Warning: Once again, this chapter contains the aftermath of a murder, please keep yourself safe if this could be triggering for you.

I offer much thanks to my Beta, Helena Chauby for her editing skills. In addition, I would like to thank Lady of Clunn for her work as BritPicker for this story.

Next I would like to thank my flatmate, sounding board, and own personal Sherlock, Geoff, for his help with plot development.

Thank you also to Reaserhaven, SeverusDmitri18, MarkeMeUp, Flavy, xXxBookNerdxXx, snapletonis, Lady Prussia of Awesomeness, reflectiveless, and A Curious Crow for your support and encouraging reviews. Also, thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited this story. Your support is much appreciated.

Chapter 4: Deductions and Chocolate Sauce

A short cab ride later, Sherlock and John were striding up the walk to another house. John noted that this house was slightly larger than the converted flat Thomas and Sean had lived in. This couple must have had more funds between them.

Lestrade met them just outside the front door with an impatient frown. "About time Sherlock-oh, did I...interrupt something when I called?"

John followed the inspectors gaze until he realised that Sherlock and he were still holding hands. He jumped a bit and pulled away. "Don't be daft," he muttered, staring at the pavement.

"Come, Lestrade," Sherlock stated, taking charge, "show us the bodies." The three men entered the house, walked down a short corridor and turned right into another living room.

It was an eerily familiar scene, with some key differences.

John took a breath and scanned the scene in front of him. There were two men hanging from the ceiling this time. There were no arched ceilings or visible support beams, however, hooks had been fixed into the elevated ceiling which appeared to hold both men securely in place. John doubted that plaster alone would be able to hold two grown men. Therefore, the hooks must have been driven through support beams just behind the plaster. Secured to the hooks were ropes that supported the bodies via the victims' wrists.

John did a brief scan of the bodies. Similar injuries as before. Bruising on the temple (both men this time), whip marks, strangulation. The man closest to him had long brown hair that reached his shoulders. The other man, also strung up, had a short, red buzz cut.

The red-headed man hung at what would have been a very uncomfortable angle, were he alive, because he was secured by only one arm. His other arm hung limply at his side with a broken wrist and thumb so badly dislocated, that John could see it from across the room.

"Their names are Bryan," Lestrade said, indicating the one with the red hair, "and Marcus," Lestrade stayed at the edge of the room so that the consulting detective and his blogger had room to work.

Sherlock examined the bodies, and the room, alongside John. After a few minutes of doing this in silence he turned to face John. "Your impressions doctor?"

"This time neither man had died of asphyxiation," John glanced at Sherlock for a moment before continuing, "They're both incredibly pale and given the amount of," John paused to look through the clear plastic they were walking over, "dried blood on the floor cause of death was likely exsanguination." He paused for a moment looking at the floor, then the bodies. "This wouldn't be so dry if it had happened recently. The killer tortured them for a long time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Could you be any more vague John? How long is a 'long time'?"

John spared him a glare before returning his gaze to the bodies. Jesus, Thomas and Sean had been whipped, but Marcus and Bryan had been tortured. Their bodies were riddled with bruises, cuts, whip marks, all crisscrossed on top of each other so it was hard to tell them apart. "Given the healing I'm able to make out... at least three days. I have a hard time believing, even as bad as they look, that a whip did all this..."

Sherlock muttered something about tiny little brains before speaking up. "They were tortured for four days John, and the whip marks didn't do 'all this' as you say. Don't you see the stab wounds?!"

John leaned closer to Marcus and squinted at his body for a few moments before Sherlock huffed a breath and walked over to him. John turned his head, in time to see Sherlock step directly behind him.

"Focus on the bodies," Sherlock breathed in his ear and he grasped John's hand and lifted it, index finger pointed outwards.

John followed the line their fingers made, and finally saw it. There, amidst the dried blood, welts, and other marks was a small puncture wound, right through the heart. He glanced over to Bryan to see he had the same wound. "Jeez, those are small puncture wounds, compared to last time."

John felt Sherlock nod and the consulting detective's breath tickled his ear as he spoke, "Poker from the fireplace."

John turned his head along with Lestrade and the few others in the room. All the fire pokers appeared to be in place, but now that he was looking, John saw a reddish tint to one.

"Bag it," Lestrade instructed a SOCO, who moved to do so.

"Make sure you get the flag and the bible quote," Sherlock instructed.

John scanned the rest of the fireplace and saw the charred remains of a rainbow flag and a strip of paper underneath clear tape. Stepping closer he was able to read it. It said:

Revelation 2:2 - I know thy works, and thy labor, and thy patience, and how thou canst not bear them which are evil: and thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars.

"These men were much more active in the gay community than Thomas and Sean. They were meant to be at a rally today." Sherlock surmised.

"How-" Lestrade began, sounding only half surprised.

"Look at the evidence," Sherlock stated, cutting off the detective inspector. "The pictures on their walls show more rallies, parades, and events, less personal photos. Also there are pamphlets for said event on the coffee table. Given that no one missed them for a few days I take it they were meant to be away, perhaps on holiday?"

"Yes," Lestrade sighed, resigned. "Sally, a community partner of theirs, came to check on them when they hadn't shown. We got the call at 11am. Will you be wanting to question her as well?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Unnecessary. The killer is targeting gay men he doesn't know, but he does have a type."

"Care to share with the class?" Lestrade prompted, impatiently.

Sherlock spun back to face the bodies as he spoke. "Gay, married, heavily involved in the community." Sherlock glanced over his shoulder as he continued, "I told you he would target higher profile couples." Sherlock shook his head. "He's getting more careful, too, more thoughtful. He isn't squeamish about his work either. Probably ex-military, or," Sherlock looked back to Lestrade as he spoke. "Possibly a former constable. Someone who knows what he's doing."

Sherlock paused and smirked to himself when he noticed Lestrade flushing in displeasure at the insinuation, then continued: "Look below the victims. By the fine traces of sawdust in the plush crème carpeting, the hooks in the ceiling have been fixed there recently, by a person of some strength. Notice that there are no nails or bolts; he affixed the hooks directly into the support beams, behind the plaster. There are no hesitation marks, and no additional holes. Because of this we can deduce that the killer found the support beams on his first attempt. The killer was either familiar with this property or, more likely, has some knowledge of architecture. He was strong enough to hammer the hooks into place, while not fearing retaliation from his victims, who must have been already beaten and bound, but not yet hung..."

Sherlock would likely have continued without pause, but even he needed to breathe every now and again.

"...The sawdust on the carpet is present, showing that the killer was not bothering to hide his tracks, nevertheless, there is less than there should be, suggesting that the killer got some of it on his clothing."

"So, we're looking for someone with trace amounts of sawdust on their clothing?" Greg asked.

Sherlock gave Lestrade a withering look. "Really Lestrade, have you learned nothing of observation in all the years we've been working together?" Sherlock motioned toward a wastebasket in the corner. "You will note the remaining sawdust is there. There is still visible sawdust in the carpet, so we know this wasn't an attempt to clean the house. It was an attempt to clean himself. Interesting that he doesn't shy away from bloody work but he stops to brush sawdust off his clothing. This indicates a long time habit. He must have been used to keeping himself presentable at all times, which is yet another indication of a uniformed employ."

"They don't have wedding rings, like the last two," Lestrade pointed out.

"Honestly, Lestrade, must I do everything for you? Look at their fingers," Sherlock gestured excitedly, "He ripped the rings off this time. I'd check the fireplace for that as well."

"Do you want to examine them when we find them?" Lestrade offered.

"Unnecessary. It was a happy marriage." Sherlock gestured to Bryan, "He did some damage to himself trying to get out of his bonds, probably to reach for Marcus."

"And this homophobic killer just let him do that?" Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock shrugged. "It put his victim in more pain, and he didn't get away so it wasn't a problem." Sherlock paused, and a dangerous smile spread over his face. "We can make it one though-"

"No!" Lestrade cut him off. "No, absolutely not. No details and no photos are getting out to the press. They had a field day with that image you snapped of Sean and Thomas. How did you get it anyway? Probably your damn phone."

Sherlock scoffed, "I admit nothing, and you have no proof."

"This case is pulling a great deal of attention towards our department, Sherlock," Lestrade pressed on, "don't make it more difficult for us than it has to be."

Sherlock raised an accusing eyebrow. "I wouldn't' dream of it. Come, John."

John sputtered a bit in surprise as he followed Sherlock out of the room. "Where are we going?"

"The morgue." Sherlock replied.

"Why the morgue" John questioned, "These bodies won't get there for hours yet."

Sherlock grinned over his shoulder at John before racing down the front steps of the house. "We won't need those bodies," Sherlock called as he went.

'This is going to be interesting,' John thought to himself as he chased after his friend.

Sherlock and John strode into the morgue as if they owned the place. While they weren't exactly official personnel, they were here often enough that no one stopped them.

"Hello Sherlock, John," Molly greeted them in the lab with a smile.

John returned the smile. Sherlock and he still worked closely with Molly on some cases. After his 'return' Sherlock, partially at John's insistence, had a sit down talk with Molly.

John didn't know the details, but he suspected, based on the talk he and Sherlock had just prior, that Sherlock had apologised for some of his past behavior towards Molly while making it clear to her (hopefully gently) that he didn't return her affections.

Whatever the details, Sherlock and Molly appeared to get on better now. Molly still ogled Sherlock from time to time, but it was more appreciative, less school girl crush.

"How's the case Sherlock?" Molly continued, removing gloves from her hands, and then washing them.

Sherlock launched into his explanation without preamble, as usual. "This is personal for the killer. The two bodies you have coming are in awful shape."

Molly nodded, thankful for the warning. "What do you mean, personal?" She asked, turning towards Sherlock.

"He tortured his last victims for four days before killing them. The blood was dried by the time we got there, so they were dead a few days more before we found them. Still no footprints. I couldn't even get an impression to calculate his shoe size. He could've found them shortly after his last victims."

Molly frowned. "That's terrible." She paused and worried her lip between her teeth for a moment before speaking again. "Were they... well...were they killed while they were..." Molly trailed off, her cheeks turning red.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They may have had sex earlier that day, but no, I'm fairly certain they were sleeping when he picked their lock. Probably spooning so that when he hit the first one on the side of the head, the other turned just in time to get hit as well. Matching bruises."

"You didn't think it was important to inform Lestrade of all this?" John asked, incredulous.

Sherlock shrugged. "I told him our killer was detailed, planning things out. The rest is just details."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Any other important details you've left out?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before nodding. "I've said this is personal. Someone close to the killer, probably a son, was hurt or killed in or by the gay community. At least in the killer's eyes. It fits. It makes things personal, makes him violent. That's also why he's targeting individuals in the community instead of large groups. He wants the revenge to be personal too."

Molly shook her head sadly.

"It's still brilliant how you do that," John murmured, impressed.

Sherlock grinned in an evil fashion. "You won't think I'm so brilliant in a moment John."

John raised a cautious eyebrow. "Why?"

Sherlock shifted his gaze to Molly without explanation. "Did you get my text?"

"When did you text her?" John asked, slightly worried now.

"When you weren't looking," Sherlock said dismissively, keeping his eyes fixed on Molly. "Did you get what I asked for?"

Molly glanced quizzically at John before looking at Sherlock and nodding. "I nicked some from the cafeteria, but why?"

"Bring it here, will you? " Sherlock asked. "Oh, and bring a camera as well."

"Okay..." Molly hesitantly walked to the supply room, while Sherlock turned his attention to John.

"Now John, " Sherlock drawled, stepping closer, "take off your shirt."

John swallowed and took a step back. "Excuse me?"

Sherlock continued advancing, slowly, and John continued retreating. "I need a picture to turn over to the press."

"What?!"

John's back hit a wall.

"It's important to keep the killer off-balance." Sherlock sobered for a moment before he said, "The killer may already have his next victims..."

John frowned and looked at the floor, concerned. Sherlock was right. Bryan and Marcus had been tortured for days... It hurt to think another loving couple may already be suffering.

A pair of black shoes came into John's vision and he looked up to meet Sherlock's serious grey-blue eyes.

"He'll know it's not real," Sherlock began, "hell, everyone will, because Marcus and Bryan were dead when we found them."

Sherlock was right in front of John now, reaching his hands towards the hem of John's jumper. "The reminder, however, will drive him mad. He doesn't want the public to feel sympathy for his victims, and keeping him off-balance may give us a chance to stop him and prevent further deaths."

"Softy," John accused with a smile.

Sherlock returned the smile. When he felt John relax under his hands he quickly lifted off the jumper and the shirt underneath.

John yelped in surprise, his arms covering his chest. "I take it back! You are cold and calculating!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, John" Sherlock replied.

Molly returned to the room at this moment and flushed when she saw John. "Sherlock?" She asked.

Sherlock snatched the chocolate sauce from her hands and advanced on John. "Stay still or this will get on your trousers too."

"Sherlock!" John protested in vain. He was quickly squirted with long strips of chocolate sauce across his upper chest. "What is the point of this?!"

Satisfied with his handiwork, Sherlock put the chocolate sauce down. "I plan on editing the picture so it's black and white. The chocolate sauce just adds the proper color and texture. They used it to replicate blood in that American movie, Psycho, after they found that ketchup and other red pigments become a washed out medium-grey when seen in black and white. Now, stay still." Sherlock turned to Molly, "Please pull the frame in so you only see my hand and a bit of John's chest."

"Sherlock I am not-" John stopped short when he caught the look in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock was a brilliant actor, and he acted with his whole body. He must have been trying to put John in Marcus's place and himself in Bryan's, because he reached out his hand towards John with a look of longing that stopped the doctor cold. Sherlock wasn't even touching him, but John couldn't pull himself away from that look. Sherlock looked like he loved him, but just couldn't reach him...It was so earnest, John almost believed it himself.

"I think I've got some good shots," Molly piped up, looking bit flustered.

John looked at her confused. He hadn't even seen the flash go off. Was he that out of it?

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock stated, snatching the camera from her grasp. "Please help the good doctor clean up will you?"

And just like that, Sherlock tore out of the room with his prize.

John blinked, and Molly giggled. "Come here," She said, pulling out a wet wipe.

John shook his head and obeyed. "I am going to kill him," John muttered as Molly and he began wiping the chocolate sauce off his chest.

Molly smirked. "It's cute how he can get under your skin, even after all this time."

"It is not cute," John groused, "He's a terror of a flatmate."

Molly looked up at him through her lashes. "You're not going to convince me that's all you are."

John looked at her, shocked. "Molly, not you, too. We are not a couple!"

Molly raised an eyebrow as she continued to clean up the chocolate sauce. "All I'm saying is I've seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you."

John let out an aggravated sigh as he pulled his jumper back over his (mostly) clean chest. "I'm not gay."

Molly shrugged, tossing her gloves and the wet wipes in the garbage. "Sometimes, Dr. Watson, the heart just wants, what the heart wants."

John shook his head and strode out of the morgue. He was not in love with his best friend. He wasn't...honestly.