It Could be You

Chapter 2

When he got to the scene, Lestrade pounced on him. "We've been waiting almost an hour. You know, Sherlock, I stick my neck out for you two in these investigations. My team's been milling around waiting for you. Thankfully John's been here poking about. He's trying to look at things, but honestly, he doesn't do what you do, does he?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the Detective Inspector. "He's learned a great deal, Lestrade. He'll probably tell me everything he's managed to observe."

"Where were you anyway? John said you were stopping in for a coffee and would be here any minute."

"I got distracted," Sherlock began. Something inside him wanted to confess he'd been sideswiped by a ridiculous fascination for another person. A romantic fascination at that! But, he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. Perhaps he'd never be able to say them.

Lestrade watched him a moment with an odd expression on his face. "See what you can make of the scene, would you?"

"What has the Yard discovered?" Sherlock asked trying not to let the contempt he felt for Lestrade's team leak into his voice.

"We found a white female, 31, lying in an alley near a skip. We've identified her as Alexandria Medford. She'd just come out of a nearby shop where she'd just purchased almost 500 pounds worth of stuff; it was the salesperson who identified her. She'd been carrying an armload of bags. She comes from a wealthy family near Sussex. As far as we can tell, she was shopping along this street when she was robbed and murdered in broad daylight. However, no one has seen a thing and this alley is one of the few blind spots in London. No CCTV. And, no murder weapon. I'd like to get anything you have."

Sherlock nodded and left him to walk over to the taped off area. A woman's body lay stretched on her side near a skip in an alley. The buildings nearby were primarily upscale businesses. The woman was attractive and dressed in expensive clothes, covered with a designer coat. She was, however, missing her shoes. Her bare feet sported an expensive pedicure. She looked as if she had fallen face first then tried to roll over a bit. Her head had been bashed in with a heavy, blunt object and a pool of blood had collected under her neck and shoulders. The contents of her handbag lay near her outstretched hand. It looked as if the assailant had simply upturned the bag and let the items spill everywhere. Sherlock noted several prescription pill bottles among the cosmetics, wadded up tissues and loose change.

The detective approached the body stepping carefully. John stood a few feet away in the ubiquitous, blue protective gear Lestrade forced his team to wear. He took a moment to watch the doctor as he approached him. His partner and best friend looked over his shoulder as he approached and smiled. His face radiated relief at Sherlock's arrival. Sherlock felt a pang. He hadn't meant to make him wait so long.

"Where've you been?" John asked. "I've been standing here looking like an idiot for the better part of an hour."

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "I got held up." What was wrong with him today. First, young Carter got under his skin, and now he'd cared about John's feelings than the perfectly good crime right in front of him. He wondered briefly if he were growing a brain tumor.

"Held up?" John asked. "What held you up?"

Sherlock found he couldn't answer. He hadn't been held up by anything tangible, simply a desire, and didn't think he could explain himself anyway. He sighed and looked at his feet. How could he convey to his mostly straight flat mate about the little jitter of pleasure he felt thinking about Carter's saucy wink?