Disclaimer: So I was working the other day and found a Lestrade in the break room. I was overjoyed and immediately kidnapped him to have my wicked way with him. Then I woke up. Worst day of my life. Anyway, Sherlock and company are not mine and most likely never will be and unless I'm the unknown heiress to the BBC (I can pretty much guarantee that I am not, by the way) then I make no money from them either.

A/N: Dialogue heavily borrowed from 'A Study in Pink". I won't be updating this as frequently as the other stories I've written in the past. This is mostly because I now work eighty miles away from home and though I only have to drive there on Monday morning and back home on Thursday afternoon I have no internet where I'm staying during the week. Also my job is very busy and I don't have much time to write during the days.

Anyway, here is the first chapter of A Honey 'Verse Study in Pink. Let me know what you think.

The Press Conference

The vultures circled around them. Squawking and squalling and bickering, making so much noise and fuss that they could barely think. Seated at a table in the front of the room a man with silver hair, a lined face, and eyes too old for his actual age and a woman, younger and yet just as weary, eyed the vultures with barely concealed disgust. The woman held up a hand for silence and the vultures settled reluctantly. She leaned forward towards the row of microphones set up on the table while the man rested his forearms on the table and linked his fingers together praying futilely for this stupid press conference to be over already.

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now." The woman told them clearly and then sat back to watch the feeding frenzy. The man gave her a frown but couldn't do more in front of the press. He really hated it when she threw him to the wolves or vultures in this case. Damn journalists.

Immediately one of the vultures fought his way free of the others and half stood up calling out rather loudly to be heard over the others. "Detective Inspector how can suicides be linked?" His tone was slightly mocking and a frown adorned his face.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade took a breath and stared anywhere but at the vultures disguised as reporters. He wished he'd had more time to prepare but the Chief had sprung this on them ten minutes before the press arrived. "Well, they all took the same poison. Uh, they were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them had shown any prior indications—"

"But you can't have serial suicides," the same reporter interrupted him his tone smug.

Idiot, Greg's inner Sherlock scoffed. "Well, apparently you can," he said in a dry tone. He could feel Sally's suppressed giggle from beside him and hoped she at least kept her face expressionless. It would be a disaster if all these journalists reported that DI Lestrade and Detective Sergeant Donovan found the recent suicides amusing.

Perhaps sensing Greg's irritation with the first questioner another journalist spoke up quickly in a respectful tone. "These three people, there's nothing that links them?"

Greg made eye contact with the reporter, hoping to communicate his gratitude. "There's no link we've found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." He tried to convince them and himself of this idea.

In a cacophony of noise every mobile phone in the room went off at once as everyone received a text message.

Wrong!

Sally sighed and Greg nearly groaned before stopping himself. Bloody Sherlock Holmes! They shared a frustrated look before turning their attention back to the confused crowd of journalists. They needed to do some damage control before things got out of hand.

"If you've all got texts, please ignore them," Sally tried to head the vultures off. It was too late however and they scented blood. Bloody Sherlock Holmes! Why? Sally whined to herself. Why did he have to do this?

The first reporter spoke up while holding his mobile. "It just says 'wrong'." His voice was both confused and smug. Greg really didn't like him.

"Yeah well, just ignore that," Sally said dismissively. Greg gave her a sidelong look but let her continue. She didn't really believe the vultures were going to ignore the message did she? "If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end." The room filled with the mutters and moanings of the vultures who wanted an end to the mystery and wanted answers for the strange text.

The second reporter settled himself more firmly in his hard chair, determined to get enough information to write his story. "If they're suicides, what are you investigating?"

Greg gave the man a hard look and swallowed. He really hated it when reporters asked smart questions. "As I say, these-these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it's-it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating." He knew there was going to be another mass text at that statement but he had to try to put the minds of the public at rest. No matter what Bloody Sherlock Holmes thought of the idea.

Sure enough the mobiles were going off almost before the last word was out of his mouth. Sally shot him a look that clearly asked if he was trying to wind the Freak up but he ignored it. He wasn't even though he'd known that would be the end result. Sherlock was so easy to wind up this way.

Wrong!

"Says 'wrong' again," one of the reporters called out. Greg felt like screaming that he already knew that at him but held himself in check. Sherlock was going to pay for this humiliation the next time he saw him.

"One more question," Sally called out almost desperately. She couldn't believe the Freak had derailed their press conference like this. Well, she could but still why did he always do this to them?

A new reporter, female this time, called out to them. "Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

Greg closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience. Every single bloody time! The press just loved their serial killers. "I know that you'd like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides." Lord, he fervently hoped they weren't dealing with a serial killer; Sherlock would be unbearable. "We know the difference," he continued. "The, um…poison was clearly self-administered."

"Yes, but if they are murders," the female reporter cut him off. "How do people keep themselves safe?"

Idiot! His inner Sherlock sneered. "Well, don't commit suicide," Greg told her. Ask a stupid question and get a stupid answer, he smirked to himself.

Sally rubbed the tip of her nose to cover her mouth. "Daily Mail," she whispered lowly.

Oops, the rational part of his brain gulped while the part influenced by Sherlock cackled in unrestrained glee.

"Obviously this is a frightening time for people," Greg tried to back track. "But all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

Greg and Sally both felt like banging their heads against the table as all the mobiles in the room went off again.

Wrong!

Greg's phone went off by itself and he sighed.

You know where to find me.

-SH

Rolling his eyes at his mobile and the man behind the text he flipped it closed and stuffed into his pocket. "Thank you," he told the reporters as he rose to his feet and left the room.

Sally caught up to him not four steps from the doorway. "You've got to stop him doing that," she told him heatedly. "He's making us look like idiots."

Greg kept walking and scratched at the back of his head. "If you can tell me how he does it, I'll stop him," he challenged her.

Sally stopped in her tracks and glared at Greg as he continued to walk away from her. "I'm telling Dr. John," she called after him; she didn't care if she sounded like a grade school tattletale. "He'll make the Freak stop." God, she hoped Dr. John made him stop. It was embarrassing.

Greg raised one hand over his head in a kind of wave. "Good luck with that Donovan, he thinks it's funny."

Sally resisted the urge to stamp her foot and swear. Dr. John would find his husband's antics funny.