Welcome to Baker Street

35. Don't take tea from strangers

New Scotland Yard

Half an hour later

"Sherlock, where have you been?" Lestrade approaches the detective as he walks through the glass doors of Scotland Yard. The black circles under the D.I. weary eyes make him look even more distressed than usual.

"Collecting evidence for your investigation, Detective Inspector," is his curt response.

"And what happened to our agreement about you interrogating the suspect?" Greg narrows his eyes at him.

"It's still on, isn't it? I suggest you get into that room with me this time." Sherlock shoots him an eloquent glance.

"Why?"

"Do you want to miss the final verdict?" Sherlock smiles slyly. He doesn't have to ask twice; Lestrade follows him with Donovan inside the interrogation room.

As Holmes steps in, Giulia lifts her gaze on her flatmate and smirks.

"I can't wait to know if you're sending me to jail for the rest of my life."

"Don't tempt me," he retorts, smirking back.

"What did you find out?" Lestrade intervenes.

Sherlock clears his throat and looks straight into his eyes as his baritonal voice echoes in the room.

"Are you paying attention?"

The inspector nods quickly, and the detective talks in his rapid-fire manner. "According to an accurate analysis that I have just conducted at the morgue, Mr Chadley was struck in the back by a woman. More specifically, he was hugging his killer only seconds before he was stabbed."

Both police officers turn to face him, a shocked expression on their faces. "Hugging?"

"Yes, that was the only physical way in which the murderer could reach his back to deliver the mortal blow," he explains clinically.

Greg frowns. "I'll take your word for that. How does it help us, anyway?"

Sherlock doesn't reply but simply slides across the metal table a pen and the sheet of paper usually employed for writing and signing confessions.

"Giulia, could you please write these two words: not guilty?"

"Does it mean she's not, then?" Lestrade inquires briskly.

"Shut up and look."

Giulia takes the pen and jots down those words in clear handwriting.

"Perfect." Sherlock claps his hands. "Now it's quite obvious that she didn't commit the murder."

Donovan and Lestrade shake their heads simultaneously, and the latter rubs his temples.

"No, it really isn't."

"Did you take a good look while she was writing? She's right-handed," Holmes points out as if that alone was a thorough explanation.

"Yes, I saw that, but I fail to see the relevance," Greg says through gritted teeth.

"Can you remember precisely where the lethal wound was located?" Sherlock questions him, crossing his arms on his chest. Now he looks like a cop interrogating a felon.

Lestrade thinks for a few seconds and replies, "On the right side of the victim's back, between his ribs."

"Very good. All I ask from you is just a little stretch of the imagination. Given the frankly not too slim build of the victim, the position of the wound, and the fact that the killer hit him in the middle of a hug, we can assume that the murderer was left-handed. Are you following?" Sherlock asks, searching the inspector's face for the slightest sign of brain activity.