Dancing with the Devil // Jim Moriarty

•Chapter 3: The Beginning of the End...•

The London Library was unusually crowded. Rows of ceiling high book shelves filled to the brim with ancient and modern novels were crammed with groups of police officers. Yellow tape restricted access to the building and its various hidden treasures inside.

Snow in the middle of November was rare even for London but a cold wave had a tight grip on the city. My tights were now lined with soft fabric, my skirts and sweatshirts a little thicker. Still I enjoyed the winter way too much to stay cooped up inside, unlike John and Sherlock. The latter was still busy moping about Irene Adler anyways. But I wanted to change that. No more whining and boredom. Sherlock needed to activate his genius brain again.

Which is exactly why I was currently heading straight towards a certain detective who had his back turned towards me, his pen gliding across the pages of a tiny notebook.

Lestrade had called me this morning, telling me he had a case that could need our help. Now, Sherlock being Sherlock, only left the house for very special cases, meaning I had to prove him this was one.

"Greg!" I shouted, smiling at the detective, watching him turn towards me with a relieved expression.

His short grey hair was slightly tousled and his coat still had some snowflakes that were beginning to melt sticking to it. "Lilliana! It's nice to see you again. You're alone?"

Halting in front of him, I nodded and took off my gloves. "Yep. You know him, he's not interested unless it's really challenging him."

Lestrade exhaled, annoyance radiating off him in waves. "Don't I know that..." He mumbled more to himself than to me. "Well, I'm sure you can help me as well. And you're definitely better company than him."

Excited to be doing something with purpose again, I stuffed my gloves into the pockets of the coat I was wearing and clapped my hands. "Great, what do we have here?"

The detective motioned for me to follow him and I complied wordlessly. Holding up the yellow tape for me to duck underneath it, I thanked him with a quick smile. "There's been a murder. 25 year old librarian on extra hours. The library had already been closed but there are no signs of a break-in."

"Maybe they knew the murderer?"

"It's possible," Lestrade answered just as we came to a stop in a narrow corridor between two rows of massive wooden bookshelves. "We have identified the victim as Laura Higgins. She's got no family left anymore and her boyfriend is currently at a hospital receiving treatment for cancer. Security cameras at the hospital show he hasn't left his room last night. Not that he'd be in the condition to do so anyways. Therefore, he's not a suspect."

The sight of the librarian was truly gruesome. Her body leaned against a bookshelf, head tilted forwards and a book laying in her lap. Four long knives stuck out of her chest, arranged in an almost perfect square. The deep, clean cut on her throat hinted at the cause of her death. There was a huge puddle of blood all around her and by the amount of it, there should be not a single drop of it left inside her body.

Sucking air through my teeth, I slowly shuffled closer to inspect the crime scene, careful not to step into the blood. "Someone really wanted to leave us a scene."

"Agreed. Maybe a revenge kill?"

Deep in thoughts, I shook my head. "No, I don't think so. This looks..." I stopped myself from continuing. There were some eerie similarities between her and me, besides our age. She too was wearing my favorite attire, a sweatshirt and a skirt over a pair of tights. Her dark brown waves were long and open, her skin pale. She was missing the name tag employees of the London Library usually wore. It likely had been removed by the murderer.