Sorry for the long wait! School is killing me and this story is getting hard to write because there's a lot of information that I need to tie together and I haven't planned it out in detail yet. Let me know what you think.

Estella Jean

Entry 3: Amala Bassi

We waited on the porch of Amala's home as Grady pressed the white button again. The doorbell chimed for the second time, and for the second time it was left unanswered. Inside foreign voices could be heard, and the faint sound of tearful and insistent arguing. It had been that way for the full five minutes we had been standing there. I shared a puzzled look with the sergeant, but we beared to wait a moment more, even though it was beginning to get embarrassing honestly. The family had been notified earlier that we would be stopping by. I heard Sherlock huff behind me, growing ever impatient, and the next thing I know he's knocking on the door a bit harsher than would be polite. I looked at him with bewilderment but he seemed confused as if pounding louder was the only logical thing to do. I was just about to chastise him and suggest we return at another time when to our surprise the door opened. Standing there was a young Indian child of maybe seven or eight.

His face was downcast as he peered at us curiously, with wondering sad eyes. I smiled instantly and unreservedly at the boy, as one often does when spontaneously encountering a child.

"Hello there," I greeted warmly, "Are you parents home?"

Of course I knew they were. We could hear them through the door, but it seemed only courteous to ask. Instead of being welcomed in, the boy gave me a blank stare, most likely not understanding English. He noticed Grady's uniform and a look of recognition came to his features.

He yelled something I couldn't distinguish and ran back into the home, leaving the door open.

We awkwardly waited, listening as the voices arguing suddenly stopped. There was some shuffling, and then a middle aged man wearing a turban entered the doorway. At first he only glanced silently at Grady, before moving to Sherlock and I in turn. He didn't seem pleased to see us, his lips forming a straight frown line. His features told a tale of anguish. He looked emotionally distressed, heartbroken.

Nobody said anything at first and a beat of uncomfortable silence passed. I was the one to finally break it, reaching out my hand to the man.

"Hello. I'm Dr. John Watson. You must be Mr. Bassi," I greeted. The man shook my hand and nodded solemnly.

"Yes," he mumbled. He looked to Sherlock but he only nodded in a silent greeting.

"That's Sherlock Holmes," I told him on Sherlock's behalf. Mr. Bassi didn't seem to mind his antisocial behavior and quickly wrote it off. He shook Grady's hand, to which Grady replied it was nice to see him again.

"I'm so sorry for the wait," he told us in a low pain filled voice, "My wife...she's upset right now that I agreed to us meeting today. But please, come in."

I wasn't surprised by that response at all, some of the victims' families from past cases refused to talk to us. Some said they couldn't handle it when dealing with the grief. Others didn't trust us which I couldn't blame them for considering Sherlock's tactics. Some were in denial that their loved one was even dead. I vaguely wondered which was the case for Mrs. Bassi.

The man gestured for us to enter and Sherlock and I tentatively followed Grady into the warm glow of the orange walled foyer. I was immediately enticed by the smell of spicy incense which seemed to drift from somewhere in the living room where Mr. Bassi guided us. As we entered the colorful room of ornately carved dark wood furniture, patterned rugs, gold decor, cultural paintings, and bright swatches of fabric, I noticed motion to the right where the staircase began.

I turned to see a woman dressed in a pink and red salwar kameez, ushering a gaggle of children up the stairs, her tears barely visible in the warm lighting. I frowned sadly at the family, feeling my heart go out to them. The children ranging in heights and ages, bowed their heads in grief. One girl in her early teenage years quietly sobbed as she held the hand of the young boy who opened the door for us. He looked up to see me just before he disappeared to the first floor, with the same sad but curious eyes.

That poor boy. He was so young, too young to know what death is. He shouldn't have to learn like this. Most children his age only understand death in terms of cartoon characters, and those revive and regenerate nearly instantaneously. He shouldn't have to ask where his sister is and why she will never return, and spend the rest of his childhood filling in his vague understanding of what happened. No child should have to learn those hard facts of life in such a personal and cruel way. I felt so bitter about the thought that my jaw clenched reflexively. Sherlock noticed. He quirked his eyebrow at me in question and glanced to the stairs and back to me with his blue eyes. Of course he read my mind as usual.

"We'll catch him soon enough, John," he whispered to me with an almost smile.

"For their sakes I hope so," I responded in a low tone.

Amala's father welcomed us to sit down and gestured to the low couches around the room. I chose to sit at the red cushioned love seat where Sherlock soon joined me. Grady sat at the adjacent armchair, which was across from at the other.

"She is taking the death very hard," the father explained, looking to the stairs and rubbing his hand over his face, "Ishanvi doesn't want to talk to law enforcement yet. She thinks it's bad for the children's coping as well as her own. Ever since the news...well..."

He took a deep breath and continued.

"It's been hard on all of us," he trembled, trying not to cry but the waver in his voice suggested he might lose that battle. "But that's why I disagree with my wife. I think we need closure...I want to know who did this to our Amala."

"I'm so sorry," I told him honestly, unable to imagine the pain he must be going through, "We are here to help, in any way we can."

Grady nodded in agreement, the same look of solemn compassion on his face. Not surprisingly, Sherlock avoided the emotional interaction, darting his calculating eyes around the room silently, doing his usual once over observations. It was clear that he was uncomfortable with the sentiment by the way he sat, his back firmly to the chair and his long legs crossed. While composed himself, Sherlock was as stiff and rigid as a statue .

Oh... I apologize for that rather poor choice of words. I didn't intend for that comparison to be as gruesome as the images it may conjure to mind in relation to this case. Even when writing this, I cringe at the thought of those dead women in that terrible state. I can remember Amala. She no longer looked like the picture of the beautiful smiling young woman on the wall of the living room across from me. I shuddered and returned my focus to the conversation quickly.

"You're from Punjab correct?" Sherlock asked, watching attentively although he already knew what his answer would be.

"Yes," Mr. Bassi replied, wiping his eyes, "How did you know?"

"Your son spoke Punjabi at the door," Sherlock replied.

"When did you move here?" I asked conversationally, removing my notebook from the bag I brought with me, posed to record the answer on a fresh page for the new victim.

"About four years ago," Mr. Bassi responded. I began writing this information. Meanwhile, Sherlock nodded to Grady expectantly and the man began his questioning process.

"Alright , we have a series of general questions for you about Amala," began the sergeant, "I know we already went over these at the time of her disappearance but it's just typical procedure."

Amala's father nodded, "I understand."

Grady flipped through his pages of questions and started the interview and I documented the conversation as it unfolded.

"When did you last see Amala?" Grady asked the grieving man.

He let out a shaky sigh before replying.

"She left for college in the morning. She usually gets back around 1:30. But...she didn't," He looked up at Grady with grief and quickly turned away in embarrassment, wiping his eyes.

"What was Amala majoring in?" Grady asked Mr. Bassi.

"Pharmaceuticals," he revealed, "She was very intelligent. She was even accepted into a paid internship for a high end company in London...she was really going places."

I bit my lip as I wrote that statement down. The more I learned about the case the more darkly my thoughts seemed to shift. If there was ever a killer I wanted to bring to justice, it was this one. It was so random, so unwarranted, these senseless killings.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly lit up. He sat up straighter as if he just came upon a theory.

"What university did she attend?" He questioned quickly.

"Amberton University. It's not far from here. Maybe fifteen minutes West in Maberly," Mr. Bassi answered. Sherlock seemed to buzz with energy as he heard the information. That was the town, Maberly, where Rebecca Larson's publishing company was located. At last a connection! Grady caught on to the connection. His eyes widened as he realized that we may be onto something.

"Did Amala ever describe a conflict with anyone? Perhaps one of her friends or classmates at college?" He asked in a rush.

Mr. Bassi shook his head slowly as he thought.

"Hm...no she didn't mention them to me at least. She had a study group but never talked much about it. As far as I know, she wasn't close to any of them. Amala didn't have many school friends. She focused on her work," he replied.

"What about when she wasn't in class, what did she do in Maberly when she wasn't at school? Did she have a job or somewhere she spent time?" Grady questioned, unable to hide his eagerness. Amala's father picked up on it and looked between Sherlock and Grady curiously.

"No job, she didn't have time. She went to this coffee shop to do her homework sometimes. It was called… I can't really remember. It was close to the school though."

I put down the question in my journal: coffee shops in the area?

"Did she ever mention a publishing company? Perhaps a woman named Joan or Rebecca?" Grady asked. Sherlock sent him a stern look to warn him he had said too much. Grady immediately whitened and nervously rubbed his forehead.

Mr. Bassi looked at him with alarm, sitting up further in his seat and glancing between us with glowing tear stained eyes.

"What do you mean? Who are they? Do you know something about my daughter that you're not telling us?"

Sherlock sighed frustratedly at Grady and rolled his eyes at the mistake he had made. Grady gave him an apologetic frown.

"Mr. Bassi," I said, "We can't divulge any information yet. No, we don't know anything so far, but as soon as we do and we are able to tell you and your family then we will. In the meantime we need your focus."

I gave him a comforting smile and finally the man's tenseness released and he leaned back into the chair.

"Yes," he said simply in agreement, looking at the floor with exhaustion.

"So tell us more about her school. What were her professors like?" I coaxed to get off the previous subject.

Mr. Bassi continued to stare at the floor but pondered the question as he formed an answer.

"There was...I think a professor named Stewart. He was her favorite. She had him last year. The only other one I remember was a chemistry teacher she had around the time she disappeared. She was upset because he was a ridiculously unreasonable man. He gave her a C on an experiment that took her two weeks to conduct. I think his name was Sebastian."

I wrote both of the names down with asterisks next to them to remind myself to research them later. I looked up to see Sherlock give me a rather proud smirk. It was odd, because almost always the information that I collect leads to dead ends. It was always the facts that he catches that lead us anywhere.

"Describe her more to us Mr. Bassi. What was she like?" Grady asked with an inviting smile.

Mr. Bassi was silent at first as he remembered his daughter. He teared up as the memories hit him.

"She," he cleared his throat, "She was imaginative as a little girl. She believed she could be anything, do anything. I think that's what made her so successful when she was older. She was so confident. Family meant a lot to her. She was very close to her brothers and sisters, especially, Arjun, the little one at the door. She had a magic way of making him happy with her stories and her singing even when he was in the worst moods. She was sometimes homesick for Punjab, but only sometimes. She always wanted to travel, to never stay in one place for too long."

"I see," I smiled at him reassuringly because he was quietly crying at this point. My heart twisted in pain for him but I didn't let it show. We waited till he finished. He wiped his eyes and spoke again.

"She had a fiance," Mr. Bassi revealed.

Sherlock's cheek twitched as he heard the information.

"They went out on the weekends sometimes. He was a good man."

"Really?" Grady asked, "Tell me about their relationship."

Mr. Bassi thought about this for a moment, "He was from a good family, quite wealthy. He actually is our neighbor down the street. They met when we moved here and began dating soon after. Their proposal was announced about a year ago."

I asked for the man's name and information because he would probably be our next stop. As I was writing, I felt the cushion of the loveseat shift and suddenly Sherlock was right beside me. I shivered as I felt his breath on my neck.

"Keep talking. I'm going to do my own little investigation," he whispered in my ear which made me swallow hard. I nodded subtly in agreement so Mr. Bassi wouldn't see.

Then Sherlock's warmth and proximity was suddenly removed from me as he got up from the loveseat and began walking around the living room space casually. Taking things in slowly and in sharp detail. I cleared my throat and returned to the conversation.

"Did they ever fight? Amala and…?" I trailed off.

"Aarush, no. Amala was a very spirited girl and she wasn't always easy to get along with, but he doted on her. He would do anything for her. They never argued."

"Hm," I hummed in thought and nodded. I resolved that a trip to the fiance himself would confirm that statement. I heard a sound towards my right and turned to see what Sherlock was up to. He was noting the details of a painting on the wall. He also seemed to have found the source of the incense, because below this painting was a small table situated in the corner of the room where smoke gently drifted. It was beautifully decorated with a golden statue and a small book. Sherlock didn't touch the altar, but examined it lightly. It was a level of respect and privacy that even he observed.

"This next question is a rather personal one Mr. Bassi," Grady began, I returned my attention to him, "How was you and your wife's relationship with Amala?"

Mr. Bassi seemed slightly surprised by the question but answered nevertheless.

"It was good, positive, healthy. We did see differently in some aspects just as Ishanvi and I do some times. Ishanvi is a Hindu and I'm a Sikh. We've brought up the children with a combination of values and traditions from each of our faiths. Amala was never interested in either of them, and sometimes fought against us in some hurtful ways. We had a few arguments over the subject, but they were nothing terrible. We resolved it as a family and moved on," he explained.

I heard another noise in Sherlock's direction and turned to him. His eyes were in that half crazed glow as he paused what he was examining and stared at what Mr. Bassi had said.

He cleared his throat to get his attention and it did so effectively.

"I don't suppose I could use your bathroom?" Sherlock asked the man. Something told me that's not what he truly wanted. He was going to use it as an excuse to take a detour somewhere else. I knew Sherlock Holmes very well.

Mr. Bassi nodded unsuspectingly and politely pointed to an area down a hallway near the stairs.

"Of course, it's down that hallway on the right," he directed.

Sherlock silently disappeared into that general direction. I kept my eyes on him to see if I could figure out where he was really going. He glanced back at me before quietly walking up the stairs. Really? Oh Sherlock. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't be caught rudely wandering around the home, especially with Mrs. Bassi and the kids needing space. I turned to Mr. Bassi and rushed to ask a question.

"Uh, I was just wondering Mr. Bassi, did Amala act differently around the time of her disappearance?"

"Besides spending more time focusing on schoolwork, no. She was very dedicated to starting the year off right which was hard when she was already struggling in chemistry. She often stayed at the campus to do work in the lab and get extra help since the kids can be a distraction sometimes."

I nodded and let out a sigh of relief because I had yet to hear a disturbance caused by Sherlock upstairs.

"Could we get a copy of the schedule she had, the classes she took, her teachers?" I requested.

Mr. Bassi nodded and moved to get up.

"I believe her schedule is somewhere in her planner upstairs," he mumbled, moving towards the stairs. I felt my heart leap with panic.

"Wait! Let's finish the questions first. In fact, I don't think we actually need it. That was...silly of me," I fumbled to stop him from going. He paused, gave me an odd look, and then sat back down. He gave Grady a questioning expression as if I were slightly off. Grady looked to me with the same expression and I let out a desperate breath.

"Alright then," Mr. Bassi said.

I decided it would be best if I just didn't say anything anymore. My hand shook with anxiety while I recorded the rest of the conversation, trying to keep my mind off whatever stupid thing Sherlock was attempting. I hoped he wasn't about to cause trouble because the consequences could be pretty bad. It was out of my hands.

Three minutes went by.

Grady continued asking things but I had tuned out. I couldn't focus on writing because I was so on edge. What could he be doing?

"So she used to sing?" I distantly heard Grady say.

"Yes, but she's been so busy with classes…" came Mr. Bassi's muffled response.

I tapped my fingers on the armrest to distract myself. More minutes passed. I glanced at my watch frequently. Occasionally I heard footsteps upstairs which made me hold my breath. I was so nervous. Grady flipped to the last page of questions which, as far as I could see, were inconsequential to the case. Where was he even going with this?

Finally I couldn't take it. I removed my phone from my pocket and sent Sherlock a message.

Where are you? Get down here. You are going to get caught.

JW

I held my phone in my hand waiting for the reply. As of now, he had been gone for 8 minutes.

"Ready to go?" Sherlock's voice boomed right behind me. It made me jump and I struggled to balance my heartrate. I sent him a frustrated look. He was leaned against the back of the loveseat smirking at me, hands on either side of me.

"You can't just do that Sherlock. We could get kicked out! And was that really necessary?" I whispered harshly.

"It was a little funny, John. It's amazing how high strung you are" He teased.

"High strung!" I exclaimed a little too loudly. Of course he has the guts to go way out of his bounds in a way that could get us kicked off the case and then call me high strung. I exhaled sharply and shut my eyes tight to control my aggravation.

"Well Grady are you finished?" He asked the sergeant.

Grady looked at his papers and then back to Sherlock. Clearly he had more, but from the look Sherlock gave him it seemed they were finished. It wasn't like we were learning anything relevant from them anyways. Grady been going on some tangent which most likely would have led them to the topic of fishing eventually.

"No...I suppose we are done for now," Grady responded slowly, "Thank you for your time Mr. Bassi."

"Thank you," he said in return, standing up from the chair to shake Grady's hand.

"I just want to have this end," he told him, "the sooner it can, the sooner we can begin to heal."

"I absolutely agree," Grady nodded reassuringly. Mr. Bassi led us back to the front door where we said our goodbyes.

As soon as the door closed behind us Sherlock fished around his coat pockets urgently and removed a small stack of letters. He grinned at me with an unhealthy level of excitement.

"Look what I found in the girl's room!" he exclaimed and proceeded to explain.

I scoffed, ignoring whatever discovery he had made because obviously he was too self satisfied to see that he put us in jeopardy.

"Do you honestly not care Sherlock that you could have just got us kicked off this case? You have no right to go rooting around in theses people's houses against their permission! Suppose Mrs. Bassi saw you and became upset? Suppose she called Lestrade to complain?" I huffed.

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together as he finally caught on. I brooded as we walked along the path to the car, stuffing my hands in my pockets which made Sherlock appear even more concerned. I could guess that it was something he observed as a sign of me being pissed. Good. Maybe I've finally made it obvious enough for him.

Grady glanced awkwardly back at us but stayed out of the conversation. He probably didn't even know what was going on. Sherlock was hushed into silence. I had my handle on the car door when he stopped me by touching my arm. I turned to face him and he looked genuinely apologetic. His blue eyes serious and no longer excited over his find.

"I'm sorry John, you were right. It was risky. I won't do it again," he admitted. I almost thought I hadn't heard correctly. Had he just apologized?

"Oh," I said with astonishment, "Well...good."

Sherlock grinned, taking it as an acceptance of his apology.

"Now I have to tell you about what I found," he urged, returning to his excitement. I rolled my eyes and smiled. I couldn't be upset with him. Sherlock never apologizes after all.

"Fine, tell me in the car," I told him and opened the door.