"Good riddance." Elise muttered.
"So she's German?" Lestrade asked confusedly.
The detective didn't look up from his phone. "Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night…" He smiled smugly as he found what he sought. "…before returning home to Cardiff." His phone slid into his pocket. "So far so obvious."
John looked at him in surprise. "Sorry- Obvious?"
"What about the message then?" Lestrade asked.
"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"
"About the message?"
"About the body. You're a medical man."
Lestrade shook his head. "Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside."
Elise decided to speak up. There was no way she wanted to work with those people. "They don't work well with us."
Lestrade ignored her. "I'm breaking every rule letting you and baby Holmes in here."
Elise gritted her teeth. "I have a name you know."
"You need me." Sherlock challenged.
The two men stared at each other a moment, grey eyes boring into brown. Lestrade lowered his defensive gaze with a defeated sigh. Checkmate.
"Yes, I do. God help me."
Sherlock turned to John. "Doctor Watson?"
"Hmm?"
Elise gestured to the body. He looked to Lestrade for permission. The Scotland Yarder rolled his eyes and nodded his consent.
"Oh do as he says. Help yourself." He said tetchily. He walked sullenly to the door.
Elise patted his arm comfortingly as he passed.
She watched John do his work after a hesitant conversation with Sherlock. He placed his head next to the woman's then straightened up. He lifted her hand and studied it carefully, analyzing. He exhaled and looked at his expectant audience.
"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."
Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "You know what it was. You've read the papers."
This sparked John's interest. "So she was one of the suicides?"
Lestrade tapped his foot impatiently. "Sherlock I said two minutes. I need anything you've got."
Sherlock stood to his feet. "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."
Lestrade, John, and Elise shared quizzical expressions.
"Daddy, I don't think there was a case."
"Her wedding ring. 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."
"Wow." Elise grinned cheekily. "Two affairs in one day. First Donovan and now this one. I feel safe, Don't you?"
Lestrade coughed to cover his laugh. Leave it to Elise to make sarcastic comments while standing around a dead woman's body.
"That's brilliant." John praised.
Sherlock looked at him in surprise.
"Sorry."
"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.
"Well its obvious isn't it?"
"It's not obvious to me."
Sherlock glanced at all of them in amazement.
"What's it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."
Elise gritted her teeth. "Enlighten us."
He turned back to the body.
"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 whipped out his phone and flashed it to the group. "Cardiff."
John and Elise grinned while Lestrade just looked on, jaw dropped. "Fantastic!"
"Do you realize you do that out loud, John?"
He looked down sheepishly. "I'll just shut up-"
"No…its fine."
"Yup." Elise teased. "You are a lot less annoying than I."
John patted her shoulder gratefully.
"Why do you keep talking about a suitcase?"
Sherlock clapped his hands together and spun around the room. "Yes, where is it. She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."
"She was writing 'Rachel'?"
"No, she was leaving an angry note in German" Sherlock's voice dripped in sarcasm. "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?"
"A clue? Message?" Elise proposed.
"Could be."
"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"
Sherlock pointed down to the body. Elise finally noticed her tights had small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg. Mud splatters.
"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left." Elise began. "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. Am I right?" she asked her father.
"Read my mind." She smiled at him and he winked proudly at her.
He squatted down by the woman's body to examine the backs of her legs thoroughly.
"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"
"There wasn't a case." Lestrade argued.
He raised his head and frowned at the Detective Inspector.
"Say that again."
"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."
"There had to have been." Elise defended. "There is no other way she could've gotten those splatter on her calf without one. Someone must've taken it." Realization dawned on her. "Maybe it wasn't suicide." She whispered
Sherlock straightened up and headed for the door, shouting as he made his way downstairs. Elise scrambled speedily after him.
"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"
"Dad…"
'Not now!" he gripped his head and shook it.
"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade and the former army doctor stood by Elise on the Landing.
"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them.
"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?" he looked irritated now.
"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings."
The pieces clicked in her head. "The murderer must've taken it."
The curly haired detective chuckled in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."
"Why are you saying that?" Greg shouted.
Sherlock stopped in his tracks and shouted up at them excitedly. "Her case! 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.
"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there.'
"No, she wouldn't have time." Elise was pacing now.
"Right! Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking...
Elise stopped pacing. She and her father reached the same conclusion in perfect harmony
"Oh!" he exclaimed.
"I see…" Elise said slowly.
"Lestrade, send Elise back to Baker Street."
The girl in question looked up sharply. "What? Why?!"
"I need to do something. Besides, you have school tomorrow."
"I-"
"Nonnegotiable. Ooh serial killers are always hard. You've got to wait for them to make a mistake."
"Well we are done waiting." Lestrade busted out.
"Right indeed." He hurried down the stairs. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"
"Of course yeah- but what mistake."
"Pink!" he dashed off without another word.
"Dad I can help!" she started to follow him.
Lestrade grabbed her arm to hold her back. She glowered up at him.
"Let go."
"Sherlock said to take you home."
"But I want to help."
Lestrade sighed irritably. "You can help everyone by going home. Unpack or something when you get there."
She sighed in defeat. "Fine." She turned to John. "Are you coming?"
He shook his head. "I'll catch a cab. I don't really like riding in police cars."
She shrugged noncommittally. "Suit yourself. See yah later."
She followed Lestrade outside. The cool night air hit her like a ton of bricks, the atmosphere denser than that of the house. The humidity told Elise that there would be a small chance that it would rain tomorrow. She hoped that it did. London could use a good cleaning.
A/N: leave me a review if you don't mind terribly ;). Hope that all my fellow American readers had a good Fourth of July weekend. I know I did.
Thanks