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Ivy Liu takes a slow drag of her cigarette, watching Sherlock with those sharp, unblinking eyes that seem to s...
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As the revelation unfolded, Sherlock's sudden burst of enthusiasm after hearing the news of Jennifer Wilson's death filled the room.
"She's dead," Lestrade announced.
"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed with a sharp intensity, almost too gleeful for the occasion.
Ivy, standing with arms crossed, raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "A bit strange to be celebrating a dead woman, don't you think? Even for you."
John glanced over at Sherlock in surprise, but the detective was already focused, his mind racing. He turned to Lestrade, brushing off Ivy's comment.
"How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be," Sherlock demanded.
Lestrade frowned, shaking his head. "Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."
John grimaced in sympathy, his gaze turning away as he processed the tragedy. Sherlock, however, looked utterly confused, his sharp intellect momentarily dulled by the new information.
"No, that's... that's not right," he muttered. "How... why would she do that? Why?"
Ivy, who had been observing silently, uncrossed her arms. "Stillbirths and miscarriages can have a profound psychological impact on mothers. The guilt, the grief... It could haunt them for years. Maybe it wasn't about Rachel being alive, but rather about Jennifer holding on to something she lost. Or perhaps... it was a clue."
Sherlock's gaze snapped to her, intrigued. "A clue...?" he mused, considering her words deeply. His expression turned pensive as he began pacing the room, chewing over Ivy's theory.
Anderson, of course, interrupted with his usual snide commentary. "Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup, sociopath—I'm seeing it now."
Sherlock shot Anderson an exasperated look. "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt."
Ivy, always sharp, chimed in again, her tone blunt. "It wasn't a spontaneous action. It was deliberate. Rachel could have been the key to something, maybe a name she remembered for a reason. Either that or... guilt. People in their final moments often cling to what torments them most."
Sherlock nodded as if her words were beginning to shape something clearer in his mind.
John stepped in, still grappling with the strangeness of it all. "You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."
Ivy glanced at John and added, "The killer might prey on guilt. Maybe he manipulates it, uses it as a weapon against them. Pushes them to the edge by making it personal."
