Later they arrived standing in in front of the huge abandon dilapidated old building, its windows cracked and dusty, bricks red and black with age. The wind gave off a fitting chill, Clara pulled her black leather jacket tighter, shivering a little
"Straight out of a horror film, lovely." She commented.
Sherlock just scoffed, unimpressed. "Mm, bit cliché for a murder, actually."
Clara shot him a sidelong look. "Figured you'd have preferences."
John smirked but said nothing.
"So," Clara asked, observing the huge double doors, "how do we get in?"
"Like this," Sherlock replied casually, flipping his coat collar and striding forward.
Slightly, amused, Clara followed him inside, the atmosphere not much better. The air smelled of damp wood and mold, floorboards creaked beneath their steps. Clara gazed around, noticing the gaps where boards were rotting.
"Jigsaw, would love it, here." She thought grimly to herself. She glanced at Sherlock, who navigated through the dim creepy halls like he had done this a hundred times. It was rather impressive.
Suddenly a sharp voice rang from the shadows, "Well, well, if it isn't the freak!"
They paused as the arrival of a tall, thin, dark‑skinned woman with a stern expression entered, her arms folded like she had been expecting him.
Sherlock sighed. "Sergeant Sally. Nice to see you… unfortunately." His smile dripping sarcasm.
Sally glared at him, "Once again, it's Sergeant Donovan," she exhaled, "and I hate it when you call me that." She added annoyed.
"Do you? Must not have cared enough to remember." He added bluntly.
Clara pressed her lips trying to hide a snicker.
Sally's gaze glanced towards her. "Who's this, then?"
"This is Clara. My new associate." Sherlock replied gesturing at her.
Clara just nodded politely.
Sally made a face, "New associate?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied flatly. "Pay attention." He scoffed.
Sally's eyes closely studied Clara, presence. "Well, she's cute, I'll give her that," She remarked. "But won't your boyfriend mind?" Sally taunted, glancing at John.
John just stood there, in a uncomfortable and awkward silence.
Clara's eyes quickly frowned, her jaw tightened. She could see why Sherlock didn't like her, the woman was infuriating!
"No need to be rude," She huffed. "What's wrong with him having friends?" Clara defended.
"Nothing except Sherlock doesn't have friends." Sally noted.
"Yes, he does. Us." Clara protested.
Sally chuckled without humor. "Well, he must be paying you."
Clara then tilted her head, deceptively calm. "You said you're Sergeant Donovan, yeah? You wouldn't happen to know a Courtney Woods, would you?"
Sally just shrugged. "Yeah, that's my niece, why?"
Clara simply handed her a folded sheet of paper.
"What's this?" She frowned.
"A list of the many detentions, your niece missed because of you according to her." Clara replied brusquely.
Recognition flashed across Sally's face. "Oh, no, you're not…"
Clara nodded, "Yes, I am Miss Oswald or as Courtney fondly refers to me as, 'that stuffy old twat," She quoted blankly, "Expect a call from the principal in a couple of days." She added sweetly.
A couple of nearby officers failed to muffle their snickers. A now flustered Sally briefly glared at her colleagues before turning back to them.
"Why didn't you tell me who she was?" She hissed at Sherlock.
He calmly shrugged, "You didn't ask."
Sally pressed her lips like she was suppressing what she was really thinking before sighing exasperated, "Detective Inspector Lestrade is waiting, come on."
They followed, Sherlock's eyes glancing at Clara, "Thanks." He murmured.
Clara just looked at him with the hint of a smile, "No problem."
John's smirk deepened. Sherlock quickly noticed. "Shut up," He grunted.
They soon found themselves entering into a chaotic, dimly lit room, forensics quickly moved between camera flashes, officers were passing each other like morning traffic. The whole scene felt like a film set abandoned mid‑shoot.
A blond greying haired man, wearing a black trench coat turned towards them, his name tag bouncing off his lapel, Clara guessed this was Lestrade.
"Sherlock, you finally came," He exclaimed impatiently. "Was beginning to worry murders didn't excite you anymore." Lestrade grunted. He then noticed Clara standing near John and scowled, confused. "Okay, I'm used to him," He pointed at John. "But who's this, don't tell me you're starting your own agency, now?" DI Lestrade remarked.
"Funny but no," Sherlock replied stoned face, "This is actually my new associate, Clara," He said.
Lestrade quickly shook his head. "No, no, you know the rules, no civilians."
Clara frowned, "Oi,' I'm not a civilian," She said tightly. "I'm actually one your ignored customers. Does the name Danny, ring a bell?" She remarked.
Sherlock just sighed, "Yeah, anyway as much as I hate it, she's vital to this case so either she stays, or I go," He cautioned.
Lestrade looked at her before nodding. "Alright," He relented. "But don't touch anything." He warned her.
Clara just nodded and Lestrade led them to a woman wearing all pink, face down on the wood floor, fingers curled in a claw.
"Who's this?" John asked wincing at the sight.
"Don't know," Lestrade replied, "No I.D, 'lady in pink', we call her," He sighed.
Sherlock quickly knelt, carefully studying the woman.
"We're guessing a possible suicide." Lestrade commented.
"And of course you would say something stupid like that." Sherlock snorted.
A tall man with reddish hair name Anderson, hovering nearby, chimed in, "Well, no signs of a struggle, no, fatally wounds, seems like a suicide to me."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Well done. Any other stupid things to share?"
"Before you start, you might want to look at the suicide message under her," Anderson snipped.
Clara frowned kneeling beside Sherlock, barely touching the jagged word Rache gouged into the floor. She noticed the splinters still clinging under the woman's chipped nails.
She actually carved that herself, Clara realized with a shiver.
"Danny leave a message like this?" Sherlock asked.
Clara shook her head. "No. Found outside. No message."
Sherlock murmured something but Clara didn't hear.
Anderson scoffed. "So, that proves it. It's a suicide, she wanted to die."
Sherlock rose sharply. "Don't be stupid."
Lestrade shrugged. "Well, the message could be symbolic. A name, maybe."
Clara just stared at the message, suddenly something clicked, "Hang on, what if it's not a suicide note," She said. "What if it's a message?"
Everyone just looked at her with skepticism except Sherlock, "How you mean?" He asked.
Think about it," Clara said. "She was in agony, literally dying so what can she do in her final hours," She shrugged, glancing at the lifeless woman, "Leave a message, ,maybe, she's trying to tell us who killed her."
"Why that word?" Lestrade asked.
"Maybe the killer's name." Clara guessed.
Sherlock's eyes then drifted to the mud on her shoes and skirt hem, "She's a traveler." He commented.
John folded his arms, curious, "How do you figure?"
He scoffed, "Look at her, it hasn't rained here in days," Sherlock pointed out. "And yet, there's mud on her shoes, why?" He said like it was obvious. "Because she obviously came from somewhere else." He concluded.
Anderson rolled his eyes. "Need more than that."
John then noticed faint wheel marks in the grime of the floor. "How about that, then?" He said.
Sherlock crouched, touching them. "Four wheels, opposite direction." He muttered his lips formed into a hidden smile. "A tourist. With muddy shoes," He noted standing up. "Now, where's her suitcase?" He said.
"No suitcase." Lestrade shrugged.
"Purse, then?" Sherlock replied.
"No purse or phone." He added, shaking his head.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Please everyone has a phone," He scowled. "How is it possible that this woman doesn't…" Then he paused, something as if something clicked.
Without a word, he quickly left the room.
Clara frowned, confused, "Sherlock!" She called, Sherlock didn't answer just silently strolled down the spiral staircase. Clara kept following him, only to step outside into an empty street.
"Great. Not only impossible, but apparently he does disappearing acts, too." Clara muttered.
John joined her with a weary sigh. "Welcome to my world, Miss Oswald."