Anderson ↠ BBC Sherlock

act one; one

Clara Anderson wasn't an idiot.

While she never said anything, it had always been very obvious that her older brother, Philip Anderson, was cheating on his wife. Clara wasn't entirely sure when she first realized it, but once she had, there was no going back. He smelt of a woman's perfume every single time she saw him, and seeing as his wife was away most of the time due to her job... well, it certainly wasn't hers.

Sometimes, on the rare occasion, Clara would prod a little, try to figure out who the woman was. Despite never actually asking Philip if he was cheating, he always seemed to realize what she was trying to find out. I'm not having an affair, he would say, as if he actually expected her to believe him. It certainly didn't help that Philip was always asking her to stay away from his colleagues, to avoid his workplace, claiming it was for the best. Who's best, however, she was unsure of.

There had to be a reason for that, though, and Clara was determined to figure out what it was. While it was possible that he simply didn't want to make a fool out of himself in front of her, or even worse, have her completely show him up, Clara had a feeling that it was something else entirely.

There was probably a better way to figure out what it was than by randomly showing up at the latest crime scene, but as she kneeled over the dead body, Clara couldn't quite bring herself to care. She had never seen a dead body before. Not up close like this, at least. The cause of death was obvious — strangulation, considering the purpling bruises formed around his neck — but Clara was struck with a strange urge to figure out more, to solve the case. It was a ridiculous thought for she had no experience with solving crimes, regardless of how many crime shows she happened to watch, but if Philip could do it...

Well, Clara really wanted to prove that she was better than him, and figuring out who committed this murder would do that.

That is, if Philip didn't kill her first.

It was as much an option as anything else. Philip had always had a bit of temper — hadn't talked to their parents in years because of a fight they once had — and considering the amount of times he'd warned her off... she'd be shocked if she wasn't at least slapped.

Clara leaned down, thankful that she had chosen to wear gloves. It was a fairly chilly day, but she hadn't exactly been planning on stopping by a crime scene. It had been a spur of the moment decision, but so far, Clara wasn't regretting it— this was exhilarating, and she could see why her brother enjoyed it so much.

Spotting something on the man's hand, she flipped it over, and then froze. Words had been carved into his hand, dried blood crusty against his skin, and— oh.

Clara knew who the murderer was.

He was her colleague, perhaps even her friend, and if this really was him then this was going to be fun. Clara smirked to herself, fingers absentmindedly tracing over the letters. Maybe she had only solved the crime because of her relationship with the killer, but she had still solved the crime, which was exactly what Clara had been hoping to do. Once she found Philip and bragged about it, it could even be enough to make him back off; being protective was one thing, but the extremes that he seemed willing to go to was another thing entirely.

Clara reached into the back pocket of her slacks and pulled out her mobile, a small smile making its way to her face. She typed out a brief message — IS THIS MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT? — and clicked send, not hesitating even for a second. Unsure if he would realize what she was referring to, Clara quickly sent another message, this one a picture of the engraved hand. She was fairly sure that this was his way of making up for ignoring her over Christmas, which had occurred just a few months previous, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.