~*Hi all! Third chapter finished after a bout with the flu. Thanks for the reviews and yes I'm keeping to the cannon as much as possible. And can I say, if you're not happy with how I've portrayed a character please let me know. Still titbits from the scraps of paper in my office. As I said before, please flame away and rip it to shreds. That's how I get better at this. Read and enjoy! *~

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and associated character are the property of the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle estate. The Sherlock television production is the property of the BCC. I do not make any profit from this story - it is a tribute to the great writers out there.

The Idiot's Guide to Deduction

Chapter Three: Who's This?

"PINK!" And with that the crazy man rushed out of the building.

"C'mon, let's get on with it," Anderson called behind him as the forensic team started their way back into the room.

Lestrade sighed. A suitcase? Where the hell am I going to find a suitcase in the whole of BLOODY LONDON?

He stood away from the team as they began taking their photos, marking the various traces on the floor and walls, sweeping their little brushes around and cataloguing countless items into small plastic bags. Twenty-minutes later he was still standing there watching.

Perhaps I do need sleep. Why did this have to turn into a serial killer spree?

He massaged his temples. This was not his month. With the Chief Inspector on holidays, this suicide - now murder - debacle was wearing him to his threaded end. All nighters for a fortnight, despite the small crashes in the back of the squad car, had made him impatient and angry. He couldn't go home. Not without her there. His wife had kissed him good-bye three weeks ago and said she would stay at her mother's until he got his act together and came for her and her only.

What did I do this time? I can't help it if the weirdest case in my career has popped up and I need to take on this shit house media storm as well.

He wasn't too sure he wanted to go after her though. He had noticed how she kept her phone in her pocket and popped out with the excuse to get his cigarettes. He scratched the nicotine patch through his sleeve.

I am a professional detective. I notice when my own wife is scoping out other potential partners. I'm not a complete idiot - despite what Holmes thinks.

Forty minutes later and many small conversations later, the stretcher came in and the body was lifted into the black bag. It was easier to think of the woman as a body instead of Jennifer Wilson. Especially when this case was hitting a little too close to home for comfort.

I should give her a call tonight.

"Sir?" He turned to greet Sergeant Donovan. The grin on her face was not a good sign.

"What is it this time, Donovan?" he grumbled stomping down the stairs to the "operations room". Insomnia was going to become his mistress at this rate.

"Dispatch just got a call about someone matching Freak's description rummaging around some skips two blocks from here," she relayed. "It could only mean one thing."

He snapped off the rubber gloves and slipped off the paper shoes. He didn't like where this was going. "You want me to put out a call to arrest Sherlock on suspicion of murder?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her eyes lit up. "Yes. At the very least he's withholding information from us. "

He shook his head and walked out towards the street, with Donovan arguing in his wake. He knew Sherlock rubbed his officers up the wrong way but this was getting ridiculous. Despite what Anderson and Donovan thought, Sherlock was a nice bloke under all the drama that over shadowed him. After all, look how he treated this Dr Watson.

Wasn't that the same guy from this afternoon? I thought he was Mrs Hudson's nephew. Looks like a military man. Pity about the limp. Is he Sherlock's colleague? Couldn't be his flat-mate, seems too sane to take up that position.

But Sherlock was encouraging him to make a decision, when he shuts out the rest of the officers. Calmly, patiently waiting for the doctor's opinion when all other never mattered to him and then not disputing it. Then there was the blushing at the compliments and the quiet acceptance of them. Lover then? Perhaps a good shag will finally remove the massive pole up his arse. Eugh. Bad images.

"I agree, sir."

Lestrade blinked a couple of times. "Agree...?" Donovan huffed and Anderson started glaring down his nose at him. Just who's in charge here?

"We should bring him in for questioning," Anderson repeated. "Especially after that little trick with the mobile phones this morning."

He wasn't sure how much more of this partnership he could handle from these two. When they weren't telling him how to do his job, they were banging each other and possibly discussing how to go over his head to the Chief Inspector in their afterglow. Seems there's no such thing as monogamy these days...Just look at the pink rash on Donovan's knees-

Then it all clicked. SHERLOCK IS RUMMAGING IN THE DUSTBINS BECAUSE HE'S LOOKING FOR A COLOUR COORDINATED SUIT CASE! PINK! The boy just couldn't stay behind the civilian line when it came to solving problems like this. I'm going to regret bringing him in on this.

Donovan's mobile rang and she flipped it open. "Sarge," a small whiny voice came over the speaker.

She blushed and took a couple of steps away from the men. "Yes," she quietly said, turning down the volume. Lestrade pressed a finger to his lips and glared pointedly at Anderson as he snuck up behind her to listen. "You're right. The freak just returned home with a suitcase."

"Right, I'll let the DI know," she snapped it shut and suddenly inhaled.

Lestrade was now simmering with rage and scaring the shit out of his officer was the least he was going to do tonight. "Phone." She handed it over to him.

He scanned through the received calls until he found the last one and hit dial. "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade. Who am I talking to?"

"Uh, Constable Johns, sir," squeaked a small male voice. "Can I assist?"

Young, new brass. Possibly another one of the Sergeant's devotes. "You will go back to the Yard and find out all you can about Jennifer Wilson, specifically anyone with the name Rachael, and then report back to me immediately on my mobile. Is that understood?" he handed it back to her without waiting for confirmation from the constable. She was looking quite sheepish and from the shock on the forensics' face, it appeared that their little coup had just been disbanded.

"Fine. We'll do a routine drugs bust. By the book mind you. If we find anything, then we'll bring him in." He reached into his coat to find his identification card. Empty pockets again. "Once this is over Sergeant, you and I will be discussing the proper use of police resources, while I fill out the paper work to have you on the beat for a month" he snapped.

He rounded on Anderson. "Get back to work!" With that both of them spun on their heels and rushed back into the building.

Lestrade jumped in the squad car. "221B Baker Street," he growled to the officer. If he couldn't find any drugs, or the suitcase, at least he'd have his identification cards and a bit of his dignity back.