Extraordinary

II

Seven AM at 221B, Sherlock Holmes is--

"Bored!"

"Ring ring."

"Look, a case. No reason to be bored, Sherlock." John teased before answering the call.
"Lestrade?"
"John, come the lab immediately. We've got a positively smashed man and not in a drunk way. Tell Sherlock."

But Sherlock had already heard and was pulling on his shoes and greatcoat.

"We're on our way."

---

"Where's the body?" Sherlock asked inelegantly.
"Over there. By the girl in the red coat." Lestrade directed.

Sherlock made quiet strides towards the crimson peacoat as he analyzed the scene before him.

"There's quite a bit of bruising on the chest and legs, he fell from a blow, onto concrete most likely from the bleeding from his skull." Sherlock stated. "You can see where he fractured his elbows, he was holding something. Turn him over, please."

He was meticulous, as if he taken part himself. The forensics pulled latex gloves on and turned him over.

"There's a large dent in his back, obviously hinting towards a blunt object, likely a baseball bat due to the lack of blood a crowbar might offer. The attacker was aiming to paralyze or stun him, guessing from how low the hit was." The detective observed.

He leant down to the mans head.

"Made by a revolver, probably the attackers original plan, because the rest of the injuries show sloppiness in positioning. They knew where to hit to kill him." Sherlock finished.

John glanced over to the girl in the red coat - she hadn't said a word.

"Now, judging on his appearance, he was around thirty - with children. Chronic smoker, he has a half empty pack and a lighter in his coat pocket. Recovering alcoholic too, his ID and AA cards are sticking out of his wallet. Arthritis stricken, most likely from a desk job." The detective deduced.

John was impressed, as he commonly was by deductions, but the girl remained silent. No outbursts of 'Amazing!' Or 'you didn't know him!' Not even crying. Sherlock seemed to also notice her underwhelmed nature, because he glanced over her with a slightly furrowed brow.

"Lestrade, is that girl even awake?" John chuckled, although he was a bit worried for her.

Lestrade glanced up from his steaming coffee, eyes bleary.

"What? Oh, her. Sorry I'm a bit out of it. She's deaf." He told the partners.

John gave her a small look of pity then went to get coffee. (Hey! Don't call him insensitive, it's seven AM dammit.) Sherlock stepped around the examination table towards the girl.

"What's her name?" He called to Lestrade.
"It's...it's.." He scrambled with his papers.

Clearly the late night investigation had taken a toll on the poor man. Lestrade managed to find her file and read off of it.

"Uh, Rebekah Reid."

Sherlock nodded.

"Biblical, Jewish more likely. Means secured. She looks seventeen, eighteen at a guess. Her coat is big on her, with a feminine cut, it's her mothers. Nicotine stains on her fingers means she's been smoking underage for awhile." The detective noted.

He noticed something else. She was tapping morse code. SOS. Three short taps, three long and three more short. Sherlock turned swiftly, his coat flying behind him and catching Rebekah across the face.

"Ack!" She spluttered, then winced.

John reentered, carrying two styrofoam cups of coffee and one of tea. He offered one to Sherlock, who accepted. Upon seeing Rebekah, he offered a small, apologetic smile and the cheap tea. She gingerly took it from his hands and sipped it.

"Uhm..." John attempted.

But how does one converse with a deaf person who doesn't know sign language?