Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Connie Prince

John and Sherlock inspected the body, muttering between themselves about tetanus bacteria. Lestrade turned to Clara, who was looking morbidly at the body. She was quite pale. 'Mrs Hudson and I used to watch her show all the time. Just yesterday afternoon she was on the telly. Not the way to meet celebrities is it?' She murmured quietly, looking at the body covered by a pale green sheet.

'Yeah well, a loss to us all I suppose,' Lestrade sighed. 'Though John's blog is getting pretty popular, the boys at the base love it. Sherlock could be quite a super star one day.'

'I'll believe it when I see it' Clara laughed. Sherlock? A celebrity? Yeah right! He did have the hair for it, and maybe the looks, but such a show off...

'Something is wrong with this picture,' the show off in question said loudly.

'Eh?' Lestrade uttered, confused, though not surprised.

Clara watched Sherlock as his beautiful pale eyes narrowed into slits as he looked down at the body. He bent down closer to inspect Connie's right arm. He took a magnifier from his pocket and looked at scratches on her upper arm through the lens. Claw marks. He moved up to her blank face and noticed tiny pin pricks in the skin on her forehead. He used his magnifier to look closely at them. 'John?'

'Mmm' his flatmate replied.

'The cut on her hand. It's deep, would have bled a lot right?'

'Yeah' agreed John.

'But the wound is clean - very clean, and fresh.' Sherlock straightened up. His eyes flicked around the room as his brilliant mind whirled. 'How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?' He asked.

'Eight, ten days,' John replied quickly. Sherlock quicker a one sided grin and gave Clara a mischievous look. She shook her head at him and scrunched her eyebrows together. She didn't understand whatever telepathic message he was trying to convey. The detective rounded on John, waiting for him to put all the puzzle pieces together. 'The cut was made later' the doctor said, rubbing his jaw.

'After she was dead?' The inspector asked.

'Must have been,' Sherlock decided. 'The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?' John looked thoughtfully at the body. Clara tried not to look at the body. 'You want to help right?' Sherlock asked his flatmate.

'Yes, of course.'

'Connie Prince's background. Family history, everything. Give me data.'

John agreed then left the room. Sherlock took one last look at the deceased then headed towards the door with Clara hot on his heels. Like a proper gentle man he let her go first through the door. She smiled and thanked him, glad to be out of the morgue. Before he could follow her however, Lestrade stopped him. 'There's something else that we haven't thought of' he interrupted.

'Is there?' Sherlock asked with false casualness.

'Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?' Sherlock stopped in his tracks and shared an anxious glance with Clara. 'If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?' Lestrade continued.

'Good Samaritan' Sherlock told the inspector nonchalantly over his shoulder.

'Who press-gangs suicide bombers?' Lestrade persisted before the detective could move away.

'Bad Samaritan.'

'I'm serious Sherlock. Listen, I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you - but out there somewhere, some poor bastard is covered in Semtex and is waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me, what are we dealing with?' The inspector demanded roughly.

Sherlock smiled thoughtfully with a hint of delight. 'Something new'.

Clara and Sherlock then left he the morgue, leaving Lestrade to work his own way back to Scotland Yard. It wasn't till they were outside in the street that Clara turned on Sherlock. She pointed a finger at him with angry eyes. 'Innocent people waiting to be blown up!' She exclaimed.

'So?'

'Don't be so, ugh...happy!'

'This is just so brilliant Clara! It's not my fault you can't see it' he complained.

Clara rolled her eyes. 'Just don't smile about it, it puts people off.'

'Clearly you're not put off' he argued.

'I'm getting paid to follow you round, cheekbones. I have to put up with it' she retorted. Sherlock stayed silent after that as they walked round the block, trying to find a cab. 'Mrs Hudson is getting ideas you know' she told him.

'Mrs Hudson always has ideas' Sherlock muttered back while waving down a black vehicle.

'Open your eyes Shirly, you're missing the point' she laughed and slid into the cab.

The detective was flabbergasted for a minute. 'Don't call me Shirly'.