I'm sorry this took so long to get up, but I've had a bit of a mind-block these last few days. It's much harder than you think, trying to write up a case. I hope I did well though... :) Anyhow, I would like to thank my new followers/favouriters: earthdancer1, bandgeek5100, Undercover Reader, KappasRule, LeafCatcher36 and Fianna Hira, you probably can't imagine how happy you make me!

A bucket of love goes to creamtea-with-a-madman, partly because of her lovely reviews, but mostly beacause she is such an amazing person, but she doesn't always realize how amazing she really is!

I'm also sending a million hugs to Wuthering Wilde for her extraordinary kind words, her lovely opinions on this story and, because she makes me dance like Sherlock!

Enough with the rambling! I hope you all enjoy this little chapter, and continue to be the awesome people that you are :)

Chapter 8

They had barely made it to the crime-scene when Lestrade got a phone-call about another body. Sherlock decided to look around at the first body, before they went to see the second one. "I need to be there before all the brain deprived people who call themselves useful start to destroy all the important evidence" He said, casting a non-discreet look towards Anderson who, luckily enough wasn't paying attention to him. John, however, quickly led Sherlock further in the alley to avoid any kind of unnecessary encounter.

The corpse, who had not so long ago been a living man, was sitting upright against the wall. He looked almost untouched. His clothes were completely clean and whole, apart from the hole in his chest where his heart would be. Over his head was the word "Tinkor" scribbled in large, red letters. Sherlock seemed to look over every inch of the ground, the body, and the wall. Then he straightened up and said "It's not blood. It's just red paint. I'm sorry John, but I don't think we'll need your medical opinion. It's quite clear what killed him, don't you think? Now bring us to the second body Lestrade."

"Wha- wait Sherlock? That's all you have to say? No theories?" Lestrade said, gesturing towards the body, clearly a bit annoyed at the lack of information.

"Six, so far. Now let's see the other body." Sherlock turned on his heel and walked back to the main road. John gave Lestrade an apologetic look, and they both followed Sherlock's steps. John and Sherlock took a cab since Sherlock still refused to ride with a police-car. He was sitting with his eyes closed, but a small smile on his face, as if remembering something pleasant. John couldn't take his eyes off the detective, and he allowed himself to savor this moment, knowing it was a rare occasion and that he had to be more careful about where he rested his eyes in the future.

When they arrived at the second crime-scene, Sherlock quickly jumped out of the cab, leaving John to pay as usual. They had arrived to a rather dodgy street, and just as the first victim this body was at the end of a dark alley. Lestrade strode off to give orders to the awaiting policemen, and John followed Sherlock.

It was as if they hadn't even left the first crime-scene. It was another body, but it looked exactly the same. It was also a man, and his clothes were clean, but the hole in his chest gaped open like an abyss. He too, was sitting upright, almost like he was just resting, and John found it a bit creepy how neutral he looked. He would probably never get over this, to look at a body, knowing that its heart was beating just hours ago. He swallowed and looked up at the wall. There was a word, written in red just like the other one. But this time it said "Tailor". John suddenly remembered the nursery rhyme that he and Harry used to sing as children. "Sherlock, have you noticed how..."

"Yes yes, I know, it's a rhyme. I have sung it too as a child." Sherlock cut off, while searching the man's shirt.

While John tried his best not to picture Sherlock as a child at this inappropriate moment, he crouched down beside the body to examine it closer. Apart from the obvious missing heart, the body looked almost alive. The cause of death seemed to be "just" the removal of the heart. There were no signs of struggling, no bruises on the neck, no splinters under the finger-nails, it was all too clean and John once again got an uneasy feeling about all this. They were clearly dealing with someone who liked things clean, and organized. John opened his mouth to share this with Sherlock, when Lestrade came running, his phone to his ear. "There is two more bodies" he exclaimed, the voice almost cracking out of stress.

"Let me guess…the scenes are identical to this one apart from the words on the wall which says 'Soldier' on one of them, and 'Sailor' on the other one. The victims are equally clean and about the same age as the first two, and they were both found in an alley similar to this one. Am I right?" Sherlock rambled on, already knowing he was.

"Ye-Yes, how did you know?" Lestrade sounded distressed.

"Doesn't matter. We don't need to see the other bodies; I already got what I need. John, let's go." Sherlock gestured toward John who quickly said goodbye to Lestrade, feeling a bit guilty for leaving him with such a work-load. But he knew that Sherlock was on to something, otherwise he wouldn't have left without even looking at the other bodies. They sat in silence on the ride home, Sherlock once again with closed eyes, probably wandering around in his bloody mind-palace, John thought. He didn't know why this particular case had affected him like this, but he just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he'd gotten.

When they entered the flat, Sherlock promptly walked over to the sofa, lying down in his "thinking-position" and John knew better than to disturb him. He didn't really mind having a quiet night either. He made dinner for himself, not even bothering to ask Sherlock, knowing he would probably not even get a reply from the detective. Sitting alone in the kitchen, he started reciting the nursery-rhyme in his head.

"Tinkor, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor.

Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief."

He said it over and over again, but he couldn't figure it out. Why would someone kill four men, and then make it look almost like a child's game?

Sherlock seemed to have thought in the exact same patterns, because he suddenly rushed into the kitchen, his curly hair sticking out. "John I've got it!" He exclaimed brightly. "You know how the rhyme is usually used to pick something or someone out of a game? It's exactly the opposite! She has made the rhyme to decide who will live, instead of who should die." Sherlock almost danced with joy.

"She? How do you know it's a she?" John asked.

"Oh it's obvious John! You noticed how the victims were completely clean, right? And their clothes were all new and whole, except for the hole over their missing heart? Statistically, women are more likely to be organized, and care about clothes, which most men find completely uninteresting. Since the clothes were clean, the hole were obviously made in advance, and the victims were dressed after their hearts were removed. The cut and removal of the heart were very nicely done, so we are probably looking for someone with medical skills, most likely a doctor or a pathologist."

"Wow Sherlock... But how do you know who we're looking for? And why these men in particular?" John was still puzzled.

"I know." Sherlock smirked. "Oh that's easy John! The first victim was a man named Thomas Albeit, a doctor who works at Manlowe Hospital. I checked their staff-records and there was a female doctor who got fired last week, named Joanna Hill. Why? Because they had an affair, and he gave her the blame for it. You'd think she'd get pretty upset about it yes, but she wanted to punish him properly. So she sedated him, cut out his heart and, because she like things clean, she had to put on new clothes. The other men were also past lovers who most likely dumped her, and she probably thought she'd take out her revenge on all of them at once.

Why the nursery-rhyme? She is a pediatrician, obsessed with children. She wanted it to look like an innocent child's-game. Combined with a dose of OCD, she made all the crime-scenes exactly alike, which also was a part of the game for her. She did, however leave way too many clues to not be found, which indicates that she most likely wanted to be caught, before she killed her 'Rich Man'. She hasn't yet decided who to leave alive..."

"That was bloody fantastic Sherlock!" John couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice. "So it's solved then?"

"One phone-call to Lestrade, then it's done" Sherlock beamed, significantly proud to have solved the case in less than ten hours. "And it was all because of you John" Sherlock's voice dropped to an almost whisper, and suddenly he was approaching John, closer and closer, that intense look back in his eyes.

"All because of you" He whispered again, before he put his arms around him, in a very quick, but sincere hug. It was over in a moment, and Sherlock quickly retreated back to his bedroom to phone Lestrade. While he heard the detectives' deep voice rumbling through the flat, John remained in the kitchen, trying to grasp the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just hugged him.