Because Torture means 'to Twist'

A series of murders is related by an unsettling factor; Sherlock and John unravel the mystery whilst deciphering their own innermost workings. Could the murders be hitting closer to home than they thought? Johnlock.

Rating: Blanket rating of M for references to murder, torture, sexual intercourse, and violence.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Nothing belongs to me; characters and universe belong to the BBC production of Sherlock. This is written purely for enjoyment, no infringements on copyright are intended and no profit is being made from this story.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in years...I sort of dropped off the earth and left another of my stories up in the air...many apologies to my readers for that. But the bug has once again bitten, and I hope that people enjoy my attempt at a murder mystery with a startling amount of plot.

Please drop a review; I would love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy! :)

ALL BOW TO MY BETA: Nostalgic-Romance. Thank you! X3

Chapter One: A Scent of Oranges

These were the first things Sherlock Holmes observed:

Asphalt, typical coating of soot-dust and grime, noted salty tang in the air; attributed to proximity of the quay, precisely 43 degrees North North-East from the location of the swarming of blue-clad buffoons surrounding the position of the victim.

The yard, an abandoned strip of tar between two industrial storage warehouses- mostly steel beams, judging from the sheer size and oblong shape of the visible containers- was forlorn and bedraggled, the leftovers of an early morning drizzle chased across the ribs of exposed roof supports, the skeletal remnants of a similar storage structure.

"Bloody rain."

The disconsolate grumble came from Doctor John Watson, neck retracted into the upright leather trimmed collar of his jacket, the zip pulled to his nose, looking for all the world like a grumpy tortoise.

Sherlock smirked at him. John just frowned himself deeper into the meager warmth.

"Alright there." Detective Inspector Lestrade ambled over, nodding curtly and breathing onto his hands.

"Alright, Greg," Replied John.

"How's the body?" Sherlock said mockingly, rolling his eyes at John's insistence at maintaining banal pleasantries.

Lestrade just sighed and began to explain.

"A Woman. Looks about thirties, found by the security patrol at six this morning, naked- though no signs of sexual violence – in that chair over there. There's some weird red blistering on her fingertips. We're going through recent missing persons matching her description, hopefully something will turn up."

Sherlock approached the body. Her hands were more weathered than her face, no sign of greying at temples and hair dark brown; natural colour, and pierced but the jewelry removed. No makeup- no regular residue either, a small shine on the bridge of her nose, yes, both sides. John bobbed at his left shoulder, moving to inspect pink bubbles of froth at the corners of her mouth as Sherlock circled and sniffed at her hair.

"Have you moved her at all?" He was gazing at the hands, one folded over, and one palm up on the thigh.

"No, none."

"And you're sure it's murder?" John asked.

"'Course it is; body posed like this? Naked? Though we're not sure if the killer was a stranger, we can't see any signs of a struggle."

"Very good Lestrade, you're improving." Sherlock's deep, caressing voice at odds with his condescension. John flashed him a disgruntled tilt of his eyebrow.

"Cause of death, Doctor?" He continued smoothly.

"Blood in the lungs; a Post Mortem should confirm whether it was heart failure or infection, though I can't see any signs of prolonged illness. Dead maybe early last night; I'd say around nine o'clock."

"Hmm."

Sherlock ran a gloved finger over one wrist; a strong bunching of muscles at the bottom of the thumb: right- handed. Small lacerations focused on the inside of the middle finger-too deep for paper cuts, also neater, all were similarly angled- a Pen Nib? Ah, no writer's callous- indentation and wear on nail of forefinger-Oh! He looked to the 'weird red blisters' on all ten of her fingers, God was everyone so stupid? How could they not know what they were? - And one more run down the opposite wrist. But wait he needed bare fingers…

"John?" He beckoned and opened his hand to the side.

John just peered quizzically at him.

"Hand, your hand, give it to me."

He placed his hand hesitantly palm up in the detective's grip. So trusting, Sherlock thought, and then promptly scooped John's fingers over the cold dead skin of the woman's sleeve line.

"What the hell!" The doctor jumped and tried to pull back; but failed. The detective merely smiled at the light powdering on John's fingers. So clear against that tan.

He grinned. The doctor gingerly swiped his hand on a disinfectant swab proffered by Lestrade.

He checked the feet and ankles, lifted up the heel of one, and peered a moment longer at the toes.

"Well?" Lestrade hoisted his chin up and folded his hands underneath his arms, like stiff, corduroy-covered wings.

"Thirty three, works in a lab; chemical engineering of a sort- but academic, in research, not particularly commercial. Her glasses are missing. Never married, avid skier, money must come from her family. And the killer knew, of course, about the regular skiing, and sent us those ice cubes as a message."

John was giving him that look of floored awe again. Sherlock stretched against the velvet of his inner jacket, preening ever so slightly.

"Wait, Ice-cubes?" It was the scoff of Sally Donovan, hand triangled on her hip superciliously. "How the bleeding hell would you know that?

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably at her words. Sherlock rolled his eyes. John sniffed and set his teeth firmly; eyes forwards but decidedly not looking at Sally.

"Her hand, the palm of her hand, Donovan, is wet." Sherlock huffed. "And before you say it was the rain, take a moment to observe that it is the overturned left hand that is wet, an impossible feat for a dead body to turn its hand over, wouldn't you say?" His snide words barreled through Sally's attempt to retort.

"No, the only explanation is an outside source of water, which the killer must have put there, and judging by the level of condensation and amount that has evaporated, even in this dreary weather it has to have come from the melting of a volume of water consistent with that of an ice-cube."

"How...?" Lestrade's expression of wonderment was not nearly as pleasing as John's one Sherlock noted curiously.

Sally threw her hands up in dismissal, and Sherlock noted with petty delight that the vigorous twist of her heel splashed murky water onto her stockinged ankle.

John relaxed only fractionally, but Sherlock caught the movement and internally quirked an eyebrow.

'Tell us the rest about this body then, Sherlock." Lestrade brought his attention back.

"Small cuts to the inner middle finger consistent with a sharp edge, small and neat; so a blade of sorts, regular and similarly angled, so a repetitive movement. Callous on forefinger next to her nail shows a tool held to perform downwards pressure- must be a scalpel."

He valiantly attempted to stop his eye roll at the looks on their faces.

"How can you be sure she's not a doctor or something?"

"She is a doctor, Lestrade," Sherlock sighed. "Obviously she has a professional degree, even if her field is not medicine."

John's eyes swept the floor in chagrin at Sherlock's trivial correction.

"She does not smell of hospital disinfectant, nor do her feet show typical signs of repeat stress- as a medical practitioner's would- clearly she has the luxury of a seat while she works. She does smell, however, of oranges, now, what does that tell us?"

"A perfume, of sorts, or skin cream?" John piped up.

"Perfume would not persist for so long. Lingering of the smell implies repeated exposure to the chemical. Maybe cosmetic cream, but the absence of any make- up and no implication of prolonged make-up use doesn't lend itself to the idea that she was particularly rigorous in such areas. Therefore; coupled with the evidence of the scalpel, we can gather that the chemical is D-limonene often used in histopathology, which facilitates cutting of thin sections for microscopy- thus chemical engineering."

John had an open, happy expression on his face, his rough face; he had neglected to shave this morning- most likely to do with the weather. Sherlock's hand began to smooth over his chin. His own scrub took far longer to appear, so he never really knew what that felt like. Sherlock cleared his throat, dropping the hand he didn't realize he had moved.

"So you said skiing," John began, "which means the sores on her fingers are mild frostbite? They certainly look like frostbite."

"Quite correct, John. This is easily confirmed by inspection of her ears and toes, which show regular healing of exposure to low temperatures."

"Brilliant..."

Sherlock smiled, just a small lifting of lips as he caught John's eye. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Text me her name, Lestrade, when you find it. Come on, John."

Sherlock pulled off the rubber gloves and, tossing them unceremoniously at a passing Bobby, strode back to the street.

"I'm surprised, Sherlock, whole minutes with minimal condescension." John said merrily once out of earshot.

Sherlock chuckled.

"Although you did use my hand as a wet-wipe on a corpse, you prat, what was that all about?"

"All in good time John; my suspicions will be confirmed when Lestrade sends through her details."

"You mean when you dig up her address and we break into her house?"

Sherlock grinned again, lifting five fingers at a slowing taxi.

"Exactly."

A/N:

The blood in the lungs was a pulmonary oedema: an abnormal build-up of fluid in the air sacs of the lungs. There are many causes, most commonly being prolonged bronchial infection or heart failure.

Long explanation is that pressure in the veins going through the lungs starts to rise. As the pressure in these blood vessels increases, fluid is pushed into the air spaces (alveoli) in the lungs. This fluid interrupts normal oxygen movement through the lungs. (heehee...with Wikipedia, you too can be a doctor!)

I'd love to hear what you think! Please, please, leave a review!