A Study in Pink (Part 1)

In a bedsit somewhere in London...

John Watson is having a nightmare. He is reliving his Army days and his team is under fire somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfire continues. Finally he jolts awake and sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realizes that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back onto his pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories. Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.

Some time later, he sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It's still dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on the other side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily, then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.

DAY TIME...

The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a dressing gown over his night wear, hobbles across the room leaning heavily on his cane. In his other hand he has a mug of tea and an apple, both of which he puts down onto the desk. The mug bears the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, we see that he also has a pistol in there. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, 'The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson'. The rest of the page is blank.

Psychotherapist office...

John is at his psychotherapist's office and he sits in a chair opposite her.

"How's your blog going?" Ella asked.

"Yeah, good." John said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Very good."

"You haven't written a word, have you?"

"You just wrote, 'Still has trust issues.'" John said, pointing to Ella's notepad on her lap.

"And you read my writing upside down. D'you see what I mean?" Ella asked, while John smiles awkwardly. "John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."

John gazes back at her, his face full of despair, "Nothing happens to me."

(Jared's POV)

OCTOBER 12TH...

I'm walking around London with my phone near my ear as I have Shirai Kuroko on the other end as I am talking to her.

"World War III." I said, drinking some Mountain Dew from a bottle. "I still can't believe it is happening. Heard anything from Mikoto?"

"You mean sissy?" Shirai asked, her voice coming out of my phone. "No. I know she is in Russia probably helping that ape."

"And what's wrong with Touma again?"

"Everything! I can't stand seeing those two together!"

"I dread the day I'm going to see Clara Oswald with Danny Pink together."

"But they aren't together yet from what you've told me. Isn't it a bit early for that?"

Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many storeys above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid and puts the capsule into his mouth. Later, he is writhing on the floor in agony. We can now see that the office in which his dying body is lying is empty of furniture.

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE...

Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey's wife is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.

"My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him." Margaret Patterson said, tearfully as she read from her statement.

Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.

NOVEMBER 26TH...

I have been walking around London with me talking to Mikoto Misaka over the phone.

"What is it?" Mikoto asked, her voice coming out of my phone. "I'm a bit busy."

"When will you be able to get to London?" I asked, leaning against the Shard.

"Not anytime soon. I am falling out of a plane with Index and her cat."

"You mean Sphynx. He's a cute kitty."

"So you're dealing with the Magic God Othinus. Right." I said, ending the call with Mikoto. "Good luck, Mikoto Misaka."

I am looking down at the Gekota charm strap at the side of my iPhone 12 Mini case as at this point in time, I consider Mikoto Misaka, Shirai Kuroko, Uiharu Kazari, and Saten Ruiko good friends of mine. Like how I consider Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao Long family from Remnant.

Some unspecified time later, Jimmy sits crying and clutching a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs. We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports centre overlooking a sports court.

The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline 'Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre'.

JANUARY 27TH...

I am on the phone with Uiharu as I'm walking around London, with a crepé in my hand that has chocolate syrup, strawberries, and bananas inside.

"What did you get today?" Uiharu asked, her voice coming out of my phone.

"A crepé. It is a bit boring today." I said, sadly.

"How caught up are you with events involving Academy City while you're in London?"

"Very well. I wish I could go over there."

"You can come visit at any time."

Some unspecified time later, Beth stands inside a portacabin on a building site and sobs hysterically. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE...

Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters. I am in the police press conference room with my TARDIS key around my neck.

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now." Donovan said.

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" Reporter 1 asked.

"Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of..." Lestrade said.

"But you can't have serial suicides." Reporter 1 said, interrupting Lestrade.

"Well, apparently you can."

"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" Reporter 2 asked.

"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." Lestrade said.

Everybody's mobile phone, including my phone, trills a text alert simultaneously. As the reporters and I look at our phones, each message reads:

Wrong!

"This is so funny to watch. Especially with me knowing everything about this case." I said, laughing a lot. "God, this is such a slow adventure. I wish I was in Academy City where things are more eventful. But knowing that, it's probably dangerous."

Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone, "If you've all got texts, please ignore them."

"Just says, 'Wrong'." Reporter 1 said.

"Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." Donovan said.

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?" Reporter 2 asked.

"As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's an ... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating..." Lestrade said.

"Liar. You're lying through your teeth, Greg." I said, still laughing as I'm leaning against the wall.

Everybody's mobile, including mine, trills another text alert and again each message reads:

Wrong!

"Says, 'Wrong' again." Reporter 1 said.

"Thank you, Uiharu. Good work." I said, with the Torchwood Eye-5 contact lenses in my eyes.

I looked down at my phone as it's funny watching it from this perspective while Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally.

"One more question." Donovan said, to the reporters.

"Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" Reporter 3 asked.

"I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered." Lestrade said.

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"

"Well, don't commit suicide." Lestrade said, as the reporter looks at him in shock.

Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning. "'Daily Mail.'"

Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Again the mobiles, including mine, trill our text alerts, and once more each message reads:

Wrong!

My phone got a text from Sherlock Holmes and I looked down at it to show to Uiharu who I know is watching the communications link to the Torchwood contact lenses, as the message reads:

Tell Uiharu. Thank you.

SH

But Lestrade's phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:

You know where to find me.

SH

Looking exasperated, Lestrade puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters as he stands up, "Thank you."

(Open POV)

New Scotland Yard...

Shortly afterwards, Lestrade and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.

"You've got to stop him doing that. He's making us look like idiots." Donovan said.

"Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him. I don't know if it is those people from Academy City or not helping him." Lestrade said.

RUSSELL SQUARE PARK...

John is limping briskly through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a man sitting on a bench, the man stares after him, clearly recognising him. He calls out.

"John! John Watson!" Mike said, and John turns back to him as Mike stands up and hurries towards him, smiling. "Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together."

"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike." John said, while he takes Mike's offered hand and shakes it. "Hello, hi."

"Yeah, I know. I got fat!" Mike said, grinning and gesturing to himself.

"No." John said, trying to sound convincing.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?"

"I got shot." John said, awkwardly.

They both look embarrassed.

A little later they have bought take-away coffees and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park. Mike looks at John worriedly. Oblivious, John takes a sip from his coffee then looks across to his old colleague.

"Are you still at Bart's, then?" John asked.

"Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" Mike said, as they both laughed. "What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?"

"I can't afford London on an Army pension." John said.

"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson ..." John said, uncomfortably before he stops.

Mike awkwardly looks away and drinks his coffee. John switches his own cup to his right hand and looks down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he tries to control the tremor that has started.

Mike looks round at John again, "Couldn't Harry help?"

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen!" John said, sarcastically.

"I dunno – get a flatshare or something?" Mike asked, shrugging.

"Come on – who'd want me for a flatmate?" John asked, and Mike chuckles thoughtfully. "What?"

"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

"Who was the first?"

(Jared's POV)

ST BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL MORGUE...

Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. I am standing behind Sherlock playing Pokémon Platinum on my Nintendo DS Lite.

Sherlock sniffs, "How fresh?"

Pathologist Molly Hooper walks over, "Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

"Molly, how nice was he?" I asked, looking at Molly.

"Very nice. You would have liked him, Jared." Molly said, when Sherlock is zipping up the bag. "How's your game?"

Sherlock straightens, turns to Molly and I while he smiles falsely.

"It's nice being able to explore Sinnoh again." I said, smiling. "I forgot how much I loved the multiplayer features, Molly."

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop." Sherlock said.

Shortly afterwards the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its back on the table.

"Sherlock is amazing, isn't he?" I asked, looking at Molly. "You love him, don't you?"

"I do." Molly said, sadly. "He's an amazing person. But maybe I should see other people in the meantime."

In the observation room next door, Molly and I watch and the both of us flinch while Sherlock flogs the body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, but our faces are also full of admiration.

"If that's what you feel like is best." I said, frowning. "He is amazing. Him and his future partner."

"Partner?" Molly asked.

Molly and I walk back into the room and as Sherlock finishes and straightens up, breathless, with the brunette going over to him.

"So, bad day, was it?" Molly asked, jokingly.

"Besides him pissing off Greg and Sally." I said, smiling. "I think it has been a bad day for him."

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me." Sherlock said, ignoring my banter with Molly as he gets out a notebook and starts writing in it.

"Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished..." Molly said, sadly.

Sherlock glances across to Molly as he is writing, then does a double-take and frowns at her, "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I, er, I refreshed it a bit." Molly said, nervously.

"Gah. Why is this harder than the Doctor and River Song?" I asked, as Molly smiled at Sherlock flirtatiously. "He's so oblivious."

"I know." Molly said, and Sherlock gives her a long oblivious look, then goes back to writing in his notebook. "I wish things were easier."

"Sorry, you were saying?" Sherlock asked, looking over at Molly.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." Molly said, gazing at Sherlock, intently.

Sherlock puts away his notebook, "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

Sherlock walks away.

"... Okay. How long will it take for Sherlock to say those three words to me?" Molly asked, looking at me.

"Spoilers." I said, letting out a sigh. "You'll find out in due time. I hate knowing everything about this. I do."

BART'S LAB...

Sherlock is standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. I am in the back of the room, still playing on my Nintendo DS Lite. Mike knocks on the door and brings John in with him. Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again.

John limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment, "Well, bit different from my day."

"You've no idea!" Mike said, chuckling.

"Mike or Jared, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Sherlock said, sitting down.

"And what's wrong with the landline?"

"Nothing's wrong with the landline or making calls off a cellphone." I said, placing my Nintendo DS Lite back inside my pocket. "Sherlock prefers his own way of doing things like me."

"Yes. Exactly. I prefer to text." Sherlock said, while I removed the TARDIS key around my neck.

"Sorry. It's in my coat." Mike said.

John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone, "Er, here. Use mine."

"Oh. Thank you." Sherlock said, glancing briefly at Mike, he stands up and walks towards John.

Mike introduces him, "It's an old friend of mine, John Watson."

"Nice to meet you, John." I said, walking up to John to look at him. "Here comes the best part."

"What do you mean by best part?" John asked, while Sherlock reaches him and takes the blonde's phone from him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jared. I'm an ally of Sherlock Holmes. Far from friends at the moment." I said, while Sherlock is turning partially away from John, the consulting detective flips open the keypad and starts to type on it. "Sherlock is missing that human connection to keep him grounded."

"I see..."

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked, as John frowns.

"You're right. This is always the best part." Mike said, looking at me.

Nearby, Mike and I smile knowingly.

"Yup. This is the start of a beautiful friendship." I said, and John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type. "I waited ages before I got to the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

"Sorry?" John asked.

"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked, while he briefly raises his eyes to John's before looking back to the phone.

John hesitates, then looks across to Mike and me, confused. Mike and I just smiles smugly.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...? Jared, did you tell Sherlock....?" John asked, as Sherlock looks up as Molly comes into the room holding a mug of coffee.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." Sherlock said, shutting down John's phone and hands it back while Molly brings the mug over to him. He takes it and looks closely at Molly and noticed that her mouth is paler again. "What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me." Molly said, smiling awkwardly at Sherlock.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." Sherlock said, turning and walking back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.

"... Okay." Molly said, turning and she heads back towards the door.

"Next time, Molly." I said, happily. "Maybe Christmas."

"Christmas? Oh. This is one of your hints, isn't it?"

"Go and try lipstick then. Now wasn't the best time." I said, walking towards Molly to give her a hug.

"Thank you for the advice." Molly said, and I let go of Molly.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked, while John looks round at Molly but she's on her way out the door.

John glances at Mike and I who are still smiling smugly, and finally realises that Sherlock is talking to him, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking." Sherlock said, typing on a laptop keyboard as he talks. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He looks round at John. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

Sherlock throws a hideously false smile at John, who looks at him blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike.

"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" John asked.

"Not a word." Mike said.

"How about you Jared, did you tell him about me?" John asked, looking at me.

"Nope. I didn't want to mess up the timeline. So I didn't tell him about you." I said, smiling.

"I don't know what you mean by timeline." John said, turning to Sherlock again. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

"I did." Sherlock said, picking up his greatcoat and putting it on. "Told Mike this morning and Jared yesterday that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked.

Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. Jared already has a place somewhere else in London, so he won't be living with us." Sherlock said, walking towards John. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, Sherlock walks past John and heads for the door.

"Is that it?" John asked, turning to look at Sherlock.

I walked past John and headed for the door too with Sherlock turning back from the door and strolls closer to John again.

"Is that what?" Sherlock asked.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" John asked.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, while John smiled in disbelief, looking across to Mike and I for help, but his friend and I just continued to smile as he looked at Sherlock.

John turns back to the younger man, "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

Sherlock looks closely at John for a moment before speaking, "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock asked, smugly.

Sherlock turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through with me, but then leans back into the room again.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street. Come on, Jared." Sherlock said, as he click-winks at John, then looks round at Mike. "Afternoon."

Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room with me. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief.

Mike smiles and nods to John, "Yeah. He's always like that. And so is Jared, since his friends are all around the multiverse."

(Open POV)

LATER....

John has returned to his bedsit. Sitting down on the bed, he takes out his mobile phone and flicks through the menu to find Messages Sent. The last message reads:

If brother has green ladder

arrest brother.

SH

Puzzled, John looks at the message for a long moment, then looks across to the table where his laptop is lying. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the table. Shortly afterwards, he has called up a search website called Quest and types "Sherlock Holmes" into the search box.

In an unknown location, a woman wearing a pink overcoat and pink high-heeled shoes slowly reaches down with a trembling hand towards a clear glass bottle which is standing on the bare floorboards and which contains three large capsules. Her fingers close around the bottle and she slowly lifts it off the floor, her hand still shaking.

(Jared's POV)

BAKER STREET...

John limps along the road and reaches the door marked 221B just as a black cab pulls up at the kerb behind him. John knocks on the door as Sherlock gets out of the cab.

"Hello." Sherlock said, reaching in through the window of the cab and hands some money to the driver. "Thank you."

John turns towards Sherlock as he walks overc "Ah, Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock, please." Sherlock said, while he shook hands with John.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John said.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no. I ensured it." Sherlock said, smiling at John as the front door is opened by Mrs Hudson, who opens her arms to the younger man.

I am standing behind Mrs Hudson drinking a cup of matcha tea, "Hey Sherlock. I was telling Mrs Hudson about my adventures across all of time and space."

"The adventure involving the Queen and the Titanic flying above Buckingham Palace on Christmas Day was interesting." Mrs Hudson said. "Sherlock, hello."

Sherlock turns and walks into her arms, hugging Mrs Hudson briefly, then steps back and presents John to her.

"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock said.

"Hello." Mrs Hudson said.

"How do?" John asked.

"Come in." Mrs Hudson said, gesturing John inside.

"Thank you."

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah." Mrs Hudson said.

The men and I go inside and Mrs Hudson closes the door.

"So you're similar to Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said, while Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor landing, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs. "Always looking for trouble to save the day."

"Not always." I said, as John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. "I do want peace and quiet every once in a while."

"But was settling down with Sherlock your solution to that?" Mrs Hudson asked, and John followed Sherlock in and looked around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it. "I don't know if solving crimes is the peaceful life you want."

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John said.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock said, looking around the flat happily. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out...Oh." John said, simultaneously as Sherlock, and he pauses, embarrassed, when he realizes what the consulting detective was saying. "So this is all ..."

"Yeah. Sherlock left this place in a messy state." I said, sadly. "He's like me and Ruby sometimes."

"And Ruby is...?"

"My best friend. But Sherlock, clean up the place at least for your roommate."

"Fair point. Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock said, and he walks across the room and makes a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he puts them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi tool knife into them.

John has noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifts his cane to point at it, "That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'..." Sherlock said.

"221B Baker Street is nice." I said, smiling. "Was Mikoto and her friends here earlier?"

Mrs Hudson and I had followed them into the room.

"They were. They were all sweet girls." Mrs Hudson said, picking up a cup and saucer while Sherlock takes off his greatcoat and scarf. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two." John said.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." Mrs Hudson said, confidentially, dropping her voice to a whisper by the end of the sentence. "Mrs Turner next door's got married ones."

John looks across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John are not involved in that way but Sherlock appears oblivious to what's being insinuated.

"You two are such a couple." I said, laughing a lot. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I know you two met and all. But I've known you both for years."

Mrs Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock, "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made."

Mrs Hudson goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up, and John walks over to one of the two armchairs, plumps up a cushion on the chair and then drops heavily down into it.

John looks across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little, "I looked you up on the internet last night."

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked, turning around to John.

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."

"What did you think?" Sherlock asked, smiling proudly.

John throws him a 'you have got to be kidding me' type of look. Sherlock looks hurt.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John said.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock said.

"How?" John asked, as Sherlock smiles and turns away.

Mrs Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading a newspaper, "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

"Nope, not three." I said, as Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside. "Four."

Sherlock looks down at the car as someone gets out of it. The vehicle is a police car with its lights flashing on the roof.

"You're right, Jared. You said there would be four while you were talking to Mrs Hudson. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Sherlock said, looking at me.

"A fourth? Jared, when did you say there would be a fourth?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Morse code." I said, and Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade trots up the stairs and comes into the living room. "So, where was the death this time, Greg?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade said.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Sherlock said.

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson."

"Anderson won't work with me." Sherlock said, grimacing.

"Well, he won't be your assistant." Lestrade said.

"I need an assistant." Sherlock said.

"John could be your assistant." I said, leaning against the wall.

"That could work." Sherlock said, looking at me. "But I don't know if he will agree to it. You'll give me hints, won't you?"

"To lead you to the right direction? Always."

"Will you come with Jared?" Lestrade asked.

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind." Sherlock said.

"Thank you." Lestrade said, looking round at John, Mrs, and I Hudson for a moment, he turns and hurries off down the stairs. "And thank you Jared for being there for Sherlock. Until he finds the one, you said."

Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock said, picking up his scarf and coat he starts to put them on while heading for the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson, Jared and I will be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson said, annoyed.

"Something cold will do for me. Give Jared something warm for later. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said, grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, he opens the kitchen door and disappears from view with me.

Mrs Hudson turns back to John, "Look at them, dashing about! My husband was just the same."

"Sherlock, you should really ask John to come. He misses this exhilarating lifestyle. I mean, who wouldn't?" I asked, as John grimaces at Mrs Hudson's repeated implication that he and Sherlock are an item. "I'm only like this because of the Doctor. The right kind of Doctor."

"But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." Mrs Hudson said, and John looks uncomfortable.

"What do you mean by the right kind of Doctor?" Sherlock asked, looking at me.

"I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg." Mrs Hudson said, turning towards the door.

"Damn my leg!" John said, loudly and his response was instinctive and he is immediately apologetic even as Mrs Hudson turns back to him in shock. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ..."

John bashes his leg with his cane.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." Mrs Hudson said, turning towards the door again.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." John said.

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson said.

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em."

"Not your housekeeper!"

John has picked up the newspaper which Mrs Hudson put down and now he looks at the article reporting Beth Davenport's apparent suicide. Next to a large photograph of Beth is a smaller one showing the man who just visited the flat and identifying him as D.I. Lestrade. Before John can read on, Sherlock's voice interrupts him and the blonde looks up and sees him standing at the living room door.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." Sherlock said.

"Yes." John said, and he gets to his feet and turns towards Sherlock as the consulting detective comes back into the room again.

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."

"Mmm, yes." John said.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock said.

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." John said, quietly.

"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh God, yes." John said, fervently.

"Told you, Sherlock." I said, when Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John and I out of the room and down the stairs. "John wants this as much as me."

"Thank you for telling me. For giving me the signs." Sherlock said, happily.

John calls out as he follows Sherlock and I down, "Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out."

"The three of you?" Mrs Hudson asked, standing near the bottom of the stairs.

Sherlock has almost reached the front door with me behind him but now turns and walks back towards her.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock said, taking Mrs Hudson by the shoulders and kisses her noisily on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs Hudson said, and she can't help but smile, though, as he turns away and heads for the front door again.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

London...

Sherlock walks out onto the street and hails an approaching black cab.

"Taxi!" Sherlock said, excitedly.

The taxi pulls up alongside Sherlock, John, and I get in, then the car drives off again and heads for Brixton.

Taxi...

The boys and I sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his smartphone, John keeps stealing nervous glances at Sherlock, and I am looking at both Sherlock and John with my iPhone 12 Mini in my hand.

"Sherlock, you can't keep John curious like this." I said, looking at Sherlock.

"Fair enough." Sherlock said, while he finally lowers his phone. "Okay, John, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked.

"We're going to the crime scene, John." I said, texting with Uiharu and Saten. "What's your next question?"

"Who are the both of you? What do the two of you do?" John asked.

"I'm a part time journalist but I'm a full time hero." I said, laughing a little. "I have the biggest family in the world and I'm texting friends of mine. I like to give hints to my friends during our adventures or cases when they need them. So what do you think Sherlock does?"

"I'd say private detective ..." John said, slowly, hesitantly.

"But?" Sherlock asked.

"... but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Sherlock said.

"What does that mean?" John asked.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"And for these cases or adventures, when my friends are out of their depth, or led astray, which is sometimes, they consult me because I have the foresight." I said, sadly. "Sometimes the police consults me for the stuff Sherlock doesn't know about."

"The police don't consult amateurs." John said.

Sherlock throws John a look, "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room ..." Sherlock said.

Flashback to the lab at Bart's...

"Bit different from my day." John said, looking around the lab.

Taxi...

"... said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock said, while he loudly clicks the 'k' sound at the end of the final word.

"You said I had a therapist." John said.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." Sherlock said, holding out his hand.

"John, Sherlock wants your phone." I said, getting a reply back from Shirai. "His deduction isn't done."

"Oh, right." John said, giving Sherlock his phone.

Sherlock turns the phone over and looks at it again as he talks, "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." John said, his eyes widening.

"Yeah." I said, seeing that engraved on the back of the phone are the words: Harry Watson. From Clara. xxx. "Continue, Sherlock."

"Thank you, Jared. Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father; this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he'd have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." Sherlock said, continuing his deduction.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." Sherlock said, smiling before handing the phone back to John. "There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?" John asked.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock said, looking out of the side window, biting his lip nervously while he awaits John's reaction.

"That ... was amazing." John said.

Sherlock looks round, apparently so surprised that he can't even reply for the next four seconds, "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"Now you know why I hang out with Sherlock Holmes. Someone close to Sherlock was okay with me being with him." I said, smiling. "Sherlock Holmes' deductions are extraordinary."

"Fair enough. Now I know why you went to him first. An extraordinary person Sherlock Holmes is."

"For his deductions of other people. Yeah."

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock said.

"What do people normally say?" John asked.

"'Piss off'!" Sherlock said, while he smiles briefly at John and I, with John and I grinning and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continues.

BRIXTON...

The cab has arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock, John, and I get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." John said.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock said, looking impressed with himself.

"And Harry's short for Harriet." John said.

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, "Harry's your sister."

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, continuing onward.

"Sister!" Sherlock said, furiously, through gritted teeth.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asked.

"You'll find out soon, John. I promise." I said, smiling.

"And how do you know that? Right. Foresight." John said, his eyes widening.

"There's always something." Sherlock said, exasperated, starting to walk again.

We approach the police tape where we are met by Sergeant Donovan.

"Hello, freak and doofus." Donovan said.

"Jared and I are here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock said.

"Why?"

"Well, we were invited by Lestrade." I said, smiling.

"Why?" Donovan asked.

"I think he wants us to take a look." Sherlock said, sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" Donovan asked.

"Always, Sally." Sherlock said, lifting the tape and sucking underneath it while breathing in through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't ..." Donovan said, looking at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine and a friend of Jared, Doctor Watson." Sherlock said, turning to John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan." His voice drips with sarcasm. "Old friend."

"A colleague? Sherlock Holmes? How do you get a colleague?!" Donovan exclaimed, turning to John. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..." John said.

"Nope, you're coming with us, John." I said, lifting the tape for John. "Come on. You can't miss this."

"Alright." John said, walking under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth.

"Freak's here with his friend. Bringing them in." Donovan said, into her radio.

She leads the boys and I towards one of the houses. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as they approach. As we reach the pavement, a man wearing a coverall over his clothes comes out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock said.

Anderson looks at Sherlock with distaste, "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked, taking in another deep breath through his nose.

"Do they do this a lot?" John asked, looking at me.

"They do." I said, sadly. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"They're going to wrap this up quickly."

"Okay."

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock said, while Anderson looks round in shock at Donovan and the consulting detective sniffs pointedly. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in with Jared?"

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..." Anderson said, turning back and pointing back at Sherlock angrily.

"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock said, heading past Donovan with me towards the front door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." He turns back to look at Anderson. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan stare at Sherlock in horror.

"I'm sorry about his behavior." I said, when Sherlock smiles smugly, then he and I turn and the two of us go into the house. "He might change it soon. I promise."

House...

John walks past Sally, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then follows Sherlock and I inside. Sherlock and I lead John into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items. I put on a coverall immediately.

"You need to wear one of these." Sherlock said, looking at John.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked.

"He's with us." I said, as Sherlock is taking off his gloves.

"But who is he?" Lestrade asked.

"I said he's with us. Greg Lestrade, meet John Watson. Sherlock Holmes' roommate."

"I suppose that makes sense. But how have you gotten close to them already?"

"To John? He reminds me of someone close to me."

John has taken off his jacket and picks up a coverall. He looks at Sherlock who has picked up a pair of latex gloves.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" John asked, referring to the coverall.

"Nah. Sherlock doesn't need one. He wants to show off." I said, and Sherlock just looks at John sternly.

"Right..." John said, shaking his head as if to say, 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!'.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked, looking at Lestrade.

"Upstairs." Lestrade said, picking up another pair of latex gloves.

Lestrade leads the boys and I up a circular staircase. Lestrade, John, and I are wearing coveralls together with white cotton coverings over our shoes, and latex gloves. Sherlock is putting on latex gloves as they go up the stairs.

"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade said.

"May need longer." Sherlock said, casually.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade said, leading us into a room two storeys above the ground floor.

Crime scene...

The room is empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting has been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles hold up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body is lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She is wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands are flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John and I look at the woman's body and both of faces fills with pain and sadness. The four of us stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade.

"Shut up." Sherlock said.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade said, startled.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock said.

Lestrade, John, and I exchange a surprised look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse. His attention is immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards near the woman's left hand is the word "Rache". His eyes flick to her fingernails where the index and middle nails are broken and ragged at the ends, the pink nail polish chipped in stark comparison to her other nails which are still immaculate. The woman's index finger rests at the bottom of the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. Sherlock makes an instant deduction:

left handed

He looks back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into his mind:

RACHE

German (n.) revenge

Instantly he shakes his head in a tiny dismissive movement and the suggestion disappears. He looks at the carved word again and overlays the five letters with a clearer type. Next to the 'e' a rapid progression of letters appear and disappear as he tries to complete the word, then the correct letter settles into place to form the word:

Rachel

He squats down beside the body and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts his hand again to look at his fingers:

wet

He reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspects his glove again:

dry

Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, he moves up to the collar of her coat and runs his fingers underneath it before again looking at his fingers:

wet

Reaching into his pocket he takes out a small magnifier, clicks it open and closely inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ...

clean

... then the gold earring attached to her right ear ...

clean

... and then the gold chain around her neck ...

clean

... before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flag a different message to him:

dirty

Sherlock blinks as a rapid succession of conclusions appear in front of his eyes:

married

unhappily married

unhappily married 10+ years

Carefully Sherlock works the wedding ring off the woman's finger and holds it up to look at the inside of the ring. While the outside of the ring is still showing

dirty

the inside registers as

clean

As Sherlock lowers the ring and slides it back onto the woman's finger, he has already reached a conclusion about the ring:

regularly removed

Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looks down at her and makes his final deduction about her:

serial adulterer

"You figured it out, didn't you?" I asked, as Sherlock smiles slightly in satisfaction.

"I did. This is one of the easier cases." Sherlock said.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much." Sherlock said, nonchalantly standing up and taking off the gloves and then gets his mobile phone from his pocket and begins typing on it.

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge.' She could be trying to tell us something ..." Anderson said, from where he is leaning casually against the doorway.

While Anderson was speaking, I walked quickly towards the door and now begins to close it in Anderson's face.

"Time and a place for misdirection, Anderson. Sorry." I said, slamming the door shut, with Sherlock still on his phone. "You're breaking Sherlock's train of thought."

On his phone, Sherlock has called up a menu for 'UK Weather'. The menu offers five options:

Maps

Local

Warnings

Next 24 hrs

7 day forecast

Sherlock selects the Maps option.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Nope, she wasn't speaking German." I said, and Sherlock is still looking at his phone. "She's out of town though. I'm a bit sad knowing the consequences of her death."

"Well, she intended to stay in London for one night ..." Sherlock said, smiling smugly when he apparently finds the information he needed. "... before returning home to Cardiff." He pockets his phone. "So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" John asked.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked, ignoring Lestrade and looking at John.

"Of the message?" John asked.

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade said.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock said.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you and Jared in here."

"Yes ... because you need me."

"And you need me. Going off my experience with UNIT, Torchwood, and Sarah Jane Smith." I said, frowning. "And I also traveled with a man called the Doctor. You should know him if you've read his file."

Lestrade stares at Sherlock and I for a moment, then lowers his eyes helplessly, "Yes, I do. God help me."

"Doctor Watson." Sherlock said.

"John?" I asked, looking at John.

"Hm?" John asked, looking up from the body to Sherlock and then turns his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.

"Oh, do as they say. Help yourself." Lestrade said, a little tetchily as he turns and opens the door, going outside. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

Sherlock, John, and I walk over to the body. Sherlock squats down on one side of it and John painfully lowers himself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself.

"Well? Whatcha got?" I asked, looking down at the body covered in pink.

"What am I doing here?" John asked, softly.

"Helping me make a point." Sherlock said, softly.

"Sherlock, I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent. Jared is supposed to be helping you make a point, not me." John said, softly.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun." Sherlock said, softly.

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock said.

Lestrade comes back into the room and stands just inside the doorway, and John drags his other leg down into a kneeling position and then leans forward to look more closely at the woman's body.

"When Sherlock means deeper, he means figuring out how she died." I said, sadly.

"Oh. I see." John said, putting his head close to hers and sniffs, then straightens a little before lifting her right hand and looking at the skin. He kneels up and looks across to Sherlock and I. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You know how she died, John. You've read the news articles that were recently published. You saw the headlines."

"What, she's one of the suicides? Is she what you meant Jared? The fourth ...?"

"Yup. I knew about this one because she is plastered in pink. A Study in Pink."

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade said.

"Victim is in her late thirties." Sherlock said; standing up, while John struggles to get to his feet. "Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?"

John looks around the room but can't see a suitcase anywhere.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married." Sherlock said.

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade said.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple." Sherlock said, pointing down to her left hand.

"That's brilliant." John said, admiringly and Sherlock looks round at him. "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's not obvious to me." John said.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." Sherlock said, pausing as he looks at John and Lestrade before turning back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?"

"It's not London and it's obviously not Glasgow or Belfast." I said, while Sherlock gets his phone from his pocket and shows to the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today's weather for the southern part of Britain. "It's Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John said, excitedly.

"D'you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked, turning to John and speaking in a low voice.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's ... fine."

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Because there was a suitcase Jennifer Wilson had. It was in pink, Greg." I said, as Sherlock is spinning around in a circle to look around the room. "She had a phone or a planner on her. You need to find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade asked, looking at me.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" Sherlock asked, sarcastically.

"How d'you know she had a suitcase? Did Jared tell you? Because he has the knowledge of your future cases." Lestrade said, looking at Sherlock.

"No, he didn't tell me. I didn't need his help for this case because it is one of the easier ones." Sherlock said, pointing down to the body, where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg. "Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." He squats down by the woman's body and examines the backs of her legs more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade said.

Slowly Sherlock raises his head and frowns up at Lestrade, "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Lestrade said.

Immediately Sherlock straightens up and heads for the door with me, with him calling out to all the police officers in the house as he begins to hurry down the stairs.

"Hey! Was there a suitcase here? Did anyone find one?" I asked, while Lestrade and John followed Sherlock and I out and stopped on the landing. "I know there was one. That's what I remember. I think."

Lestrade calls down the stairs, "Sherlock, Jared, there was no case!"

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them." Sherlock said, slowing down, but still making his way down the stairs with me.

"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Sherlock said, while he holds his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. Now I see why Jared was laughing a lot. He knew I would enjoy this case. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asked.

"Her suitcase. Come on! Where is it?" I asked, stopping and calling up to the others with Sherlock. "We need it to save people!"

"Well, did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case." Sherlock said, more quietly, as if talking to himself. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John said.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair." Sherlock said, looking up the stairs again. "She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." He stops talking as he makes a realisation. "Oh." Sherlock's eyes widen and his face lights up. "Oh!"

"Now you're getting it." I said, while Sherlock claps his hands together in delight. "Took you long enough, Sherlock."

"Sherlock? Jared?" John asked.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade asked, leaning over the railings.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock said, smiling cheerfully to himself.

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade said, angrily.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock said, and he starts to hurry down the stairs again with me behind him. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

Sherlock reaches the bottom of the stairs with me and we disappear from view.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade exclaimed, calling after Sherlock.

Sherlock comes back into view and runs up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he stops and yells up to Lestrade, "PINK!"

He hurries off again with me running alongside him. I took out my vortex manipulator while typing in the coordinates to head to 221B Baker Street ahead of John Watson knowing he is going to meet up with Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother.

I disappeared in a flash of light from the crime scene to reappear inside of 221B Baker Street.

221B Baker Street...

I feel a bit of relief as I didn't want to interfere with John's first meeting with Mycroft Holmes.

Upstairs in the living room of the flat, Sherlock is lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting on a cushion. With his jacket off and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms, he has his eyes closed and he is pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow. After some seconds his eyes snap open wide and he stares fixedly up towards the ceiling, then he sighs out a noisy breath and relaxes.

I walked towards the kitchen to sit down in the chair as that one is comfortable enough for me. I took out my phone to listen to the Kingdom Hearts soundtrack off of Spotify with headphones in my ears.

John comes through the door, then stops and stares as Sherlock repeatedly clenches and unclenches his left fist.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock said, calmly lifting his right hand to show that he has three round nicotine patches stuck to his arm and it was these which he was pressing against his skin to release the substances more quickly. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."

He loudly clicks the 'k' on the last word.

"It's good news for breathing." John said, walking further into the room.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring." Sherlock said, dismissively.

John frowns as he looks more closely at Sherlock's arm, "Is that three patches?"

"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock said, pressing his hands together in the prayer position under his chin. "You traveled by vortex manipulator to get here?"

"Well, yeah. If I stayed with John, I would have dealt with a lot of boring exposition." I said, while Sherlock closes his eyes. "I didn't want to confront the British government too."

"Fair enough. You didn't want it." Sherlock said, opening his eyes for a moment before closing them again. "You knew better."

"I do." I said, as John looks around the room for a moment, then looks down at Sherlock again. "I did work with UNIT and Torchwood at some point."

"Well?" John asked, and Sherlock doesn't respond. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Sherlock still doesn't respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snap open.

Sherlock doesn't bother turning his head to look at John, "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" John asked.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognised. It's on the website." Sherlock said.

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

"Do you want to use my phone?" I asked, looking at Sherlock.

"No. Your phone number was bugged by Harold Saxon in 2008 and the British government last year when the 456 invaded. John, I need to use your phone. I can't use Jared's." Sherlock said.

"I was the other side of London." John said, beginning to get angry.

"There was no hurry." Sherlock said, mildly.

John glares at Sherlock as he gazes serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually John digs his phone out of his jacket pocket and holds it towards him.

"Here." John said, and without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with the palm up. "How dangerous are your adventures with the right kind of Doctor?"

"Pretty dangerous. It's not as dangerous as working with Sherlock Holmes." I said, while John glowers at Sherlock for a moment, then steps forward and slaps the phone into his hand. "Because Sherlock has a more grounded feel to the cases. The Doctor is more out of this world."

"So you teleported here to avoid the person I just talked to." John said, as Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. "Why did you do that?"

"You talking to that person was rather important."

"Important. I get it." John said, turning and walks a few paces away before turning around again. "So what's this about – the case?"

"Her case." Sherlock said, softly.

"Her case?"

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake." Sherlock said, opening his eyes.

"Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked.

"It's no use, there's no other way." Sherlock said, quietly, as if to himself. "We'll have to risk it." Raising his voice a little, he imperiously holds the phone out towards John, still not looking at him. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

John half-smiles in angry disbelief.

"You brought me here ... to send a text." John said, tightly.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk." Sherlock said, oblivious to John's anger.

I took out my phone and immediately called Mycroft Holmes, I knew that Sherlock wouldn't be happy with this later.

"How is he?" Mycroft asked, while Sherlock continues to hold the phone out while John glowers at him, possibly wondering if he can get away with justifiable homicide. "Oh. I see. Thank you for keeping me in the loop."

"You're welcome. They're unaware that I'm talking to you." I said, as eventually John stomps across the room and snatches the phone from Sherlock's hand. "They're going to be talking to you soon."

"Do you want me to hear what they're saying?" Mycroft asked, and Sherlock refolds his hands under his chin and closes his eyes but instead of going to the table, John walks over to the window and looks out into the street below. "Hello?"

"No. I'll talk to you later. I promise. Bye." I said, ending the phone call with Mycroft to lower suspicion from Sherlock.

Sherlock opens his eyes and tilts his head slightly towards John, "What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours." John said.

Sherlock frowns in confusion, "A friend?"

"An enemy." John said, while Sherlock immediately relaxes.

"Oh. Which one?" Sherlock asked, calmly.

"Your arch-enemy, according to him." John said, as he turns towards Sherlock. "Do people have arch-enemies?"

Sherlock looks towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?" John asked.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." Sherlock said, softly before he spoke more loudly. "On my desk, the number."

John gives him a dark look but Sherlock has already looked away again so John walks over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label.

John looks at the name on the paper, "Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yup. It was. But that's not important right now. Can you enter the phone number on the luggage tag?" I asked, looking at John. "That is the most important thing."

"Okay." John said, shaking his head and he gets his phone out and starts to type the number onto it.

"Are you doing it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Ye... hang on!"

"These words exactly: 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'" Sherlock said, while John starts to type but looks briefly across to him as if concerned at what he just said.

"This is easy enough, John, you got this." I said, smiling. "You can't mess this up, right?"

"'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'" Sherlock said, continuing his narration.

John has got as far as:

What happened at

Lauriston Gdns?

I must have b

Now John looks across to Sherlock again, frowning, "You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" Sherlock said, flipping his legs around and stands up, taking the shortest route towards the kitchen – which involves walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it. "Type and send it. Quickly."

"If only she had an iPhone." I said, as Sherlock goes into the kitchen and picks up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brings it back into the living room. "That would make things much easier."

"No, it wouldn't." Sherlock said, walking over to the dining table to lift one of the dining chairs and flipping it around, setting it down in front of one of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He puts the suitcase onto the dining chair and sits down in the armchair. John is still typing. "John, have you sent it?"

"What's the address?" John asked.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock said, impatiently.

John finishes the message, then looks round as Sherlock unzips the case and flips open the lid, revealing the contents. There are a few items of clothing and underwear – all in varying shades of pink – a washbag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled 'Come To Bed Eyes.'

"The contents are interesting..." I said, frowning. "Really interesting."

As John turns towards the case he staggers slightly in shock when he realises what he's looking at, "That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes, obviously." Sherlock said, studying the case closely.

"Hmm...do you like the title 'A Study in Pink?'" I asked, and John continues to stare, and Sherlock looks up at him and then rolls his eyes. "It is a good title, isn't it? Especially for this case."

"Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her." Sherlock said, sarcastically.

"I never said you did." John said.

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

"Now and then, yes." Sherlock said, smirking as he puts his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifts his feet up and under him so that he is perching on the seat with his backside braced against the back rest, then clasps his hands under his chin.

"Okay ..." John said, limping across the room and drops heavily into the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. "How did you get this?"

"He got it by looking around London." I said, looking down at my iPhone 12 Mini.

"Where around London?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ..." Sherlock said.