🔷 Before you read, please remember votes and comments = more chapters—no votes or asking me to "please update" comments = no chapters. Just follow me so you know I've updated instead of asking me to. Thank you.🔷

❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈

Once they were finally out of the house, they decided to scour the back streets about five minutes away from Lauriston Gardens that had been wide enough to fit a car. They had figured out it would have taken the murderer the same amount of time to realise that the suitcase had been there. They had also figured out that the case had to be somewhere, such as a bulky item, without being noticed; it had only taken them less than an hour to locate the skip. Afterwards, taking the pink case back to 221B only to see John wasn't with them, leaving him behind at Lauriston Gardens, Sherlock texts him.

Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.
SH

Both Holmes had now sat down, each having three nicotine patches on their arms. Cora, now in her favourite velvet teal armchair legs tucked underneath her, sipping tea besides that of her brothers that Mrs Hudson had probably accepted delivery for earlier this evening.

"Cora, be a dear and text, John. My phone is still in the kitchen," Sherlock asked his sister as he gazed blankly up at the ceiling from his position on the sofa and in doing so.

Cora rolled her eyes in disbelief, thankful that her brother hadn't seen it, before placing her tea on the small ornate wood side table between hers and Sherlock's chairs to grab her phone.

If inconvenient, come anyway.
CH

It had been less than half an hour before Sherlock began complaining of the Army Doctors' lateness, "Where on Earth is that man? He should have gotten here by now. Shoot him another text, would you, Cora?" Which made her roll her eyes at him, which Sherlock caught this time.

"Don't roll your eyes in such an incredulous way, dear sister and just text him, will you," Sherlock scoffed uncaringly, still in the same place he was an hour ago.

"You have arms and legs, brother dear. Why don't you make yourself useful and text him yourself instead of lying there in a nicotine-induced haze," she suggested icily, glaring daggers into him and looking up from the book she was now reading.

"You know very well I don't work like that, and Coralline, now be a dear and text John to make it sound more appealing this time, will you."

"You're impossible sometimes, Sherl, you are," she huffed, knowing there was no point in arguing her point anymore, so now she put down her book and grabbed her phone.

It could be dangerous.
CH

"Okay, done," she slammed her phone down and returned to reading.

It was not only thirty minutes later that John came hobbling into the flat, finding Sherlock on the sofa, their head facing towards the window, a cushion under his head, no longer wearing his coat or jacket, the sleeves of his shirt unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows at that moment snaps open his eyes.

 
On the other hand, Cora has curled up with her feet underneath her, reading a book in a teal armchair that hadn't been there earlier this evening.

"What are you doing?" John asked with a frown, glancing at one Holmes and then the other as soon as he crossed the threshold.

"Nicotine patch," Cora responded rather calmly, eyes still glued to her book, quickly holding up her free arm lined with patches, as does Sherlock from the sofa.

"Helps us think."

"Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work," the female Holmes states matter of factly.

"It's good news for breathing," John seriously implied, entering the living room.

"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring," the male Holmes waved off dismissively.

With a frown, John takes hold of Cora's arm to have a good look before voicing with disbelief as he now lets go of it to look at Sherlock's arm also, "Is that three patches?"

"It's a three-patch problem," the other man replied, resting his hands together in prayer underneath his chin and closing his eyes.

John scans his eyes around the room for a moment before landing on Sherlock again, "Well?" he doesn't respond, so he now looks to Cora, "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important," she doesn't respond either, but at that moment Sherlock does.

Snapping his eyes open, Sherlock gazes at the ceiling to inquire, "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" the Army doctor returned with a look of mistrust.

"Don't wanna use mine. There is always a chance that our numbers will be recognised. They're on the website," Cora explained, putting her book down.

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn't hear," Cora tells him with a shrug.

"I was the other side of London," John asserted, beginning to get angry with them both.

"There was no hurry," Sherlock puts mildly. The older man couldn't help but glare at them both as they returned to their little worlds of serenity.

But eventually, they knew he would cave as a few seconds later they heard him let out a huff and pull out his mobile phone from his jacket pocket, slapping it in Sherlock's open right hand as he now asked, "Here. So what's this about the case?"

"Her case," Cora uttered softly, correcting him, putting the book down and manoeuvring herself in her armchair to face John, properly relaxing her elbow on the arm and seating her chin in the palm of her right hand.

John can't help but get lost in those mesmerising blue eyes before he forgets where he is for a brief moment, only now to remind himself he's only just met the woman, for Christ's sake and probably way out of his league. Anyway, "Her case?"

"Her suitcase, yes," Sherlock explained, now opening his eyes, "Obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?"

"It's no use, and there's no other way. So we'll have to risk it," Sherlock uttered quietly for a moment before raising his voice and holding out the mobile phone towards John, "On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text."

Cora sees the older man half-smile in somewhat angry disbelief, knowing that feeling all too well when it came to her brother, "You brought me here... to send a text."

"Text, yes," John snatched his phone out of Sherlock's hand, glowering at the man who was utterly oblivious to how angry John was, "The number on my desk."

John stomped across the room as Sherlock resumed placing his hands back underneath his chin in prayer and closed his eyes. Cora couldn't help but shake her head at her brother's bone idleness and now went to watch John with interest, who had now peeled back the net curtain to peer down at the street below, wondering what was on the man's mind.

Cora gets up to go towards the other window, moving the net aside to look down at the street, moving back to glance in John's direction and ask with a subtle frown, "What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours," the older man replied.

Now Sherlock's eyes snap open in a flash, frowning at him in confusion as the twins inquired in unison, "A friend?"

"An enemy."

"Oh," Sherlock uttered calmly, he and his sister having quickly relaxed knowing they had many enemies, mainly at Scotland Yard, "Which one?"

"Your arch-enemy, according to him," John implied to them, making both Holmes narrow their eyes suspiciously at him, "Do people have arch-enemies?"

"Did he offer you money to spy on us?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," he confirmed with a nod, making Cora knowingly roll her eyes to who it might be just as she drifted back towards her armchair.

"Did you take it?" Cora added as she now slumped back into her chair and again brought her legs back underneath her.

"No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time," Sherlocked scolded.

"Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now," Sherlock mumbled softly before changing it up to speaking more directly and loudly, "On my desk, the number."

John throws a dark look in Sherlock's direction, who has already looked away, so John approaches the desk and picks up the piece of paper that appears to be taken from the luggage label.

John now asked, looking at the label.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" John now asked, looking at the label.

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number," Sherlocked demanded. With a shake of his head, John pulled out his mobile phone to add the phone number.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?"

"Ye... hang on!" Cora couldn't help but think this would start a beautiful friendship between them as she looked on in amusement.

"These words exactly... 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out,'" Sherlock began narrating as John briefly looked over at him, "'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

Pausing mid-text, John frowned at them with concern, "You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" Sherlock quickly twists around and gets to his feet, taking the fastest route towards the kitchen, which requires him to walk over the coffee table rather than going around it like an average person would, "Type and send it. Quickly."

Now in the kitchen, Sherlock grabbed the pink suitcase from a chair and returned it to the living room. Going towards the dining table, he takes a dining chair and flips it around, setting it centre between the armchairs nearest to the fireplace. He puts the suitcase onto the dining chair and sits in his armchair whilst John is still typing, and Cora watches her brother with interest as her brother unzips the briefcase.

"Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?"

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock replied impatiently.

Once John had finished texting, he found a pink suitcase open, showing its contents before him and staggered towards it slightly in surprise, realising who it belonged to, "That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Well, obviously, John," Cora said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

John continued to stare at them just as Sherlock glanced up briefly to utter in the same manner as his sister, "Oh, perhaps I should mention: we didn't kill her."

"I never said you did."

"Why not?" Cora turned to give John a pointed look, "Given the text Sherlock just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John directed back at them both, knowing that it happened pretty often for the police to assume they had been the ones who committed the crime.

"Now and then, yes," Cora smirked, "They seem to think we're a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde act of sorts."

"Okay..." John limped across the room, dropping heavily into the armchair opposite the fireplace, "How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it were in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention - particularly a man, which is statistically more likely - so obviously, he'd feel compelled to get rid of it when he noticed he still had it. So it wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. So it took us less than an hour to find the right skip.

"Pink. You got all that because you realised the case would be pink?"

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock replied like it should be the most obvious thing in this world. 

"Why didn't I think of that?" Cora heard John uttering to himself.

"Because you're an idiot," Sherlock offered rudely in observation, having heard John and Cora throwing him a look.

Sherlock now makes a placatory gesture with one hand, "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is," he refolds his hands and extends his index finger towards the suitcase, "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?" the female Holmes could tell the older man was still offended by her brothers' words.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, and there was no phone in the case. We know she had one. That's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home," John suggested.

"She has a string of lovers, and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home," Sherlock rests his hands on the arms of the chair and raises himself upright so that he can lower his feet to the ground to sit correctly in his chair, now to slip the label into its holder on the suitcase before both twins look expectantly at John.

"Er..." John looked at his phone in thought for a moment and glanced back up to ask the twins, "Why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?" Cora returned in question.

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or...?" she gestured with a hand for him to continue voicing what he was currently thinking.

"The murderer..." John responded slowly until he finally understood, "You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she..." Cora pondered on her answer for a moment before continuing, "...left it when she left her case. But, on the other hand, maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry...what are we doing?" he gazed back at them, his eyes wide, panic now entering his voice, "Did I text a murderer?! What good will that do?"

And then, as if on cue, John's phone started ringing and going to pick it up to inspect the screen for the Caller ID, seeing that the number was withheld. He now looks between Sherlock and Cora as his phone continues to ring.

"A few hours after his last victim, he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone, they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." Sherlock pauses dramatically just as the phone ceases its ringing "...would panic."

Once he had finished talking, Sherlock flipped the suitcase lid closed just as his sister was now quickly pulling on her ankle boots and zipping them up. John stared at his phone as Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf.

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked, finally looking up at them.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police," Cora declared as she collected her things together.

"So why are you talking to me?" The older man implored them just as Sherlock noticed something was missing from the mantlepiece.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull, and Cora is utterly hopeless; she learnt that a long time ago."

"So I'm filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine, John," Cora tried her best to reassure him with a smile as she pulled on her coat, "Frankly, you're doing a far better job than the skull."

"Well?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, what?"

"Well, you could just sit there and watch the telly."

"What, you want me to come with you?" John frowned at them.

"We like company when we go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. Furthermore, Cora and I get on each other's nerves when we're alone together for too long, and the skull attracts attention, so..."

"Is there a problem?" Cora asked the older man, who remained sitting.

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

"What about her?" Cora rolled her eyes as her brother looked away in exasperation.

"She said..." John paused momentarily before continuing, "You get off on this. You enjoy it."

"And I said 'dangerous,' and yet here you are," Cora offered nonchalantly to John with a smile just as her brother headed down the stairs waiting until he was out of earshot, leaning towards him and whispering, "And just as a secret between you and me I took Sherlock's skull don't let him know I told you that," she winked cheekily at him before hurrying down the stairs knowing well enough the older man wouldn't be far behind with a slight grin on his face.

Graphic by belovass