Einstein

Chapter 1 - Sarcasm and Suitcases

Juliet Spencer sat quietly in the taxi on the way to her new address; 221c Baker Street. Moving to London had been an impromptu idea, not something she normally would've done. However, the situation back home in America had deteriorated from "rather shitty" to "entirely unbearable," and she needed out. Of course, she hadn't lived in America for years, but her parents had her (old) address, and they were nearing the topic of a visit, which was the last thing she wanted. If they figured out where she'd gone, she could simply say, "Oh, I'm sure I mentioned it! You must've forgotten, you're getting old. It happens." or something...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the cabbie's voice; "Miss? Miss, this is Baker Street."

"Oh! Thank you," she said. She handed the cabbie his pay and grabbed her suitcase.

She stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the building. Well, here goes nothing.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. "Mrs. Hudson?"

The sweet lady came out of her kitchen and said, "Oh! I didn't realize you were coming today!"

"That's quite fine," Juliet said. She didn't blame her; people often forgot about her. Although to be fair, she wasn't very memorable.

"The flat's over this way." They walked through a hallway and Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "Here we are. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Juliet smiled. "Thank you." After the landlady had left, she sighed. The rooms were empty and she didn't have a lot of furniture. Yep, this was perfect. A few days later, her furniture arrived and she set it to her liking. The flat looked a lot better once it was stuffed with her books and art equipment. She set up a little corner where she could sketch, and that was where she spent most of her time. Unfortunately, she could also hear everything that happened in the flat above from that spot. Bad insulation.

She knew Mrs. Hudson had, potentially, rented out 221b, but she didn't know to whom. At least, she didn't know until the suicide/murders began.

~~~~

Three suicides that had happened exactly the same way. They were all over the news. She followed the case almost obsessively. At one point, she threw down the paper in frustration and honestly contemplated torching the whole damn room just to see those tiny little words burn, so they could feel the same frustration she was dealing with.

There was the job opening about a week or two before that. A forensic science technician with degrees in chemistry, biology, and forensic sciences, Juliet jumped on the opportunity. She'd had to quit her old job when she moved, which had upset her more than she'd expected, but hey! new city, new life, new job. No time for old friends and colleagues.

She still had their contact information saved, in case she needed someone to talk to, even though she'd ditched the old number – she wasn't taking any chances when it came to her parents. The less those two knew about her, the better.

It was her first month on the job, working under a man named Philip Anderson. He was a bit of a jackass, but he was at least patient as she learned the ropes. She wasn't used to working with Scotland Yard, or big-city crime, and all the regulations that came with it. Not that there was anything wrong with regulations, but she really enjoyed showing up to work in a t-shirt and jeans. It wasn't like people typically saw what she was wearing - what good did the damn dress code do anyway?!

But getting a call to haul ass to Lauriston Gardens wiped any irritation she'd ever had with these people out of her mind. "It's another suicide," Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade said over the phone, "Anderson said you could use some time out in the field."