𝕱𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 {𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖒𝖊𝖘}

A Study in Pink XIII

Rachel

As Lestrade looked around at his officers, then back to Sherlock with a faux innocent expression, he answered, "It's a drugs bust."

Ivy crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Exactly. If you don't like it, take it up with the law." She glanced at Sherlock with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. For someone as brilliant as he was, he sure did tend to wind up in these kinds of situations.

John, who had been standing silently beside Ivy, stared incredulously between Lestrade and Sherlock. "Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" He looked over at Ivy, expecting her to confirm that this whole situation was absurd.

Ivy smirked, tilting her head. "Right, I guess Sherlock never told you, huh?" She made an exaggerated gesture of pretending to remember something. "Oh yeah—he didn't."

Sherlock stepped closer to John, his face suddenly nervous, biting his lip. "John..."

But John, still bewildered, turned to Lestrade. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

Ivy glanced at Sherlock, snorting softly. "Surprising, really," she remarked with a smirk. "Considering his fondness for needles."

Sherlock shot her a warning glare. "John, you probably want to shut up now."

But John wasn't backing down. "Yeah, but come on..."

He stared directly into Sherlock's eyes, waiting for an explanation. Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something John couldn't quite place.

"No," John finally said, the realization hitting him hard. "You?"

Ivy interjected, chuckling. "Yes, him," she said dryly, glancing at Sherlock's arms. "So, how abused are your veins, Sherlock? All that pricking and morphine..." she added teasingly.

Sherlock's patience snapped. "Shut up!" he shouted, his voice sharp. He turned to Ivy with a biting snark. "At least I'm not constantly smoking or drinking myself into oblivion like someone here."

Ivy, utterly unfazed, smiled at him serenely. "Smoking and drinking aren't illegal, Sherlock," she said calmly, brushing off his jab.

Ignoring her, Sherlock refocused his attention on Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

Lestrade, unbothered by Sherlock's outburst, shrugged. "No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," he replied nonchalantly, gesturing toward the kitchen.

Sherlock whipped around in disbelief. "What, An..." His voice trailed off as the kitchen doors slid open, revealing Anderson and several other officers rummaging through the room. Anderson raised a hand in sarcastic greeting.

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" Sherlock demanded, his voice venomous.

Anderson grinned with equal venom. "Oh, I volunteered."

Sherlock looked like he was going to explode, biting his lip furiously. Ivy watched the scene with amusement, her eyes flickering between the two men.

"They all did," Lestrade added, walking further into the flat. "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

Just then, Donovan emerged from the kitchen holding a small jar. "Are these human eyes?" she asked with evident disgust.

"Put those back!" Sherlock barked.

"They were in the microwave!" Donovan exclaimed, looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

Sherlock barely blinked. "It's an experiment."

Lestrade ignored the chaos, turning his attention back to Sherlock. "Keep looking, guys," he instructed his team. Then, he faced Sherlock squarely. "Or you could help us properly, and I'll stand them down."

Sherlock was pacing now, his frustration clear. "This is childish."

Lestrade didn't flinch. "Well, I'm dealing with a child," he shot back. "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

Sherlock stopped, glaring at him. "Oh, what, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

Ivy crossed her arms, her voice cutting through. "It stops being pretend if they find anything," she pointed out dryly.

"I am clean!" Sherlock shouted in exasperation.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Is your flat? All of it?"

"I don't even smoke, unlike her," Sherlock snapped, pointing directly at Ivy.

Ivy raised her hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Guilty as charged."

Sherlock unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt sleeve and rolled it up, revealing a nicotine patch. "See?"

Lestrade followed suit, pulling up his own sleeve to reveal a similar patch. "Neither do I."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away, clearly fed up with the theatrics. Lestrade gave him a hard stare. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked, still distracted. His attention briefly shifted to Ivy, narrowing his eyes. "And how did you have time to brief Lestrade about the suitcase but conveniently leave me out of the loop about Rachel?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "You never asked," she replied smugly. "And besides, Lestrade's my boss. You? Not so much."

Lestrade ignored the banter and spoke again. "Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

Sherlock frowned. "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

Before anyone could respond, Anderson cut in with a smug look. "Never mind that. We found the case."

He pointed toward the familiar pink suitcase sitting in the living room.

Anderson continued with a venomous tone, "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

Sherlock shot him a withering glare. "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

Ivy, unable to resist, echoed Sherlock's last words mockingly, "Do your research," she quipped, earning a brief smirk from Sherlock.

Ignoring her, Sherlock turned his attention back to Lestrade and Ivy. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

Lestrade's face darkened slightly as he gave Sherlock a grim look. "She's dead."