There is Character death, Animal/Pet death, and Crime scene gore in this chapter!

If you don't wish to read it, Feel free to SKIP this chapter.

Seriously, feel free. I won't be offended.

You could smell the blood before you saw it. John noticed as soon as he walked through the door, the scent was everywhere. Sherlock's eyes went wide when he noticed, and the familiar zing of danger raced down John's spine. This isn't right, This isn't right at all. We're not at a hospital. Not on a battlefield. There isn't enough blood in one human body to make THAT potent of a scent.. What in the dickens is going on?.. John thought. Didn't the officer say that only the resident Miss Figg was murdered? Then where is the smell of all that blood coming from?

"John, get on your suit, QUICKLY..." Sherlock ordered, as he looked greedily into the deeper part of the house. He was desperate to get in, and for some reason, John though that his partner seemed.. Well. Angrier then normal. A bit Angrier then the human calculating machine seemed on a normal day, at least. He made a note to check in on. The sudden change in his flat mate as he swiftly obliged the order he was given. He snatched two of the blue bundles of fabric that the crime scene crew had at the ready, and slipped them over his clothes faster than a blink of an eye. One was the suit itself, the other one were the shoe covers. Once they were on and John was reasonably sure he wasn't going to contaminate the scene, they walked out into the living room. Sherlock leading while not wearing any crime scene gear at all... Per usual.

They walked down the hall and past the kitchen door; There was nothing of note in those rooms. It was only after entering the living room that John and Sherlock froze. John from shock, Sherlock as he started to copy in the entire crime scene into his mind palace. It was horrible, to be sure... But horrible wasn't the only word that John would use to describe it. He would gladly add disgusting, offensive, and overly brutal as well...

The upper part of the late Arabella Figg's body was laying on top of the living room tea-table, with her legs and feet folded under it. She laid chest-down on the table with her neck sickly twisted to the right with a metal chain wrapped tightly around it. Her eyes wide and vacant. It was almost as if she was sitting a Japanese tea and had just passed away, falling forward on the table. Sadly, that would have been a more pleasant end then the one she actually faced. Both of her arms were tied, far to tight, behind her back, in a way that must have been horribly uncomfortable. There where countless bruises and red hash marks from where she must have struggled against them. Her lower legs were also tied in the same way, ties that would not allow her to get up, let alone walk.

John wasn't the crime scene expert, but he knew by zigzag way both of the ropes were tied that they were made by the same person. And that this Figg person was sitting there for some time.. Enough time to bruise, struggle, and rub herself raw against the ropes.

And at the end of the table where Figg's body laid was the second part of the crime scene.. Something that made John even more sick and disgusted then he already was. because at the end of the table were two piles of small dead cat. One to the left, one to the right. Just tossed one on top of the other, until it made two formless mounts of fur, legs, and blood.

That's where all the blood smell came from... The bastard killed the cats. He killed ALL the cats!

That was as far as John's thoughts got before they dissolved into a series of curses, fury, and images and bashing in an unknown person's face. John gave Sherlock a look that spoke volumes. He wanted this sicko CAUGHT. Quick. Sherlock gave a quick look back to signal he understood. He then moved forward and looked around the scene at different angles. He had entered what John called his 'crime scene mode.' John went completely still and silent as Sherlock worked, as did Lestrade and Dimmock who watched from the living room door, having entered just after them. They had been working with Sherlock long enough now to know the drill. All of the other forensic techs were checking the other rooms in the house; so it was just them and the lead on the case. The lead investigator one that had argued with Sherlock since they had first gotten here.

Sherlock took in the entire room. From the table, to the top of the walls, to every inch of the floor. John however, couldn't take his eyes off those poor cats. It wasn't just sick, it was disturbing. The murderer was more demented then John had first assumed... And that was saying a lot, because he had given the bloke a fair bit of leeway in his assumptions. He had always loved animals.. Dogs, mostly, But cats were on his favorite list as well. They were loyal, sweet, and if treated well, constant companions. He had even treated a few of the service animals in Iraq on base, because there wasn't many vets around. One army dog has just as much right to treatment as another, right? He had joked... But now John couldn't help but to feel personally insulted at the man's actions. And if he got a chance, he going to slug or plug the bastard himself, Police or no police.

"BREATHE, John.. You won't be any use to any of us if you don't BREATHE." Sherlock suddenly ordered. John looked back to his partner, and took in a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He then noticed that his blood pressure was also quite high, his face was getting red, and his knuckles were bone white. Crap. He had almost starting slipping into one of his rages, didn't he? Sherlock gave him another silent look that asked clearly, 'Are you alright now?.' John answered with a nod. 'Thanks for that, and yes, I'm good.'

Dimmock and Lestrade watched with curious eyes, wondering about the silent exchange was about this time. The Chief and two other officers at the door were just watching with intent eyes.

"John, if you would, please." Sherlock said, motioning to the body. John nodded and walked quickly over, starting his examination. He started at her head and the hands behind her back.

"Female; late 40s, maybe 50. Thin frame with a lack of muscle. Time of death was an hour to an hour and a half ago. She was tied up before she was murdered; and you can tell by the struggle marks that she didn't go down willingly. There are traces of duct tape around her mouth AND her jaw, however... A bit of overkill, but it would have made it impossible for her to scream out." John then took a closer look around her neck, and nodded to himself. He didn't move or touch the chain, though.

"Cause of death was strangulation with the chain. After he removed the tape, though..." Sherlock nodded an affirmative just as the lead scoffed and snickered. But John pleased to note that Dimmock and one of the Surrey officers were taking notes. John got himself up and moved over to next part of the crime scene; the two piles on the other side of the table... Two sickly looking piles that were nothing but lumps and fur with blood that was already drying, but still looked to be seeping down. John suppressed his rage, and looked over the poor pets.

"Ten cats, at least, hard to tell... All killed by cutting wounds, more than likely with a handknife. Looks like the first one was killed..." John looked at the smallest corpse nearest the bottom of the pile. He turned to ask one the crime scene techs for a pair of gloves, only to see Sherlock striding the last two steps toward him, handing John a glove himself. John took it with a nod, and a silent thank you. He quickly placed the glove on his right hand, and touched and looked over a stiff paw. He then froze as a sick realization hit him.

"Oh bloody hell..." John cursed as he turned and gave Sherlock another look. Sherlock just nodded back solemnly as he took a few steps back, crossing his arms behind him.

"Mind letting US in? This is OUR case after all!" The fat oaf barked, as he glared at both Sherlock and John this time.

"Do they do that a lot?" A female officer at the door chimed in from the side. Dimmock turned to her with a blink.

"You mean that 'Whole-conversations-with-a-look' thing?... Yes, actually, they've made a habit of it." Dimmick answered.

"Kind of creepy if you ask me..." Lestrade commented under his breath as the officer chuckled.

"CAN-WE-GET-BACK-TO-THE-CASE?!" The investigator yelled, his face starting to twist in rage. Sherlock and John both leveled steel-like glares at him at the same time, and the fool quickly went both silent and pale. The nerve of this bloke! John thought darkly. First it was no, now it's hurry the hell up?!.. Honestly.

"The first cat was killed two hours ago." John stated, his hawk eyes still fixed on the lead. The gasps from behind him from the other officers let him know the meaning behind his words was understood.

"Yes, John; a completely correct examination.. But lacking in other important details. Allow me.." Sherlock stated as he started flitting about the room, from place to place. once again pulling in everyone's attention as he started his assessment of the crime scene and the murder itself.

"Poor Miss. Figg here had let her attacker in the house by way of the front door; likely because she was familiar with him, more than likely because he had asked. She walked him further into the house, not suspecting a thing. He attacked her soon after they entering the living room, here, taking her completely by surprise..." Sherlock motioned to a slightly disturbed part of rug by Lestrade's feet. Lestrade instantly reacted by jumping back as if they were playing a game of hot lava. "He quickly overpowered her, then bound and gagged her to assure she would be unable to runway or call for help. He then sat her at the end of the table, here." Sherlock said as pointed to the stop where Miss Figg's body lay.

"The table, After all, was as good place as any for his 'Show'..." Sherlock growled, distaste showing clearly in his voice. "He started by gathering up her cats. Then he killed them one by one, another after another right in front of her.. She was forced to watch him murder them, time and time again, until all of her pets were gone. After he was done with them he then un-gagged her and straggled her to death with the chain... He then retrieved the duct tape, knife, and gloves he had brought with him and took them as he left. A clever move to cover his tracks..."

"If he was trying to be clever in covering his tracks, when why did he leave the CHAIN behind, HUM!?" the investigator snapped. Apparently getting more and more insulted that every word that Sherlock said was accurate. Even down the missing Duck tape, weapon and gloves.

"Because he left the chain behind as Message. And a message can't very well be read if it isn't delivered, now, can it?" Sherlock said, as if he was talking to a kindergarten class.

"A Message?" The officer at the door said again, sounding confused. "The chain... is a message?"

"Is everyone in this room besides me and John and idiot?!" Sherlock snapped. "Of course it's a message, what else would it be?!"

"I don't know.. The murder weapon?" Lestrade chipped in with a bite. Sherlock turned and looked to him with an exasperated sigh.

"Yes... And there within lies the message..." Everyone in the room looked at him blankly and went silent, The only sounds were the footfalls and cameras of the CS techs in the other rooms of the house. Sherlock sighed in exasperation again.

"John, take a closer look at Miss. Figg's neck then tell everyone else in the room what the murderer is trying to tell us... I've think I've had my fill of idiocy for the day."

John rolled his eyes as he felt all others turn and glare angrily at the consulting detective. He walked back over to the body of Miss. Figg and sent a silent apology to her spirit as he moved a length of chain to expose her neck, being careful to only use his gloved hand.

"Pale neck, swollen, with rigg- ohbloodyfuckinghell." John said, as he quickly put the chain down and removed his glove. "It's him. It's the same guy. It's a serial killer." He then finally snapped. "That low-down piece of crap! He's taunting us, Bragging, even!"

"... as well as taking full credit for all the murders at the same time, John, don't forget that." Sherlock chimed in.

"What?" The female officer said, looking back and forth. "How.. How in the hell did you get that from a Chain?!"

Lestrade didn't even bother with questioning Sherlock and John's statements. He just grabbed his cell, and walked out and started to make calls.

"The First victim? Vossler? The one straggled outside the bar? What did you find on his body... More to the point, Around his neck?.." Sherlock asked the officer, as she turned a few pages back in her notebook. She looked down the pages of her own writing, before looking back up.

"A... Weird pattern?... Bruises, all around his neck?" The female officer answered weakly. Sherlock nodded. He then pointed to the exposed, battered neck of Miss. Figg.

"Yes, Now tell me, Officer Forest... Does this look like a 'Weird bruise pattern' to you?"

All eyes turned to the body. And after just a quick moment of observing the imprint left by the chain, all the officers were shocked into silence. The marks left from the imprint of the chain around Miss. Figg's neck was the same pattern that was found around the neck of Mr. Vossler.. The EXACT same.

The chain wasn't just the murder weapon that killed Figg, It was also the murder weapon that killed Mr. Vossler.

"And assuming that the police where withholding information on the murder of young Mr. Piers from the press, specifically that he was ALSO beaten with a chain during his attack, I'm sure we can all see where this is leading..."

"Three kills, one murderer. That's his message. He wants us to know this was his work all along. It was him, and ONLY him, this whole time." Sherlock answered, as he went over to the lead, and glared at him while looking him right in the face.

"Maybe next time, you'll know well enough to give us the information as it's needed... Keeping the chain of the press may have been a smart move in the short-term, but next time, whatever you withhold could end up being Disastrous... Especially since things have just become marginally worse.."

"Worse?... How?" Dimmock asked, his ears perking up at those last words.

"Because, Detective Dimmock, He's isn't just murdering people anymore. Now he's torturing them." Dimmock at the lead both went silent at that statement. Sherlock didn't bother to try to carry on the conversation anymore. He pulled up his collar, adjusted his jacket, and turned heel out the door.

"Now, if you excuse me. I have quick matter to attend to, and a killer to catch."

A fuming and furious John Watson right at his heels, looking even more amped than his cohort to begin the hunt.

"So?" John asked, as he kept in step with Sherlock. "What's out next move? What do we do now?.."

"Found your second wind, John?.." Sherlock said with a smirk as they made their way down the small hall of the house.

"Forget winds, Sherlock, I want to find this serial killer. I want him found, and I want him gone... Quick."

"As you wish.. But first; we need find out how the number 4 is connected to these murders... Then we find the killer." Sherlock said with a smile, remembering the number that Wizkid had signaled to him before disappearing. He had no that the number had something, however remote, to do with this case. He knew that his apprentice would not lead him astray on this.

"The Number four?.. How is the number 4 connected to all of this?..." John asked, looking at Sherlock a very confused look on his face as they walked out the door together, out onto the street.

" I don't know, John. Not yet, at least... But I can't wait to find out."

End of Chapter. Sorry for those who were offended, but I did try to warning you guys at the beginning! This was a very hard chapter for me to write, because I love cats, all pets really.. But it had to be done. I did some research and read a few good books on crime scene and such before typing this up to, so I hope I did justice to the CSI profession.