Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil

John dialed the number with shaky hands and paced the hall while it rang. “John? Is there something wrong?” Lestrade asked over the speaker.

“You- you need to get here-“ John chocked out between panicked breaths. “Now, Lestrade.”

“What happened,” he asked; John could hear movement on the other line.

“Hanna- she’s gone and the flat-.“ He took a deep breath.’ Get through this conversation’, he thought to himself. ‘Then you can panic’. “The flat’s covered in blood and her cats are all dead, hung from the ceiling.”

“I'm on my way with a few patrol cars” Lestrade said. “Don’t touch anything, do you hear me? Where’s Sherlock?”

“He’s here with me,” John said.

“Well what does he think?”

John paused a moment, looking at his flat mate who was seated on the stairs watching the door. “He…“

“Spit it out John!”

“Nothing,” John said into the phone.

He could almost feel Lestrade’s shock. “What?”

“He can’t deduce anything, Lestrade.” John swallowed. “He’s too close to this one, that’s why we need you. You are our only hope right now.”

~

Two hours later Lestrade walked into Mrs. Hudson living room where the three residents were waiting. He sat down in one of the chairs; John and Mrs. Hudson were sitting together on the couch. John was comforting the old woman but Lestrade doubted he was in any shape to do so. Sherlock stood by the window, his cold eyes locked on the busy street.

“As far as we can tell the blood isn’t Hanna’s,” Lestrade said. “But there is a lot of it and a lot of tests we have to run to be sure.”

“Well what makes you think that in the first place?” John asked.

“The cat’s bodies were completely drained of blood and there were bowls in the kitchen covered in the stuff,” Lestrade said. “It looks like he took his time up there. John, how long did you say you were gone?”

“Maybe two hours” John said.

“That’s not enough time.” Lestrade sighed sitting back in his seat. “Not to kill the cats and drain their blood, or leave the message in the window.”

“Message?” Sherlock inquired his voice so low that he was barely heard.

“Yes… you didn’t see it?” Sherlock didn’t answer. “Well it said, and I quote-

‘Nothing will keep me from you darling,

Not your cats, not your protectors.

In the end I will always have you,

Just as I did the night before.’”

“Lestrade!” Donavan called, stepping into the room. “We found something in Hanna’s room, blood on the floor. It looks like that’s where he killed the cats and he left them there to drain and… there was something else.” She nodded her head towards the hall where the inspector joined her. She spoke quickly to him in a hushed tone and he dropped his head in defeat. He nodded, running a stressed hand through his hair before returning to the living room.

“What,” John asked, his voice colored with panic, enough so that Sherlock turn away from the window. “What is it?”

“In Hanna’s bedroom…“

“Just spit it out Lestrade,” Sherlock said his voice low and demanding as he eyed the other man.

“It seems that they found some evidence…“ he hesitated again, seeing Sherlock’s deadly gaze. “It appears that she was raped, sometime last night most likely-“

“That’s not possible,” John said as he stood up. “I was here last night, surely I would have heard…” Lestrade shook his head. “Oh god- oh god no…” Mrs. Hudson quietly cried while John turned to look at his remaining flat mate.

Sherlock’s gaze had been turned to the ground. His posture was straight, arms behind his back as he lifted his chin to look back out the window. His face was blank as he watched the busy street in front of the flat but John could see the raging emotions behind those cold, desolate eyes. Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a machine. No matter how hard he tried to convince anyone else otherwise, John knew. And he prayed that Hanna, wherever she was, knew that too.