Bishop Mournway

I was out getting coffee for work when my phone rang, playing 'Helter Skelter' by the Beatles. I sighed, and silenced it, seeing it was from the other dipshit's I worked with. I quickly caught a cab and made it over to the alley where the crime was committed.

I was a detective. Not the best, I'm assured by a rather bitchy co-worker of my Sally. Some consulting detective was the best, a mysterious man named Sherlock Holmes. No one really spoke his name; he was almost like a living legend among them. He was mentioned with equal amounts of distain and respect; so I could only assume he was nothing short of spectacular.

The cabby slammed on his breaks and hot coffee splashed on me. My eyes flashed towards the mirror, anger bracing against my light green eyes. I threw my money at him, and hopped out of the car, making sure to slam the door. Fucking shitty cabbies. I was in the process of straightening my clothes when Sally walked up.

"Spill coffee on yourself?" She asked brightly, dark eyes drinking in the stain on my jacket.

I smiled tightly. "No Donovan, a dog attacked me." I bit back sarcastically, brushing past her to the crime scene. She followed me under the blue and white tape and into the dingy alley behind the bar.

"Looks like the thug got drunk and decided to mess with the detective; the two fought and killed each other." Anderson put in, his voice annoying and grading on the air. My lip curled in disgust and my eyes rolled over to find his.

"Did I ask for your opinion? No. So shut up, and let me see for myself." I said snappishly, brushing back my hair. I heard him sniff arrogantly, and I suppressed an eye roll just as Lestrade stepped in. My lips tightened as Anderson and Sally's eyes light up. They must've been sure the Lieutenant was going to side with them.

"Look, I have to have her look around. The kid was in a local gang, which means Detective Mournway handles it." He said, strong and neutral. He was basically saying he had to have me here, and that Sally and Dickweed needed to play nice.

Sally shifted near her friend Anderson while I walked over to the bodies. There were two males, both killed with a shot to the head. The angle of entry was consecutive to their respective heights…Both bodies were bruised, each bruise matched up with the other's fist. The clothes had no dirt stains, so they weren't dragged around after death. As I was looking at the young kid, I noticed he didn't have any other weapons on him. In fact, it surprised me. Kids like this, they're showy not smart. They've got switch blades, guns, brass knuckles; you name it.

This kid had nothing. His hoodie had stretched out pockets so he must've had them before he died. I wonder if he had any drug's on him.

The old man was likely intoxicated; the kid wouldn't have had the money to get hammered in a bar. Their blood alcohol levels would come back later…but the kid probably was sober. If he wasn't, he would've had a cut on his hand from mishandling the gun. It's an easy mistake to make when you're drunk and not holding the gun right.

I ran my hands threw my hair. This wasn't just a fucking cliché shootout between a cop and a street rat. I could feel it, under my skin, driving me to look for everything and anything.

My eyes scoured the walls, looking for every crack and crevice before finding a bullet hole. It was eye level with me, about 20 caliber.

I scowled, turning around to look at Lestrade, Anderson, and Sally. "First off, Anderson was completely wrong. This wasn't some shoot out bullshit between a cop and some gang member."

Anderson snorted, lip curling. He was just about to say something when I cut him off.

"Let me explain. Unless the kid had a personal vendetta against the policeman, he wouldn't have murdered him even if he was drunk. Kids like these are poor finger men. They're disposable, and they won't do anything unless they know they can win. Seeing as the officer was out of uniform and I'm assuming at the bar next door; he was buying drugs from the kid. This wasn't a hostile situation until a third party showed up." I said; eyes narrowing as I imagined the old man in a bar. There were witness's minutes before the murder.

"There was a third bullet, different caliber than the others shot into the wall about fifteen feet up. Dig it out, find me people who knew they kid; find the people who were at the bar last night. And. Do. Not. Leak. This. To. The. Press. Sure as shit it's going to scare away the third shooter; or corrupt the witnesses." I said, fixing all of them with a glare before walking back to the street. It felt like my nerve endings were on fire, like sandpaper was crawling under my skin. I crouched over the bodies again, digging out their iphones.

The screens were both cracked, but when clicked on there was only one thing on the screen.

One bright day in the middle of the knight, two dead boys got up to fight. –M. Number Blocked.

Whoever did this is brilliant. They left that bullet in the wall, I bet you, for fun. So we'd all get our knickers in a twist, running around trying to find out who did this.

I looked back at the bodies, frowning as I brushed my hair back. I had a lot of paper work ahead, that was for sure.

Sighing, I pulled out my phone, typing in a report. At least I could start on my phone.

I took a sip of my coffee, going over the details in my head. This crime was not personal. Possible serial killer, the murderer would be very intelligent. Narcissistic; very arrogant. I rubbed my neck, trying to ease the stress and unease.

I wanted to know who did this.

I looked back, glancing at Lestrade before walking down to the station, and sighed. The police chief was going to ride my ass if I didn't get along better with Anderson and Donovan. I couldn't help myself, they were obnoxious idiots. One was just a bitch. At least Lestrade was a nice guy, who knew what he was doing.

Five Hours Later: Bishop Mournway

It was a long fucking day, and I got nowhere. Absolutely fucking nowhere. I'd been extremely pissed off for the past five hours, interviewed every credible witness, and made Sally cry. Well, at least I had one thing going for me. I pulled out my phone, texting Gilly back. I was on my way back to the flat trying to put myself in a better mood.

Hang out tomorrow maybe? Working on a case right now. Bishop

Sounds good to me, just let me know what time. Gilly

I ran my hand through my hair again, walking out the door and onto the street. The curls were starting to fall out, and I'd lost most of the bobby pin's holding my hair in place. My brown hair was starting to escape the half up-half down thing I had going. I needed sleep, food, anything to distract me from the crime.

My phone beeped, alerting me to another text message.

Frustrated? -M. Number blocked.

My surroundings disappeared as I honed in on the phone. My lip twitched as anger and anxiety flushed through me. It could be the murderer…

Well, only one way to find out.

Murderer? I sent back. The next text came almost instantaneously.

New to the Special Organized Crime force? Darling, you need to work on your people skills. –M. Number blocked.

My brow's drew together in anger, and I silenced my phone. This was getting just a little bit too creepy for me. I looked down at my phone, seeing a new message before I turned it over and took out the battery. I smirked, pocketing it and hailing a cab.

Victory.

I was jolted out of sleep by my land line ringing. I snatched it up, slamming it to my ear.

"There's been another." Lestrade said, and I swore. Fuck. God damn it all. Shit.

"Be there in five." I grumbled, rolling off my bed and onto the floor. I quickly threw some clothes on, button up shirt and black slacks. I was out the door in seconds, not bothering with a jacket.

I walked onto the scene in the early dawn, ducking under the tape and walking straight to the scene. It was in another back alley, two bodies. One a security guard, the other, a kid. I brushed past Sally and Lestrade, I didn't have time for their bullshit theories.

This time the angle of the gun wounds were different, the police officer's gunshot wound wasn't matching up with the kids' height. In fact, the angle was more severe, going upwards which didn't make sense since the thug was taller than the cop. If the boy was taller than the cop, the gunshot wound would have been at a downward angle or straight on because of the way he would've pointed the gun.

That means we've got two killers. One who's smart enough to cover his tracks, and another one who is short, trying to pull of the first murderer's job. I smiled, looking through the rest of the evidence, finding their phones with the poem on it. . Two dead boys got up to fight. . .the deaf cop of the beat heard all that noise and came and shot those two dead boys?

I was one step closer. It was possible that the killer no. 1 hired killer no. 2, thinking that it would either fuck with us, through us off, or deflect the attention from himself. So, we have one serial killer (who's height we now know) and another, smarter killer. He's not a serial killer, no. He's got experience killing, enough experience and intelligence-

"What are you doing here freak?" Sally's voice sounded, much like an annoying siren, ruining my concentration. I sighed, and rubbed my face as frustration built in my chest.

"You're in over your heads; you need my help." A male voice replied. I spun around, seeing a tall man in a dark coat behind the blue tape.

I walked over, smiling, to Sally and Anderson. I turned to the handsome man.

"Can I help you?" I asked, sweetly, anger burning through me. The man's bright eyes narrowed, flickering over me almost dismissively.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. You need my help." He stated, like I was stupid. My eyes flashed over him, taking in everything.

"Oh really, hold that thought." I said as sarcastically as possible, turning to the two moron's and Lestrade. Lestrade wouldn't meet my eyes, while Sally and Anderson glared at the mystery man.

"Now, I want to know which one of you fucking coffee addict, doughnut eating morons leaked this to the fucking press!" I said, starting off sweetly before yelling, flinging the words at them like ammunition. "Then, I'll try and handle the six-foot-fucking-two inch tall fuck up you caused you imbeciles!" I roared, eyes blazing. Sally's lip curled in disgust.

"If you're looking for the murderer, that's him there. Freak did it." She started, before I cut her off, glaring at her viciously.

"First of all, you fuck-tard, Mr. Holmes is too tall to be the murderer. The angles from the gunshot wounds don't match his height; so why don't you just do us all a favor, and go the fuck away." I snarled, turning back to the bright-eyed problem I had. He was looking around, uninterested like a pouting child, but his eyes kept flicking back to where the bodies were. I

"And Mr. Holmes, I don't need your help. I do things by the books. You are not a legal detective or even part of the government, so why don't you go home before I have you arrested." I said quickly, looking him over before turning away to look at the crime scene, biting my lip and looking over the evidence again.

He muttered a few more words before leaving, and a sudden sniffle drew my attention to Sally. I made her cry again. Oh joy. Lestrade walked over, looking at my now messy and straight hair.

"I think you should take a break…you don't look very well." He started, dark eyes watching me with concern. I snorted.

"Whatever. I'm tired, and I'll be back tomorrow. Don't let Polly-Pissy-Pants or Dickweed mess anything up." I snapped, whipping out my phone and inserting the battery.

There were many new messages, all from M. I ignored them and rang Gilly. I needed someone to vent to before I murdered someone. My phone vibrated, and I looked down. A new message.

I've got you in a bind; haven't I? –M. Number Blocked. I felt my face harden and my anger rise.

"Who are you?" I snarled under my breath, glaring at my phone. It vibrated again.

Moriarty.

Gilly: Forty minutes later

Gillian sat cross legged before Bishop, her hands cupping her warm cup of tea. Her eyes scanned the many photographs and notes that littered the floor and then returned to Bishop, who was staring at her with her intellectual pale green eyes.

"So?" Bishop asked curtly, her nails digging into the thin piece of paper she held in her hands. "What do you think?"

Gillian inhaled, cocking her head. "Well, I think it's more than obvious this guy wants to say a massive "fuck you" to the cops. I mean, two corpses, evidence of the third person left behind via the bullets, no prints on the bullets, no match to gun registration and messages to the police and you? This is overkill."

She paused, studying the images before her, "It was a tidy, clean killing, for the most part. It's like the third person set up the other two beforehand, like they were going to kill each other. Maybe they didn't shoot fast enough for the third's liking, maybe they made too much of a scene."

Bishop nodded along. This was nothing that hadn't already been figured out by her, but by listening to it being recounted, she could figure something new out, or Gilly could touch base on something she hadn't.

"Maybe the third intended for them both to die in any case. I mean, that freaky assed poem seems to say that they were both gonna be killed by the third person anyway. Two dead boys got up to fight. . .the deaf cop of the beat heard all that noise and came and shot those two dead boys?"

Gilly nodded to herself. "The poem isn't just coincidence, it's just showing off what's happened."

Looking back at the sheets, Gilly bit down on her lower lip. "So, do you know what happened with them?"

"You mean, was he buying or confiscating?" Bishop asked harshly, her eyes narrowing as her hand slammed down, clenching around a much stressed piece of paper . "The body speaks for itself."

"Buying, then." Gilly murmured. She shook her head. "But you guys found no money on the thug?"

Bishop's face scrunched with disgust. "None. After the guys went through his clothes and shit, they didn't find anything but a phone. They're hacking into it as we speak to see if they can find anything."

Gilly remained silent, dropping her head down to look at the photos again."So, you could find something on the phone?"

Bishop chuckled dryly. "If we're very fuckin' lucky. The clothes were disturbed around the pocket the phone was in."

"So they knew the killer? Or at least, the thug did."

"Apparently." Bishop scowled. "If the guy left the phone, it could be that he already wiped the sucker of anything useful."

"And you guys couldn't trace back the texts?"

"No," Bishop said. She was getting increasingly frustrated, and was beginning to twitch slightly in her impatience.

Gilly sighed, looking away from the pictures. They weren't tacky gory, and they made her stomach lurch somewhat. "Sorry, Bishop. I don't have anything to say you don't already know."

Bishop drummed her fingers on the floor impatiently. "It's fine. I just needed someone to vent on outside the workplace, you know? Not to mention see if my buddy can see anything I'm missing."

"I know, " Gilly smiled. "You'll figure this sucker out eventually, Bishop." She stretched, popping her back.

Bishop blew out a huff. "I know. It's just irritating me! It's like this guy's a criminal mastermind or some shit!"

Gilly gave a soft snort, smile widening. "Well, that would mean you have an archenemy. Like this Mr. Holmes you were telling me about."

Bishop's scowl only deepened at this. "He's not getting his ass on my crime scenes, I can tell you that now! I don't need any help from the man, and I work my shit by the book."

Gilly shrugged, running her hands back through her short hair. It stuck up in tufts, thick and white, for a few seconds before she fluffed and smoothed it slightly.

"You don't have to tell me that." She said simply. Bishop shrugged, getting to her feet and trampling her papers on the way to her sofa. After a second, Gilly followed suite, sighing.

"Well, I know I'm not gonna sleep well tonight."

"Then it's a good fuckin' job you're not on a big animation project at the minute."

"I'll drink to that." Gilly smirked.

"Bitch."

"You love me really."

"Whatever."

Gilly flipped her off neatly, stumbling to her feet. "Well, it's late." She said, looking out of the window. She drew the curtains and then turned around, grabbing her friend into a quick bear hug.

"See you later. Try to get some sleep tonight, 'kay? I can already tell you didn't get any last night."

"Oh my, however did you come across that key piece of information?" Bishop called after her, rolling her eyes.

Gilly flashed her a grin as she buttoned up her long black coat. "I've known you since University, chick. You're always more bitchy when you haven't slept enough. And when you do sleep, you get bitchy just after you wake up. Hence, why I avoid you in the morning."

"Hey! I'm not that ba-" Bishop attempted to protest as the much used, familiar argument started up.

"Yes you are." Gilly replied, voice floating back from down the hallway.

"No-"

"Yup."

The sound of the door closing echoed in the finality of Gilly's statement, and she smiled to herself, just knowing that her friend was now moping on the couch, likely mumbling that she "wasn't that bad."

She started to walk down the street, her hands slipping into her pockets for warmth.

When she reached her house, she sighed softly and let herself in. She wandered into her hallway and stripped off her coat, hanging it neatly on its hook before she made her way to her living room, where her computer was awaiting. Turning it on, she pulled out the draw with the keyboard on it, and typed in her password.

Almost immediately her e-mail gave a soft pop, alerting her she had a message. Opening up the box, she frowned. She didn't know this person, and she was steadfast certain she hadn't added him. Moriarty? The name sounded familiar though.

She read the message and paled.

One bright day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight.

Side by side they faced one another,

drew out their swords and shot one another.

The deaf cop on the beat heard all that noise,

and came and shot those two dead boys.

It's nice to meet you, Gillian.

M.

Bishop:

I was worried about Gilly. Who wouldn't be? Not to mention, Moriarty was up my ass. He hadn't stopped texting me since I left. I laid down, and was just shutting my eyes when my phone rang; playing it's customary tune. I huffed and threw the blankets off me violently, eyes blazing.

Who the fuck is disturbing my second attempt at sleep?! I looked down at my phone.

1 missed call: Gilly

My eyes snapped open, and I was instantly awake. She never calls me unless there's an emergency.