You and Sherlock

Fun? There's a woman lying dead!

Lestrade led you up a circular staircase.

"I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer," Sherlock replied breezily. You rolled your eyes.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," you muttered, giving Sherlock an unimpressed look.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade continued, ignoring your contribution. He lead you into a second story room that was completely bare except for a single rocking chair and, of course, the body. Creepy, you thought suppressing a shiver. There were large holes knocked into the walls, and scaffolding poles were holding up the ceiling. Scattered across the room were emergency portable lighting all bearing the carelessness of Scotland Yard's singular touch.

And then, in dead center, the body. She was face down, wearing a bright pink fuzzy overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. You had a brief thought that this could passably be a Dolores Umbridge cos-player. Her hands were flat on the floor, one on each side of her head. Sherlock had dragged you to enough cases by now that you didn't dare move, though you wanted to examine the body. He walked in ahead of you and then stopped so suddenly that you ran into him.

He held one hand out in front of him and focused on the corpse, expression focused. Next to you, John stared at the woman's body, first in shock, then his face contorted into pain and sadness. You reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. The four of you stood silent for several long moments, until Sherlock's head snapped toward Lestrade.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Lestrade protested, startled. Sherlock sighed dramatically.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock stepped forward, before turning and gesturing you forward. "Y/N,"

You moved up to him, still as silent as possible. You followed Sherlock's eyes to the word scratched into the floorboards. Rache. You frowned. You may not have been Sherlock Holmes, but you were reasonably intelligent and well-read. Enough so that you knew what Rache meant. It was German for revenge, and the woman's index finger rested at the bottom of the "e." Her index and middle finger nails were broken and ragged, you noticed and knelt down to scrutinize that, careful to stay out of Sherlock's way.

To your surprise, Sherlock bent down and murmured in your ear.

"Left handed,"

"Rache -- German. Revenge. Noun," you replied softly. Sherlock shook his head dismissively and straightened.

It was silent for another few beats. "Rachel," he said finally. He squatted down next to you and ran his gloved finger across her coat. Examining it briefly, he reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a white folding umbrella. He huffed and inspected his glove again. Replacing the umbrella, he ran his fingers along the folds of the collar of her coat and then underneath.

You waited with bated breath, and then watched as he held out a hand.

"Magnifier."

You didn't move. He looked at you expectantly.

"In my coat."

You sighed but reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the magnifier. He took from you without a word and clicked it open, examining the delicate gold bracelet on her wrist... then the gold earring on her left ear...and then the gold necklace.

Behind you, John shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock ignored that, instead staring very hard at the woman's wedding ring. He started blinking very rapidly and for a moment, you wished you could hear his thoughts.