Once Sherlock was finished he moved and raised an eyebrow at me, as I took this as a offer to see what I could come up with.

My attention is immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards by the woman's left hand is the word "Rache". My eyes flick to her fingernails where the index and middle nails are broken and ragged at the ends with the nail polish chipped, in stark comparison to her other nails which are still immaculate. The woman's index finger rests at the bottom of the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. This suggests that she was left handed.

I looked back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into my mind: RACHE - translation - revenge. German. Instantly I shake my head in a tiny dismissive movement and the suggestion disappears. I look at the carved word again and overlays the five letters with a clearer type. Next to the 'e' a rapid progression of letters appear and disappear as I try to complete the word. Rachel maybe?

I squat down beside the body and run my gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts my hand again to look at my fingers. Wet. I reached into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running my fingers along the folds of the material, I then inspect my glove again. Dry. Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, I move up to the collar of her coat and run my fingers underneath it before once again looking at my fingers. Wet.

"Magnifier" I ask for not looking up as nothing happens as I sigh.

"I know you keep one in your pocket and you never leave the house without it. So manifier please" I asked again as I saw Lestrade smirk. Sherlock hands it over as I click it open and begin to inspect the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ...clean... then the gold earring attached to her left ear ...clean... and then the gold chain around her neck ... clean... before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flag a different message to me. Dirty

So she was married, unhappily married by the look of her wedding ring. By the way she has her engagement ring and the other ring on her finger I would think maybe ten years roughly. Carefully I work the wedding ring off the woman's finger and hold it up to look at the inside of the ring. While the outside of the ring is still showing dirty the inside registers as clean. Hmmmmmm. I noticed that she has no ring tan line, so she removes is a lot.

I handed the magnifier back to Sherlock with a nod of the head as he nodded back smiling slightly with satisfaction.

"Well? Have either of you genius's got anything?" He asked.

"Not much." Sherlock and I responded at the same time with the same tone of voice. We both looked at each other in surprise as I'm sure that John and Lestrade either groaned or were laughing. Sherlock smirked and I rolled my eyes as I removed my gloves to see that Sherlock got outs his mobile phone from his pocket and began typing on it.

"She's German. 'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something ..." Anderson began as he was trying to be intelligent from where he was causally leaning in the doorway. As he has been speaking, Sherlock has walked quickly towards the door and now begins to close it in Anderson's face.

"I do speak fluent German Anderson I know what Rache means" I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, thank you for your input." He spoke sarcastically. Slamming the door shut, he turns and walks back into the room. On his phone as Lestrade and John look up at me impressed as I leant against the wall slightly bored as I kept staring at the woman.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked unsure.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ..." I began

"... before returning home to Cardiff." Sherlock finished the sentence as I smirked slightly as he pockets his phone.

"That's creepy" John admitted as Lestrade nodded as we both scolded and rolled our eyes.

"Sherlock - two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Lestrade ordered as I snickered.

"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. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock spoke as I frowned slightly.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade questioned. I did another quick glance around the room and didn't see a suitcase anywhere.

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

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade spoke furiously.

"Her wedding ring. 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? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple." I responded as eyes were drawn to me as I shrugged. Sherlock smirked with that sparkle in his eyes before he turned away.

"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. 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 was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come 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? Cardiff." He gets his phone from his pocket and shows to the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today's weather for the southern part of Britain.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked as I was suddenly picking up the pieces.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock spoke as he was spinning around in a circle to look around the room for the suitcase.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" John asked as we both rolled our eyes.

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

"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. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." Sherlock deducted as he pointed down at the body. He squats down by the woman's body and examines the backs of her legs more closely.

"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock asked.

"There wasn't a case." Slowly Sherlock raises his head and frowns up at Lestrade.

"Say that again." He muttered.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." He responded and immediately Sherlock straightens up and heads for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he begins to hurry down the stairs.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" He shouted as John was following on after him.

"Sherlock, there was no case!"

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." Sherlock shouted back as he paused at where he was standing.

"Thanks" Lestrade muttered beside me offended.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings - serial killings." He holds his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" John asked as I chuckled at his excitement.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." Sherlock informed.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John suggested as I rolld my eyes.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." I began before it hit me. "Oh"

I glanced down at Sherlock his eyes widen and his face lights up. He smiled at me as he knew I understood. Well I wasn't stupid.

"Oh!" He exclaimed as he claps his hands in delight.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade called out looking at me confused.

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

"Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Sherlock called out as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and disappears from view.

"Of course, yeah - but what mistake?!" Lestrade called out after him as Sherlock comes back into view and runs up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he yells up to Lestrade.

"PINK!" He shouted as I whispered it chuckling, before I patted Lestrade's back and made my way down the stairs passing Lestrade's men. I walked out and feeling slightly cold scolding realizing I left my black leather jacket at Baker Street. Sherlock and John had both left as I started walking towards the tape.

"He's gone." Donovan spoke as I rolled my eyes. Well that's obvious.

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends. So who are you?" She asked me as we both folded our arms over our chest. I raised an eyebrow.

"You know who I am. I showed my rank" I informed as she narrowed her eyes at me.

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy. He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there." She told me as I rolled my eyes.

"When that day comes you can say I told you so. But until then Sergeant, know your place" I warned as she gulped shuffling her feet looking down at the ground, as I began walking towards the main road. As I kept going just enjoying the breeze to my right the public telephone box began to ring. I rolled my eyes and went to pick it up.

"What do you need now Mycroft?" I asked him as he chuckled. As I noticed a black car pull up at the kerb before I hung up. The driver opened the door for me as I got inside to see Mycroft.

"You know, I've got a phone." I raised an eyebrow.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet" He told me as I rolled my eyes.

"I don't do personal calls nor will I be babysitting your brother Mycroft" I stated clearly as he nodded.

"I worry about him constantly..."

"That's nice but not my problem" I demanded as he sighed.

"Address?" He asked.

"221 B Baker Street" I told the driver as he raised an eyebrow at me.

"I left my jacket there. Besides to cover purposes I might take up a place. Very discreet" I informed as he smirked.

"Well if you do move into, two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis for information. Nothing indiscreet. Just to tell me what he's up to." He offered as the car came to a stop as I scoffed.

"I told you Mr. Holmes. I don't do personal affairs" I spoke as I got out but he held the door open.

"My offer still stands" He informed before shutting the door. I watched as the car pulled away before I turned and knocked on the door. Mrs Hudson opened the door with a smile.

"Do you have another room open Mrs Hudson?" I asked her as she nodded beaming.

"Well if the boys can handle a girl then I'll drop by tomorrow" I winked as she chuckled as I made my upstairs knocking on the door as John opened it slightly surprised before letting me in.

Sherlock was lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting on a cushion. With his jacket off and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms, he has his eyes closed and he is pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow. After some seconds his eyes snap open wide and he stares fixedly up towards the ceiling, then he sighs out a noisy breath and relaxes. I stopped and stared as Sherlock repeatedly clenches and unclenches his left fist.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." He told me calmly as he lifts his right hand to show that he has three round nicotine patches stuck to his arm and it was these which he was pressing against his skin to release the substances more quickly.

"Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." He spoke as he loudly clicks the 'k' on 'work'.

"Is that three patches?" John groaned.

"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock spoke pressing his hands together in a prayer position under his chin. He then closes his eyes as John and I look at each other unsure at first before I go up to the sofa and pull my leather jacket from under Sherlock's head as he looked back at me, as I slipped it on and pulled my high ponytail out from under the fabric.

"Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock suddenly asks as I saw John getting annoyed.

"Here." John handed his over before slouching down in his seat tired. I sat on the hand rest of the sofa, my back leaning against the wall as it soon grew silent.

"How do you guys feel about another flatmate?" I asked as they looked up at me. John looked relieved but Sherlock was emotionless.

"Welcome to Baker Street" Sherlock smirked before lying back down as I smirked. Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms.

"So...The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake. What now?" I asked.

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Sherlock whispered to himself before raising his voice a little, he imperiously holds the phone out towards John, still not looking at him. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

"You brought me here ... to send a text." John demanded tightly as I rolled my eyes and got up grabbing the phone.

"I'll do it" I snapped as I snatched the phone and started typing before I realized that the luggage label belonged to Jennifer Wilson.

"These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out." Sherlock spoke as I typed it and paused as he kept his narration.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come." Before I pressed send as John frowned.

"You blacked out?" John asked concerned.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock snapped as I smirked. Sherlock flips his legs around and stands up, taking the shortest route towards the kitchen - which involves walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it, causing me to stifle a laugh. I frowned, I haven't really laughed in years. What is this?

"Done" I informed as Sherlock went into the kitchen, he picks up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brings it back into the living room. Walking over to the dining table, he lifts one of the dining chairs and flips it around, setting it down in front of one of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He puts the suitcase onto the dining chair and sits down in the armchair.

I watched 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 as he realises what he's looking at.

"That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." John stumbled.

"Obviously." I stated. Sherlock puts his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifts his feet up and under him so that he is perching on the seat with his backside braced against the back rest, then clasps his hands under his chin.

"How did you get this?" John questioned.

"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 realize 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." Sherlock stated obviously and I was impressed.

"Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" Sherlock asked as John frowned and shrugged.

"Her phone" I informed as Sherlock nodded.

"Exactly. 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." Sherlock stated.

"Maybe she left it at home." John asked.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home." I stated handing John back his phone as he suddenly grew tensed.

"You think the murderer has the phone?" He asked unsure.

"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." Sherlock spoke thinking as I saw John pale slightly.

"Did we just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" He demanded as if on cue, his phone begins to ring. He picks it up and looks at the screen for the Caller I.D. It reads:

(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 ..."I whispered dramatically as the phone stopped ringing.

"... would panic." Sherlock finished as 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 his jacket on and walks towards the door.

"Well?" Sherlock asked.

"Not coming I need to sleep" John growled as he left and slammed his door to his room, as we both shrugged.

"Care to join?" Sherlock asked me, his voice silky as I felt it run straight through me.

"Thought you'd never ask" I smirked cheekily as I walked out the door, with him shutting it behind me. We kept walking for five minutes in silence until we reached Northumberland Street's as I took a quick professional spy glance around.

"You think he's stupid enough to come?" I asked as he smiled brightly down at me.

"No - I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught." He smiled as I chuckled as Sherlock spins around to indicate the entire area as he continues down the road.

"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." He spoke as he holds his hands up on either side of his head as if to focus his thoughts.

"Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" Sherlock questioned as I started thinking.

"Hungry?" He offered as we walked side by side into a small restaurant. The waiter near the door clearly knows Sherlock and gestures to a reserved table at the front window.

"Thank you, Billy." Taking his coat off, he sits down on the bench seat at the side of the table and immediately turns sideways so that he can see clearly out of the window. As Billy takes the 'Reserved' sign off the table, I sit down on the other bench seat with my back to the window, and take off my jacket. Just then the manager and/or owner of the restaurant came over, clearly pleased to see Sherlock.

"Sherlock." He smiled as they shook hands. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your date."

He placed menus in front of us as I felt my back straightened.

"Do you want to eat?" He asked me kindly.

"I'm not his date." I told the manager who took no notice as he began to tell me how Sherlock got him off a murder charge and how he cleared his name.

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." He winked at me as I placed my menu on the table annoyed slightly as Sherlock smirked as if he was having fun with this.

"I'm not his date!" I told him once more as Sherlock puts his own menu down onto the table.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." He told me as the manager came back with a small glass bowl containing a lit tea-light. He puts it onto the table and gives me a thumbs-up before turning and walking away again. I groaned slightly as Sherlock poured me a glass of red wine.

"This isn't a date" I pointed out as he smirked.

"I never said it was" He chuckled as I smirked slightly. I took a sip enjoying the rich taste.

"Your brother stopped by" I told him as he raised an eyebrow.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No. I don't take personal cases" I smirked as he chuckled. I let Sherlock order the food, as soon a plate of delicious food was placed in front of us as we back eating. I watched as Sherlock's attention is fixed out of the window and he is quietly drumming his fingers on the table. My phone buzzed as it gained Sherlock's attention; I noticed it was from Michael, before I canceled.

"Boyfriend?" Sherlock asked as I took another sip of my wine shaking my head.

"Brother-in-law, besides I consider myself married to my work. I find caring is not an advantage to what I do, in fact it's the opposite. Caring only puts myself in more danger....and it makes what I do unbearable" I spoke unable to look him in the eye. Sometimes I wonder how I can live with myself and what I do. I kill. I could hear him smiling as I glanced at him unsure of what look he was giving me, but his smile was true. No doubt about it, causing me to take a gulp of my wine and look away.

"Look across the street. Taxi." Sherlock suddenly speaks as I place my glass of wine down beside my empty plate. twisting in my seat I see a taxi has parked at the side of the road with its back end towards the restaurant.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." He observed. In the rear seat of the taxi the male passenger is looking through the side windows as if trying to see somebody particular.

"Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock whispered to himself as I stared at the guy slightly before sitting back to ensure we both weren't staring.

"Think that's him?" I asked as he didn't respond. Getting to his feet, he grabs his coat and scarf and heads for the door. I pick up my own jacket and follow putting it on. Outside the door, Sherlock shrugs himself into his coat while keeping his eyes fixed on the taxi. The passenger continues to look around him, then turns and looks out the back window. His gaze falls on the restaurant and he looks at it for a few moments while Sherlock stares back at him, then the man turns towards the front of the vehicle and the taxi begins to pull away from the kerb.

Sherlock immediately heads towards it without bothering to check the road that he's running into and is almost run over by a car coming from his left. The driver slams on the brakes and stops the car but Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route, allows his forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet. He rolls over the bonnet, lands on his feet on the other side and then runs after the taxi with me by his side.