Chapter 1
A light fog set low to the ground on a muggy Sunday night. Police lights filled the air like signs of warning and caution. The streets were wet with early rain as a police car whirred down the paved road.
Buzzing in the corner of the police car there was a small radio buzzing. It's sound was staticky and unclear but slowly, a hand reached for the knobs that were stuck to the sound device and turned them in a clockwise motion. Gradually the sound now sounded clear and resonated throughout the small car. A mans voice abruptly came on the radio. "Code red. All backup, I repeat, all back up. We've got another one."
The woman in the car let out a loud sigh. "What are we gonna do, the third killing like this and we still don't have any lead, any track or any clues as to who did it."
The other voice was loud and objective. "Now stop it Donavan."
Sally interjected, "And what do you propose we do?" She stared at Lestrade for a while and then began to protest angrily. "No, no no no, a million times no. We are not getting your little rat to help us out and to make a mess! You know I don't trust him, and neither should you. Especially after that big fake fall of his!"
Lestrade started to laugh at her, wiping his brow as he chuckled. "Too late, he's already there; and now, so are we."
As he stopped the car, Sally angrily stepped out of it and slammed the door. She huffed her way past a man in a beige coat with his hair neatly combed. The man just glanced at the tempered woman scuffling past him. "Nice to see you too."
"John!" Came a man's voice from the inside of a large trench. John moved toward the deep voice and stopped at the edge of the large crevice in the earth. "Get over here, Where are you?"
The soil wasn't sturdy and slid around when John walked down the hole. "Sherlock, I'm not your puppy."
Sherlock turned towards John, his blue eyes darting at him. "Just get over here."
As John settled himself on some level ground, Sherlock stepped to the left a bit to reveal. "A dead girl Sherlock?"
Sherlock gave John the 'oh you're such an idiot' look and turned back to look at the body. He bent down lower to the ground and started his little deductive fun. Fastening his gloves, he slowly lifted her coat. It was a nice one but worn, very worn. An old model with lots of patches. Could mean lots of love or perhaps a needing for it to last long. Her shirt was stained with her own blood it seemed, hence the head wound. Holes in jeans, holes in shoes, holes in hand? No, never mind, just drawings. A look closer and they were all up her arm. Bringing his nose to her arm, he brought in the smell. Permanent marker, but they had little to no scent meaning they obviously weren't new. He couldn't tell what they meant though. They were average symbols and words. They had to mean something, or perhaps they didn't. Her face was dirty with caked mud and her eyes had dry tears hanging about them. It was a sad sight to see but altogether, just another run of the mill crime scene. Now to the actual death cause.
The wound was obviously inflicted by a blunt weapon. There was blood and bruising around the gash in the skull. It wasn't too deep but there were no tell signs of what the weapon might be. Sherlock's hand made it's way to the wound and he touched it slightly. It was fresh, must have been only a day old tops.
"Find anything that we didn't know?"
Lestrade murmured, too interested in his coffee. He seemed pretty confident that there was nothing significantly different about this murder than any of the others that it was supposedly linked to.
Sherlock still crouched on the ground. He didn't even turn to look at him. "Oh shut up," He barked. "Of course I found something. This girl is insignificant, unlike the other murders. The other victims were people of at least minor importance, this girl was probably homeless by the looks of it. She did have odd habits though. This could mean she was more impulsive than the others, possibly more tuned into things. Sadly, she didn't do a good enough job." He stared blankly at the body that laid there helplessly. "Sad thing too, she was young. Had to be no more than 17. I'm going to need an autopsy for further results though."
Taking another sip of his coffee, Lestrade called some people over. "Pack the corpse in a body bag and take it to the morgue. If there's nothing more, we'll be off."
Sherlock climbed out of the pit and walked right past John. "Are you coming?" The tall, skinny man wearing the scarf asked. John just nodded as he stared blankly at the body bag being pulled out of the pit. "You're right John." Sherlock sighed. "Something about this doesn't feel right."
Turning to the car and opening the driver's door, Sherlock paid no attention to John. Noticing that he had already gotten into the car, John in turn, climbed in and muttered under his breath. "I don't know when any of this ever feels right to you Sherlock."
