Sherlock laid on the couch, glaring at a cigarette clasped between his fingers. He'd stolen it the night before when he had Kairi up against the wall outside of Bart's. No doubt Kairi, would discover his small action and he'd hear about it later — yet another reason to be thrilled at being in London again: dealing with so many people. Though he had to admit, if he wasn't at the receiving end of her ire, she was enjoyable to be around. He smiled at that, he had missed her.
His mind went back to the case. The body was of a middle-aged nurse who worked at the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital on Fulham Road who was as Lauren Shoehill. He had yet to interview anyone associated with the nurse as Molly would be finishing up her notes on the autopsy this morning. The scene was, of course, gruesome: her body brutally on display in Brompton park, not far from her place of employ and a cemetery. She had been piked down like the retired police officer, restrained and pliant for her murderer to do his bidding.
Of course, Lestrade was waiting for tests to return and for a team of lab assistants to provide inescapable evidence. It was not as if there were mountains of evidence to be linked to, but Sherlock was already well aware of who the perpetrator was. He was almost elated to see the familiar slices in skin, kerf marks in bone, the organized removal of particular organs, and the horrific display of the victim's innards. He had no doubt, remembering vividly the scene of the last murder, that Sherlock was observing yet another brutal crime from The Sandman. He lamented the fact that John had not received a video on the blog this time, but he was sure he would be receiving some sort of token in the next few days from his new adversary. The Sandman, like other serial killers, did love attention, and aside from Sherlock Holmes, that need would be his downfall.
He was still toying with the cigarette in his fingers, trying to draw a comparison between both victims. An odd choice for serial killers who tended to prey on the young, both the nurse and the retired officer were middle or later in years, both caucasian, and had scant family. With the delicacy of the evisceration, Sherlock knew the Sandman would be educated and methodical, most likely a true psychopath with a taste for the macabre.
His initial assumption that the Sandman would be an Angel of Death was proving exceedingly unlikely as there were no Doctors that linked the two victims. The fact that the murders were more than a year apart — at least discovered murders — seemed to halt Scotland Yard's conclusion that the Sandman had returned at all. But if there was anything that Sherlock Homes knew fully, it was the minds of murderers. This was not the panic driven need for a man to assert his dominance or slake his lust or yearn for some sort of comfort, this was a challenge, this was a summons from one dark mind to another.
Sherlock would eagerly oblige.
Kairi had accompanied him to the crime scene but he was surprised when she approached the body with him. She stood back and observed him as he took it all in and began to memorize the complexities of the scene. She was either silent and thoughtful or chatting away with Lestrade and Donovan - who had warmed to her over the last year it seemed. She did not cry or shake, she was not fearful of the gore that she never directly looked at, but he could see the sadness in her features, a resolved frown to help in every possible way.
After dinner, they arrived at the morgue, meeting Lestrade, John, and Molly. Both of Molly and John had flashed their eager gazes between Kairi and Sherlock, who were allowing each other space and trying to ignore their friends' eager glances.
Sherlock knew they would quickly be approached and bombarded with questions revolving around their entanglement and he would be hard pressed to remain civil. It was not in his nature to even feel emotions, let alone discuss them. The fact that other people felt the need to be involved in his personal life was particularly repugnant. He was already stewing over the knowing glances he and Kairi had received upon arriving at the scene hand in hand. He would say he regretted the contact, but at this point in time, he couldn't. It was hard enough to return to his own bed last night and not break into her flat just to be near her. It was on odd feeling, having her in his presence again. It made him a bit desperate to hold onto her, as if she would disappear if he let her out of his sight.
