The following entries detail the interview process regarding the friends and family of the homicide victims.

Entry One: Annie McCray

We entered the home of Grace McCray at 10:00 am, Grady having called her ahead of time. We settled to discuss the information surrounding Annie's disappearance and murder. Grady began with preliminary questions, which we already had documentation of in the initial interview from the time of the victim's disappearance. He reviewed the previous general questions for the purpose of mentally prepping the victim's close relative for the recurrent memories, since mothers have been proven to take the death the hardest. Basic information was requested, such as the victim's date of birth, physical description, and the last contact made with the deceased...

Hold on, no, this is terribly boring. Sorry Sherlock, but 'brief factual description' or not, this is going on the blog later and no one would want to read this rubbish! Let's start from the beginning.

Since our first introduction to Sgt. Grady, I have yet to see the man show any expression other than one of cheerfulness. Not only that, it seems he isn't capable of anything but goodhearted conversation. While driving over to Grace McCray's house, he told me stories of the fishing trips he'd been on, rather boring stories, but I was enthralled with them because they were simple. Simple is something that's hard to come by when living with the world's only consulting detective. After all, I can only hear about experiments on unidentified fungus for so long before I start losing my sanity a little.

Sherlock was silent in the back of the car but made no snide remarks which I was thankful for, yet suspicious of. He typically makes some sound of protest or random interjection when forced to endure a 'dull conversation'. I was praying that he would continue to spare me from his usual embarrassment. I sent looks to him in the back of the vehicle but was surprised when I noticed his genuine interest in the topic of fishing. Since when did Sherlock care about fishing, of all things?

I stifled a chuckle at his studying eyes and observant ears as they trained on Grady. He caught me staring and pretended he wasn't listening, looking out of the window with an air of indifference.

Typical Sherlock, irritatingly guarding himself, obscuring the genuinity of his character so that those who know him less are fooled by his facade, even for such silly things as fishing, as if it mattered. Between you and me, dear readers, I find it more infuriating than the fungus experiments and all the other bizarre elements of his nature.

Perhaps that is what Sherlock was envying about Grady, certainly not his tales specifically, but the genuinity of his character which he exuded unashamedly.

Although terribly interesting, the case of the mysterious madman, Sherlock Holmes, would have to be put aside for a later date. We had another case to solve first.

We approached the home of Grace McCray, a small yellow house with an attractive tulip garden bordering the path to the porch. It was located in a popular neighborhood of Cresmere according to Grady, an area where newlyweds and retired couples settled. The fact was further proven by the elderly couples and small children milling about the pavement as we parked the car by the kerb. The porch twinkled with windchimes as we climbed the steps to the front door, Grady in the lead.

The sergeant rang the bell and seconds later a woman opened the door. She appeared exactly as her daughter's profile, only older. In other words, she was quite beautiful, although plain. She had the same chesnut hair, but partially grayed. The same blue eyes but cornered with crows feet. She leaned against the door and wrapped her open cardigan tighter around her floral top, attempting to smile through the very evident pain she was feeling.

"Hello, Grace! I see the tulips were a success!" Grady greeted, gesturing to the colorful flowers.

"Hello Sgt. Grady," she managed to say without enthusiasm, her voice wavering at the end.

"This is Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective from London assisting with the case," Grady told her, motioning to the curly headed man.

"I'm Grace. It's nice to meet you," she told him quietly.

"Mutual," he responded dully, "This is John my colleague."

I smiled at the woman and offered her my hand. As soon as our palms touched in a handshake, I noticed she was trembling, on the verge of breaking down emotionally. I felt sympathetic to the poor woman, but attempted to appear positive as Grady did so naturally. We separated and she nervously welcomed us in. We entered the small yet warm home which had soft lavender walls and an entry hall that was narrow, too narrow for the desk placed along the wall opposite of the front door. We were forced to walk one at a time as she led us to the kitchen, but I noticed Sherlock behind me, as he stopped by the awkwardly placed desk.

"Um, mind if we look around a bit," I asked her politely. After all, Sherlock often goes rooting around through people's drawers and cupboards when investigating and it would be better if we at least had permission to do so first.

"Go ahead," she said weakly. I faintly heard her talking with Grady and it sounded as if he were consoling her through her tears. Clearly she was not prepared to go through the questioning process again, not that I could blame her. She had only just gotten the news of her daughter's murder the previous morning, and that would still be crushing even with six months of preparation for this moment during her disappearance. Back then there was at least some hope of her returning, vague but still resilient hope. Now there was certainty that she was never coming back.

I watched as Sherlock examined the photos on the walls near the front door, ones of Annie receiving awards throughout her childhood, of her graduation from college, and family holidays.

"Her father died when she was at a young age, approximately ten years old. Only the photos before that age include him," Sherlock observed.

"Her mother and him could have gotten a divorce," I noted.

Sherlock shook his head, "No, look at their expressions in the photos after that. They're trying to appear happy when clearly they are in emotional distress. Even the way they dress seems more plain, darker colors. It was a death in the family."

I hummed as I studied the photos and realized he was exactly right. When I turned around Sherlock had vanished down the hall.

"Sherlock! Where are you going," I whispered, embarrassed by his snooping.

I found him in one of the bedrooms, presumably the guest room, but it had been recently redecorated with what appeared to be Annie's belongings. Little knick knacks lined the bookshelf, pictures of cherry blossoms lined the walls, the bed was covered in mismatching pillows and quilts. The extra belongings from her flat which did not fit in the room, were left in their packing boxes along the floor.

"She was obviously hoping her daughter was still alive," I commented. Sherlock nodded and began examining the space in closer detail.

A few rather cheesy quotes were framed on the bookshelves, as well as a collection of glass animal figurines.

"She collected these as a child," Sherlock revealed, "They are more dusty than the other items. They weren't put here recently but have been here for years. She must have left them when she moved out and her mother kept their position here in her old room."

Then his eyes followed to the photos on her desk, depicting the victim in her teenage years, typically posed with large groups of friends. Medals and awards for various sports and academic achievements also resided here.

"It seems her mother is resorting to remember Annie as she was as a child. It's a coping mechanism. Keep that in mind John," he explains before we exited the room.

That's something quite unique to Sherlock I believe. Whenever we are sent to interview a person he gages their mental state first. He believes bias lead to lies. It's rather smart, especially when there aren't too many people close to the victim that we can compare the answers with. We entered the kitchen where Grace had led Sgt. Grady, and found them sitting next to one another at the table. Grace had calmed down, no longer crying, but stared quietly into her tea. Sherlock and I sat down at the other empty chairs which had steaming cups in front of them as well.

The sergeant had begun the interview process, starting with preliminary questions first, then moving on to more informative ones. Sherlock didn't seem satisfied with his work, but then again, he was rarely satisfied with anything. He impatiently tapped his fingers on the table as they went over the already documented information. Grady noticed his impatience but only smiled at Sherlock in his usual way, which seemed to irritate Sherlock even more, causing him to send a sarcastic smile back. Apparently Grady doesn't get sarcasm because he continued his task with even more chipperness.

"What personality did Annie have? What were her characteristics, her values?"

Grace sighed and gathered her thoughts, "Well...Annie was very kind. She loved animals. She had many friends, good friends...She could be so childish sometimes...playful, like she never really grew up."

She smiled at the memory, and I wrote her response in my journal, keeping in mind what Sherlock said about the mother having a selective memory of the victim in a child-like state.

"Where was she currently working at the time of her disappearance?" Grady questioned, looking up from the paper he was reading off.

"She worked at a clinic in town, as a nurse," she explained.

Sherlock sighed and then sat up a little straighter, finally intervening. I gave him a concerned look, knowing that at such times he forgets how sensitive the interviewee is. It would be just like Sherlock to send the woman into tears again.

"Anytime before her disappearance, did she show any signs of unstable behavior, gambling, stealing, drug usage?" Sherlock asked critically, his eyes narrowing at the woman, "Do you think she could have been involved in anything risky that might have gained her enemies or debt?"

Grace looked at him and then Grady, in shock that he would ask such a question, "Annie? Oh no, Annie was a good girl. Everybody loved-"

"But she might have kept secrets," Sherlock interrupted, "Everyone keeps secrets."

Grace glared at Sherlock's insinuation, finding it offensive.

"She was a good girl," She repeated to Grady a little more sternly, "Always use to do the right thing."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked quickly.

She was taken back by his abruptness, "What?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. He scooted his chair a little closer to the woman, to examine her, as he continued.

"You said 'she always use to do the right thing', clearly you had a specific example in mind. I'm asking what you were referring too," Sherlock snapped, impatient with her stalling and emotional responses.

She balked to answer his question, suddenly flustered by his intensity in contrast to Grady's gentleness and compassion.

"Sherlock," I muttered, but he didn't make eye contact. I sighed. He wasn't going to listen to me.

"Tell me Mrs. McCray," Sherlock practically ordered.

She stumbled over her words as she answered, "Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend Michael was a thief. His manager caught him stealing at the store he was working at eight months ago and she broke up with him even though they had been together for years. I told her she deserved a more upstanding man, an honest man."

"Do you happen to have contact information for him?" I interjected for reference. There was a chance we would need to talk to him later on.

She had a disgusted look on her face as she responded, "He's in prison."

"Hm," Sherlock hummed. We shared a look of interest at this information.

The rest of the questions Grady took over, while Sherlock only half listened. He asked if Annie mentioned anyone around the time of her disappearance, other than her ex boyfriend.

"She mentioned catching up with one of her old friends, Jessica, who recently moved to America for an engineer program. She's a brilliant girl. I was very proud to hear how successful she has become," Grace smiled as she reflected on memory, "Jessica was really there for me after Annie went missing. She phoned me every week to see how I was doing..."

Grady smiled encouragingly at the improvement in her mood, and focused more of his questions on positive memories.

"Where did Annie spend her time? Besides work of course."

"She enjoyed going to the movie theater here in town, as well as the little shops, although she rarely bought anything. She came here on the weekends, that is...after Michael," she said the name as if it were poison.

Obviously she strongly disliked the man and it made me begin to wonder. Was she upset because of his criminal record, or did she dislike him before then? It sounds as if Annie was all she had after her husband's death. If she is that attached to her daughter, the idea of her having a serious relationship with someone, someone who takes up her time and becomes her priority, it would explain her animosity. Perhaps she was even waiting for an opportunity to separate the two. I smiled smugly as I recorded my theory. And Sherlock thinks I'm not good at deductions!

"Did she have any enemies from her past?"

"Besides jealous sports opponents, no. If you knew Annie, you'd know that she couldn't have gotten on anyone's bad side," she laughed a little.

"Did she have a sudden change in behavior before going missing?"

"Well," she thought, "She was stressed and busy with work at the clinic. By the time she would get home, she was exhausted, and her health started to decline. Nothing dramatic, just a cold she was struggling with. She was depressed after the break up. Most of her friends no longer live in Cresmere, so she relied on me for conversation and support. She came over crying a few times, towards the end, because she missed him. I kept telling her she was better off, but it seemed like she didn't believe it as much as she once did. Loneliness does funny things to people... It makes them so...self sacrificing," she frowned and looked away, upset by the thought. I bet Sherlock would say she was reflecting on herself, more so than Annie. Grace was self sacrificing, dedicating her life to her daughter, to the point of determining her decisions for her.

"Everybody keeps secrets"

I am beginning to understand what he meant by that. Surely Annie didn't rely solely on her mother. There must have been times when she wanted freedom, upset by the way Grace controlled her. There must have been a side to Annie that Grace never saw. I added that question to my notebook, circling it, 'who was Annie McCray really?'

Nothing else of importance was mentioned, and it seemed, through her mother's eyes anyways, that Annie was a typical woman, a sweetheart through and through. The more I learned, the more I couldn't help the sick feeling in my stomach. She didn't deserve to die. None of them did. It made me bitter to think about.

After finishing our tea and saying our goodbyes, Sherlock and I retreated to the car, as Sgt. Grady remained speaking with Grace for a few more minutes, because once again the woman was crying. I watched her from the car window as she sobbed into the sergeant's shoulder.

"We need to stop wasting time and find the boyfriend," Sherlock said abruptly.

He didn't mean to sound cold. I know that. He just focuses on the job instead of the sentiment. What people fail to realize is that if he felt more, he'd be doing much less. It's one of the reasons he's so successful and effective. Together we are a team because we balance each other out. I teach him how to be understanding, and see through people's eyes in ways that can end up being beneficial. He teaches me how to focus on the facts and look deeper into common observations. I save his arse when he gets himself in some ridiculous jam, and he swindles restaurants to get me free stuff, although his motives are sketchy 50% of the time.

I guess you could say we have the ideal friendship.

...

An hour later we ended up arriving at the Haverigg prison, waiting while Grady spoke with the warden about Michael, Annie's ex boyfriend. The two of us sat in fold up chairs outside the office, in the awkward silence of the corridors. I didn't know what to say and apparently neither did Sherlock.

I cleared my throat, gaining his attention accidentally. His eyebrow arched in question and I shook my head.

"Nothing," I said awkwardly, adjusting in the uncomfortable seat.

"Oh," he mumbled and straightened his posture.

A guard walked down the empty concrete corridor, passing in front of us. We trailed him with our eyes, listening to his footsteps until they were gone and we were left without a focus once more. It's so silent in this prison. It's somewhat terrifying. I couldn't imagine someone living there for 8 months, and to think that some of the criminals we've caught in the past we've sent to prison for life.

"The criminal justice system is strange," Sherlock said as if in the middle of a conversation. I looked at him in surprise as he continued.

"Confinement for example, is a comfort to some and torture to another. For some, ten weeks in prison is the equivalent to ten years, and yet we try to standardize the sentences for convicts based on crime. Partly it's for deterrentism but the court claim it's for retributivism. How do they determine the scales of justice for an individual without knowing the psychology of his fears, his own self punishments?"

I blinked at him. I had no idea what he just spouted out, but it was rather deep and I didn't quite know how to respond.

"Right...well when normal friends try to start a conversation it typically doesn't go like that," I chuckled.

He furrowed his brows at me, clearly not understanding. I found it strangely endearing, that he saw our friendship as being so much more normal that it really is. If anything it shows just how new a relationship like this is to him.

"Tell me John, how would 'normal friends' begin a conversation?" He questioned.

I shrugged, gazing around the corridor again.

"Talk about your day, ask each other silly questions," I replied.

"But I've been with you all day," he pointed out.

I laughed, "Obviously, I suppose that one wouldn't work so well for us."

There was a pause and he hummed in thought.

"What constitutes as a silly question?" He asked finally.

I rubbed a hand over my face as I tried to come up with a plausible example.

"Like...what's your favorite color, the most memorable thing from your childhood, a type of food you've always wanted to try," I explain. He looked at me with this laughable expression and then gave me a single nod.

"Alright. What's your favorite color?"

"Uh, green," I told him.

He scoffed,"That is a pointless bit of information."

I laughed, "Yes, well that's why it is a silly question. Those are the kinds of things you're supposed to know about your best friend. Otherwise you're practically strangers."

I smiled at him, but he frowned at me in response.

"I know you, John," he said simply, "We don't need silly questions."

Oh yes, he knows how long it takes me to get dressed in the morning. He knows what it means when I drink one tea versus another, when I use a different brand of toothpaste than usual, but that is 'data' he keeps on everyone.

It was just then that Grady finally exited the warden's office. The three of us followed one of the guards to a visiting room where we could talk privately with the victim's ex boyfriend.

The room was bare with only a single table in the center, and a chair for each of us, plus one. Sherlock, Grady, and I sat down at the chairs and waited for the man to arrive. Less than a minute later another guard entered and with a prisoner in tow. The tall dark haired man examined us with curiosity and then a developed eagerness. He was placed in the chair opposite us and the guard retreated to the back corner to watch over safely.

"What's this about? Is it Annie? Has there been any news?" He asked quickly.

I think even Grady was frowning then.

I noticed neither of them looked like they were about to say anything so I took the responsibility.

"Uh, Michael," I began.

Back in my army days there were times when I had to tell a patient he wasn't going to pull through. It requires you to step outside yourself. You use the voice, put on a persona, as if you are an actor giving the news to a fictional character. It's not real, so it doesn't hurt to have to say it. You tell yourself this to make it easier, and you might even believe it, until you see their face change. You see their thoughts as they begin to form. In seconds they've lost their whole world.

"Annie's body has been found. It's been determined as a homicide case. She passed away about the time of her disappearance. I'm sorry," I told him calmly, conveying it as it is, an undeniable fact that must be accepted.

He stared at me, no, through me. His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth opened slightly as if to question something he already knew. Then his dark eyes fogged slightly with tears and he swallowed hard.

"I…" he tried to speak but couldn't. He let out a shaky breath and stared at the table.

"I knew it could have been a possibility...but I didn't want to think about it," he mumbled.

I looked at the man with sympathetic eyes, "I'm very sorry Michael, but we're here to help. My partner, Sherlock, and I are working with law enforcement on the case. We want to bring Annie's killer to justice. We need to ask you some questions."

He looked up with sorrowful eyes and nodded in acceptance. I smiled supportively and looked to Sherlock so he could ask the questions he had saved up.

Surprisingly he was speechless, giving me an odd expression of wonder. I would have laughed or made an amusing comment had it been a lighter situation. Instead, I nudged Grady, in hope he had something to ask. After all, we had gone all the way there to talk to this man.

That was all the encouragement that the dimple faced sergeant needed to become his usual self again. He got his notes out of his pocket and started reading them off. I took my journal out and began recording the conversation.

"When did you last talk to Annie?" Grady asked, sounding positive but less chipper than he was with Grace.

Michael took a deep breath and blinked away tears as he thought.

"About...eight months ago. It was just after my trial. She broke up with me then," he whispered.

"What did she say to you after the trial?" Grady asked.

"She said her mum told her she needs someone who's honest...a better guy than me. I knew what she was trying to do, so I interrupted her. I told her that I didn't do it, that I wouldn't steal anything, no matter how much I needed the money."

"You needed money?" Grady questioned. He nodded and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his uniform.

"Yeah, after I lost my job at the clinic Annie and I worked it, I got a job at this convenience store in town. It didn't pay very well, not enough to make rent."

"How'd you lose your job at the clinic?" Grady gingerly prodded, not wanting to delve too deeply into hard memories after the man was just given the news.

"They laid me off, couldn't afford keeping me on even part time anymore," Michael revealed.

"That's too bad. So you got a job at the convenience store, and you ended up here."

Michael nodded, a bitter expression on his face at the thought.

"One day I went into work and my manager called me into his office. There were two policemen waiting for me. They explained that I was under investigation for stealing money from the till, a lot of money."

"But you didn't do it?" Grady inquired.

Michael shook his head strongly, "I did not. I was framed, and I have a pretty good idea that it was my manager who did it. He harassed me ever since I started working there. When he gave me the night shift, I noticed that money was missing. I brought it up to him several times and he said he'd take care of it. Of course, I had no leg to stand on. He planted cash in my coat pocket in the break room so when the police investigated there was enough incriminating evidence… I had a choice. I could plead innocent and get an 18 month sentence or plead guilty and only get 12 months. I did what I had to. I didn't know...I didn't know what the cost would be…"

He put his head in his hands and became very silent, overwhelmed by everything he was thinking and feeling.

"Did you know," he muttered through gritted teeth, "That I was planning to propose to her?"

He looked up with tear filled eyes.

"I wanted to be able to support her, and I was so ashamed when I couldn't. I bet her mum never told you that she wanted children, very badly. Of course, she didn't approve. Why would she? If Annie had a family of her own, she wouldn't have time for her anymore."

He put his head back into his hands and quietly cried into his palms. There was a good point to what he had said. It was one of the hidden pieces of Annie that Grace had not shown us. She did have a life outside of her mother, the question was, what else was involved in it?

We sat awkwardly watching him until Sherlock became to uncomfortable by the emotional outburst, and pushed back his chair.

"We have all the information we needed for now. It's best if we left this man to his grieving," he muttered and three of us got up to leave. Michael was returned to his cell while we exited the building. I was very thankful for the fresh air again after the staleness of the prison.

"Well, what do you think Sherlock?" I asked the consulting detective. He strode thoughtfully beside me as we headed to the car, leaving Grady wheezing to keep up with our pace.

"I think lunch would be nice," he replied. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled.

"And I think Michael is telling the truth. I believe he is innocent. Everything about his mannerisms, eye movements, tone of voice, and general emotional reaction suggest he was being honest. I don't think he showed any desire towards homicide, especially towards Annie. If anything he only seemed enraged towards his previous employer and Mrs. McCray, and that I cannot blame him for."

I agreed to all of his statements, particularly the first because it was already a half an hour past lunch time and I was ready for a break. Victim number two was next.

Thanks for the reviews everybody! This format is a bit different than usual. I wanted to try out John's point of view as if he were recording for the blog. I'm planning for each victim to have her own chapter, but in between their chapters, will be chapters in my usual format of John and Sherlock investigating other things about the case. I hope you enjoy it. And I don't know about you but I think the Christmas special was my favorite episode. I wasn't a big fan of the weird hallucination style in His Last Vow so I was skeptical about liking it at first, but once understanding this is how Sherlock's drug induced mind views the world, it was fascinating! Can't wait for season 4!