Stranger (A Study In Pink)

Strange Communication

John and I walked back up into the apartment to see Sherlock with one of his arms up in the air with him lying down on the sofa.
"What are you doing?" John asked as we walked through the door frame.
"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." He lifts his right hand showing us that he has three round nicotine patches stuck to his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."
John walked further into the room and I followed silently sitting in the chair John sat on when we first came to Baker Street. 
"It’s good news for breathing." John mentioned.
"Oh, breathing. Breathing’s boring." Sherlock responded dismissively.
John frowns as he looks more closely at Sherlock’s arm.
"Is that three patches?"
Sherlock pressed his hands together in the prayer position under his chin "It’s a three-patch problem."
"Well?" 
No response. 
"You asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important."
"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"
"My phone?"
"Don’t wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognised. It’s on the website."
"Mrs Hudson’s got a phone." I responded to that one.
"Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn’t hear."
" I was the other side of London." I could tell John was triggered by his response. 
"There was no hurry."
John sighed and dug his phone out.
"Here."
Without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with the palm up. John glowers at him for a moment, then steps forward and slaps the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turns and walks a few paces away before turning around again.
" So what’s this about – the case?" John asked.
"Her case."
"Her case?"
Sherlock opened his eyes "Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."
" Okay, he took her case."
"It’s no use, there’s no other way. We’ll have to risk it. On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text."
Sherlock handed John back his phone.
"You brought me here ... to send a text."
"Text, yes. The number on my desk...What’s wrong?" He asked, finally noticing the anger John was showing.
"We just met a friend of yours."
"A friend?" Sherlock looked confused. 
"An enemy." I classified. 
Sherlock immediately relaxes.
"Oh. Which one?"
"Your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people have arch-enemies?" John asked.
Sherlock began to narrow his eyes as if he acknowledged who we were on about.
"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" 
"Yes." I confirmed.
"Did you take it?"
"No." John answered.
"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."
"Who is he?" John questioned.
"The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number."
"Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn’t that the dead woman?"
"Yes. That’s not important. Just enter the number. Are you doing it?"
"Yes."
"Have you done it?"
"Ye... hang on!"
"These words exactly: “What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come."
"You blacked out?" John asked.
"What? No. No! Type and send it. Quickly.Have you sent it?"
"What’s the address?"
Sherlock had placed a pink case onto the table while John had continued to type.
" Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!"
John finishes the message, then looked round as Sherlock unzips the case and flips open the lid, revealing the contents. There are a few items of clothing and underwear – all in varying shades of pink – a washbag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled “Come To Bed eyes" As John turns towards the case he staggers slightly in shock when he realises what he’s looking at.
"That’s ... that’s the pink lady’s case. That’s Jennifer Wilson’s case."
"Yes, obviously. Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn’t kill her."
" I never said you did."
"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it’s a perfectly logical assumption."
" Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?" I asked him. Getting up from the chair and now joining them at the table.
Sherlock smirked at me. "Now and then, yes."
"Okay...How did you get this?"
"By looking."
"Where?"
"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ... and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."
"Pink. You got all that because you realised the case would be pink?"
"Well, it had to be pink, obviously." I pointed out as if it was a normal assumption to make.
"Why didn’t I think of that?" John asked.
"Because you’re an idiot." I slapped Sherlock's arm.
" No, no, no, don’t look like that. Practically everyone is."
This earned him another slap.
He rubbed his arm and looked down at me. I just raised a brow and folded my arms across my chest with a "Do you really want to push it to a third?" Look on my face.
Instead he refolds his hands and then extends his index fingers to point at the case.
"Now, look. Do you see what’s missing?" He asked John focussing on the case again.
"From the case? How could I?"
"Her phone. Where’s her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there’s no phone in the case. We know she had one – that’s her number there; you just texted it."
" Maybe she left it at home."
" She has a string of lovers and she’s careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."
"Er ...Why did I just send that text?"
"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?"
"She could have lost it."
" Yes, or ...?"
"The murderer ... You think the murderer has the phone?"
" Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."
"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?"
As if on cue, his phone begins to ring. He picks it up and looks at the screen for the Caller I.D. I peer over to see what it says:

'(withheld)
calling'
"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer ... (the phone stops ringing) would panic."
He flips the lid of the suitcase closed and stands up, walking across the room to pick up his jacket. As John continues to stare down at his phone, Sherlock puts on his jacket and walks towards the door.
"Have you talked to the police?" John asked.
"Four people are dead. There isn’t time to talk to the police."
" So why are you talking to us?" I asked.
Sherlock reaches behind the door to take his greatcoat from the hook. As he looks across towards John and I as he notices that something is missing from the mantelpiece.
"Mrs Hudson took my skull."
"So we're basically filling in for your skull?"
" Relax, you’re both doing fine."
We both don't move.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly."
" What, you want me to come with you?"
"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so ... Problem?"
" Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."
"What about her?"
"She said ... You get off on this. You enjoy it."
" And I said “dangerous,” and here you are."
Sherlock disappears from sight and John acknowledges what Sherlock meant.
"Damn it!"
I sighed and got ready to go out.
I wonder what this strange communicator is like?
There's only one way to find out.