The crime scene was packed with officers. Some of them were arguing; most were declaring that they wanted to go home; two people had already gotten into a fight over which fingerprints matched up. Donovan was going crazy trying to control them all, and Anderson was leaning on the wall, watching his own team argue about dust.
The two taxis pulled up at the same time. Lestrade stepped out of the first, along with a small, rat-like man in a hat and cape. Donovan’s jaw dropped, but she regained her composure, running over to her boss.
“Sir, it’s chaos.” Donovan sighed.
Ratty Lestrade gasped. “Good Lord, women on the force! How times have changed!”
“Excuse me?!” Donovan growled.
“Not now, Greg.” Foxy Lestrade sighed. “Donovan, set up a barrier. I want all the officers to go back to the Yard – the forensics team can go home too.”
“Is that wise, sir?”
“I have my own team.” Foxy Lestrade smiled weakly. Ratty Lestrade drew himself up to his full height, looking self-important. Donovan glared at him.
The other taxi’s door opened and Scarf Sherlock and Jumper John stepped out, followed by an awe-struck Moustache John and a bored Scruffy Sherlock. Donovan almost fainted.
“Who are they?!” she pointed to the Victorian men.
Foxy Lestrade rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t ask, Donovan.”
Meanwhile, Scruffy Sherlock had spotted something, and the other men were having trouble keeping up with the stream of deductions.
“…Charlotte Higson had come here with someone she trusted – there are no boot-scuffs on the ground or signs of a struggle. Look, the plants are intact.” he gestured to some flowers. “Therefore, the good lady must have known her kidnapper, if so he can be called.”
“But what about this?” Scarf Sherlock pointed to the window. “It’s open, and there’s a shoe-print on the window sill.”
“Great Scott!” Moustache and Jumper gaped at the two of them. Scarf and Scruffy looked rather pleased with themselves.
Anderson wandered over, crossing his arms. “Who are you?”
“Doctor John Watson.” Moustache John recovered and held out a hand for Anderson to shake.
“Don’t touch it.” Scruffy Sherlock warned. “It might be contaminated.”
“What, the window sill?” Scarf Sherlock frowned.
“No, that.” Scruffy Sherlock pointed to Anderson.
Anderson went red, and Scarf Sherlock laughed loudly, clutching his sides. “Holmes, you are fantastic!”
Scruffy Sherlock and Jumper John grinned.
Moustache John rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”