His Favorite Melody

Making Mistakes

As they approached the crime scene, Melody stayed near the back of the group. She did as she said she would, and stood outside of the room. She observed from afar, but never moved to enter the room. She blocked out the noise of the men talking as she observed, until an irritating voice intruded upon her ears.

"She’s German."

Everyone glanced around to see Anderson, observing, sardonically, from the doorway.

"Rache is German for Revenge. She could be trying to tell us something." He said, causing Mel to sigh deeply.

Sherlock, who was tapping away at his PDA, didn’t even glance at him.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock said, and without looking up, reached over and closed the door neatly in Anderson’s face.

Anderson looked over at Melody and huffed,crossing his arms over his chest.

"She’s German." He insisted.

"Of course she's not German, you absolute nitwit." She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. "Don't try to be clever. It doesn't suit you." She suggested.

"How would you know whether she was or wasn't?" Anderson snapped.

"Because no one is going to spend their dying moments writing and angry note in German, Anderson. Use your bloody brain. Chances are, she was writing the name Rachel." Mel retorted smartly.

"Why on earth would she write that?"

"Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't be simply sitting here, waiting for Sherlock to come out, now would I?"

"Dear God, how did a woman like you even get involved with a person like him?"

"I'll have you know, that Sherlock Holmes is one of the best, most intelligent men who has ever lived. He's more than twenty times the man you could ever even imagine being." Melody said, squaring her shoulders in order to make herself look more intimidating. Anderson simply took a cautious step back.

Suddenly, the door flung open, and Sherlock strode out on to the landing. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase - was there a suitcase in this house." He yelled, ignoring a wide eyed Anderson, and a fuming Melody.

Various officers round the house looked blankly back at him. Lestrade emerged from the room behind him.

"Sherlock, there was no case." He informed the man.

"But they take the poison themselves. They chew and swallow the pills themselves, there are clear signs - even you lot couldn’t miss them." Sherlock fumed.

"Right, yes, thanks - and?" Lestrade questioned, exasperated.

"... it’s murder. All of them." Melody realized, now calmly looking at Sherlock.

"Exactly." Sherlock said, looking at her. "I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings - serial killings. We’ve got a serial killer. Love those, there’s always something to look forward to."