@det-william-sherlock-holmes · Sherlock Holmes (2025)

Sally's greeting did nothing to endear her to John, souring his first impression of her and shocking him a bit with her rudeness. He stayed silent beside Sherlock, as Sherlock spoke with her, unsure of what to say and letting him take the lead. He listened to their banter— watching as Sherlock went under the tape and implied something about Sgt. Donovan that was highly probable— and was honored with being introduced as a colleague of Sherlock. Still, he couldn't help but feel out of place. "Would it be better if I just waited and..." A quick denial came from Sherlock as he held up the tape for him.

John went under the tape as Donovan reported Sherlock's arrival. "Freak's here, bringing him in." She led them up towards one of the houses and a man wearing protective clothing and a scowl met them. Sherlock greeted him as Anderson and John recalled the grey-haired officer saying there was an Anderson doing forensics. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Sherlock took the opportunity to deduce something about him as well. It became clear what when the deodorant was mentioned and was further gone into greater detail when Anderson pretended that nothing happened between him and Donovan. John couldn't help but look at her knees as he and Sherlock passed by to go inside to see if he could see what Sherlock had.

As they walk with Sally, leading them, Sherlock studies the house and makes some mental notes on it. dark, abandoned. Not too rundown, but cold and empty. Perfect place for a murder... Sherlock then turns, looking up and down the street, before turning back as Anderson comes through the front door glowering at Sherlock."Anderson. Here we are again," he sighs and mutteres to himself as the man approaches. "It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. We clear on that?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and nods before asking, "And is your wife away for long?" Anderson's expression only darkens, "... Don’t pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that!" Sherlock snorts, "your deoderant told me that."

His expression turns confused at that , "My deoderant?" Sherlock said like it was obvious, "It’s for men." Anderson scoffed, "Of course it’s for men, I’m wearing it!" He smirks at that, "So’s Donovan." A quick panicked look passed between Sally and Anderson.Sherlock continues with a humoured tone, "Oh! And I think it just vapourised! May I go in?" Anderson was red-faced and blustering as he glared at Sherlock, "You listen to me, okay. Whatever you’re trying to imply-"

Sherlock cut him off, "Oh I’m not implying anything - I’m sure Sally just came round for a lovely little chat and happened to stay over." He glances at her with a smirk, "And I assume scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." His expression was smug as he started walking past the two. They really did need to learn to leave him the hell alone. Anderson glowers at him as they pass.

They head into the house and down the corridor, stopping when they run into DI Lestrade. He’s now in full crime scene gear. "I can give you two minutes," he says as he begins to lead them to the second floor where they could get their own gear. "I may need longer." They stop on the second floor, and Sherlock tosses a crime scene coverall to John while grabbing gloves for himself. "You’ll need to put this on." Lestrade is looking at John - bemused, and a little pissed off."Who is this?"

"He’s with me."

"But who is he?"

"I told you - he’s with me."

He sighs and gestures for them to continue up the stairs, "alright fine but try not to get me into any trouble okay?" Sherlock grins at him and follows him up the stairs, "no promises."

John took off his jacket and began putting on the coverall when it was given to him, respecting the rules around crime scenes. Besides, the officer from before was wearing one. "Aren't you going to put one on?", he asked Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't seem too interested in that. He shook his head and made sure his coverall was secure and put on a pair of gloves and coverings for his shoes before they all headed up another staircase to the third floor where they would see the victim's body.

Pink. The woman was dressed all in a bold shade of pink and she laid prone on the ground, her hands by her head. Her skin was pale in death but would've been pretty pale in life as well. "Her name’s Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards.", said the officer, "We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her." John gave a wince of sympathy. Poor woman. And poor kids, whoever they were. The police set up portable lights in the room, the better to photograph the scene and examine all within.

Suddenly, Sherlock called for silence. "I didn't say anything!", protested the officer. John exchanged a look with the officer and Sherlock went to begin his examination. As John waited to be called to do something, he took a look around the room. The room was empty of any actual furniture except for an old rocking horse in the corner which made him wonder if this was once storage or a child's bedroom. Letters spelling 'R a c he' were scratched on the floor near one of the woman's hands. A short nickname for someone called 'Rachel', maybe, or something else he didn't know.

Sherlock silenced John with a look when he asked if he was going to wear a coverall. He didn't like them, the noise the feeling and texture of them, he never wore them, and no one questioned it as they moved upstairs. As they stepped into the room, Sherlock looked around and then shouted at Lestrade, "Shut up!" He turned to glare at the man as he said he hadn't said anything, "you were thinking, it's annoying," he grumbled before turning back to the scene and missing the look that passed between the two men.

Several things floated in his mind as he stepped towards the body on the floor. Pink, ring (married?), Rache, left-handed. He stepped closer and studied the word on the floor. Rache, he remembered a dictionary entry he'd read on the meaning of the word. Rache, German for revenge. His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, unhappy with that. He ran through names in his head until he stopped on Rachel, who was rachel? He kneels beside the body and runs his hand over her coat, raising his gloves up to look, wet. He pulls her umbrella from her pocket and does the same, dry. He checks under her collar, wet.

Next, he runs his eyes over all of her jewellery, earings, necklace, etc. All clean. Her ring, wedding ring, dirty. He pulls his portable magnifying glass from his pocket and takes the ring off of her finger to study it. Unhappily married. He studies it closer and settles on 10+ years, given how old the ring seems. He checks the inside, which is cleaner than the outside, frequently removed. Serial cheater. He returns the ring and straightens up. "Found anything?" Sherlock hums and stands, "not much," though he knew more about her character now. Anderson appeared in the doorway with a smug look and his arms crossed, "she's German. Rache is German for Revenge. She could be trying to tell us something." Sherlock is tapping away on his phone and doesn’t even glance at him."Yes, thank you for your input." Without looking up, he reaches over and closes the door neatly in Anderson’s face. "She’s German," Lestrade comments while looking over at her. Sherlock scoffs, "Of course, she’s not German. She’s from out of town though. Planned to spend a single night in London, before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Found anything?" "Not much.", said Sherlock, stopping and standing up to look at something on his phone. Not much? After all that thorough examination? John found that a little hard to believe.Maybe what he saw wasn't relevant? Still, those letters had to mean something. As if on cue, Anderson entered. "She's German. Rache is German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something..." John barely knew anything in German but the more commonly heard phrases from films: words for 'yes', 'no, 'hello' and 'goodbye'. "Yes, thank you for your input.", Sherlock said, which didn't really constitute an agreement with Anderson's theory. Him closing the door in Anderson's face didn't either.

"So she's German?", asked the officer, looking for more of a clear answer, but Sherlock clearly disagreed. John had a feeling she wasn't. "She's from out of town, though, intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to...Cardiff." He pocketed his phone. "Sorry, but how do you know that?", asked John. "What about the message, though?", interjected the officer but Sherlock's eyes were on John himself, and he asked him what he thought. "Of the message?" No, it was the body.

"Wait, no,", protested the policeman, "we have a whole team outside. I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Sherlock reminded him why he was here which he agreed with. Still, John felt better about examining the body when he was given permission by the man in charge. John went over to the body and leaned on his cane to kneel beside the corpse. This was why he was here, he didn't need to ask. A relatively quick look and a second to smell her face determined the cause of death. "Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. A seizure, possibly drugs, it does look like it could be the fourth of those suicide cases. I think Rache could be a nickname, since it might not be revenge in German.", he told him, pronouncing 'Rache' like 'raych'. "Sherlock—two minutes, I said.", the officer interrupted, "I need anything you've got."

The others wouldn't work with Sherlock, and he made it clear that he wanted, no needed John with him. Sherlock crouches down opposite John as he goes to inspect the body and gestures for him to do so. Sherlock gave him an approving look when he gave his analysis and agreed with him. "What name do you think?" He already knew, of course, but he wanted to test the man in a way, curious to see what way he thought.

Sherlock stands when asked for what he's got. "Victim is in her late forties. Professional person going by her clothes - I’d guess something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. She’s travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay for one night - that’s obvious from the size of her suitcase-" He's cut off as Lestrade questions, "Suitcase?"

"Suitcase, yes. She’s been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers, but none of them have known she was married-" Again cut off ny Lestrade, "For God’s sake. If you’re just making this up..." Sherlock doesn't let him stop him and takes it in his stride, "the wedding ring, ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelleryhas been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding rings - state of her marriage, right there. The inside of the rings are shinier than the outside - that means they’re regularly removed; the only polishing they get is when she works them 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 time - so more likely a string of them. Simple!"

'When you see hoof prints, think horses not zebras', John coached himself. "Rachel?", he asked, showing a slight lack of confidence in his answer. He had been a bit cautious about putting forth the nickname hypothesis from the start but Sherlock's encouragement and his role as assistant brought it out from his mind to his lips. Then the policeman returned after giving them all the time he felt he could.

Sherlock stood back up and John struggled to his feet as the Consulting Detective began his summation. "That's brilliant.", he couldn't help praise in his admiration but he realized he'd interrupted and apologized when Sherlock turned to look at him. "Cardiff?", questioned the officer, wanting Sherlock to continue. "It's obvious, isn't it?", asked Sherlock in return. "It's not obvious to me.", John said. It didn't seem obvious to the officer either, if he'd asked about it. Cardiff, too, Sherlock explained, showing them the weather report on his phone as part of the evidence. Once again impressed, John exclaimed, "That's fantastic!" "Do you know you do that out loud?", Sherlock asked him. He'd interrupted again. "Sorry. I'll shut up." "No, it's...fine."

Again, the officer brought the topic back. "Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Sherlock asked about it again but the officer hadn't sounded like he'd known the suitcase even existed. Of course she'd have one if she was on a day trip, right? For a change of clothes and whatever else she needed. "Find out who Rachel is." So he agreed it was Rachel! "She was writing 'Rachel'?" "No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel, no other word it can be." He was asked about the suitcase again, though, instead of going on about why Jennifer Wilson wrote Rachel, but there was none.

Sherlock tried his best to reason out where the suitcase would be, saying the suicides had actually been murders, that the victims had taken the pills themselves but it was still serial killings. John asked him if the suitcase had been left at her hotel but her grooming routine made it unlikely in his eyes. Coming to the conclusion that the case was still in the car of the murderer, he raced out, looking for a pink overnight bag with the tag Jennifer Wilson on it.

John was left with the police and he began to make his way out, removing the safety gear along the way. He was nearly tripped heading down the stairs but got to the ground floor and headed out. He met Sargent Donovan again, outside. "He's gone.", she told him. "Who? Sherlock?", he asked "Yeah, he does that.", she answered. John took a glance around. "Is he coming back?" "Didn't look like it." "Right." He was in Brixton, wasn't he? He wasn't too familiar with the area. "Er, do you know where I can get a cab? It's just, well, my leg..." He glanced at his cane. Donovan gave him a sympathetic look. She wasn't completely heartless. "Try the main road.", she said, lifting up the tape for him. He went underneath it. "Thanks." "But you're not his friend."

John turned back to look at her. His feelings towards her took a more negative turn as she continued, "He doesn't have friends, so who are you?" "I'm his assistant. I just took the job.", he explained. "Bit of advice, get another job and stay away from that guy." "Why?" "You know why he’s here? He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there. He's a psychopath, psychopaths get bored." The grey-haired officer called her and she left but not before warning him away again. As John hobbled away from the scene, he heard a payphone ring with no one nearby. Figuring it was a wrong number, he ignored it. After more phones rang near him when he passed, and no taxis would stop for him, he finally answered one.

Sherlock had gone to praise John for his conclusion on the name when Lestrade had chimed in and brought him into explaining everything. John had been right! He may not be nearly as smart as Sherlock, but it still filled him with a slight thrill and told him that he'd been right in taking John on.

When John answered the phone, there was a beat before a very refined male tone spoke, "There is a security camera at the top right corner of the building opposite you. Do you see it?"

"Do you see the camera, Dr. Watson?" When John confirms that he sees it, he replies, "Watch." The camera turns away from John and lowers itself to face the ground, almost seeming to go into sleep mode. "There is another camera on the footbridge to your left. Do you see it?" Once John makes eye contact with the camera, it again revolves, looks away, and goes into sleep mode. "And finally, at the top of the streetlamp two along, on your right." Finally, when John looks at the camera, it does the same thing, and a car pulls up. The man ignores his question and instead says. "Get into the car, Dr. Watson. I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you." The phone goes dead in his ear.A smartly suited driver has climbed out of the car and opens one of the rear doors for John.