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"Bored."
"Go do something!" Mycroft glared at his younger brother.
He already had to deal with his older one. Sherrinford had recently quit doing drugs, but there was still the chance that the eldest Holmes could relapse.
"Lestrade wouldn't let me come on his case..." he moaned. "He said that it shouldn't be that hard."
"What about John?" Mycroft suggested.
"I told him to go get some milk..."
"What do you even do with all the milk? You ask him to get more every day!"
"Experiments." the consulting detective stated bluntly.
"You could always go with him." Mycroft responded.
Sherlock looked at him like he was from another planet.
"What?"
"That's so boring."
"What about Molly?"
"Working. She said that there were no bodies currently available for me to experiment on." Sherlock sighed. "And, when I asked her to make more, she just looked horrified!"
"You don't ask someone to make more bodies. That would include murdering." Mycroft deadpanned.
"But then there would also be a case to go on! It's a win-win." the consulting detective seemed to like the idea.
Mycroft only shook his head. Sherlock would be Sherlock.
That was when Sherlock's cellphone started ringing.
"Lestrade..." Sherlock frowned.
Sherlock...it turns out we do need you.
Lestrade didn't even get a response because he was out the door, skipping excitedly, in seconds.
"I'll tell John where you went!" Mycroft called back uselessly before going back to his paperwork.
LINE BREAK
Lestrade just stared at the corpse. Today was not his day; first of all, he had to make Sherlock stay with Mycroft (which is much harder than it sounds, mind you), saying that he wasn't needed for this case.
But the thing is, he was.
The woman was lying face-down on the ground, her brown hair, with a gray hair every now and then, circling her head like a sort of halo. She was wearing a business suit, full with tie and skirt. There were no abrasions on the skin, but you could see a small bit of pink liquid exiting her mouth. There was also an odd lump in her throat.
Poison, perhaps?
"There was no clear DNA to point out the murderer. Suicide, perhaps?" Anderson reported.
"I don't know." Lestrade sighed.
"You are not going to call in the freak, are you?" he asked, frowning. "I wish he stayed dead."
"I am." Lestrade picked up his phone and dialed Sherlock's number. "Sherlock...it turns out we do need you." he never received a response.
"Need him?" Donovan looked at him incredulously.
"Yeah."
Later, when Sherlock had arrived and gotten past Donovan and Anderson, Lestrade and Sherlock knelt down next to the corpse.
"Poison?" Lestrade asked, gesturing to the growing pool of pink liquid.
"How daft can you be?" Sherlock muttered under his breath.
"What else would it be?"
"Blood."
"Blood isn't pink." Lestrade stated. "Wait, am I going to hear her life story now?" he groaned.
"Very much so," Sherlock beamed. "She is not a business woman, as you originally thought. This woman is an actress. She is low on iron, but she is receiving iron infusions. She has a number of health problems, including State III kidney failure. She's also been a Type 1 diabetic for about 39 years."
"Why would she be bleeding in the mouth?"
Sherlock just stared at him.
"...What?" Lestrade asked.
"How could you be so oblivious?"
Donovan and Anderson turned to glare at the consulting detective from where they stood. Lestrade just sighed.
"Do you see the lump in her throat?" Sherlock sighed.
"Yeah...what is it?"
"A blade..." the consulting detective sighed. "Why are you wasting my time? You'd hopefully figure that out through an autopsy anyway."
Lestrade sighed. "Why would there be a blade in her throat?"
"Please, for once in your life, use your brain." Sherlock challenged. "Deduce."
"He's only saying that because he doesn't know." Donovan sneered.
"It is very simple, Donovan, but I don't expect you to understand."
"Freak," the word left her mouth quickly before she turned and stalked away.
"Was she forced into eating it? It could also have been hidden in something she found on the side of the road..." Lestrade thought.
"Does she look like a woman who would just eat things off the road?"
Lestrade looked at the woman. She looked very respectable, even if she wasn't a business woman. Actors usually are rich, but not all of them are smart.
"I don't know." the detective inspector admitted.
"She only had the knife; if she had anything else, the knife would be down in her organs by now." Sherlock deduced. "The blood from the knife cut her throat, clogged her trachea, and filled her lungs with blood."
"Do you know who did it?" Lestrade asked.
"An alcoholic drug dealer by the name of Henry Jones." the consulting detective responded. "You'll find him in a factory on the east side of London selling illegal drugs. That is all." And with that, Sherlock Holmes left the crime scene.
"I'm really going to kill him someday." the detective inspector rubbed his temples in a desperate and final way to ward off the impending migraine settling in on his head.
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