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Chapter Text

Delila got out of the cab, huffing and tugging her black pea coat tighter around her shoulders.

“Thank you again, Roger!” She called to the cab driver.

“You too sweetheart, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he replied, pulling away from the curb. Delila watched him go before gathering her orange hair behind her head into a short ponytail. She crossed to the police tape and ducked underneath, scanning the crowd.

“Who are you?” A voice asked and Delila was approached by a woman with skin the colour of cinnamon sugar and wild chocolate hair.

“Sergeant Donovan, I presume?” Delila replied, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“A friend of Detective Inspector Lestrade, I don’t quite have an appointment but I’m sure he can make the time,”

“We’re in a middle of an investigation, you’ll have to wait,”

“I said he’ll make the time,” Delila replied, “Be a doll and fetch him for me, please,” She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed in the light of the police cruisers.

“I don’t answer to you,” Donovan replied harshly, “I don’t even know who you are,”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” a deep voice said and Delila turned to the speaker with a vaguely agitated look. He was tall, at least six foot, with pale narrowed eyes and full lips pursed as if he were already tired of waiting. He was clad in a black trench coat that hung to knee length on his black slacks and explained why he had blended so well into the dark night. His head was topped off with a mop of unruly and unsettled chocolate curls that slid across his forehead as he glanced to Delila.

“Not at all, I’m sure you’re here for sergeant Donovan,” She gestured to the very riled up woman across from her.

“Great. The freak. What are you doing here?” Donovan sighed the words in agitation.

“I’m here to see detective inspector Lestrade.”

“why?”

“I was invited,”

“why?”

“I think he wants me to take a look,”

“you know what i think don’t you?”

“Always, sally,” he paused, “even though you didn’t make it home last night,” the man remarked as he ducked under the tape. He was followed by a stressed and confused looking blonde leaning on a crutch.

“Wh- wait who is this?”

A colleague. Dr Watson, meet Sergeant Sally Donovan. An old friend,” he said the words as if it pained him to do so.

“A colleague. And how do you get a colleague?” she turned to the blonde, “Did he follow you home?”

“Would it just be better for me to wait outside?” The blonde aimed this question to the tall brunette. He leaned on his cane, Delila noted, but the only discomfort he seemed to show was at the current situation.

“No,” the brunette replied, lifting the tape for John to follow. Then, he whirled to look at Delila, “And her American companion..? I don’t believe we’ve met”

“Delila, please. And you are?”

“Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. Here to see Lestrade as well, I take it?”

“Finally someone smart. Yes, yes I am,” Delila shot a glare towards Donovan, “Although for some reason I’m not being allowed in,”

“You could’ve just flashed your badge, Agent,” he gestured to her neck, where the chain of her FBI badge glinted in the light.

“I didn’t want to but if I must,” Delila remarked, pulling aside her open pea coat, “FBI, I’m here to see Lestrade,”

“Do you two know each other?” John asked.

“I’ve never met this man in my life,” Delila replied.

“Shall we?” Sherlock asked and Delila began walking with him and a very confused John towards the house ahead.

“Freak’s here, bringing him in,” a rather soured Donovan said into her walkie talkie.

Chapter Text

As they walked towards the house, the group was approached by a blue-clad man.

“Anderson, here we are again, “ Sherlock said sarcastically.

“This is a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear?”

“Quite clear, and is your wife away for long?”

“Don’t pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that,”

“My deodorant?”

“It’s for men,”

“Of course it’s for men, I’m wearing it,”

“So is sergeant Donovan,” Sherlock proclaimed dramatically and Delila sighed, rolling her eyes, “Phew, and I think it just vaporised, may I go in?”

“Now, whatever you’re trying to imply,”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Sally came ‘round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over,” Sherlock brushed by them, pausing at the top of the stairs to look down his nose as Anderson, face barely hiding his triumphant joy, “And I’m assuming she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees,”

“I-“ Donovan and Anderson were both rendered speechless by this. Sherlock vanished inside and John sidled past them, clearly feeling the secondhand embarrassment of the encounter, limp extremely pronounced as he struggled up the stoop. Delila glided past the adulterous duo, amusement clear on her face as she followed the two men inside. They’d gone further into the hallway and Delila took her time to take in the surroundings, and she could hear them talking in the hallway.

“Who’s this?” Lestrade’s voice floated down the hallway.

“He’s with me,”

“Yeah but who is he?”

“I said he’s with me,”

“Is this a bad time, boys?” She asked from where she leaned in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Ye- Delila?!?!? What on earth are you doing here?” Lestrade looked as if he’d seen a ghost- mildly panicked and extremely confused.

“Ah, hello again,” the tallest of the group remarked as he turned to look at his blonde companion again.

“But… You’re not due until the 16th!!’” Lestrade exclaimed

“Doctor Watson, what is today’s date?” Delila asked the blonde, turning to him as well.

“February 17th,”

“…oh,” Lestrade looked sheepishly to the side, “I- uh..”

“Missed picking me up from my flight? Missed most of my calls? Left me alone in a city I didn’t know?” Delila asked amusedly before crossing the room to kiss him on the cheek, “Apology accepted. Now, onto the other reason I’m here. Do you need some help?”

“…We might, actually. Um, Sherlock, this is-“

“Your daughter, Delila Lestrade. Yes I am aware. Now, where are we?”

“Upstairs. Delila, you can tag along. Do you have gloves in that little bag of yours?”

“Always,”

“Wait, does she even have jurisdiction here?” John asked.

“Well, do you?” She remarked, not looking at him as they climbed the stairs.

“Erm, I don’t think so,”

“I can give you guys 2 minutes,”

“May need longer,”

“The name’s Jennifer Wilson, according to the credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long, some kids found her.”

“Did she have anything with her? She looks to be dressed for travel, and rain. Umbrella or a purse maybe?” Delila asked, taking in her surroundings as they came to the top of the stairs.

“Not much, she had her wallet, and an umbrella in her pocket,”

“That’s odd….” Delila murmured. They fell silent, and Delila reached into her small blue purse to retrieve a pair of black latex gloves. She pulled them on, sanitised her hands, and then watched as Sherlock started to inspect the body. It was silent for a long minute.

“Shut up,”

“I- uh nobody said anything!”

“You were thinking, it’s annoying,” Sherlock remarked and Delila scoffed in amusement. He looked up and narrowed his eyes, brows slightly furrowed.

“Something funny?”

“Nothing, you’re just… different than I expected,”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re peculiar, can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing yet,” Delila replied, not breaking eye contact. He huffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and typing away at it.

“Well, what have you got?”

“Not much,”

“She’s German, rache, German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us-” Sherlock shut the door before Anderson could finish.

“Yes, thank you for your input,”

“So she’s German?”

“You’re kidding,” Delila gave her father a deadpan look.

“What?”

“Of course she’s not German.” She replied with a sigh.

“She is from out of town though. Planned to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious,”

“Sorry, obvious?”

“But the message-” Lestrade insisted.

“Dr. Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?” John asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Of the body, you’re a medical man,”

“What? No! I’ve got a whole team outside,” Lestrade broke in.

“They won’t work with me,”

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here,”

“Yes, because you need me,” Sherlock leveled Lestrade with a serious stare and the latter let out a disgruntled sigh.

“You’re right. I do. God help me,” he admitted after a moment.

“Well I’m not quite god, but you did bring me along for this reason, no?”

“Oh… uh-yeah. Sherlock, Delila has a degree in forensic science,”

“I’d be happy to offer my expertise, Mr Holmes,”

“I suppose you’ll do, Miss Lestrade,” Sherlock replied dismissively.

“Doctor, actually. I didn’t waste away amongst the religious southern zealots at Duke university for nothing,” Delila approached the body and set to work.

“Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes,” Lestrade disappeared and John leaned closer to his companion.

“Well what am I doing here?” John whispered.

“You were supposed to be helping helping me make a point,”

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay rent,”

“Well this is more fun,”

“Fun? There’s a woman lying dead!”

“Perfectly astute observation, Dr. Watson,” Delila remarked, peeling off her gloves, “But there’s more to it than that. Asphyxiation, fell unconscious and choked to death on her own puke… Likely one of those suicides that the Yard’s been investigating, based on the timing and the fact that there are no outward signs of drugs or alcohol. Citrus smell around the mouth is exceptionally strong, likely going to be stronger when her stomach is opened,” Delila pushed her glasses up on her nose, “I’ve got more to say, but I’ll leave the rest to Mr. Holmes and his- what did it say on the website again..? Oh yes- deductions,”

“Alright. What’ve you got?” Lestrade asked before the smartass brunette could comment.

“The victim is in her late 30’s, a professional person going by her clothes, something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Married for at least 10 years but not happily, she had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married,”

“Are you just making this up?”

“Her wedding ring, dad. Her jewelry is clean but her wedding ring is dirty and beaten. She cleans everything but the ring, so obviously it doesn’t mean much to her-” Delila explained, “Or…uh it didn’t mean much to her,”

“Not just that. The inside of her ring is clean. It’s regularly removed but not for polishing. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. Look at her nails, she doesn’t work with her hands. So what or who does she take it off for? Certainly not one lover, she’d never be able to sustain the illusion of being single for that long. Simple really,”

“That’s brilliant!”

“Agreed, Dr. Watson,” Delila tilted her head to the side, “The fact that you can perceive all of that in a matter of minutes. Have you officially tested your IQ or-?”

“Delila, focus!” Lestrade snapped and Delila flushed slightly.

“Sorry, continue,” She said sheepishly, looking away, balling up her gloves and putting them in her purse.

“You said she’s from Cardiff,”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?”

“Not to me..”

“It has to do with her jacket, yes? Like I said earlier? She’s dressed for travel. It’s wet along the underside of the collar and along the back. I’ve been around London all day just wandering and there hasn’t been a drop of rain.”

“You’re not as dumb as everyone else. Yes. Her coat is still wet so she can’t have travelled more than 2-3 hours. Because the inside of her collar is dry it means she’s turned it up against the wind. Strong wind that had to be over 15 kilometers per hour, otherwise she would’ve used her umbrella. Strong wind, heavy rains, 2-3 hour travel time. Cardiff. Simple,”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Do you realise you say that out loud?”

“Sorry I’ll shut up,”

“No.. it’s fine,”

“Cardiff… Media. Shouldn’t she have a suitcase? She seems fashion forward,” Delila asked

“Overnight bag maybe?” John suggested.

“Suitcase, yes she had one. Where is it then? What have you done with it?”

“How do you know she had a case?”

“Small splash marks along the heel and calf, small bag going by the spread. Wouldn’t get this pattern any other way.”

“Well, hate to break it to you but there isn’t a case,”

“Say that again?”

“There wasn’t a case, sherlock. There was never any case,”

“Suitcase! Has anyone seen a suitcase?!? Was there a suitcase in this house?!?” Sherlock dashed from the room and nearly threw himself against the railing to call down to the other workers within the house. Lestrade followed him with a huff of frustration, speaking to the man with a tone of vague irritation.

“Sherlock there wasn’t any case!” Lestrade said and the curly haired brunette took off down the stairs, pausing to shout up to them.

“They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves. Clear signs- even you lot couldn’t miss them!”

“Yeah thanks, and?”

“….Murder?” john supplied quietly and a grin broke out on Sherlock's face.

“Don’t know how just yet, but they’re killings. All of them, serial killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer; god I love those, always something to look forward to," Sherlock started down the stairs again, smiling borderline-maniacally, "Serial killers are hard though, you have to wait for them to make a mistake,”

“We can’t just wait!”

“We’re done waiting. Don’t you see? Houston we have a mistake,”

“What mistake?” John asked, trying to follow the train of thought.

“Her case! Where is her case? Did she eat it?”

“Oh. Someone else was here, took her luggage. That means the killer had to have driven her here! Forgot they had it?” Delila began to light up excitedly as she said this, realisation dawning upon her.

“-oh! OH! Phone to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were! Find Rachel!”

“What mistake?”

“Pink!” With that, Sherlock was gone and Delila laughed a little.

“Well, isn’t that clever?” She mused aloud as Anderson passed.

“What is?” he nearly jeered, unimpressed.

“They’re abductions, obviously,”

“Obviously,” Anderson sneered, “Great, another one,”

“Shut up, Anderson,” Lestrade snapped and Anderson gave an offended look to the Detective Inspector. John stared after them for a long moment after the two men disappeared.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up over him, John. Shall we?” She gestured down the stairs.

“I guess we shall,”

“Would you happen to want to grab a cup of coffee or something? I don’t drink, so that’s the best I can offer you,”

“That sounds nice, actually,”

“Was he your ride?”

“Well, a cab was my ride, but he’s the one who called it,” John replied and Delila laughed. As they left the building a voice called out.

“He’s gone,”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, he just took off, he does that,”

“Likely he’s not coming back then?”

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Right… erm-”

“Well, we’re in Brixton, yeah? Any idea where we could hail a taxi?”

“Try the main road,”

“Thanks,” Delila held the tape up and john ducked underneath.

“But you’re not his friend. He doesn’t have friends,” Donovan said to John, “So who are you?”

“Nobody, I’m nobody. I- uh- I just met him,”

“I assume the same goes for you, whoever you are?” she asked Delila.

“I’d say it’s none of your business, but obviously you have something to say so go ahead”

“Just a bit of advice, you both. Stay away from that guy,”

“Why, exactly?”

“You know why he’s here?”

“It’s his job?” Delila asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“He’s not paid or anythin’. He likes it, he gets off on it, The weirder the crime, the more he gets off,”

“Says the officer in the homicide division,”

“-as I was saying. Be careful, because one day showing up just won’t be enough for him. One day we’ll be standing ‘round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there,”

“You’re telling us this, why?” John finally asked, eyeing the woman suspiciously.

“Because he’s a psychopath, and psychopaths get bored,”

“Bravo. Stunning psychoanalysis, Sergeant,” Delila clapped her hands together slowly and Donovan's eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“Bit of advice for you too, Sally. Stick to the dead people. Obviously the living ones are too complex for you to wrap your head around,”

“Delila! You’re- um- still here?” All eyes focused on Lestrade, who had appeared seemingly from out of nowhere to gather his officer.

“Yes, sorry. I was suffering through your Sergeant’s cookie-cutter judgements,”

“…Right. Do try to be nice to my officers, Delila. They’re the best I’ve got,”

“You could do better," She said drily, "Anyways, I’m going out for coffee with Dr Watson. Call me if you need me. Or- actually, just remember to actually call me period.”

“I will, I promise. Donovan, come on,” Lestrade nodded and turned away.

“Coming,”

“So then, coffee?”

“I think I saw a small café on Baker street. I know the owner,”

“I have zero idea where baker street is, but lead the way,”

Chapter Text

“So you’re Lestrade’s daughter then?” John asked as the two walked side-by side towards the main road.

“I am indeed. Have been since my birth- an impressive career of nearly 25 years,” She smiled, pulling her hair down to cover her ears- attempting to combat the cold England winter.

“You’re only 24? And have a PhD?” her companion seemed borderline incredulous, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“Yes, I finished high school early, and got my bachelors within a year after that,”

“You’re awfully clever, then,”

“That stands to be seen. I still struggle to spell the word necessary,” she joked and they both laughed, “So you’re a doctor too then?”

“Yes, military actually,”

“Oh, well I don’t know how things works here in the land of cool accents, driving on the wrong side of the road, and the queen, but in America we thank Armed service members for their service,” She smiled, “So thank you for your service,”

“Oh- I’m- Uh, thank you,” John replied, stumbling slightly over his words as they came to the main road. A telephone booth near them began to ring and Delila gave it an odd look.

“Do- telephone booths normally do that?”

“Ring?”

“Yeah-”

“No, not normally,”

“Huh, alright,” Delila replied, startling slightly as her pocket began to vibrate and a tune could be heard from it., “Guess ringing phones just like us,” she joked and he smiled a little. She pulled it out and hissed a curse, “Do you mind if I just step away to take this real quick? I won’t be long,”

“Go ahead, take your time. I’ll try and flag us down a cab,”

“Perfect, thank you,” Delila stepped away, ducking into a quiet alley, and answered the phone.

“Hello?” a voice crackled on the other end.

“Mom.. how- uhm- How nice of you to call..?”

“I heard you’re visiting your father,”

“I am indeed doing that,” she replied

“Well I just wanted to call to check in on you,”

“Well… that’s nice of you.”

“Have you talked to Jameson lately? He’s always been too busy to talk to me, but he likes talking to you,“

“Is that what you really called me for?”

“I was just wondering! No need to get so defensive,”

“No mom, I haven’t talked to him lately. Have you at least talked to Theo then?”

“Yes, actually. He mentioned something interesting,”

“And that is?”

“You are considering moving to London?”

“I’m considering it. Nothing is set in stone,”

“Listen, Delila. I know it’s been very difficult for you considering your previous situation, but I don’t think up and moving to another country is going to help much,”

“Mom, I know you’ve had it great and all, and you care about my well-being, but I don’t know how much of a say you really have in this,”

“Delila, I am much older than you- I’ve lived double your lifetime,”

“Please don’t pull the seniority card again mom. You don’t realise how stressful dealing with this has been,”

“You’re right, Delila. Just- don’t forget to come back to visit, okay?”

“Mom it’s really late there, you should get some sleep,”

“Oh don’t worry about me, I’m about to go out with some of the girls from work,”

“Mom, you mean the girls who are about 30 years younger than you?”

“Yes, actually! Oh- that must be them! I’ll call you back later, Delila!”

“I- ugh, stay safe please,”

“No promises!” her mother laughed and hung up. Delila sighed and stared at the contact photo for her mother for a moment as if it would tell her how to deal with her. After a silent moment, she shoved her phone into her purse and returned to the street, where John was no longer standing. She looked around in confusion, but didn’t see any signs of the doctor.

“Looking for someone?” Delila turned to see a woman in her late 20’s, with kind, dark almond shaped eyes and dark hair cut in a pixie cut.

“Yeah I was, actually,” Delila furrowed her brow, “I just stepped away for a moment to take a call and he’s gone…”

“What did he look like?”

“About yeigh tall, blonde, cable knit sweater, black jacket, cane,”

“Walked with a pronounced limp and looked like he was under too-much stress all the time?”

“Sounds like him, yeah”

“He stepped into the telephone booth, looked around a bit, hung up and got into an expensive looking car as it pulled up,” the woman said, looking down the street, “Odd fellow, your friend,”

“Yeah…”

“I’m guessing that wasn’t a part of your plans then?”

“Not really,”

“Do you think he’ll be comin’ back?”

“No, honestly I don’t know. I just met him today,”

“Well that’s a shoddy friend if you ask me,”

“I guess so. Would you know where I could go for a cup of coffee or tea?”

“They make a good cuppa at the cafe two stores down,” The woman explained, “Could I treat you to one? My treat,”

“That would be nice, actually,” Delila said and the duo walked to the coffeeshop. Li held open the door and Delila thanked her, grateful to be out of the cold.\

“Of course,” The woman smiled, “I never actually caught your name,”

“Oh, Lestrade, Delila Lestrade,” Delila stuck her hand out as they seated themselves at a booth.

“Ji-Li Hart, but you can call me Li,” The woman shook Delila’s hand, “So you’re American?”

“Yeah… well, my dad is from London,”

“Wait, is he the suicide-gating bloke from the papers?”

“I’m sorry what?”

“You haven’t heard? He did this interview about these serial suicides- three of ‘em so far- and when he was asked what people should do to keep themselves safe he said ‘don’t commit suicide’. Caused quite the uproar, it did,”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Delila sighed and buried her face in her hands, “I love my dad but he’s not the most soft-spoken or sensitive person,” She let out a small laugh, “At least he tried,”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Li laughed as well. Delila wasn’t quite sure how much time passed after that. A cup of coffee later, she was laughing along with Li to a story when her phone buzzed. It was an unfamiliar number and her heart stopped as she raised the device to look at the message.

Tell John to check his phone as soon as possible.

-SH

“Everything alright?” Li asked as Delila struggled to register the message. After a moment, however, the words sunk kin and she let out a breath, shaking her head slightly as if dispelling the panic that she unknowingly wore clear as day.

“Yes- I just-” Delila stared at her phone, “just seeing ghosts I guess,” she chuckled drily.

“What do you mean? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“A new acquaintance of mine spooked me by texting me out of the blue,” she shook her head and smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “guess he didn’t know I don’t have his number yet,” Her hands shook slightly as she clicked the power button to darken the screen and she slipped it into her pocket. Time felt like a train that had slammed on the breaks, and she struggled to keep the panic from rising as a blush into her pale cheeks.

“Ah, I see,” Li said, gaze dancing across Delila’s face, “well I’m sorry he worried you,”

“It’s nothing big, it’s just something an old… friend… of mine used to do,” Time seemed to jerk to a start as she heard a familiar voice.

“Delila?” Her head snapped up and her face broke out into a bright smile of relief. She pulled herself out of the booth and nearly crushed him in a hug.

“John! There you are! Where were you?”

“It’s a long story that I don’t think I can tell you right this moment,” John explained, “listen. I can’t stay. Sherlock texted me and he said it might be dangerous and I-”

“Was wondering if I’d come along?”

“Well erm-”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’ll come. You owe me a cup of coffee though,” She smiled before glancing back at Li, “I’ve gotta blast, but I can call you later?”

“Sure! Here’s my card, just text me whenever!” Li passed Delila a crisp black business card, and in one fluid motion, the orange haired young woman had slipped into her jacket and shoved the card into her pocket. With a wave, she and John had left the cafe.

“There’s a lot to tell you, but I can’t really until we get to somewhere safer,” John started to explain as he held the door open for her.

“I’m going to guess it starts with ‘That sketchy black government-looking vehicle is our transportation’?” Delila cracked, running her fingers through her curly hair and pulling it up into a ponytail as they approached said car.

“Well, yes, but,” John sighed, “I’ll tell you when we get to Baker Street,”

“Sounds like a plan,” Delila thanked the chauffeur and slipped into the car, startling slightly at the woman already inside.

“Hello again,” John said as the door closed behind him, “This is my friend, Delila,”

“I know,”

“Oh um- hi?” Delila waved awkwardly, “And your name is?”

“Hello Dr Lestrade,” The woman remarked, ignoring the second half of the young woman’s statement, “We should be at baker street shortly,”

“Okie dokie, well then,” she turned to John, “this is a fancy car. Do you always travel like this?”

“Not usually,” John replied, “This is actually a first for me,”

“Friend of yours?” Delila asked, gesturing to the woman.

“Not particularly,”

“Any use in asking who this car belongs to?”

“A friend of your friend,” the brunette supplied and Delila furrowed her brows. John shook his head as if to say not me, and she let out a frustrated huff. The rest of the ride was completed in silence, and as soon as they came to a stop, she nearly scrambled out of the car, unable to shake the feeling of unease that had settled on her skin like summer heat. She approached the door, and then halted as she realised her companion had stopped to talk with the woman in the car. After a moment, he sighed and shut the door, limping over to where Delila stood. He reached for the door but her hand reached out to stop him; she stayed silent as she watched the car pull away from the curb and into the flow of traffic before she reached under her coat and behind her to retrieve the gun she had holstered there.

“What are you doing?”

“He said danger, right?”

“Yes?”

“So we’re going in prepared. Have you ever cleared a building?”

“Not in the middle of London in the dead of night,”

“Well there’s a first time for everything I guess,” Delila smiled, checking the gun magazine before clicking it into place, “Now stay behind me and don’t move until I give the signal. Unless you know something I don’t, there’s no telling what we’re heading into,”

“You know everything I know,”

“Where’s the main apartment entrance?”

“Second floor, first door you see when you reach the top of the staircase,”

“Right. Okay, follow behind me,” Delila instructed, opening the door of 221B before clicking the safety off. She moved quietly and cautiously, but with an air of confidence and trained precision; she knew what she was doing and she knew she what was at stake. Moving up the stairs with a look of steely determination, she gestured with her head for John to follow and he did so as quietly as he could, shutting the front door tightly and silently behind him. Finally, his companion reached the door to their flat, which was wide open, he took a deep breath. She swung into the doorway, gun trained on whatever awaited out of his sight.

Chapter Text

Delila braced her back against the wall to the left of the open door. She stood there for a small eternity before the silence was punctured with a tense exhale from inside. She took that as her cue to whip into view, eyes taking in the man stretched languidly on the couch, feet hanging off the end. The two made eye contact and Sherlock’s eyebrow raised.

“Oh. Hello I assumed you’d have a gun pointed at me sooner or later, but this must be a new record,” he stared at her, almost seeming amused, “We’ve only known each other for what? A half-day?”

“Where’s the danger?” She asked, narrowing her eyes as she looked about the messy apartment.

“I said it  could  be dangerous, not  is ,” Sherlock replied, “And I said that to  John , not you.”

“There’s no danger, is there?” Delila asked, switching on the safety and reupholstering her gun with a sour look, “It’s all clear, John,” She called behind her and he limped into the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked Sherlock

“Nicotine patch, helps me think,”

“Is that three patches?” Delila asked, or more so exclaimed.

“It’s a three patch problem,” came the reply and she simply rubbed her temples, as if fighting off a large migraine.

“John, do you mind if I get myself a glass of water? I feel like I’m going to have a headache at this rate,”

“Make yourself at home,” John said absentmindedly. 

“Thank you,” Delila nodded and pulled off her coat, laying it on the back of a chair, vanishing into the kitchen.

“Why’d you bring her along?”

“We were supposed to be getting coffee,” John replied irately, “What did you need us for?”

“I only asked for  you ,” Sherlock remarked, nearly the textbook definition of melodrama, “Can I borrow your phone?”

“My...phone?” John stared at him as if he’d grown another head.

“Yes. I don't want to use mine; always a chance the number will be recognised, it’s on the website,”

“You called me here to borrow my phone?”

“Yes,”

“I was on the other side of London!” John explained, exasperation evident on his face. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, as if John was the irrational one. 

“There was no hurry,”

“So you need me to send a text,” John sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket as Delila drifted back into the room, holding 3 glasses filled with water. She placed one each by the two other men in the room and sipped on hers thoughtfully as she loitered by the window, attempting to spy out the window inconspicuously. Of course, when one was with The Great Sherlock Holmes, nothing was ever inconspicuous.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked almost immediately and she sent him a glance of something stuck between surprise and amusement. 

“We happened to meet a...friend of yours,” She managed, hesitant through the statement, taking a long pull from her water. As if taking her cue, sherlock swivelled to sit, startling at her remark.

“A  friend? ” he asked indignantly, reaching over to grab the glass and drink from it hesitantly.

“An enemy,” John added.

“Which one?”

“your arch-enemy, according to him,”

“...did he offer you money to spy on me?” Sherlock asked, voice hush and slightly rough as if it were some secret that the world couldn’t know. Delila turned to look at John in surprise. 

“...yes,” John finally answered, visibly perturbed by the question and both sets of eyes on him.

“Did you take it?” Sherlock asked, and it was his turn to have two sets of shock-widened eyes set on him.

“What? No,”

“Pity, we could’ve split the fee,” Sherlock merely replied before casually chastising Delila, “Come on, Agent Lestrade, you really should’ve talked some sense into him,”

“She wasn’t there,” John supplied helpfully, drinking some of his water before realising how thirsty he was and downing the rest of it shortly thereafter.

“Ah, well if you do happen to meet him, I’d take the spying offer- it’s good money,” Sherlock said dismissively, 

“Who is he?”

“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem right now. There’s a number on my desk. I need you to send a text,”

“A text?”

“Yes, to the number,” Sherlock directed, “Quickly,”

“Right,” 

“So this is about her case?” Delila inquired, dropping the curtain after a beat, eyes raking over Sherlock curiously.

“Her case…” Sherlock mused absently, “Yes, her case. Of course, it’s about her case. The killer dropped her off, forgot she had it,”

“I assume you’ve figured out where it is?” She asked although they both knew she already had figured out the answer to that question. So, Sherlock simply disregarded her question and aimed his next statement at John.

“John, are you putting in the number?”

“Yes, hold on,” came the reply.

“Are you doing it? Have you done it?”

“Yeah- Just hold on!” John exclaimed and Sherlock looked like a miffed toddler, all wide eyes and melodramatic offence. Delila almost laughed at the man’s expression. Almost.

“Send this text exactly: What happened in Lauriston Gardens, I must’ve blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come,” Sherlock directed, finishing off his water.

“You blacked out?” John and Delila asked in unison, varying levels of concern written clearly upon their faces as if they were pages in a dictionary.

“What? No- No! Type the message and send it!” Sherlock leapt up, visibly agitated.

“What’s the address?”

“22 Northumberland Street!” Sherlock exclaimed as he snatched up the suitcase and Delila felt compelled to move to the couch. He dropped it into the seat of the desk chair and unzipped it while John simply stared at it in shock.

“That’s her case… that’s the pink lady’s case,”

“Yes, obviously,” Sherlock replied, voice practically dripping with self-satisfaction. His expression shifted, however at seeing the shock remaining on the man’s face as he quickly added, “I guess I should probably tell you: no, I didn’t kill her,”

“I never said you did,”

“Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it’s a perfectly logical assumption,”

“Do people often assume you’re the murderer?” Delila asked, an amused sort of smile on her face.

“Now and then, yes,” Sherlock replied, hopping up onto the back of the chair, feet firmly planted in the seat. It was vaguely reminiscent of the way Delila contorted herself to curl her legs underneath her at odd angles on the couch. 

“...okay,” John said, limping himself over to the other chair and sitting down, “And how did you get this?”

“By looking,” The answer was obvious, to sherlock. To John, it was just another thing that was so very  Sherlock  that at first he was caught off guard. It didn’t take long for him to come to terms with the fact that this man; his likely flatmate, was simply bred this way. He was blunt, clever, and rather narcissistic. 

“Where?” John asked, partially to indulge the curly-haired brunette, partially to satiate his own vaguely morbid curiosity.

“The killer must’ve driven her to Lauriston gardens, he could only keep this case by accident- forgot it was in the car- nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, especially not a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he would have felt compelled to get rid of it; it wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to recognise his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston gardens and anywhere someone could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip,”

“Right, what now?” Delila interjected and both John and Sherlock turned to look at her curiously.

“Skip? Large container for storing garbage?” John asked and Delila shook her head in vague displeasure.

“Dumpster? You British people and your weird lingo,” Delila scoffed, “Anyways, continue with your lecture, Professor Holmes,” she said pointedly, earning an unamused scoff from the man in question.

“You got all of that from the fact that the case would be  pink ?”

“Of course it had to be pink,” Delila answered, “What other colour would it be?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Sherlock replied. In response to the shocked expressions he gathered from the other two he sighed out, “Don’t be so offended, everyone is,” He pointed to the case, “Now look, do you see what’s missing?”

“From the case? How could I?” John remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Her phone?” Delila supplied pointing to the mesh zipper pouch on the inside lid of the case, “There’s a charging cable right there, and that sort of cable only goes to iPhones,”

“How do you know?” John asked, confused.

“I have one, obviously,” Delila replied.

“How do we know she had one?” John asked, looking like he wanted to rub his temples as Delila did upon their first entry to the flat.

“You just texted her number,” Sherlock remarked calmly.

“Maybe she left it at home?”

“She’s had a string of lovers and she’s careful about it; she’d never leave her phone at home if she could help it,”

“Wait, we’re- Wait, why did I just send that text?”

“Well, the real question is, where’s her phone  now ?”

“Did he just text a murderer?”

“Maybe she left it when she left her bag, maybe he took it from her for some reason, either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone,”

“Sorry, did I just text a murderer?” John asked, looking mildly panicked, “What good will that do?” His question was punctuated with the ringing of a telephone- John’s telephone. Sherlock’s face barely contained his glee as he glanced at the phone, feigning calm.

“A few hours since his last victim -and now he’s got a text which can only be from her ... Now someone who'd just found the phone would ignore a text like that. But the murderer,” He stood, snapping the case closed and causing Delila to jump slightly, “Would panic,” He crossed the room and started to tug on his blazer.

“Have you talked to the police?” Delila asked, untangling herself from where she sat on the couch

“Four people are dead, there’s no time to talk to the police,” Sherlock dismissed her, not even sparing her a look.

“Can I just...call Dad? Just to let him know?” Delila pleaded and the tallest of the three let out a long, troubled sigh.

“Fine,” Sherlock allowed irately, huffing and pulling on his coat. Delila pulled hers from the back of the chair she’d rested it on and vanished. Sherlock turned back to what he was doing.

“If you can’t talk to the police, then why are you talking to us?”

“Mrs Hudson took my skull,” Sherlock mused sadly. John looked up to the mantle, and the skull was indeed missing.

“So we’re just filling in for your skull?”

“Relax, you’re doing fine,” Sherlock assured John, who simply looked at him with an expression of levelled shock and thinly veiled curiosity, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well, you could just sit here and watch telly” Sherlock twisted his scarf about his neck with a look that practically screamed holier-than-thou. John stood, uncertainty in his role written clearly across his face.

“You want me to come with you?”

“I prefer company when I go out - I think better aloud, and the skull just attracts attention,” Sherlock explained, pulling on his glove, “Problem?”

“Yes… it’s just that sergeant Donovan… she said you get off on this, you enjoy it,”

“And I said dangerous,” Sherlock stared down his nose at the shorter man, ghost of a smirk upon his face, “And here you are,” He chose then to vanish down the stairs, and John stared after him, openmouthed. 

“Damnit,” John hissed, limping after him, face tightened into a grimace of pain and annoyance as he limped down the stairs.

Chapter Text

“Damnit!” Delila cried in outrage as she paced in front of the Baker Street flat.

“Problem?” Sherlock asked, looking far too amused by her frustration.

“My dad won’t pick up his damn phone!” She replied, holding her phone to her ear and listening to it ring.

“That’s why I didn’t call him,”

“Hey. Dad, Listen. Call me back when you get the chance, Sherlock found some new evidence,” She glared daggers at her phone as she hung up and shoved it into her pocket, “Running up my rates because I’m making international calls and he won’t even answer- this is prejudice,” She muttered as John exited the flat. 

“Finally! Come on,” Sherlock ushered them out, leading them through the street.

“Where are we going?” Delila asked as she followed them.

“Northumberland street is a five-minute walk from here,”

“Do you think he’s stupid enough to go there?”

“No, I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones, they’re always so desperate to get caught,”

“Why?” John prodded and Delila bit back a smile as Sherlock waved his arms dramatically, jumping up onto a low wall and causing a few people to send them odd looks.

“Appreciation, applause. At long last, the spotlight , ” 

“ That’s the frailty of genius, John,” Delila added her input as she watched Sherlock step down, “It needs an audience,” John looked back and forth between her and Sherlock and let out a sigh.

“Right…” John smiled cynically, the implication obvious. You’re a genius- am I just your audience?

“This is his hunting ground,” Sherlock said as the trio weaved through the crowds, “Right here in the heart of the city. We now know the victims were abducted, and that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from crowded places, from busy streets - but nobody saw them go,” 

“What if he convinced them to get in?”

“But how?” Sherlock asked, gesturing madly as he talked, ”Think, think, think! Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”

“I don’t know, who?” John asked

“Haven’t the faintest,”

“I have an idea,” Delila piped up and they both turned to look at her.

“What?”

“Well- at my old job, we encountered this killer who would advertise a really nice car for a really cheap price to lure in his victims,” She began to explain, gesturing with her hands but less dramatically. Sherlock listened, interest growing as she described the case, while John simply watched her in vague amazement, “He’d offer the potential buyer a test drive, and then when they started driving, he’d hold a gun to their head and tell them where to go,”

“The car would be traced though, wouldn’t it?” John asked

“It turned out to belong to someone else- he would borrow it to abduct them and then use his own truck to dispose of the bodies,”

“That’s brilliant,” Sherlock remarked, eyes shining, “How did you solve it?”

“I-” Delila shoved her hands in her pockets, a small smile of pride on her face, “I was the only one in the office who matched the victims’ type, So I went undercover,”

“That’s amazing,” John said- a little too quickly and Delila smiled warmly.

“How does this relate to your idea?”

“Well, they got into the car of their own volition. There was no connection between the victims, aside from how they died,” Delila continued to explain, “So what car would you get into without talking to them first? Not a chauffeur, you’re well-acquainted with one,”

“I’m missing something,” Sherlock muttered, “I know it,”

“What are you missing?”

“No idea. Hungry?” Sherlock asked and Delila smiled a little.

Chapter Text

Delila loitered outside of the restaurant, one hand shoved in her pocket as she chatted amiably on the phone.

“Of course I’ll get you one… no, I won’t get it in black ,” She laughed, “ yes there is pink...I promise… Oh? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Of course, there was no one on the other end of the phone. It was all an act. Truly, Delila was using her peripheral vision to keep an eye on the building she’d been directed to watch. Nothing seemed amiss until a taxi came to a stop in front of the building. Who do we trust without knowing them-?  

“Come on,” Sherlock said as he exited the restaurant. Delila snapped a photo, then shoved her phone into her pocket as John followed, grabbing his hand and tugging him along. 

“Got the cab number,” John announced as it pulled away

“Good for you,” Sherlock replied, shutting his eyes tightly and muttering incoherently to himself. After a moment, they reopened and he took off running, “Come on!”

“Let's move,” Delila pulled John after her, following Sherlock up stairs, down stairs and across rooftops. If the group had paused even for a moment, Sherlock, Delila, or even John may have noticed the police cruisers heading in the direction of Baker Street- or even the breathtaking view of nighttime London. Instead, they ran. Delila only let go of John’s hand as he leapt across an alleyway. Sherlock noticed the lack of a third person and turned sharply.

“Come on, Dr Lestrade,” he called, then added after a moment, “We’ll catch you,” Delila stared after them, heart pounding in her chest, before nodding resolutely and backing up. She sprinted towards the edge and jumped, screwing her eyes shut tightly. She landed against the warmth of a familiar cashmere sweater and after a moment, a hand slipped into hers and they were off again. 

Finally, they caught up to the cab in question and Sherlock, having worked himself into a proper frenzy, nearly got run over in his efforts to get the cabbie’s attention. Without thinking about the possible repercussions, Delila produced her badge, wheezing slightly as she shouted.

“FBI,” She gestured to Sherlock, “Go ahead,”

“Open ‘er up,” John said loudly and Sherlock yanked the door open before grimacing.

“No. Ugh. Teeth, tan, what are you, Californian?” Sherlock asked as Delila rejoined the two men, “LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived,”

“How could he possibly know that?” John asked

“Luggage tags, I’m sure,”

“Probably your first trip to London, right?” Sherlock Inquired, “Going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you,”

“Yeah… Sorry, are you guys the police or something?”

“Or something,” John muttered as Delila flashed her badge again. Sherlock tugged John away, muttering something about American diplomacy.

“FBI, actually,” She flashed him a winning smile, “Agent Lestrade. These two are my consultants from Scotland yard- they’re helping me out. Sorry about them. They can get a little… overzealous. Hope your trip is going well. Welcome to London!” She looked up and made eye contact with the driver “Sorry for troubling you, sir!” she waved to the cabbie.

“It’s no problem at all,” He called back, and something about the way he smiled made Delila step back quickly and slam the door. Shaking off her sudden jitters, she caught up with the laughing duo.

“What’s so funny?”

“Welcome to London,” John admitted and she laughed as well,

“It was all I could come up with!” She defended, flushing slightly.

“Do you two have your breath back?” Sherlock suddenly asked and Delila turned to see the cab had stopped further ahead to address a police officer.

“Ready when you are,” John replied, and they took off running again.

Chapter Text

“Well, that was something.” Delila wheezed as they slowed- now a few blocks away.

“You mean you don’t randomly chase after cabs and run through the streets every day?” John joked and tried to catch his breath. They paused for a second, collectively catching their breath 

“Do you?” Delila asked, a smile on her face, and John laughed. 

“So what are you actually in London for?” John asked after a moment. The trio walked through the dimly lit streets, “If you were here for your father, you would’ve come when he wasn’t busy,”

“Are all British people this perceptive?” Delila joked and John laughed.

“No, your father’s just an idiot,” Sherlock replied dismissively.

“Hey!” Delila cried out, shoving his shoulder. He sighed and John rolled his eyes. After a moment of silence, Delila spoke again. “I’m here because I want to move here. I need a change of pace, and the US is too…” she gestured vaguely, “much for me now,”

“There’s a flat for sale above ours,” Sherlock added his input and John nodded.

“You could be our neighbour,” He smiled, “It would be good to have someone else around to complain to about him.” he jerked his thumb towards the brunette, who rolled his eyes.

“You’ve just met him and already you’re talking trash?” She laughed at their antics.

“He had me inspect a dead body when we were supposed to be looking at a flat!” John exclaimed, “Of course I’m going to be a little miffed!”

“You asked to come,” Sherlock retorted.

“You brought me along to  make a point ”

“Oh, you enjoyed it,”

“That’s beside the point,”

“That  is  the point,” Sherlock replied, nearly running into Delila, who had stopped, staring in horror. The trio was bathed in red and blue light, and John’s face morphed from playful irritation to confusion.

“Oh. oh  no,”  Delila stared at the cruisers parked along baker street.

“That can’t be good,” John said as Sherlock took off, before following behind him. 

“Those idiots.” Sherlock hissed as he swung open the door, taking the stairs by twos while Delila caught Mrs Hudson in the doorway and attempted to comfort her. Sherlock came to a stop in the doorway of 221b, eyes narrowed, “Lestrade.” he said, voice dripping with disdain.

“Sherlock,” the older man greeted.

“...Lestrade??” John asked, following behind.

“Dr Watson, hello. How many more people are on the stairs?”

“What are you doing in my flat?”

“It’s a drugs bust!” he explained. Sherlock simply glared as John took a moment to let the words sink in. Finally, Delila came careening up the stairs and into the doorway, nearly running Sherlock over.

“You?!?!?” She exclaimed, frustrated, “What are you doing here?”

“...a drugs bust…?” He replied, a little sheepishly. If the circumstances were different, John would’ve laughed at the way Lestrade seemed to cow slightly under her strong gaze.

“A drug bust!?!?” John and Delila both exclaimed.

“No way. This guy, a junkie?!?” John continued and Delila flushed in secondhand embarrassment, “Have you met him??”

“..John,” Delila said nervously, trying to tell him to shut up. He didn’t.

“You could search this flat and I doubt you’d find anything considered  recreational ,”

“John, you should shut up now,” Sherlock warned but the shorter of the two simply shook his head.

“Yeah, but come on-!”

“John. I said enough,” Sherlock levelled him with a serious stare and john gasped slightly.

“No…”

“What?”

“You?”

“Oh, shut up!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!”

“Then don’t be absurd!”

“Absurd? You’re the one who uses-!”

“Enough you two!” Delila exclaimed, rubbing the bridge of her nose briefly before turning back to glare at Lestrade, “He’s  not  your sniffer dog,”

“No, Anderson's my sniffer dog,” Lestrade replied, clearly enjoying this. All eyes turned to the kitchen where a very smug Anderson stood, rifling through debris.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked irately.

“He’s forensics I thought,” John said quietly to Delila. She nodded in agreement.

“Oh, I  volunteered ,” Anderson gloated and the trio all wore similar looks of disgust.

“They’re not strictly speaking  on  the drugs squad, but they’re very keen,” Lestrade explained. Donovan chose then to enter the room and the irritation radiating off of Delila was almost palpable.

“Are these human eyes?” She asked, slightly shaking a jar.

“Put those back,” Sherlock snapped. 

“They were in the microwave!”

“It’s for an experiment!”

“...experiment?” John whispered and Delila shrugged, face slightly pale.

“I think that it's best we don’t ask…”

“Keep looking guys!” Lestrade called as he levelled Sherlock with a stare that reminded Delila of her childhood, “Or work with us and I’ll stand them down.”

“This is childish,”

“I’m dealing with a child,”

“Dear gods. Enough, you two,” John watched with surprise as Delila stepped between the two men, “He’s a  grown man , one who has been a valuable asset to the Yard’s homicide division for many cases, based on your letters. He could easily deny your requests for his assistance but he doesn’t. He may very well be the greatest asshole I’ve ever met, but he’s helped you solve cases you’d never dream of closing otherwise. I think he deserves some respect,” She huffed and whipped her head around to face the curly-haired brunette who was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“And  you . You are clever- I’ll give you that. But you are by far the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. Pompous, cocky, and completely oblivious at times. That man,” Delila pointed at Lestrade, “is breaking nearly every rule in the book to allow you into crime scenes and give you information about these cases. I know what you can do with technology; you’re more than capable of sending him a quick text to let him know what you’ve found. For gods’ sake.  Get along ,” She finished and rubbed her temples, “You’ll never get anything done otherwise.” After a long beat of defeated silence, albeit reluctant, Lestrade let out a huff.

“Fine. Sherlock, this is  our  case. We’re letting you on it, so don’t go off on your own,” He scolded and Delila sat herself down on the couch wearily, stripping off her coat and placing it on top of her father’s, “Are we clear?” 

“What, so you set up a fake drugs bust to bully me?” Sherlock snapped and John sent a helpless look to Delila, who simply shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“It stops being pretend if we find something,”

“I’m  clean .”

“But is your apartment clean?”

“I don’t even smoke,” Sherlock retorted, pulling back his sleeve dramatically to display nicotine patches. Lestrade did the same and displayed his own patch.

“Neither do I, so let’s work together; We’ve found Rachel,”

“Who is she?” Sherlock yanked his sleeve down as he stared at the Detective inspector.

“Jennifer Wilson's daughter,”

“Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name?"

“Nevermind that,” Anderson piped up unhelpfully, “We’ve found the case. According to  someone , the killer has the case. We just found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath,”

“I’m not a psychopath, I’m a high functioning sociopath. Do your research,” Sherlock snapped.

“What’s the difference?” Donovan asked, unimpressed. 

“Well actually-”

“That’s unimportant,” Sherlock interrupted, “You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her- I need to question her,”

“She’s dead,”

Chapter Text

“Dead..?” Delila said quietly, confused. Sherlock, however, lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Excellent! How and why? There must be a connection,” He asked, gesticulating wildly, “There has to be!”

“I doubt it,” Lestrade remarked, ever the smartass, “Seeing as she’s been dead for 14 years,” Delila tucked her lip between her teeth, deep in thought, and John wore a similar expression of confusion. Sherlock seemed to halt at this- eerily similar to a dog reaching the end of its leach suddenly. He turned 

“Oh that’s not right…” Sherlock muttered.

“Technically she was never alive,” Lestrade continued, “Rachel is Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter,”

“So she scratched the name of her stillborn daughter?” John repeated and Sherlock looked like a grumpy cat.

“Nevermind that,” Anderson clearly decided then was the perfect time to piss off the three most helpful people in the room, “We’ve found the case, according to someone the killer has the case; we just found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath,”

“I’m not a psychopath, Anderson,” Sherlock snapped, turning to glare at him, “I’m a high functioning sociopath. Do your research,” Then he turned to Lestrade and continued, “you need to bring in Rachel, you need to question her. I need to question her. Now,”

“She’s dead,”

“Excellent,” Sherlock announced and Delila grimaced. She shared a look with John that was equal parts awkward and helpless, “How and why? Is there a connection? There has to be,”

“I doubt it,”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure I could find a connection,”

“Holmes, let him speak,” Delila piped up, and Sherlock shot her a vaguely irritated glare. However, he listened and turned back to Lestrade expectantly.

“She’s been dead for 14 years,”

“Oh no,” John muttered as Sherlock’s frown deepened.

“That can’t be right,” Sherlock murmured.

“Technically she was never alive. Rachel is Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter from 14 years ago.” Lestrade continued and Delila chewed on her lip thoughtfully. 

“Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name?” Sherlock asked, his head tilted slightly to the side; it was evident to Delila he'd never lost someone close to him. It struck an all-too-raw wound inside and sent a pang of hurt straight to her heart.

“Sociopath, right. I’m seeing it now,” Anderson sneered and Delila ground her teeth together.

“Unless you know what being a sociopath means please stop talking,” She directed, and he jerked his head at her in confusion. 

“Maybe the killer talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow?” John added helpfully. He looked as lost as most of the people in the room felt on this case, but he persisted nonetheless in the pursuit of the truth. Briefly, Delila wondered if he'd ever considered journalism.

“But that was ages ago, why would she still be upset?” Sherlock asked and the room fell hushed. Delila cringed and looked away and John grimaced. Sherlock leaned in and quietly asked the soldier a question while Delila uttered his name softly. 

“Holmes…” Sherlock locked away the feelings- how his ears wanted to flush pink at the embarrassment. 

“Not good?” he murmured to John.

“Bit not good, yeah,” 

“If you were dying, if you’d been murdered, in your very last seconds, what would you say?” Sherlock asked, veering the conversation back on track. 

“Please God, let me live?” John hesitantly said.

“Be creative ,” SHerlock exclaimed. At John's blank look, he huffed and turned to Delila, “Agent. What about you?”

“About the same as John,” she fibbed, glancing away and gesturing with one hand. Sherlock quickly picked up on the signs of lying and narrowed his eyes. 

“Use your imagination,” Sherlock nearly groaned in desperation.

“I don’t have to,” John gritted out and Sherlock halted momentarily, sparing him a glance. John had an arm around Delila’s shoulder, her face had darkened considerably. She was staring at the floor and wringing her hands. Sherlock turned away again, he’d let himself feel the guilt of upsetting the only people he’d actually made nice with later.

“But if you were clever, really really clever,” He rambled, pacing frantically, “Jennifer Wilson was clever, running all those lovers. She’s trying to tell us something,”

“Sherlock? Isn’t the doorbell working?” The familiar form of Mrs Hudson flitted into the doorway, her eyes slanted with concern. Always selfless in nature, Delila chose to forgo her own sadness to comfort the woman.

“What’s wrong?” Delila asked gently, resting her hand on Mrs Hudson’s arm.

“His taxi is here” the older woman fretted.

“Go away,” Sherlock snapped, drawing a harsh glare from the pastel-orange-haired woman. 

“He didn’t order a taxi, evidently,” she told Mrs Hudson.

“Oh dear, they’ve made quite a mess. What are they looking for?” the blonde leaned slightly into the apartment then frowned at its current state; the apartment was somehow in a worse state than before.

“It’s a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson,” Delila shrugged awkwardly. She was well aware of Sherlock’s past, as Lestrade had outlined it for her years before when he’d had a relapse during a letter. It didn’t bother her quite as much as it likely should have, but in her line of work, something like that was easy to pick up on.

“But they’re just for my hip, they’re herbal soothers!” Mrs Hudson defended and Delila blinked in shock momentarily.

“I-” she was vaguely confounded by this statement, but gathered herself, “It’s okay,” 

“But what if I’ve left some here by accident-” Mrs Hudson nearly squawked, panic written across her face like a bold marker.

“Shut up, everybody! Shut up!” Sherlock cut her off, his hands fluttering about in the air like pale doves, “Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, turn the other way, you’re putting me off. ”

“My face is putting you off?” Anderson exclaimed, thoroughly miffed.

“Alright everybody,” Lestrade took charge then as if he’d suddenly remembered he was the one delegating the majority of the people in the flat, “Quiet and still. Sommers, if your asthma is still giving you trouble because of the chemicals go wait outside, please. Anderson, turn your back,”

“But-”

“Your back!” Lestrade snapped and the man in question rolled his eyes like a teenager given unfair punishment. He opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock whipped his head around to glare at the man, eyes narrowed.

“Unless you’re a doctor in both senses of the word, shut up ,” Sherlock instructed. Lestrade snapped his mouth shut and shuffled his feet awkwardly while both Delila and John realised that was their cue to step forward.

“What about your taxi?” Mrs Hudson interrupted the relative quiet of the room and Sherlock clenched his fists, refusing to look at her.

“Mrs Hudson!” He ground out and she flushed with indignation.

“Oh, forget it!” she flitted out of the doorway and fretted her way down the stairs, huffing with discontent. Delila glanced after the woman, and made a mental note to stop by later and apologise.

“So, Holmes, what do you think?” she asked and John sent her a shrug, eyes practically saying I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.  She shrugged back. Me neither, John. 

“I think there’s a message here that’s she’s left us,”

“And that is?” John asked, hesitant.

“Oh… oh,” Sherlock suddenly lit up more than Times Square in a power surge, “Oh I could kiss you both! It all makes sense now,”

“What does?” John asked, perplexed. Delila furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

“Don’t you see? She planted the phone on her killer!” Sherlock glanced up, face twisting into a slight smirk as Delila suddenly made her way to the suitcase and rummaged through it.

“So?” Lestrade decided to end his vow of silence and insert himself into the conversation.

“Oh, look at you. You’re all so vacant,” Sherlock shook his head, thoroughly disappointed, “is it nice not being me? It must be so easy,” he opened his mouth to continue but Delila cut him off by rummaging through the drawers of the desk.

“Holmes or John. I need you. Does anyone have a tablet of some kind? A laptop?”

“Oh- here,” Sherlock crossed to her and helped her remove a tablet from a locked drawer within the desk. He leaned over her shoulder and Lestrade was hit with an odd feeling as he watched the two of them, shoulder to shoulder muttering amongst themselves. He quickly realised that Delila had found a kindred spirit in the sociopath, and part of him was happy for her.

Another part of him knew his daughter had a tendency to latch onto people far too quickly, and he wasn’t sure now was the best time for her to be making friends like Sherlock. He briefly remembered Molly- the young woman who was hopelessly in love with the detective who couldn’t care less about her.

Needless to say, Lestrade had mixed feelings about the growing- dare he say- friendship between his only daughter and the biggest thorn in his side.

Chapter Text

“Stop insulting everyone,” Delila chided over her shoulder as Sherlock logged in before calling over her shoulder, “We’re logging in,”

“Logging in?” John asked and crossed to join them, the trio touching shoulders.

“Care to explain?” Donovan asked from the kitchen doorway.

“John,” Delila smiled as she typed away, “tell the people what they’ve won,”

“There’s an email on her luggage tag,” John began. He turned around and leaned back against the desk, “It was a mephone email, with the note we were left we have the password, which was….”

“Rachel,” Lestrade replied, blinking in surprise, but still moderately confused. 

“So we can read her emails, so what?” Anderson sneered, unimpressed.

“Anderson, don’t talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street,” Sherlock scoffed over his shoulder as he watched Delila type, smirking when both Delila and John snickered.

“Be nice,” Delila chided halfheartedly and Lestrade marvelled at the fact that Sherlock seemed to actually listen. His daughter continued, turning to look at the group of officers in the flat, “We can do more than just read her emails. It’s 2010! The prime of technology!” she waved her arms in the air dramatically, “We can see GPS locations!”

“So we can track the killer?” a voice piped up and Delila beamed at the owner of the voice. A young officer with short brown hair tousled slightly to the left and bright green eyes. His face scrunched into a smile and his tag read Michaels.

“Yes! Isn’t that brilliant?” Delila asked, prompting Lestrade to rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’ve made a grave mistake allowing you to come here,” He sighed, mostly to himself,  “you two get along far too famously for my liking,”

Before Delila could justify her fast-growing friendship with the detective, the former called to her.

“Agent,” Sherlock called, “You’ve done something wrong,”

“Hmm?” She hummed, turning back to the screen.

“It’s here. I don’t want our location, I want the killer’s location,”

“That is the phone’s location…” John trailed off, looking confused, “So it’s here?”

“How can it be here?” Delila asked, bumping shoulders with Sherlock as she leaned back over the device.

“Maybe it disconnected?” John added helpfully.

“Or it died,” Lestrade said and Delila halted. Her face paled considerably as Sherlock shot up and started to pace.

“Are you alright?’ John asked worriedly, guiding her into the desk chair.

“If it died and this is the last signal, then the killer knows,”

“Knows..?” John prodded gently.

“I’m stepping out to get some air,” Sherlock said. Delila couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in her ears, or else she would’ve stopped him. She should’ve known it was too early to be on a case, and she felt the concern radiating from Lestrade.

“What does the killer know?” Donovan asked, voice almost soft in light of Delila’s sudden weakness.

“That we’re onto him,” Michaels spoke up, tone grave. The tension rippled across the room; homicide division or not, a killer knowing your location was not the most relaxing knowledge. 

As if realising Sherlock had vanished Anderson piped up.

“Should I go after him since he’s the suspect or-”

“Not now,” Donovan shook her head, “We need to be sure the phone isn’t here,”

“Call the phone,” Delila said after a beat, turning in the chair to stare at the screen.

“On it,” John replied, opening his device and calling the number he’d texted earlier. Shuffling resounded through the flat as officers returned to their search, now looking for a phone. Delila refreshed the site and John grimaced at the lack of ringing he was hearing.

“Is it ringing out?” Delila asked. At John's nod, she hissed a curse, “It’s not dead. It has to be broken. If the phone was here that would mean-” she cut herself off, brows furrowing as she cast a glance towards the window, “did I hear a car door?”

“Oh bloody hell,” John hissed, “Sherlock just got into a Taxi. He’s gone,”

“He- what?”

“I knew I should’ve gone after him,”

“That bastard left while we were distracted!” Donovan exclaimed, any fragment of kindness now gone, “I knew he’d do that. We’re wasting our time. He’s just a psychopath and a disappointment and he’ll always let you down,” she ranted openly to Lestrade who, after a moment, frowned in defeat.

“Alright everyone, let's clear out,” the DI called, face pulled into a forlorn expression. He locked eyes with his daughter and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Don’t-” she began and then paused, snapping her mouth shut. She broke the gaze and looked back to the tablet, “I’m going to stay and help John,” Lestrade didn’t argue, instead he nodded and let out a begrudged sigh.

“Why’d he do that? He mused as he tugged on his coat, “Why’d he leave?”

“You know him better than I do,” John replied, “I’ve only just met the bloke,”

“We can’t give up hope john,” Delila chided, “He’s all we’ve got to believe in,” she looked at her father, pleading, “Right? Can we believe in him?”

“I… don’t know,” Lestrade admitted, “I’ve known Sherlock Holmes for 5 years and I still don’t really know him,”

“So why do you put up with him?” John asked curiously.

“Because I’m desperate, that’s why,” Lestrade shrugged, “Sherlock Holmes is a great man. One day, I think if we’re very lucky, he’ll even be a great one,” he sent a meaningful look towards the young woman seated at the desk, “it’s definitely possible if she’s any indication,” John, Delila, and Lestrade all stared at one another for a long stretch of silence.

“I’ll see you later, Dad,” Delila said softly and he nodded, “Good luck, be safe,”

“You too,” Lestrade left the sentiment like a farewell present, turning and vanishing down the stairs. Delila let out a long-suffering sigh and John turned to glance at her. She rubbed her temples, removing her glasses and setting them on the desk.

“All right?” John asked, grabbing her a glass of water and grabbing one for himself. She took it graciously, crossing to her purse and pulling out a small pill case. Popping a few painkillers, she downed them with a gulp of water and let out a breath.

“I’ll be better once we solve this thing and I can get something to eat,” she grimaced, “I doubt Holmes has anything edible in his fridge,”

“When was the last time you ate?” John asked, suddenly remembering that he’d been the only one to eat at Angelo’s.

“Uhhhh, about noonish?” Delila shrugged, “I’ll eat after I find Sherlock and strangle him for leaving like that,” she muttered darkly. 

“...Delila?” John caught sight of the screen behind her.

“Oh am I going to kill him,” she hissed, suddenly angry, “The nerve that man has!”

“Delila”

“I mean who does he think he is?!?! The president of the United States? I-”

“Delila!”

“Sorry, what’s up?”

“Look,” John pointed to the tablet screen which showed a new location. Delila sprung into action, grabbing her phone and pointing to the laptop.

“I’m going to call dad and hail us a cab,” she directed, pulling on her jacket, “you get whatever you need for what comes next,”

“Yes ma’am,” John sent her a vaguely tense grin. With a smirk, Delila set off down the stairs.

“Hurry, John. We have a killer to catch and not a moment to lose!”