Notes: Thank you to those who read the first part and for the comments and support of my friends here on 抖阴社区. Here's the second installment of Wolf, please, enjoy and give feedback, I'd love to hear what you're thinking!
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Three days into this case, and Sherlock could tell he was distracted, and very well so. This case wasn't the only thing that puzzled him, that girl. Y/n, she puzzled him greatly, her reaction, she knows something, something that he doesn't. If anyone saw a random letter painted onto a wall, they would think nothing of it, what's there to think? But to be startled by it? Why?
Sherlock had remained in his flat for the duration of the weekend, pondering over the few leads he had at the moment. He's dug around, getting as much information on Y/n as he could, so far, he's only found out that she and Lestrade do know each other. On a personal level, with her being his niece and all. Sherlock had his homeless network keeping an eye on her, and the people she's come in contact with. He was trying to connect her to this case, because he knew she was a missing piece that would probably solve this whole thing.
But, there was something about this case he just didn't like. He doesn't know what, but he'll surely find out.
"Are you alright Sherlock?" John, who was sitting in his chair across from him pulls the detective from his thoughts. Sherlock blinks, his fingers were pressed together, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared blankly.
"I'm not entirely sure, John. This case... "
"Well, you do like a challenge," John says, his eyes on the computer screen in front of him. Sherlock had asked John to find out whatever he could about Tyler Olson. So far, they know that he was American, and relocated to England years ago to attend Cambridge.
They've contacted his parents and his wife to see if they knew anything about anyone who'd have the ambition to kill off Olson. But both parties came up blank, and it's about riding Sherlock up a wall.
Fzzzt Fzzzt
The detective's eyes snap to his phone, where it was laying on his lap. Finally, Sherlock thought, getting off his chair with a new found excitement. Causing John to give him a look, "What?" he asks, watching Sherlock carefully, "Found something about the case?"
"Yes," he nods, grabbing his scarf and coat from where they laid on the couch. "I have something to see to, I won't be long,"
Sherlock quickly made his way down the stairs, stepping out into the cold night. Putting his coat on, he walks along Baker street, Northumberland street was only a five minute walk from there. Sherlock wished he knew why the sudden appearance of this Y/n Lestrade bothered him so much.
Of course he's probably seen her around the precinct on his many visits to Scotland yard. But he just couldn't recall, it's like she was invisible and then, just there. It was strange indeed. He's never even heard Lestrade talk about her before three days ago, well, perhaps he had. But you know Sherlock, blissfully unaware of things he doesn't care to notice.
It didn't take long for Sherlock to reach where he wanted, and as always, Northumberland street was busy. Cars driving by, people passing everywhere, either minding their own business, or like Sherlock was doing, trying to mind someone else's.
And she wasn't that hard to find either, Sherlock spotted her just as she stepped out of a cab and walked into a cafe. She wasn't dressed for a date, she was casually dressed, so it was possible that she was just meeting a friend, that or someone she's very comfortable with. Moments after, she and shorter redheaded woman come out and they both walk up the street.
Silently, on the other side of the street, Sherlock walked, keeping an eye on the two of them. Anyone of course would find this strange, because he's practically stalking the girl. But she's apart of his case, and he has his rights to monitor people he deems suspects. They may have been talking about something nonsensical, but from a very young age, Sherlock had learnt to trust his instincts. And he could tell that whatever words they were exchanging was anything but nonsensical.
His phone buzzed inside his coat pocket, but it was persistent, so it must be a call then. He pulls it from his pocket, and without looking at the ID, he answers. "Not now, Lestrade. I'm busy."
"Trust me, this is better: We've got another one,"
"Kate Francis, according to her ID." Greg sighs, leaning against the open door of the woman's flat. "Was supposed to start teaching up at Cambridge next week," Sherlock moved around her body, keeling down, first checking her wrists. If she was connected to the first murder, if she was killed by the same person, the pattern should be the same. Slit wrists, no rope marks there, though. Hesitant marks however, are there.
So unlike Tyler, she was forced to, that or she was giving the choice to, but who would choose to kill themselves when pressured between two choices? If you were given the choice to live or die, why give in?
What do you have to protect so much to actually take your own life?
Sherlock carefully moved her head to one side, surveying the purple bruise on her cheek.
Someone should've heard her, any woman, when being attacked would call out for help. And judging by the state of her flat, it got quite physical.
"What subject was she to teach?"
"Is that important?" Greg asks, watching him quizzically.
"Yes, actually."
"Uh, the Sciences, I think."
Interesting. Tyler studied the sciences too. What is the connection?
Someone must've seen the person leave. Kate was found by her flatmate, she had to use her key to get in. Meaning that the door was locked.
Sherlock stands now, "Where's her flatmate?" he asks, looking around the room, he knew what he was looking for. He looks around Kate's body carefully, there's one thing he'd find, to let him know that this murder and Tyler's is connected.
"She's downstairs, talking to Sally. I don't think having her talk to you is a good idea, the girl can barely stop crying for Christ's sake."
Sherlock rolls his eyes at this, it was then, he saw it. Kate's pale fingers were wrapped around a piece of paper. Stooping down again, Sherlock takes the paper from her hand, it was speckled with dried blood, a finger print too. It could've been Kate's, it could've not been.
The detective's eyes scan the paper, in red pen ink, the letter F was written, along with something else.
She's next.
It was scrawled on, suggesting that it was a male who wrote it. But who's the she he's mentioned? Who's next?
Sherlock looks around again, getting up and re-tracing his steps to the door where Lestrade stood. He looks down at the Welcome mat, it's been moved. Which he found strange, he had deduced what he could've from Kate, and she, was a perfectionist. Any sign of misplacement, she would fix it, there's no way she would've left the mat like this.
Using his shoe he shuffles away the mat, moving it away completely. When he found nothing, Sherlock became slightly frustrated.
Where is it?
He turns around, looking around the messy room. He checks the table, the ledge over the door. And it wasn't there.
"What on earth are you looking for?" Greg questions.
"The key, the spare key to her flat." Sherlock answers.
There's always a spare key, she was going to be busy, very busy. Working late can cause forgetful tendencies, one can easily lose a house key. So there's always a spare.
If the door was locked, someone who knew her well, would know where to look for the key. The door didn't have a peephole, so if someone knocked, she'd have no choice but to open the door to them. That's how he got in.
But why take the spare key?
"Oh, Gavin. I really need for you to speak to that flatmate of hers, I think she'd find that her spare key is missing."
"Uh, Sherlock," Sherlock ignored his flatmate, he had come back a little over an hour ago, and he hadn't moved from his spot on the leather couch since. "John, Check the list of students who took the science course the same year as Tyler Olson."
Sherlock says, still not moving from the couch, but he heard the soft taps of John's fingers against the keyboard.
"Check to see if Kate Francis and Y/n Lestrade are listed," Sherlock says, closing his eyes.
"Why are you so hung up about Greg's niece, Sherlock?" The detective opens his blue-green eyes, finally looking at John for the first time in a half an hour.
"I am not hung up, she's a suspect."
John raises his eyebrows, "Does Greg know that you're suspecting his niece for murder? Oh–was she the one you went out to monitor?" John turns back to his laptop, narrowing his eyes, "She could have you arrested for stalking, you know."
Sherlock rolls his eyes, opting to stare at the ceiling than John. "Uh, Sherlock. Both are on the list; Francis and Lestrade."
They all took the same courses, they all knew each other in some way.
There must be a connection.