The rest of that day was spent entertaining Rosie and talking with John, until John decided to go up his room. His ankle was feeling better by then, though Sherlock still helped him up. Rosie went to bed, and then Sherlock began pondering the case.

He had a few ideas, though none could be confirmed just then — probably not even if he looked in the house more. He suspected there wouldn't be any more evidence to be found in there; something else would have to come to light.

This morning, something does.

"There's been a murder at Wintermere Hall. Figured that would interest you," Lestrade says over the phone.

Sherlock smiles. "I'll be there."

"I'm heading over now."

Sherlock hangs up, then runs up the stairs to John's room, where the latter is sitting up in bed, on his phone. "John," Sherlock says, "there's been a murder at Wintermere Hall. Come on, there's no time to waste."

"Hold on, hold on — a murder at Wintermere?" John asks. "Who was it?"

Sherlock waves this aside. "I don't know, Lestrade didn't say. Come on."

"Sherlock, I can't go anywhere, in case you've forgotten."

"Just take some pain meds and wrap your ankle — let's go."

"I'm not running around with a sprained ankle."

"Go get your cane; that's around here somewhere, isn't it?"

John rolls his eyes. "Sherlock, my entire body is aching, and my ankle is the worst part. I can stay here with Rosie if you help me down the stairs, but I'm not chasing a murderer any time soon."

Sherlock scrutinizes him for a moment, then says, "You're still afraid of bats, aren't you?"

"No! I'm in pain, Sherlock!"

Sherlock frowns. "But I can't go by myself."

"You're gonna have to," John replies, shrugging, obviously void of sympathy.

"I can't. I need someone to talk to, I need an assistant at least."

"Well, is Molly free?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "Even if she is, she wouldn't go with me. Not after last time." John raises a brow at this, so Sherlock elaborates. "After I revealed that I faked my death and you wanted nothing to do with me, she went with me on a case. I kept calling her John. Even I know that was not a good day for her."

"What about Lestrade?"

"He already has a role; he can't be my assistant, too."

John shakes his head, half-laughing. "Well, then, you're out of luck."

Sherlock groans. "Just come on. We can take Rosie down to Lily-"

"I am not asking her to babysit again. She's done enough for us," John replies.

But Sherlock gets an idea. "I'll ask her."

"Sherlock, no-"

"No, no, I'll ask her to go with me."

John looks at him skeptically. "You're going to ask her to go to a crime scene with you?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Yes. Why not?" She's obviously fond of helping other people, and coming with him would be helping him. And, really, he has no other options.

"Does Lily really seem like the type of person to want to go to a crime scene?" John asks.

"It's only one time," Sherlock says, his mind already set. He turns to go.

John stops him. "Hold on, you need to help me down the stairs." So, he helps John, gets him his pain meds, a drink, and a fairly dismal breakfast (John requests that they stop somewhere and get something better on the way back). He makes an egg for Rosie and, as he's already dressed, quickly heads down to Lily's apartment and knocks on the door.

In a few moments, during which Lestrade calls him, Lily opens the door, her hair frizzy, still in her pajamas, and her mouth half full of cereal. "Oh, hello."

"Hello," Sherlock replies. "Can you come to a crime scene with me?"

She stops. "You want me to-?"

"Come to a crime scene with me, yes. John can't go, and I can't go by myself."

She looks at him for a moment, then cautiously asks, "What sort of crime scene?"

"A murder."

She grimaces, and Sherlock tries to implore her with his eyes, being reminded of the incident with Janine when he did whatever he could to get into that office — minus the proposal. Luckily, it works the second time, too. Lily relents. "Alright. I might not be of much help, but I'll go."

Sherlock smiles. He turns, about to head out to Lestrade.

"Sherlock," Lily says. "I need to get dressed first..."

He looks back and remembers that she's in pajamas. "Oh, right."

"I'll hurry. Just give me five minutes."

She actually comes back in four, her hair still a bit frizzy, but partly calmed by a headband pushing it back. She's also wearing a pair of jeans and a gray shirt, and her shoes are a sort of ankle-height boot. Good enough for a crime scene. Sherlock turns and heads out the door, and Lily follows. Lestrade is parked in the street, looking perturbed. Sherlock gets in the passenger side, and Lily gets in the back.

"Where have you been?" Lestrade asks.

"Procuring a... partner." He figured she wouldn't like being called an assistant, as people in the past haven't.

Lestrade, already driving, looks in the rearview mirror. "I- Oh, hello. I'm Greg Lestrade."

"Lily Marlow," she says with a smile.

"Oh, you're the new neighbor," Lestrade replies. "It's nice to meet you."

They make small talk on the way there, which is mostly boring, but Sherlock can't focus with their chatter, so he ends up listening. The way Lily speaks — with that laughter, the lightness in her voice — keeps his attention on what she says. Lestrade, however, is just plain boring today, and Sherlock knows everything he's saying anyway. It's sort of a relief when they arrive at Wintermere Hall.

It's grand, though less grand than Reigate, with a brighter exterior. There's a garden outside, filled with bright flowers. Lily looks delighted with it when they get out of the car. "Oh, it's beautiful out here." She goes over to a gaggle of yellow flowers. "I love these."

They move on, forcing Lily to follow, Lestrade leading the way and giving details only now.

"The victim was the gardener, William Kirwan," he says. "We're thinking the killer was a robber, as there's signs of forced entry at the back of the house. Mr. Cunningham the younger saw the whole thing, called it in at around five this morning."

Sherlock takes one look at the corpse and knows the cause of death: a gunshot wound to the chest. He likely died almost instantly. Sherlock starts looking around the body, observing the larger scene, but then he hears a choked gag.

Lily is ways behind him, and she looks sick. Sherlock isn't exactly surprised, though he is a bit shocked to find himself not annoyed — as he figured he would be — but more sympathetic. She looks more than sick. She looks sad.

Lestrade nods to someone, who produces a small container of Vick's vapor rub. He holds it out to Lily. "Put some under your nose. It helps with the smell."

She manages to thank him and does as he says, then she looks back at Sherlock, the same sad look in her eyes. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just... stay wherever's comfortable. I can talk to you from just about anywhere."

She almost seems grateful as she backs up a bit. "Alright."

Sherlock turns back to the body, and Lestrade walks over to him. "So," he says quietly.

Sherlock glances at him. "So?"

"Sherlock, I let John come along, I let Molly come along that one time, and Lily is a very nice person, but... you can't keep bringing random people to scenes with you. You're barely allowed here, honestly."

"John couldn't come, and Molly will never come again, so I needed someone to go with me. Lily was there, and she said she would."

"She isn't exactly helping you, is she?"

"I need someone to talk at, that's all. I'll manage everything else by myself."

Lestrade starts speaking again, but Sherlock doesn't hear a word of it. "What's that?" he asks, pointing.

Lestrade stops. "What's what?"

Sherlock steps over the man's legs, looking at his hand, which is clutching something unseen. "This. Something's in his hand." He holds his hand out and someone gives him gloves. He quickly puts them on and pries the man's fingers open.

It's a torn piece of paper that reads:

'a quarter to five
        learn what
may be'

He shows it to Lestrade, who has it put into evidence. Sherlock's already memorized it, anyway. Making some inferences, he then, in his mind, starts analyzing the type on the paper, but there's only so far he can go without more research. So, instead, he asks Lestrade, "Do you know what time he usually came in for work?"

Lestrade shrugs. "No idea. Quarter to five seems a bit early, though. Unless it was the afternoon."

"It wasn't," Sherlock says simply. "He was obviously meeting somebody."

"Maybe the robber? It could've been an inside job, and maybe the robber wanted to cover his tracks."

Sherlock shrugs. "It's a possibility." He then turns and sees Lily standing there, waiting to be helpful, looking a bit less nauseous than before. But she won't look anywhere near the corpse. She just looks at Sherlock, at his face or maybe even his hair. Evidently fairies like it, so that would make sense.

He steps away from the body and walks towards her.

"What did you find?" she asks.

"He died from a gunshot wound to the chest, probably almost instantly, and he had a torn note in his hand."

She grimaces. "What did it say?" Sherlock repeats it to her, and she nods, thinking on it. But she doesn't say anything more about it. Instead, she quietly asks, "Do you know if he... had family?"

Sherlock is confused at first, having been thinking of the evidence found. "Who? The gardener?" Lily only nods, and Sherlock feels that wave of sympathy again, seeing her face; she looks like she's going to cry. He sighs. "I-I don't know. I didn't ask. But I'm here to find out who killed him, and that's the best thing anyone can do for him now." She nods again, this time in understanding. Sherlock goes to say something else — what, he doesn't know — when they're interrupted by a younger man in pajamas coming over with a cop.

"This is Henry Cunningham. He saw the murder happen," the cop says.

Lily and Sherlock turn to Henry, and Sherlock instructs, "Tell me the whole story, start to finish, leave nothing out."

Henry, a bit agitated, starts his story. "I woke up at four this morning, and I couldn't get back to sleep, so I was reading in bed when I heard noises downstairs at around five. So I went down, and then I heard somebody running outside. A second later, I heard a fight outside, and I looked out that window there-" he points to a window facing the scene "- and I saw the robber and Kirwan struggling, and there was a shot, and the robber took off running through the hedges over there. I ran out here, and I saw a get away car speeding away, but I didn't go after it because I was trying to help Kirwan." He pauses, upset. "He was gone before I could do anything for him, so I just called the police."

"What did the car look like?" Sherlock asks.

Henry shrugs. "It was too dark to tell; the headlights were off."

"Did he take anything?" Lily suddenly pipes up.

Henry looks at her, his brow slightly raised. "As far as we can tell, just the candlesticks we had in the living room and some silverware from the dining room. We'll have to check for anything else. That bag didn't look like it had too much in it, though."

"And he took off through those hedges?" she points to them, and Henry nods.

"Those are the ones."

Sherlock thanks him and sends him on his way, then heads over to the hedges indicated, and Lily has the same idea. She gives the body a wide berth as she goes, then crouches low to the ground when they reach the hedges, looking at the dirt.

"This doesn't look like anyone has run through here," she says.

"You're right. No leaves are disturbed — nothing."

"So... he saw the robber run this direction and assumed he ran through the hedges."

"It's possible."

"Maybe the robber ran out over there." She points to a spot where the hedges fade into some flowers, small enough to be got over.

"He'd have to run a bit farther to any get away car awaiting him, but... maybe."

"Well, I suppose he could've jumped over the hedges," Lily says, almost laughing.

Sherlock laughs himself. "I couldn't clear those, and I'm over six feet tall."

"Maybe the robber was a giant," Lily jokes.

"Well, seeing as fairies are evidently real, it's no stretch to assume giants are, too, is it?"

He's a bit surprised to see Lily really smile, all things considered. She stands. "I thought about that, actually — your suggestion yesterday. I really like it."

"Well, it was mostly Rosie."

"Now I just need to figure out a theme. Or a character. Or any semblance of a storyline."

"I can't help with you that." He turns and starts walking back towards the scene, and Lily follows.

"Oh, I'll figure it out," she says. "Eventually, anyway." She avoids the corpse again as they pass it, though she glances at it, and it seems to do nothing for her already weak stomach. "Do you think they're the same person?" she asks quickly.

"Who?"

"The robber from the Reigate Estate and the killer in this case."

"It's likely."

Lestrade then walks out of the house and up to Sherlock. "There's a few things knocked over, in the sitting room mostly. Some drawers open in the dining room and most of the silverware is gone. No candlesticks."

"Well, Henry said those were taken, so I would think not."

Lestrade brushes off Sherlock's sarcasm. "Anyway, Mr. Cunningham the elder was asleep at the time. Said he didn't hear a thing."

"Is that possible?" Sherlock asks.

Lestrade shrugs. "It's a big house, and his bedroom is towards the back."

Lily looks at Sherlock. "You go in and go back to the guy's bedroom. I can make noise in the sitting room. We'll see how loud it is."

Sherlock, despite not enjoying being ordered, knows it's a good idea, so he goes, passing a knocked over vase in the foyer and some fallen books in the sitting room on his way up the stairs. "Give me thirty seconds exactly." He begins counting as a cop points him to Mr. Cunningham's bedroom, and at thirty seconds, he hears a dull thud from downstairs. Could be heard, but if Mr. Cunningham is a heavy sleeper, it's possible he slept through it.

Sherlock heads back towards the stairs, glancing in different rooms. Some doors are closed, but through one he sees an office, a laptop open on the desk inside. He moves on. The only other door open is Henry's bedroom, which is neat and tidy and provides nothing of interest.

Lily looks at him expectantly as he walks down the stairs. "Well?"

He tells her what he heard, and she nods in response while Sherlock takes another, more extensive look at the nice sitting room, though he sees nothing of interest there either. As Lily doesn't speak up, he assumes she's found nothing, too, despite looking.

Finally, Sherlock announces that it's time to depart, telling Lestrade they need stop for food somewhere since John's breakfast was less than satisfactory.

"Oh, I know this really good bakery in the city," Lily says. She tells Lestrade the name, and he says he's in the mood for something sweet and takes them. He and Lily talk on the way back while Sherlock tries to think.

At the bakery, Sherlock picks whatever looks the best, Lily gets a chocolate croissant, and Lestrade buys a few cupcakes, most to save for later. When they're back in the car — Lestrade said he'd just take them back to Baker Street — Sherlock asks Lily, "If you're a baker, why would you go to someone else's bakery?"

"Sometimes I don't have the time or energy to make it myself," Lily replies with a shrug. "And these are really good."

When they reach Baker Street, Lily accompanies Sherlock upstairs, to see if there's anything she can do. Rosie and John are both happy to see her, but she doesn't stay as long this time.

As she turns to go, she stops and asks Sherlock, "Have you figured it out yet?"

"Close, but no," he replies. "I think I'm going to go back and look further, once forensics and ballistics does their job. I want to be certain. And I'd like to find the other part of that paper."

Lily nods. "Well, I hope it'll be soon."

"Me, too," Sherlock replies, sighing. She smiles a little at him, then turns to go, but something pushes Sherlock to say something else. Some sense of... guilt, or something like it. "I... I'm... I'm sorry."

"For what? I... sort of had fun? Seeing a dead body was... well, I didn't like it. At all. But it's not your fault; it's not like you put him there. The rest of it was alright, though. I just hope I helped."

Sherlock nods. "You did... Thank you, Lily."

She smiles. "Any time. I'm happy to help."

The uncomfortable feeling in Sherlock's chest lessens a bit.