"What do you have for me, Lestrade?" I ask, trying to hear over the sad sound that is produced by Sherlock's violin. "Sherlock..." I warn him in an attempt to get him to be quiet.
"What?" He snaps quickly, scratching the last note, clearly annoyed that I'm distracting him. He turns to face me with a blank face.
"I'm trying to talk," I snap, trying to get my point across.
"I'm trying to play," he responds, putting the body of the violin back under his chin. I let out a huff
"Lestrade, keep talking," I say.
"Okay, we have a death-" Lestrade starts.
"A death? Not a murder?" I question. Sherlock stops playing his violin and looks up to me, hearing our conversation.
"Yes, well, we don't really know..."
***
"Sherlock, I know what you're doing," I say noticing him trying to deduce me. He always tries then only frustrates himself when he can't learn about me.
"I know what you're doing as well," he swiftly answers.
"I don't do that... On you at least," I mumble, brushing past him to grab my coat.
"Why not?" He asks, clearly amused with my lies. He steps in front of me, blocking my path to grab my coat.
"I just don't."
"That's a lie," he calls me out, making me begin to feel flustered. He stands, taking one big stride to be standing in front of me. He stares into my eyes, not blinking, and I do the same.
"You're right, it is," I say with the straightest of faces. I don't look away, and I don't blink. I can't show any sign of weakness.
"Then again, why not?" He repeats his question. I don't answer, and he steps away. "I don't need to know.," he shakes his head in dismissal. I push past him and grab my coat off the rack.
"We need to go," I tell him. "We have a case."
"No, you have a case. You go, and inform me when you get back." He sits back down on his chair before grabbing a book.
"Sherlock, you have to come."
"You are fully capable of doing this on your own," He replies as he looks up from the textbook.
"Yes, I know, but it would be helpful if you were to accompany me.," I mutter, hoping to gain his attention.
"It wouldn't be helpful if you can do it by yourself. You don't need me." He says, "You never needed me before."
"Sherlock, I want you," I say and he gives me an odd look making my heart skip. "With me, I mean," I reply quickly.
"Right then, we're off." He abruptly stands from the couch to grab his coat.
***
We pull into Scotland Yard, and I rush out of the cab. Sherlock throws money at the driver as I walk into the building. I walk right past everyone until Donovan steps in front of me.
"Ugh, the freak," Donovan groans at the sight of Sherlock.
"The freak?" I ask, standing up for Sherlock as he stands beside me.
"Yeah, and you're insane," she says directing her aggression toward me.
"I know! Isn't it great?" I reply with a venomous smile. I step in front of Donovan, my smile not ceasing. Quickly, it vanishes as I stare into Donovan's eyes. "I don't know how to put this nicely, Donovan, so I won't. Mostly because you're an asshole to Sherlock. From now on, if you are saying something to Sherlock or I, it will be something nice or related to work. Got it?" I smile as she stands before me completely awestruck before I trail off. Sherlock falls behind in his walking pace before he catches up.
"You didn't have to do that," Sherlock mumbles. I let out an airy laugh at his statement. We walk through the building, and up to Lestrade's office.
"Yes, I did." We stand outside of Lestrade's door. I go to grab the handle when Sherlock does.
"This isn't over," he informs me before opening the door.
"Nothing is ever over with us," I mumble under my breath.
***
"So you're saying that the woman's head was burned? Just the head?" I ask.
"Yes, we walked in on the woman already dead, but her head still burning," Lestrade replies.
"Do you have the head?" I ask.
"Well, yes. Why do you need the head? Do you want to see the body?" He asks.
"No, just the head." I smile.
"It's at the morgue."
***
We arrive at St. Barts to see Molly there.
"Hello! Lestrade said you have a head!" I say. She looks at me shocked for a second before realizing what I was saying.
"Oh, yes. The burnt one." She scurries off. She opens one of the holding drawers. I inspect it.
"May I see the body?" I question.
"I thought you said-"
"Yes, I know what I said." I reply. She pulls the body bag down further. I move over and inspect the hands.
Burnt
"Sometimes the hair will catch on fire while the hair is still wet from the carrying solvent of the hair product. In those wet instances, the carrying solvent greatly enhances the flammability of hair. Most hair products warn to avoid ignition sources until the hair is dry. Unfortunately, that type of warning leaves the impression that ignition sources do not need to be avoided after the hair is completely dry," I point out, the smirk not leaving my face.
"What?" Molly whispers, confused by my conclusion.
"Are you saying it was hairspray?" Sherlock asks, thinking my answer is odd.
"Yes, it is simply easy... She sprayed her hair, it caught on fire, then she tried putting it out with her hands- stupid by the way. I'm just curious if it was intentional or not... Did someone do this to her?" I ask mostly to myself.
"Molly," Sherlock starts with a persuasive smile. "Do you have information on this woman?"
"Where does she live? What's her name? When did this happen? Where did this happen?" I say, rushed and impatient.
***
"Wow..." I whisper. I stand back, looking up at the oversized home. "It's almost as big as my parent's home," I laugh aloud before stepping forward. Sherlock looks to me, before doing the same. He rings the doorbell only for the door to be answered by a man.
"Hello. We're here to talk," Sherlock announces before walking into the house. The early victorian style of the home darkens the room. I walk over to a chair, sitting down on it. Disgust overwhelms me when I see a rodent running past my feet. I abruptly stand.
"We won't be here long," I say, brushing my coat. "We just have a few questions."
"Okay, that's alright," The brunette man, wearing dingy clothing answers. "I was Inna's brother, by the way."
"Isn't Inna a Russian name?" I ask, wanting to clarify my information.
"It was, yes. Our parents are Russian," He answers back, before slumping down in the seat. "I can't believe she's dead."
"Yeah, was anyone after her? Did she have any enemies?" I ask.
"She had enemies, yes. Nobody liked her, only family did."
"Hmm..." I say, "Was she a rude person?" I ask.
"Yes, very."
She thought she was better than everybody
"Okay, can we see the room... She was murdered in?" I ask.
"The police already did... That's why I have tape around my house..." The man says.
"We aren't the police.," Sherlock pipes in. "Show us the room."
"Right, okay," The man mumbles before walking off, gesturing for us to follow. We walk up a set of stairs, and down a hallway before arriving at the woman's room. I walk in, ducking under the tape. The first thing I notice.
Window ajar
"Has anybody been in here, touching the room?" I ask the man, whose name I don't bother to get.
"No, I don't think so," the brother answers before walking out. I jump over to the window, Sherlock ignoring my actions. I peer out it, looking outside to see a house a long distance away, but a window facing us.
"Sherlock..." I say and he hums in response. "Come here," I articulate, using my hand to wave him over. Obliging, he walks over before peeking out the window.
"Let's go see the neighbor."