Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Five

Dad leads us into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is pulling on a coverall and points to a pile of the same.

"You need to wear one of these," he tells Doctor Watson as I take off my gloves and replace them with some latex ones.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asks, gesturing towards John, clearly not recognising him from the flat earlier.

"He's with me," dad replies as Doctor Watson pulls off his jacket.

"But who is he?" Dad looks up and meets Lestrade's eyes.

"I said he's with me." Looking uncomfortable, Watson picks up a coverall and looks to me and dad.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" I look at him in disbelief, and he shakes his head at his stupidity. Forensics would have a field trip if we wore one of these, plus it's harder to make deductions if your entire body is encased in cheap plastic.

"So where are we?" Dad asks Lestrade as he takes a pair of latex gloves for himself.

"Upstairs," he answers, leading us to a circular staircase going up the centre of the house. As we climb the stairs, I get a distinct feeling of deja vu and I look up. If I remember correctly, there's an old nursery at the top of these stairs. "I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer," dad says casually. We can only find basic information in that time - the more useful stuff takes a little 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."

They still use this place, even after what happened with me?

Lestrade leads us into a room on the second floor which is desolate apart from an old rocking horse in the far corner. This is my room. Emergency portable lighting is the only thing that lights up this room and scaffolding poles hold up the parts of the ceiling which have started to deteriorate.

The body itself is situated in the middle of the room, face down on the worn floorboards with her arms either side of her head. She's wearing an overcoat in a bright magenta and matching dress, nails and high-heeled shoes. As dad hangs on back, I walk over to take a closer look. The room is silent, apart from the fast-paced thinking of me and dad, and the slower brains of Watson and Lestrade who are struggling to draw even one conclusion. Their floundering is so loud it's almost audible.

"Shut up," dad says suddenly, looking accusingly across to Lestrade and John who both look startled at his outburst.

"I didn't say anything," replies Lestrade.

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

Lestrade and Doctor Watson exchange a look as dad steps forwards to stand beside me. I turn back to the body, but my eyes are drawn to an engraving in the floorboards which is scratched to her left side. The nail varnish on her middle and index nails are chipped and rough compared to her other, spotless, nails. She's left-handed, I establish.

I look back at the engraving and see that it spells 'Rache.' Instantly, I think of its meaning in German - revenge - but quickly dismiss it as a theory. Why would she write that in her last moments? It would have caused her pain. Her index finger lies at the bottom of the 'e', suggesting to me that she died before she could finish writing. How could this word be finished? I cycle through the alphabet: Rached? It's a name of Indian origin, so could it be the name of our killer? Unlikely - serial killers usually target people unknown to them; its improbable either party knew the other's name. Or Rachem - a Hebrew word for mercy? Again, why would she use up the last of her energy writing a plea for mercy - especially as 'mercy' would not only be shorter and therefore quicker to write, but something that she would have voiced orally to her killer (unless she was mute which may not be impossible but is certainly improbable considering her profession). Rachel, then? Another name, but it's unlikely it would refer to her killer as it's obvious this was a man's job. Poison may be a "woman's weapon," but I have no doubt in my mind that it was a man who did this. Perhaps Rachel was her daughter or sister - someone special to her. But why write that in her last moments?