The Speckled Blonde, Part 2

"It's nice, you know?" Lestrade remarked, causing Amelia to slow her pace slightly, throwing him a curious look over her shoulder to the man as he soon fell into step alongside her.

She narrowed her eyes very slightly, trying to determine what he was speaking of now…she couldn't say she wasn't still just a little annoyed about him likening her to Sherlock, but her curiosity would always win out against any other emotion she might have felt, "What's nice?" she questioned, heels clicking on the laminated flooring of the hallway outside the morgue.

"Being right," he replied, breaking into a broad, almost smug smile, "You and Sherlock…"

"Lestrade, stop it," she immediately cut across him, instantly scowling at him, her footsteps stopping completely. He stopped after another two steps and turned back towards her, still wearing that infuriating smug smirk. She narrowed her eyes, "There is no Sherlock and I, for a start. Secondly, you have no right to look so smug right now, Sherlock and I are merely working together out of mutual convince".

"Oh, I see. Mutual convince, of course…"

Amelia huffed and crossed her arms across her chest, levelling him with a cool look, not at all liking his rather sarcastic tone, nor the still lingering smugness to his upturned lips. A part of her wondered if she had perhaps overacted just a little too much over a simple comment about herself and Sherlock…after all, who's to say that he even was insinuating that there was anything between herself and Sherlock in a romantic sense, as she herself had first thought upon hearing and seeing his smug, knowing expression. In her experience, people did seem to assume that a man and woman must automatically have some sort of romance going on if they interact with each other closely; of course that wasn't the case here, not with either Sherlock or John. But she didn't like the look in Lestrade's eye as he regarded her; he was far to knowing for her liking. And what was that about 'mutual convince?' Of course it was convenient for both herself and Sherlock, they were able to combine their talents to solve cases, how was that not mutually convenient? But if he was trying to make out like it was something else, he was gravely mistaken. Sherlock would sooner throw himself off a building then find her the slightest bit attractive, while she would reveal herself as James Moriarty's sister to the entire world before she would ever allow herself to fall for Sherlock Holmes. Needless to say, the whole idea was simply too absurd for her to actually entertain.

"Don't you have some donut box to raid, Lestrade?" she asked with mock sweetness, her cool gaze not warming in the slightest, "Or perhaps some boring police report to file?"

Lestrade merely laughed, much to her increasing annoyance, "I'm just saying that you three seem to make a good team," he said, using an almost placating tone, though the effect was rather ruined by the amusement still colouring his words, "It's good, it's nice to see you and Sherlock working together, getting along…"

"For now, of course," Amelia scoffed slightly, finally dropping her glare, "I'm sure it's only temporary".

"Just try and keep it up until after you've solved the case, yeah?"

She gave him a cheeky smile, "Always, Lestrade".

Lestrade shook his head and gave her his file, before he turned to keep going back up the hallway, not even pausing to say goodbye to her...Amelia resisted the urge to call him rude, thinking that perhaps shouting it at his back was just a little childish and impropriate for the morgue, though technically she wasn't in the morgue right now, so did it still count as being impropriate? She doubted many other people out there had this dilemma. In the end, she kept it to herself and instead went to find Sherlock, which proved incredibly easy as she soon found him in the laboratory that he typically favoured, just around the corner from the morgue. He didn't even grace her with his attention as he sat on one of the small, metal stools with his phone held between his palms, his thumbs busy tapping away at the tiny keys.

Amelia allowed the double doors to swing shut behind her, observing him as she began to approach him, edging around and between the two long laboratory benches that ran almost the length of the room in the middle, covered in lab equipment, though it was all very neat and tidy, clearly not currently in use by anyone. It didn't smell quite as thickly of cleaning products and antiseptic in here, though the air was still cool and there was a slight chemical smell to it. Still, he didn't acknowledge her presence as she came to lean back against the bench across from him after slipping the case file safely inside her large handbag, one eyebrow lifted as she crossed her ankles delicately behind each other, leaning her weight back into the table behind her, causing the edge of the bench to bite into her slightly. She ignored it, waiting, and finally he took a deep breath.

"It's obviously poisoning," his cool, smooth voice broke through the silence of the room, though he still didn't look up to her as he continued looking at his phone, "That's evident by the lack of trauma and spots".

"She might have had an aneurism," Amelia pointed out, just for the sake of doing so, even though she herself didn't believe it to be anything but poisoning herself.

He scoffed, "No".

She almost smiled, "I just thought I ought to suggest it," she defended herself lightly, though with little emotion, "So, any ideas as for what poison it might be?"

Sherlock didn't answer, which was very, very telling. Amelia's eyebrow only rose higher as she noted the slight tightening of his lips and the way his typing faulted briefly.

"It's under consideration," he muttered after a long moment of silence.

This time she did smile, "You don't have a clue, do you?"

He pulled his gaze up from his phone to fix her with a dark look, "Are you going to spend all day standing around, Amelia?" he shot back instead of admitting what they both knew.

Amelia rolled her eyes and uncrossed her ankles to straighten herself. She spotted another stool tucked just beneath the bench a little further up from them and moved to grab it, wheeling it back across to where she had originally been standing, dropping herself onto it with a great deal of grace and showiness, dropping her handbag on the floor by her feet. Sherlock was glaring at her, clearly not amused by her display, though she merely smiled right back at him.

"I can't say I've ever seen a poison that causes speckles like those," she remarked, pretending as though she didn't see the irritated flash that crossed his eyes. She considered it for a moment, allowing her eyes to drift away from him, her forehead creasing with thought, "Perhaps she had a bad reaction to it?"

"I should imagine so, considering she's dead".

Amelia actually had to fight back the urge to laugh at his dry comment, feeling rather shocked with herself at the fact that he had actually managed to make her amused. It was not something to be laughing about, she mentally berated herself as she desperately tried to stop the corner of her painted lips from lifting, but there was just something so amusing about his tone. It had surprised her, not that she was surprised that Sherlock was capable of being funny, she was more shocked that she had automatically felt the urge to giggle.

"That wasn't what I meant," she said, once she thought she was safe from accidently giggling and revealing her amusement, though she thought he might have noticed, his pale blue eyes regarding her closely, "I was thinking more of an allergic reaction. That might explain the spots," he surprised her again by seriously considering her suggestion, his eyes growing unfocused as he seemed to slip deeply into his own thoughts. But Amelia still wasn't completely convinced, even by her own initial theory, "But it didn't really look like a rash, did it?" she frowned and Sherlock's eyes immediately snapped back onto her, "It looked more like…broken blood vessels, but clusters of them in random spots…"

"Petechiae," John's voice cut through the air, causing the detectives to look up in surprise, finding that he had seemingly entered the room while they had been busy puzzling over the curious speckles. Amelia hadn't even heard the door close. He came to stand by them, holding three vials of blood in a blue, gloved covered hand, "It's when capillaries break open beneath the skin, making it look like a bad rash. You can even get it in your mouth and eyelids".

"Causes?" Sherlock eyed him closely.

"Some medications," he said after a moment, thinking over it as he leaned back against the bench next to Amelia's stool, "Antibiotics, antidepressants…some viruses can trigger it, too. Sepsis, scarlet fever, leukaemia. But this is weird," he shook his head, looking slightly perplexed, "I've never seen petechiae this severe, it doesn't usually cover someone's entire body like this".

"Is it usually deadly?" Amelia asked curiously, shifting slightly so that she could look at him better.

"Well…no, not really. It's more a side effect of something then can kill you, like with sepsis. Petechiae won't kill you on its own, it's a secondary".

Amelia nodded slowly, thinking it over. She thought that it made a great deal more sense that Julia Stoner's strange speckles were merely the result of blood vessels beneath the skin being damaged, but what had caused that damage in the first place? And what had killed her? Clearly it was something she had either ingested or been exposed to, something that had been poisoned, but if what John was saying was correct, which she had no doubt it was, then how did you lace something with a substance that caused petechiae if it was typically seen due to an illness or a medication? Of course, for all they knew perhaps Miss Stoner was taking a medication, like antidepressants, that could possibly cause this side effect…but that still didn't explain how she ended up dying, or why it seemed to be so much worse then it ought to be. She sighed heavily, still feeling as though they were horribly clueless.

"Well, that's something, at least," she remarked, though her tone was rather flat, her disappointment evident, "But that doesn't exactly explain how she died, does it?"

"Or why?" John added, frowning.

Sherlock, as ever, didn't so much as give away how he felt about any of it, though Amelia couldn't imagine that he wasn't any less frustrated then they were right now, "We'll go see the family," he decided, reaching for his scarf, while he had removed and dumped on the laboratory table behind him before Amelia had found him, looping it around his throat.

Amelia rose onto her feet and absently smoothed a hand down the front of her dress, bending down to grab her handbag off the floor to swing over the crook of her arm. John, however, made little move to start to follow them.

"You two go ahead," he told them, and Sherlock glanced back to him, "I want to check out these bloods first," he lifted the vials of blood he had collected for them to see, the thick crimson almost completely filling all three vials, darker in colour then one might hope to see in the blood of a living person, "I also want to take a closer look at the body," he continued, looking thoughtful as he lowered the vials, "If we're thinking it was some sort of poison a full skin assessment might turn up something".

Sherlock couldn't seem to find anything to disagree with, merely giving John a nod and turning on his heel, marching out of the room without so much as pausing to see if Amelia would follow. Amelia rolled her eyes at him, smiling as she caught John doing the same thing as she glanced back to him.

"You'll call if anything turns up?" she asked him, though she knew it wasn't exactly necessary to remind him.

He nodded, "I'll catch up with you later".

Amelia smiled and hurried to try and catch up with Sherlock before he managed to get a cab, hardly wishing to add to the environments issues by taking two cabs to the same place. Thankfully, by the time she did manage to catch up to Sherlock, he had been held up slightly by the delay of the lift, his expression filled with impatience when the lift doors finally dinged and slid open before them, just as Amelia had joined him. On the way up, she quickly sent Molly a text, explaining to her what had happened and that they would have to postpone their catch-up for another day, apologising greatly and promising that she would buy her a nice bottle of her favourite wine that they could share on their next girl's night. She couldn't help feeling rather guilty, Molly had gone through a lot lately, and now she was bailing on her, but Molly was far too sweet and understanding. By the time Amelia had settled herself comfortably into the back seat of the cab Sherlock had hailed down for them, Molly had texted her back, assuring her that it was fine and wishing her good luck with their case.

Far too sweet for her own good, that one.

Amelia locked her phone and slipped it back into her handbag, sitting in the foot well next to her feet, turning her attention onto the passing shop fronts and cars as the cab carried them on through London. Like so many times in the past few months, despite her best efforts, Amelia found herself thinking of her brother, though she tried to think of their new case, she couldn't help wondering where James was right now. Was he watching them from afar? Was he setting into motion his next great game? Was he out there right now, hurting someone else? She imagined that all three were completely accurate as to what he was doing right now, the thought made a shiver run down her spin and she shifted slightly in her seat, tugging her coat tighter around herself, regardless of the warming weather outside. She had met many murderers and psychopaths over the years, but none of them gave her the chills like he did.

She had to forcibly shove the thoughts of her psychopathic brother from her mind before she ended up completely distracting herself from the case all together. In an attempt to fix that, she leant down and unzipped her bag, fishing out the file Lestrade had given her before leaving them to their work, flipping the folder open. There was little information contained within the folder, mostly basic information, the victims name and date of birth, address, profession, and some little information about her family.

"Huh," Amelia blinked slightly, feeling quite surprised as she read the little note that had been made by the police about her family. Beside her, Sherlock barely spared her a flicker of his attention, having spent the past ten minutes since they had departed from the hospital sitting with his fingertips pressed together, poised beneath his chin in his customary thinking pose, "Julia's step-father is Doctor Roylott".

Sherlock blinked and turned his head towards her, frowning in confusion, "And that means…?" he trailed off, irritation lacing his tone.

She barely resisted the urge to smirk, to lord it over him just a little bit that she happened to know something that he didn't. Three months ago she would have taken great pleasure in doing just that, just to get a rise out of him and see how far she could press his buttons, but ever since he had trusted her without hesitation in the matter of whether or not she had been working with her brother the entire time, back on that fateful day at that horrid swimming pool, she had been trying to make more of an effort with him. She didn't think they would be friends, exactly, though she imagined it would make life easier if they were, but being civil and respectful could be just as good.

"I'm not surprised you don't know him," she said lightly, containing the small, smug smile that had first threatened to cross her lips. God, the crack she could make right now about not being surprised that someone who didn't know that the Earth went around the sun wouldn't know Doctor Roylott, but she suspected that would only be throwing fuel on the fire that seemed so easily well-lit already when they interacted with each other, "Roylott is pretty famous, actually," she went on, dropping her gaze back onto the file, "He's big in cosmetics, he was on a lot of those morning talk shows a few years back with his anti-aging serum he developed. Ever since then he keeps popping up with a new lotion or cream, he's even got a hair care range and they've started getting into bath salts recently…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, eyeing her, "You seem very knowledgeable, Amelia," he said with a hint of disgust, "You're not a fan, are you?"

"Hardly," she shook her head, shrugging one shoulder, "I just like his products. His company has the most beautiful soaps. Perhaps I'll get you some for Christmas," she shot him a cheeky grin at that.

"Delightful," he said dryly, and Amelia laughed. She pretended not to notice how easy it was to actually like Sherlock when she wasn't trying so hard to keep him at arm's length, "Is there anything else of any relevance to the case in there, Amelia? Or are you not finished fan-girling yet?"

Amelia smirked, glancing over to him with amusement, "Well, someone's definitely in a mood," she commented slyly, "Perhaps you would enjoy a soak with Roylott's French Vanilla and Rose scented bubble bath…"

"Amelia…"

She dropped her smirk, sighing heavily and turning her gaze back onto the file, "God, you sound just like Mycroft when you use that tone…" she pretended not to hear the huff of annoyance that came from him at that, nor the sensation of his glare burning a hole in the side of her face, "Julia apparently lived with her step-father and sister, the sister who found her, obviously".

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed lightly, bringing his finger tips together again and turning his gaze back onto his passenger side window, slightly narrowed in thought.

Amelia resisted against the urge to make a remark that would no doubt cause them to start bickering…though, she found it difficult to suppress the urge, she truly was trying very hard to get along with him. Instead, she turned her gaze back onto the file in her lap, though it proved to hold little else of any significants that she could see. She spent some time looking over the crime scene photos that had been taken, depicting Julia Stoner lying beneath the crisp white duvet of her bed, covered in the familiar red speckles and with her hair still looking almost damp, as she examined the pictures more closely, especially some of the close up ones that had been taken. She looked as though she had showered or had a bath before bed, then fallen asleep with her hair still wet, but brushed off her face. Amelia frowned faintly, looking up from the file, grimacing slightly in distaste as the slightly nauseating sensation that looking up and down in a moving car had triggered in her. It truly was frustrating how little indication to how or why Julia Stoner had died this case provided, though if it was that obvious, why would they have been brought on to the case in the first place?

In the end, she had been forced to close the file, mainly due to how sickly it was making her feel as she tried to spend the rest of the cab ride looking out the front, trying to distract herself from the unpleasant feeling of motion sickness by running the case through her mind, every little detail they had managed to learn thus far…it wasn't exactly a lot to go off on. Julia Stoner had been a seemingly average woman, whose only claim to fame was her step-father, so why would some even wish to murder her? That rather suggested something personal, very personal. An affair, perhaps? A family secret? Money? All of it seemed likely in a case like this one, but it still didn't exactly narrow anything down.

Amelia found herself only more frustrated as the cab turned off down a street, the houses lining both sides, most of them seemingly built around the Victorian, Edwardian era with nice, mature and well-tended to front gardens. It was quite a nice part of London, with little street traffic , two women with large prams and wearing active wear were walking together at a quick pace along the wide footpath that ran along the outside of the houses. The cab pulled up in the middle of the street for Sherlock and Amelia, letting them out as Amelia lifted an eyebrow in surprise, watching as Sherlock moved to pay for the cab…he usually didn't stick around long enough to pay, leaving it up to either John and Amelia to pay while he went strolling off in his big coat, looking all dramatic. She supposed he was capable of being a gentlemen from time to time.

"So…" Amelia began as the cab pulled away from the footpath, heading off down the road. She glanced sideways at Sherlock as they began to head up the short, brick paved driveway of the Stoner/Roylotts family home, which was quite a lovely large, red bricked Edwardian style house with a mature rose garden filling the front garden, "Shall we just agree that I'll start off asking the questions?" she eyed him with a slightly wary gaze, "They're grieving, Sherlock, so a gentle approach might be best…"

Sherlock shot her a look at that, "I'm sure I can behave myself, Amelia," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, yes, of course," she nodded, her tone just as dry as his, lowering it as they neared polished, painted red front door, "I don't know what I was thinking, how absurd of me to be in any way concerned".

"It's not my fault if people are ignorant to the obvious".

"You don't have to point it out so bluntly, though," she shook her head, catching sight of a small doorbell button on the brick wall next to the doorframe, reaching out to press it. A distant, muffled sound of a cheerful chime going off sounded from behind the door. She glanced at Sherlock, when he remained curiously silent, only to find him watching her with slightly narrowed eyes, which was only a little unsettling, "What?" she frowned, subconsciously reaching up to touch her hair, "Is there something on my face? My lipstick isn't bleeding, is it?"

He rolled his eyes at her increasing worrying tone, turning his gaze onto the door before them, "Your vanity is ridiculous, Amelia".

"And you're not vain? For a man who seemingly cares so little for his own appearance, you sure do have quite expensive tastes for clothing. That coat alone coasts more then you rent and I happen to know for a fact that you own several…"

"Have you been going through my wardrobe?" his eyes instantly snapped back to her, narrowed and suspicious.

Amelia smirked, her eyes glimmering wickedly as she didn't even bother to glance at him, "You went through my makeup," she said lightly, just as the door was opened by a very tall and sombre looking man in his mid sixties, grey hair neatly combed and thinning very slightly, while his lined face looked slightly paler than normal. She instantly recognised him as Doctor Grimesby Roylott, though he wasn't anywhere near as smiley as she was used to seeing on TV. She instantly dropped the smirk and grew serious, "Doctor Roylott, I'm Amelia Wilson and this is Sherlock Holmes…" she gestured to Sherlock as she spoke, "We're here on behalf of Scotland Yard…"

"Yes, yes, of course," Roylott nodded, understanding filling his worn features, "You're the, er, detectives, yes?"

"Consulting detectives, Doctor Roylott," Sherlock corrected, eyeing the man sharply.

"Right, right…" he gave them a weak smile, "Please, come in".

He stepped aside from the door and let them step over the threshold, Amelia going first, casting her eyes quickly around the nice, but rather ordinary entrance hallway. The house had been modernised slightly over the past few years, but most of the character details were still all intact, with beautiful original dark red and white tiles covering the floor and high ceilings. She tried to spot anything out of place, any hint of clue that the police might have missed during their own search of the house, but she spied nothing of interest as she followed Doctor Roylott down the hallway and through into the living room of house, painted in yellow and white, with a comfortable looking couch and an old, leather armchair, positioned so that they were facing the old, original fireplace on the opposite side of the room. A woman in her early thirties rose from the couch, her dark brown hair tied in a ponytail and her eyes rimmed red from crying and lack of sleep, judging by the dark circles under her hazel eyes. She looked very much like her sister; Amelia suspected immediately that they were perhaps twins, the realisation making a twinge of sadness ripple through her.

"Helen…" Roylott said to the young woman, who was watching Sherlock and Amelia with a detached sort of curiosity. He reached out to lightly grasp her arm, like any other supporting father figure might, giving her a gentle look, the sort of look one might give to someone when they were afraid that they might simply break at the slightest word, "This is Amelia Wilson and Sherlock Holmes, they're consulting detectives".

"Hello," Helen greeted them weakly, her voice slightly horse. She was toying at the cuff of her jumper, Amelia noted with sympathy, no doubt wishing to simply be left alone to grieve and try to come to terms with her sister's death on her own, without police and strangers intruding.

"We're still quite shocked by…well, everything," Roylott explained to the detectives, glancing back to them with an almost apologetic look, moving to sit down on the couch, beside his step-daughter.

"That's perfectly understandable," Amelia assured them, giving them a smile that she hoped look understanding and not forced. Oh, she hated this, she hated having to witness in person the impact that the loss of someone had on the family and friends of the victim, she didn't think it would ever get easier to deal with, but while she could easily avoid all of that by sticking to insurance fraud cases and cheating, she never felt more fulfilled then when she was able to solve an innocent persons murder and bring some closure and justice to their family and friends. She crossed the room to sit in the armchair, looking back across to the pair, while Sherlock began his prowl of the room, peering intently at the photographs proudly on display on the mantle of the fireplace. She left him to it, focusing on Roylott and Helen, "I'm sorry, but we have a few questions we would like to ask, if that's alright…"

"We already spoke to the police," Roylott frowned faintly, glancing distractedly at Sherlock, who had paused to eye a photo more closely.

She nodded, giving them a reassuring look, "Yes, but we might have questions the police wouldn't think to ask, Doctor Roylott," she said, noting the man's reaction and filing it away, though it likely didn't mean anything. Most people seem confused, even a little uneasy, when detectives or police began asking more questions when they had already endured a no doubt lengthy questioning over the matter before, "Helen…" she switched her gaze onto the other woman, who couldn't be much older than her, trying to give her a patient, kind look…John was much better at this, she thought, "I know this might be difficult, but could you tell us about the night your sister died? Anything you can think of, it might help".

Helen almost seemed to hug herself, but she nodded firmly, looking almost determined to try and help in anyway that she might be able to, even if it was plain to see how much it pained her to have to relieve the memories.

"I didn't see much of her that night," she explained to Amelia, while Doctor Roylott placed a supportive hand on her back, giving her an encouraging look, "Julia…she went out with a couple of girlfriends, she left around… eight, I think, then I heard her come home around ten thirty. She'd just had a few drinks, she wasn't drunk or anything…We chattered a bit, then she went up to have a bath before bed," she shrugged, sniffing slightly as Sherlock finally turned away from the photos, his hands clasped behind his back as he eyed Helen intently, "I went to bed, and then the next morning…" she trailed off and shook her head, blinking back tears.

"Julia was a beautiful person, Miss Wilson," Doctor Roylott told Amelia, looking close to breaking down himself, though he was doing a slightly better job of controlling himself, "I still can't believe she's…" he cleared his throat, while Helen slipped a tissue out of her jeans pocket, dabbing at her eyes.

"Had Julia been ill recently?" Sherlock cut in, slightly more blunt then Amelia would have preferred, making her wince slightly as she flickered her eyes over towards him. He was eyeing Roylott and Helen with a cool, emotionless expression.

"Um…" Helen sniffed, lowering the tissue, still scrunched up in her fist to glance over to him, "Well, she'd been complaining of feeling a bit rundown lately, but Julia said it was probably just stress," she glanced across to Amelia, who lifted her eyebrows slightly, "She was getting married in six weeks time".

Amelia blinked slightly at that, looking quickly across to Sherlock, who also looked rather startled before he could conceal it. She frowned and turned back towards Helen, "Julia wasn't wearing a engagement ring…" she said slowly, knowing for a fact that she hadn't noticed any ring, nor any sign of a ring having been removed from Julia's finger, and that was something she certainly would have noticed, Sherlock too.

"She only just got engaged," she informed them, "And the ring was too big, so it was off getting resized".

Just then, before Amelia even had a chance to say anything more, Sherlock's phone began ringing. He immediately reached into his pocket and fished out the device, briefly checking the screen, before casting Helen and Roylott a thin, fake smile.

"Excuse me," he moved to head for the door, glancing at Amelia as he past her, "Amelia".

Amelia struggled not to roll her eyes, knowing that she had the eyes of their clients on her right now and it wasn't exactly very professional of her to be seen rolling her eyes at her colleagues. She gave the pair an apologetic look and quickly excused herself, before following him out into the hallway outside, shutting the door behind her, coming to stand next to him as he answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

"John," he said in greeting, "Have you found something?"

"Er, yeah, I think so," John's voice came over, sounding as though he was frowning on his end, "I just got the blood toxicology back and there is traces of poison in Julia's blood, but apparently there's no record on the system of what poison it might be…"

"That's still a good start," Amelia said in an attempt to be a bit more positive, while Sherlock looked rather frustrated and annoyed at the news, "We know now that it was poison, which is more than we had before," she sighed slightly, frowning as she glanced at Sherlock, "What sort of poison could be picked up in Julia's blood, but yet not seemingly ever have been recorded before?"

Sherlock met her eyes and she knew he was thinking along the same line that she was: if it wasn't a poison that they already knew, then that must mean that someone had made it. Or maybe the poison was one on record, but it had been metabolised by the body so quickly, it had changed the results, causing it to be too weak for the toxicology test to accurately pick it up. Or maybe she was totally wrong and just didn't understand how poisons worked and were detected within the body, and was getting the science completely wrong. She was a criminal psychology graduate, she wasn't a chemist, like Sherlock, or a doctor, like John, and while she had the practical experience dealing with the basic types of poisons, she was laughably far from an expert.

"That's what I was thinking, too," John agreed, his voice grim as he pulled their attention back onto the slim phone held aloft between the detectives in Sherlock's hand, "But there's something else I found when I was looking over her body again. Julia has two tiny puncture marks along the side of her right ankle, looks kind of like a bite. I was thinking it might have been a snake. Maybe we should try checking around the local zoos…"

"Send us a picture of the marks," Sherlock cut across him, his eyes lighting up slightly with interest at the development, "We're almost done with the family".

"Got anything more from them?"

"Only that Julia was engaged," Amelia replied, still finding it rather shocking that they hadn't known that before now. It hadn't been mentioned in the police report, meaning that it seemed likely that the police hadn't either known about the fiancé or had yet to get around to speaking to him before Lestrade had brought them the case, either way it was a little odd. The lack of ring or evidence of a ring having been worn was also curious, but perhaps it was a recent engagement…a recent, very sudden engagement with a rather quickly approaching wedding, which in itself was a little puzzling given that most people tended to wait a while before rushing for the alter. She sighed slightly, "But aside from that there's little else of relevance. The stepfather and sister are still quite shocked over it all, as you would expect".

"I bet," John said grimly, sympathy lacing his tone. Sherlock rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling; almost looking physically pained by having to listen to this sentimental drivel…Amelia shot him a sharp look. John cleared his throat, pulling their attention back to the phone, "I'll send you that picture and then I thought I might ring around some of the zoos, just in case there really is a snake on the loose around London".

"Stranger things have happened," the brunet commented lightly, absently wondering when the idea of an escaped venomous snake on the loose around London streets had become an actual possible killer for her to consider seriously, rather than something she would have likely have dismissed as absurd before. Oh, right, it was right around the same time that she started hanging out with Sherlock Holmes…

Sherlock didn't even bother to say 'Goodbye,' instead he simply hit the little red phone along the top edge of his BlackBerry keys and ended the call, meeting Amelia's gaze as he kept the phone held aloft in his hand. Neither spoke as they waited for John to send the picture and when the phone finally gave a rather generic ding to alert the message, Sherlock immediately opened the message to reveal a picture of two very small puncture wounds along the side of what was obviously a woman's pale ankle, lightly pink in colour against the white of Julia's flesh. Amelia frowned faintly as Sherlock enlarged the image, regarding it intently.

"It does look rather like a snake bite, doesn't it?" she glanced at the curly haired man beside her.

"Hmm," he hummed lightly, his gaze still narrowed intently on the photo. He suddenly locked the phone, making the screen go black and blank, and met her eyes again, "It's a start".

Amelia lifted an eyebrow at that, finding herself oddly amused by his rather abrupt manner as he turned on his heel and began to head back across towards the living room door. He really was one of the most curious people she had ever met, infuriating? God, yes. Fascinating…more so then anyone she had ever known. But she wasn't about to go around admitting that to anyone, even upon pain of death or being possibly forced to live for a month under the same roof as Mycroft, but she could inwardly admit that Sherlock Holmes was a very intriguing person…when he wasn't making one wish to commit homicide. She shook her head and quickly followed after him back into the living room, but rather than going back to his prowl of the room, Sherlock came to stand in the middle of it, facing the still rather tearful eyed Helen and sombre Doctor Roylott who remained seated on the sofa. She came to stand beside Sherlock, adapting what she hoped was a sympathetic, but professional expression, though inwardly she was slightly concerned just what Sherlock might be intending to say next.

"Did Julia own any pets, by chance?" he asked them with an eyebrow lifted, though his gaze was cool and focused as he regarded them. His tone might have been mistaken for being casual, if it wasn't for the way he was looking so closely between the pair, "A snake, for instance?"

Instantly, Doctor Roylott broke into a deep frown, "Julia hated snakes," he told them firmly, while Helen dabbed at her nose, "But her fiancé loves the things. He even has a couple in his flat. Julia was always complaining about them, wasn't she, Helen?" he glanced across to his step-daughter.

Helen sniffed slightly, "Julia used to say she was afraid one of them might get loose and try attacking her in her sleep," she added, her voice sounding slightly more congested now as she lowered the tissue balled up in her hand.

Sherlock and Amelia carefully glanced at each other, exchanging a quick look between each other, neither needing to speak to know that they were both thinking along the same lines. But a part of Amelia wondered if it felt just a little to convenient that the fiancé should apparently own snakes and that Julia should have seemingly have been possibly killed by a bite from one, though it was far more likely than a snake being on the loose around London, she had to admit. Still, something about it bugged her, but it was a lead, nonetheless. She focused back onto Helen and Doctor Roylott, giving them a professional smile.

"I don't suppose you have an address for Julia's fiancé?" she asked them, raising eyebrow.

….

Percy Armitage was obviously much less well-off then his bride-to-be had been, living in a rather small flat on the third floor of a redesigned Victorian townhouse that had been converted into flats at some point in the last few decades, positioned on a street lined by a number of cars that were forced to park along the edge of the narrow footpaths, leaving barely enough room down the middle of the road for even one car to drive down the street. John was already waiting out the front of the house when Amelia and Sherlock's cab pulled up outside it, letting them out. Amelia paid this time, before quickly joining the boys on the doorstep in time for Sherlock to ring the doorbell for Percy's flat.

The man who greeted them was not quite what Amelia might have picked after seeing Julia's body, she had half-expected to meet a tall, well-groomed man in his early to mid thirties, but instead Percy Armitage turned out to be rather average. He wasn't a very tall man, barely taller than John, even Amelia was taller than John without heels on, with an average, if slightly softer build, and dark brown hair that looked as though it was in need of a decent cut as it was just shy of brushing the top of his shoulders, but it was his full beard that was possibly the most surprising thing about his appearance. Full and bushy, obscuring his lips almost completely from view. At least Amelia wasn't the only one surprised by Julia's fiancé, John actually blinked slightly before managing a smile that was equal parts friendly and sympathetic.

Percy allowed them into his flat, which was rather messy, leading them down a short hallway and into a small sitting room that had a dark leather couch along the left wall, while a medium sized flat screen TV sat on an old, chipped wooden unit in the corner, while next to that a large glass tank sat up against the wall. The tank bottom half had been lined with dirt and sand, while the back and side walls of the glass had been lined by a fake rock and a large length of what appeared to be a tree limb had been placed in the middle of the enclosure. A large, light brown coloured snake seemed to be curled tightly around the wood in a ball, basking beneath the glow of a heat lamp positioned above the top of the tank. Amelia couldn't help her eyes lingering warily on the snake as she delicately sat down on the edge of the couch cushions next to John, while Percy remained standing across from them, his arms crossed over his black, ACDC T-shirt.

"Julia and I had been going out for a year," Percy told them, after John had asked him how long he and Julia had been dating for. He shifted slightly awkwardly on the spot, seemingly uncomfortable under their attention, "We met at a club a couple of my mates were playing at, and just got talking, you know?" he shrugged slightly, looking away from them, focusing on something scattered across the mess of old papers and car magazines littering his coffee table between them, "She was…great, really great. Funny and a bit of free spirit, not at all like you'd think she was when you see what her step-father's like…"

"You didn't get along with Doctor Roylott?" Amelia asked curiously, eyeing him closely.

"More like he didn't approve of me," he corrected, scoffing slightly as he looked back up to them, "I reckon he thought that Julia could have done better, but it wasn't up to him. Julia and I just clicked…sure, we had our disagreements, but we worked".

"Disagreements?" John repeated slowly, lifting an eyebrow, glancing up from the small notepad he had leaning against the top of his knees, having been doing his usual scribbling, "Disagreements about…your snakes?" he gestured with the end of his pen towards the enclosure off to the side of them, his gaze lingering on the curled up snake with a small tightening of his lips.

"Oh, yeah. Julia hated them, but she was getting used to them…" he laughed suddenly, but it carried a note of sadness to it as his eye grew distant, "Still couldn't get her to try holding one, though".

Sherlock, who had been peering closely at another glass enclosure on the other side of the living room, straightened suddenly with his hands still clasped behind his back, turning his pale gaze onto Percy, "Mr Armitage," he began, narrowing his eyes carefully on the man as Percy looked across to him, "Do you keep any snakes that are venomous?"

"Well…yeah, I've got one," Percy admitted, frowning slightly as he threw a slightly startled look across to John and Amelia, who merely peered back at him. He reached up to rub uncomfortably at the back of his neck, shifting again under the weight of their eyes, "I've got a Black Adder, but she's harmless if you handle her right and I've had snakes since I was five, I know what I'm doing".

"Is there any chance that she could have bitten Julia?" Amelia questioned. There was really no way to try asking something like that one delicately and in her experience, sometimes it was best to simply ask something bluntly, though she kept her tone carefully free from anything that could be considered accusatory.

His eyes widened and a look of horror filled his features, "You…you don't think one of my snakes could have…" he hesitated, looking almost physically ill, "…killed Julia?"

"It's a possibility," John said gently, but gravely, regarding the man with an understanding look that Amelia couldn't help envying slightly.

"No, it can't be," he insisted, shaking his head as some fight seemed to spark in his eyes again, and he looked sharply around at each of them, first at John and his kind face, then Amelia with her careful expression as she calculated his demeanour, and then over to Sherlock, who was eyeing the man with sharp, narrowed but emotionless eyes. He looked caught between being panicked and horrified by the thought that they thought that he might have anything to do with his fiancé's death, "Look, Julia would never have gone near any of my snakes. Never".

"Are you sure it didn't escape?"

"I'm not an idiot, there's no way any of my snakes could get out, especially not my only venomous one. I'm telling you, if Julia was killed by a snake it wasn't one of mine, it can't have been".

"Perhaps it wasn't an accident," Sherlock spoke up, his tone low and calm, though his gaze was fixed intently on Percy. Percy seemed to stiffen, paling as he gaped at the curly haired detective in blatant shock, while Amelia straightened in her seat to eye the man's reaction closely, and John gave a small sigh from beside her, ducking his head briefly as though uncomfortable by the tension filling the air around them. Sherlock seemed not to notice any of this, however, not taking his hard eyes off Percy, "Did you kill Julia Stoner, Mr Armitage?"

"No!" Percy exclaimed, his voice sounding almost strangled by the rush to deny the accusation, "I love Julia, we were getting married, for Christ's sake…"

"People kill people all the time," he cut across him dismissively, shaking his head, "What does love have to do with any thing?" Amelia and John exchanged a look filled with exasperation, while he continued on with a small shrug, "Maybe you felt inferior to her wealth and family? Maybe you got angry one day when she insisted that you choose between her and your snakes? Maybe she…"

"No, I never hurt her!" he shouted, taking a couple of steps towards Sherlock, anger and disgust filling his features. John and Amelia quickly stood, but if they had wished to try to move in Percy's path to block him from reaching Sherlock if he meant to take a swing at him, they found themselves hindered by the coffee table separating them. Sherlock, however, remained completely calm, not moving an inch as Percy neared him, merely regarding the shorter man with something vaguely close to interest, "I didn't have anything to do with Julia's death," he insisted again, more quietly, but his voice raw with emotion as he came to stand directly before Sherlock, glaring at him angrily, "I loved her, Mr Holmes, I'd never have hurt her. We fought, sure, we disagreed about stuff, but I didn't kill her".

"Mr Armitage," Amelia said hastily, carefully stepping around the corner of the glass coffee table, pulling the man's attention back over to her as she carefully took a few steps closer to him. She didn't think he was about to actually punch Sherlock, not yet, anyway, but she was a little afraid that Sherlock might open his mouth and say something that really would earn himself a black eye from the obviously grieving man. Watching his reaction had made her almost positive that he wasn't their killer, but he was still the only one with the actual possible means to have killed Julia, that meant that he had to remain their number one suspect. She cleared her throat, shooting Sherlock a warning look to keep his mouth shut for a moment, before focusing back on Percy, "Let's just…calm down for a moment, okay?" she tried, giving him a small, tense smile, "We're not here to accuse you of anything, we're just trying to find out what happened to Julia, as I'm sure you wish to know too. Just…for a moment allow us to entertain the possibility that it was one of your snakes…"

"It wasn't," Percy told them, suddenly looking very tired and weak, his shoulders sagging as he looked back at her with sad, bloodshot eyes, "Miss Wilson, I know you're just doing your job, but I'm telling you whatever killed Julia it wasn't one of my snakes. She hated them and even if my adder had gotten out while she was here that afternoon, half of London would have known about it by the way she would have screamed if she'd seen it out of her tank. It just isn't possible".

Amelia glanced at Sherlock, who was frowning as he eyed the side of Percy's face, and then she glanced over her shoulder to where John was watching by the couch, looking rather conflicted himself. She sighed and gave Percy another strained smile. She was positive it wasn't Percy Armitage, it wasn't just a gut feeling now, she honestly couldn't see any motive for the man to have killed Julia, aside from perhaps the love of his reptiles, but she could also see the raw pain and grief on his face. He loved Julia; she could see that, she couldn't imagine him killing her. But some people were just that good at lying.

We're almost done with the Speckled Blonde, probably just one more chapter to go. I'm almost disappointed; I've really loved writing this case. It's one of my favourites from John's blog. Please tell me what you thought, please review :)