[COMPLETE] ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????「Sherlock」

006; Caught in the Crossfire

"The man's been handling a body, do not touch him," he reprimanded, releasing her limb and brushing past Inspector Lestrade.

"Actually, I happen to be clean at the moment—"

"Regardless, you are not to speak to him. He's nothing but a distraction. You'll learn this as we go along," Sherlock murmured as she fell into step with him. A hiss of air escaped the detective, clearly irritated with the man for doing something as simple as breathing. "Imbeciles are my bane."

Julia laughed softly, smiling down at the ground. The pavement beneath them was moist and gleaming, reflecting the colors of the emergency lights as they flickered as if covered in a thin layer of glass. She had to admit, it was exciting in a strange sort of way— to be able to simply walk through security as if they were invincible. She hardly even knew these people and yet she had power over them in some shape or form, and this was all because of Sherlock. Julia held her head a bit higher, feeling a bit of confidence accumulate within her chest. They stepped foot inside of the rickety old building, the sound of thunder rumbling off in the distance catching their attention as soon as they stepped inside. The forensic analysts all drew their attention to the trio, their heads rising one-by-one. Sherlock created a path and soon it was revealed what was left behind by the killer.

The blood was fresh and still as red as candy, the woman's mouth hanging open, crimson ribbons spilling from her gaping jaws. A gun was at her left hand, bruises apparent upon her throat. Julia felt her guts heave and closed her eyes before she could lay eyes upon the spray of encephalitic matter that was spread like chunks of pink cauliflower along the withering floorboards. "She's only been dead for a few hours," John observed, stepping into the room. "Suicide, perhaps?"

"She looks as if she were choked," Julia peeped, drawing the doctor's attention. Taking a deep breath, she looked again, eyes traveling along the corpse before her. "The bruises around her neck: they indicate a struggle. I doubt a woman of her size would be able to grab her own throat that hard."

The detective finally stood up to his full height, towering next to her. "There are no other signs of injury. She hasn't been gutted like the others..." He pointed out the direction of the spray, which Julia tried hard not to gag at the sight of. "She was shot in the head at close range while still upon the ground, choked during a struggle. This was not a suicide." Julia broke from her comfortable place beside John and sauntered around the left side of the deceased woman. She knelt— as gracefully as one could while dressed in a skirt —and carefully grasped one of her arms. Rolling up the sleeve, she half expected the woman to come back to life and grab her, but she knew that it had been quite some time since she had had the capability.

The victim's eyes stared sightlessly toward her knees. Her skin was clear, absent of any numbers or codes. Sighing, she stood up and dusted off her nylons. "No serial number either," Julia took note, nodding toward Sherlock, who merely glanced up from the corpse. "I suppose that the autopsy will reveal any that are hidden elsewhere."

The detective caught one of the forensic team by the sleeve and jerked him forward. They began to lift the body, the sound of the woman's neck popping and then hanging limp like a chicken's only reminding Julia of her nausea. Swallowing saliva, she covered her nose with the back of her hand and shook her head, turning herself around and wandering further down the rickety hall. After a while, the boards behind her creaked and she turned her head to see a rather concerned John Watson, his brows knit together. Julia forced a smile. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come after all," she disclosed, her voice quivering within her throat. She shook her head, frustrated with herself. Lightning flashed in the windows, bathing the entire property in harsh white light.

"You probably could have waited outside," John mentioned.

Her arms crossed over her body and she shook her head. "Sherlock would have dragged me in. Says I have to get used to this, apparently." The veteran's hand found her back, rubbing it in slow circles as they slowly but surely inched along, listening to how the house stirred with all the sudden movement within. Everything smelled damp and musty, like mold and dead mice. Julia wished she was back home, making a nice dinner for the three of them. Oh, the idea of food made her belly ache. She sighed and finally came to a standstill.