Chapter 6

Charlotte's POV

Glancing through the curtains, I watch John get out of a sleek black car, it only screams one thing; Mycroft. I can't believe him, I think to myself. No actually, it's what I would expect from my "dear brother". He did the same thing when I first bought home a date back during the first and last school disco I ever attended. It was only in an attempt to prove to my mother that I could be social when I wanted to. I ended up finding a teacher-student relationship happening in the girl's bathroom. It's not my fault I noticed the exact shade of lipstick the Math's teacher was wearing on the collar of the student. I hear John's footsteps climb up stairs before reaching the front door. Grabbing the box of nicotine patches, I stick three to my arm whilst relaxing back into the sofa.

The nicotine rushes through my blood stream offering an instantaneous satisfaction of relief. At this point John enters the room to stop dead in his tracks,

"Are you okay? What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch." I say whilst letting the nicotine soak up into my blood stream "helps me think"

Glancing at John from the corner of my eye, I notice him watching me with the greatest curiosity. I resist the urge to smile and instead wonder if I really look that beautiful in this position.

"Are you wearing three of those?" he says breaking the silence.

"It's a three patch problem." I state whilst putting my hands together in my thinking position.

"You asked me to come, well?" he asks inquiringly.

Can't I ask him to come? Is that wrong of me?

"Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" he asks me baffled, "You asked to come here so you could use my phone?"

"There was no rush. Why? Where you busy?" I asked although I already know what he was doing. I wondered if he would tell me the truth or hide it.

He takes his phone out of his pocket without a word and hands it to me. I feel a deep sense of disappointment.

"So is this about the case?" he asks whilst going to take a seat.

"Her case."

"Her case?"

"Her case, her suitcase, yes obviously" I answer with annoyance. I can't tell if it's his stupidity or the fact he's hiding who he had met. "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"So?"

"On my desk there's a number. I want to you send a text." I ask handing him the phone.

"You bought me here to send a text?"

"Yes."

He takes the phone reluctantly from my hand. I lay there whilst he huffs his annoyance like a little child.

"What's wrong?" I ask as I notice him glance out the window.

"I just met a friend of yours."

"A friend?" I feel a sense of relief, he hasn't kept it from me.

"An enemy"

"Oh!" how sweet, I'm flattered that Mycroft thinks of me as his enemy, "Which enemy?"

"Yeah, apparently your arch enemy."

Awh! Mortal enemy, if he wasn't my brother I would think he was flirting with me.

"Did he offer you any money to spy on me?" I asked, "Did you take it? Pity, we could have split it. Think about it next time."

"Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now." I shrug off, "now, on my desk." I remind John.

"Jennifer Wilson, wait, isn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes, that's not important. Just type the number in. These words exactly" I coughed, "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out, 22 Northumberland Street. Please come"

"You blacked out?" John asked with a look of worry on his face. This look baffled me, I wondered why he would care.

"What? No. Just type and send it quickly."

I get up and climb over the table to drag the pink suitcase sat on a chair to the coffee table by the fireplace. John glances over his shoulder and stares at the suitcase.

"That…that's the pink lady's case," he says, I detect a sense of fear in his voice ad wonder whether he is questioning me.

"Yes, obviously."

"Oh! Perhaps I should mention I didn't kill her." I say, trying to conceal my disappointment.

"I didn't say you did"

Oh! He didn't? I stare at him curiously; does he trust me that much already?

"Why not?" I ask.

"Well the text that I just made you send, and the case that I have which is obviously hers. It would therefore be a perfectly logical explanation."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" I detect a certain amount of sadness in his eyes as he says this. Does he pity me? I can't help but smile at his innocence.

"Now and then, yes." I flip my curls away from my face and focus my eyes on the suitcase. John takes his seat in silence, but I can sense he has hundreds of questions running through his mind. It's somewhat distracting as I try not to think about him and work. Almost like a schoolgirl distracted by the thoughts of her boyfriend during a lesson.

"How did you get this?"

"By looking, the killer left it at Lauriston Gardens, he could only keep her case if he was in a car. Nobody can be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves. Of course, being a lady, I was able to get this out without much attention, however the killer would have tried to hidden it only if he were a man which is statistically more likely. So he would feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he notices it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to notice his mistake. So I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car, five minutes from Lauriston Gardens where you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. It took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

John stared at me in awe. Perhaps he's dazzled by my intelligence once again.

"You got all because you realized the case had to be pink?" he asked baffled.

"It didn't have to be pink."

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're stupid." Oh, was that too harsh of me? "No, no, don't be like that. Practically everyone is. Do you notice what's missing?"

"How could I?"

Maybe I did hurt his feelings? Is he really that sensitive?

"Her phone. Where's her phone?"

"Maybe she left it at home?"

"She has a string of lovers, she wouldn't leave it at home. Far too risky."

"Why did I just send that text?"

Come on John! Put it together. "Well where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it?"

"Yes, or?"

"The murderer? You think the murderer has the phone?"

"I just texted a murderer?"

At that exact moment the phone started ringing. John looked at the phone worried,

"Few hours after his last victim, he gets a text that can only be from her. Somebody must have picked that phone up. But the murderer would… panic!"