AN: I haven't updated this fic in over two years. I've somewhat lost inspiration on most of my fics, and this is one that hit that cliff hard. I'm not sure when I'll write more of this, so tremendous apologies to ALL who are following this.

WARNINGS: Non-specific mention of rape and sexual abuse.

Disclaimer:

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

It takes them ten minutes and a lot of dog hair to calm the boy down. Jo was quick to exit the room at his hysteria and ends up sitting on the black marble fronting, head resting against the wrought ironwork. Lady does not complain at being used as a giant teddybear, the boy's fingers tight in her long curls. John is unfazed by the large dog breathing down the back of his neck during his inspection of the child.

Sherlock leans against the door jam, collar popped against the cold, arms crossed.

"Long term sexual abuse by well-heeled and well-dressed women, most likely friends of Mrs Worthington," Jo says into the bubble of quiet.

"It does appear to be so," Sherlock agrees, subdued for once. Murder is one thing. Rape is an entirely different beast.

"Any ideas as to how the murderer entered the building?" Her head tips back to what must be an uncomfortable angle, blue eyes watching him. He purses his lips.

"None so far," he admits.

"Clever sod." She leans forwards, rests her elbows on her knees and her arms straight out in front of her, hands drooping from tired wrists.

"Head back to Baker Street," Sherlock says.

"Nonsense," she replies and gets to her feet. "She was wearing Diane von Furstenberg. Let me at her wardrobe and phone." She pushes past him, and Sherlock does not tell her he has already been through the wardrobe.

He understands her need to feel useful, her need to stay occupied.

She flicks through clothing, mumbling to herself all the while. "She doesn't have as much of this season's clothing as she has of last season's," she says. "And what she does have isn't the same quality or brands as she previously bought." She hums for a moment, fingers pushing coathangers along. "She has a lot of Ferrio's work."

Sherlock watches her from the doorway to the master bedroom.

"What have you gleaned from her cellphone?" she asks. Sherlock huffs. "I expect you've already been through here. I'm not stupid, but you are better at this than I am." Sherlock's lips quirk.

"You're right, of course," he says.

"You didn't notice Ferrio did you," she says.

"Female fashion has never particularly been important," he replies. "That was more your purview than mine." She snorts. Sherlock ignores her. "She's a well connected woman with links to a number of other wealthy women whose entire purpose in life appears to be shopping and high teas. The husband is a generically wealthy businessman who is often away on trips. The daughter is a boarding school student home for the winter break."

"Any names particularly stand out?" she asks.

"She appears to know Janice Hoover and Tina Faulkner," he says.

"Those are two very well heeled ladies," she says. "And they run in a very specific social group. Oh Shirley, you always get the interesting ones, don't you?"

Like it? Love it? Review it!