A/N: I meant to share this 👆subtitles edit of John & Cora that I requested to have done for a giveaway a couple of weeks ago by the talented EnchantedWerecoyote on Tumblr. So anyway, on with the story.

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"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock inquired to John once all three of them had gotten out of the cab at Lauriston Gardens and began strolling towards the police tape strung across the street.

"Harry and I don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago, and they're getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker," John replied as Cora smirked knowingly to herself.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything," Sherlock returned, looking rather pleased with himself.

"And Harry's short for Harriet," the twins instantly stopped in their tracks, the smugness disappearing from their faces. There always had to be something they missed out on.

"Harry's your sister," Cora nodded, glancing in John's direction.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, now changing the subject matter as he went on walking.

"Sister!" Sherlock declared furiously through gritted teeth as he and his sister followed after John.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

"There's always something," Cora implied with some exasperation to her brother, who let out a small irritated huff and nodded as they finally reached the police tape. In contrast, much to their displeasure, Sergeant Donovan was waiting.

"Hello, freaks!" she greets them mockingly.

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock informed her.

"Why?"

"We were invited," Cora folded her arms before her and glared daggers at Donovan.

"Why?"

"I think he wants us to take a look," the female Holmes returned much slower and more sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally," Sherlock places a gentle hand on his sister's arm to try and calm her. Cora knows her brother is much better at dealing with Donovan than her. Sherlock takes a deep breath through his nose before telling Donovan just as he lifts the police tape, allowing his sister to go before him, "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't..." Donovan began to stutter only to quickly recover as she stopped John from going under the police tape, "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of ours, Doctor Watson," Sherlock briefly turned to John, introducing him to Sally, "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend," he finished sarcastically.

"A colleague? How do you two get a colleague?!" Sally turns to John with a frown of concern, "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..." John asked instead awkwardly, only for it to be ignored by Sherlock completely, who now lifts the tape for him.

"No."

"Your freaky twins are here. Bringing them in," John goes under just as Donovan announces into her radio just as one Anderson exits the house wearing coveralls.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," Sherlock grinned sarcastically at the man, who looked back at him with displeasure.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson seriously instructed, his voice sending an unnerving chill throughout her body and making Cora cringe.

"Quite clear," Sherlock tells him, taking a deep breath through his nose, "And is your wife away for long?'

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out," Anderson huffed a little childishly, "Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's made for men," Cora now implied with a quirky expression on her features.

"Well, of course, it's for men! I'm wearing it!" the man returned defensively.

"Sergeant Donovan is also wearing it," Cora sniffed the air and smirked, rather pleased with herself as Donovan and Anderson shared equally shocked looks, "Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May we go in?"

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply..." Anderson now voiced angrily, pointing his finger at the female Holmes.

"I'm not implying anything," Cora shrugged without care before she and Sherlock went past Donovan towards the house's front door, "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over. Don't you think Sherlock?" she stopped to ask her brother both the twins turning to gaze in Sally's direction taking notice of something about her, "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees," with a cheeky wink at the pair Cora turned away and went into the house.

Her brother, with John, is not too far behind as they find Greg in the middle of putting protective clothing on.

"You'll need to wear one of these," Greg glanced into Cora and Sherlock's but knew fully well enough that neither would do what they were told before frowning over at the other man holding a came, "Who's this?"

"He's with us," the female Holmes acknowledged without looking up at her friend pulling on a latex glove while her brother removed his leather ones.

"But who is he?"Greg questioned the brunette, sounding just as confused as ever as she caught a brief glint of something within his eyes but wasn't entirely sure what it could've been.

"As I said, Lestrade, he's with us," Cora rolled her eyes as she repeated herself, pulling on another glove.

She now felt John peering in her and Sherlock's direction out the corner of her eye, seeing him put down his jacket and pick up a blue coverall. The taller Holmes now grabs some latex gloves as John indicates to protective clothing in his grasp, "Aren't you gonna put one on?"

The twins return him equally stern gazes as Cora, now scrunched up her nose in disgust at wearing the unflattering piece of clothing, "Not our thing, to be honest."

John shook his head as if saying, 'Oh, how silly of me to have asked such a ridiculous question.'

"So, where are we?" Sherlock looked to Lestrade.

"Upstairs," he takes some gloves before leading the three up a circular staircase. He and John were still the only ones wearing the coveralls and some coverings for their shoes as Sherlock pulled on his latex gloves, "I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer."

"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," Greg now begins to relay what he knows about the dead woman so far, leading them into a room two storeys above the ground floor.

The room is bleak, damp and depressing, with yellowing white paint, chipped windows and on the door with outdated, faded, peeling wallpaper that had seen better days. It's completely void of furniture except for an old toy rocking horse standing in a far corner. There's portable emergency lighting along with a few scaffolding poles and a few rather large holes knocked into one wall. Right in the centre of it, all is Jennifer Wilson's dead body in a shockingly pink overcoat, matching high heels, laying face down on bare dirty floorboards, hands laying flat on either side of her head.

Cora shares a look with her brother with a short nod before they both go to crouch on either side of the corpse to have a better look. Neither noticed the pain and sadness that filled John's face as he glanced at the body from behind them.

They, including Lestrade, now stood in silence for several long seconds until Sherlock looked in Lestrade's direction and snapped, "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Greg started to protest.

"You were thinking. It's annoying," Cora implied in return, rolling her eyes, pulling out her tiny magnifying glass to inspect the words 'Rache' scratched into the floorboards by the dead woman. She was or had been left-handed, having used it to carve the word out. Rache meant the word revenge in German, yet he knew that couldn't be right. Maybe it was because she hadn't had a chance to finish what she intended to write, which was Rachel, but died before she could complete it, which was pretty explanatory. Cora moved onto her coat, resting it upon the collar that was still damp, but there had been no rain in London today, and the woman's umbrella was bone dry. Cora now quickly pulled out her mobile phone from her coat. Just as her brother examined the woman's hands, she checked for the weather in the UK to cross off any possible locations before finally narrowing it down to Cardiff.

"Got anything?"

"Not much," Sherlock responded casually with a slight shrug before standing back up along with his sister, both pulling off their gloves.

"She's German. 'Rache' it's German for revenge," Anderson spoke up from where he casually leaned against the doorframe just as Cora took a deep breath, "She could be trying to tell us something..."

Sherlock quickly strides across the room, slamming the door in Anderson's face with a hint of sarcasm, "Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" Lestrade inquired.

"Of course, she's not," Cora knowingly scoffs and folded her arms in front of her as she began to explain, "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night..." she paused with a smugness upon her lips, "...before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious, what have you got, brother dear?" she glanced in his direction.

"Sorry - obvious?" John frowned.

"What about the message, though?" Greg indicates the writing on the floor.

Brushing him off, Sherlock directed his gaze at John, "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade sternly reminds them.

"You know very well that they won't work with us," Cora reminds him with a pointed gaze.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you both in here..."

"Yes," Cora says with a slight smile, "Because you need us."

He stares at them for a long moment, helplessly lowering his eyes, letting out a small sigh of defeat, "Yes, I do. God help me."

"Doctor Watson," Sherlock called to John l

"Hm?" he now looked up from the body to the twins and then to Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself," he insisted a little moodily, beginning to grow annoyed as he turned toward the door opening it, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes," before going outside and instructing his workmate as he finally left the room.

Now that Greg had left Sherlock, John and Cora approached the body, the twins squatting down on one side and watching as John painfully lowered himself onto one knee opposite them, heavily relying on his cane for support.

"Well?" the male Holmes pressed.

"What am I doing here?"

"Helping us make a point," Cora acknowledged softly to the army doctor.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun," Sherlock uttered softly.

"Fun? A woman is lying dead," John scoffed disbelievingly at him and shook his head.

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper," Sherlock started to explain just as Lestrade came walking back into the room, just standing inside the doorway watching the three with interest. The female Holmes gives John a look of eagerness as he leans forward slightly closer towards the body and sniffs, straightening back up before lifting her right hand and inspecting the skin.

"Yeah...asphyxiation probably. She passed out and choked on her vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure, possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers."

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth...?"

"Cora, Sherlock, two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got," Lestrade tries, hurrying them along as they stand up. Cora, currently a little more considerate than her twin brother, held out her hand to John, who took it, helping him gently to his feet, who returned the woman a grateful smile, thinking that maybe she was caring when she wanted to be not unlike her brother.

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. I travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase," Sherlock explained.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade returned with a frown as John's eyes darted about the room, searching for a suitcase, but there wasn't one to be seen.

Suitcase, yes. She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up...." Greg lets out a sound of frustration.

"Her wedding ring," Sherlock pointed at the dead woman's hand as he began to clarify he knew, "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside - that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather, who does she remove her rings for? Not one lover; she'd never sustained the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple," he finished off.

"That's brilliant," John offered in admiration, both the twins glancing at him momentarily as he silently apologised, "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade called out.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" the female Holmes implored.

"It's not obvious to me," John declared as the twins shared a look.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be boring," 'ok well, maybe somewhat caring', John now thought as Cora turned back towards the body and insensitively scoffed before explaining her findings, "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain for the last few hours. There was no rain anywhere in London at that time. Under her coat, the collar is damp, too. This is because she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind - too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she intended to stay overnight, so she must have come to a decent distance, but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?"

She pulled out her mobile phone to show everyone, "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John gawped at her.

Cora turned to him and whispered, "Did you know you're doing that out loud?"

"Sorry. I'll shut up," John apologised.

"No, it's...fine, I quite enjoy the praise, really," she returned with a small smile and a shrug.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Greg asked them.

"Yes, where is it?" Sherlock inquired, spinning around the room in a circle to look for it, "She must have had a phone or an organiser. But, first, find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German!" Cora bit back sarcastically, "Of course, she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. The question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left," Sherlock explained, pointing to where there were black splotches on the lower part of the woman's right leg, "She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. It's a small case, going by the spread. A case that size, a woman this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night," he now crouches down by the body to examine the legs more closely, "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case."

"Say that again," Cora glanced in her friend's direction and frowned slightly as the words suddenly hit her.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase," Greg replied.

Sherlock instantly straightens up and grabs his sister's hand, pulling her along with him towards the door, calling out to the forensics team, "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade hollered back as John followed the Holmes twins out onto the landing.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves," Sherlock tells them as they slowly descend the stairs, "There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks! And!?"

"It's murder, all of them," Cora began to voice with delight, a grin upon her face, "I don't know how, but they're not suicides; they're serial killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer. Love those. There's always something to look forward to," she finished off with some excitement.

'Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case?" Sherlock paused with his sister on the staircase and shouted up to everyone, "Did she eat it!? Someone else was here, and they took her case," before muttering to his sister, who nodded in agreement, "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel and left her case there," John suggested.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair," Sherlock looked back up again, "She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..." he stopped mid-sentence as a sudden realisation came to him, "Oh..." his eyes began to widen, and face fills with joy, "Oh!"

"Sherlock?"

"What is it, what?" Lestrade asked, leaning over the railing.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!" Greg implied to him.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" the twins hurried down the staircase again, "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Sherlock retakes his sister's hand, and they run towards the front door.

"Of course, but what mistake?!"

"PINK!"

Graphic by belovass