When Virgil and Logan finally stumble back inside 221-B, they're both elated, and quite out of breath. Puffed out, and a bit exhilarated. Their wet coat and hoodie are off in a flash, and tossed over the banister. Then the two are sinking against the backside of the front door with relief.

"That..." Virgil sputters between gasps for air. "Was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done in my whole life."

Logan laughs breathlessly. "And you invaded Afghanistan."

"Yeah, but that wasn't just me." Virgil says, head falling back against the doorframe. Then he looks at Logan, confused. "Hey, why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"Oh, they'll keep an eye out for me. It's a bit of a long shot, anyway." Logan dismisses, tugging at his collar, to pop a couple more buttons, just to be able to breath better.

Virgil closes his eyes for a moment, trying to understand. "So, then... Why were we there at all?"

Logan shrugs, with an amused smirk. "Passing the time, proving a point." He brushes his bangs out of his face.

"What point?"

"You."

Logan's up in an instant, and strides just around the underside of the stairs into the hall, calling out in the direction of where their landlord lives. "Patton! Virgil's going to move in, he'll take the room upstairs!"

"Wait, wait, says who?" Virgil's up after him.

Logan's eyes glint with something mischievous. "Says the man at the door."

Right on cue, the doorbell rings. It echoes cheerily, like delicate giggling down the short hall. Virgil, in shock, slowly turns to the door, which stands just a few feet away, and it feels like it's laughing at him.

"Well, you better go and open it then." Logan jerks his head toward the door, expectantly. Virgil looks between Logan and the door apprehensively, nervously, before doing as he's told.

The door opens, and Virgil is surprised to see Angelo, the italian restaurant owner, standing on the other side of it. He's still in his work suit, nametag and all, now a little wet from the rain out on the stoop. In his hands, is Virgil's wooden walking stick. "Logan texted me!" The man says, jollily. "Said you forgot this."

Virgil just stares, thunderstruck. His hand jumps to his leg, which feels fine with the exception of some achy muscles from running, jumping and climbing during the chase. The chase. He'd... gone that whole racing sequence without a single protest from his leg, not even when leaping between rooftops. He'd caught up, and then kept up with Logan, whose legs are considerably longer than his own.

"I-I..." Virgil sputters, reaching to take the cane.

As he speaks, the door to Logan's flat, at the top of the stairs slams open. Mr. Patton Hudson comes stumbling down the stairs, tearful, and shocked. "Oh, Logan, what have you done?"

"Patton?" Logan asks, he rounds back around to the base of the stairs, and reaching a hand out toward the older man, suddenly worried.

"Upstairs!" Patton's voice is wobbly, and he's veering on tears. He steps down onto the floor shakily.

Virgil and Logan exchange a look-- what?? Then, they're racing up the stairs together, feet pounding Virgil tossing his just-returned walking stick aside as he goes.

That leaves the restaurant owner and the landlord alone at the base of the stairs. Angelo and Patton make eye contact, and they just look at each other awkwardly, for a moment, with one standing out in the rain, and the other looking like the tear-floodgates are threatening to open. The italian clears his throat. "Well, I hope everything's alright." He says, before closing the door squarely in his own face, and waddling off to his car, a little more hurriedly than before.

---

Logan bursts into the flat, with Virgil at his heels, to see Remy Lestrade sitting in Logan's grey chair. He's examining the scarlet case, which lays open on the coffee table, where they'd left it. The room is full of policemen, swarming in and out of the kitchen, and down the hall to Logan's bedroom. They're pulling books off of shelves, opening and slamming cupboards, and tearing Logan's closet apart. They're searching the flat. A proper, full-on, search. Rubber gloves, crime scene wear, and guns at their hips.

"What are you doing??" Logan cries, standing frozen in the doorway.

Remy looks up, expression stone-set and cold. "Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid."

Logan's angry now, arms flying outward as he steps toward the DI aggressively. "You can't just break into my flat!"

Remy crosses one leg over the other, and lounges back in the armchair. "And you can't withhold evidence." He says, coolly. "Besides, I didn't break into your flat."

"What do you call this, then?" Logan demands, gesturing wildly to the state of the place, and the various officers stripping down his home.

"A drug bust."

Logan's confidence and angry expression falter. But Virgil, who now stands beside the detective, is laughing. "Oh, come on, seriously? This guy, a junkie?" Logan's probably one of the most composed-looking people that Virgil's ever seen, he's clean cut and cool. The complete opposite of what comes to mind when you think of drug addicts, which brings to mind images of back alleys and dirt under fingernails. "Have you met him?"

"Virgil..." Logan warns.

"Pretty sure," Virgil continues, almost belittling Lestrade now. "That you lot could search this flat all night, and you wouldn't find anything that you could even maybe call recreational--"

"Virgil, you probably want to shut up now." Logan whisper is like a dagger.

"Yeah, but come on--" Virgil stops when he sees Logan's expression. Which is one of warning, and a bit of alarm. Logan is shaking his head, barely, but enough to be noticeable. Virgil stares. "...no, really?"

"What?"

Virgil is almost amused. "You?"

Logan looks affronted. "Shut up!" He then turns to Remy, eyes narrowing into slits. "I'm not your sniffer dog, Lestrade."

Remy smirks. "No, of course not. Anderson's my sniffer dog."

The name makes the detective's skin crawl. Logan spins, and spots Roman Anderson in his kitchen, among other policemen. He's dressed in his form-fitting sergeant's uniform, the navy one with the black tie and a police badge on his belt. Roman's brown hair is slicked back, which is different from how Virgil had seen him earlier, with loose beach waves. Roman is wearing blue latex gloves on his hands, and he has a couple of seizure evidence bags sticking out of his chest pocket. He's searching through one of the cupboards, but stops when he spots Logan glaring at him. Roman sneers, and saunters forward, waving tauntingly at the detective.

"What is he doing here?" Logan hisses.

"I volunteered." Roman says.

"They all did." Remy says. "None of them are, strictly speaking, on the drugs squad. But they were all very keen on coming."

Roman lifts up a beaker, eyeing it in disgust. "Are these human eyes?" He asks, peering at the two eyeballs he's sloshing around inside the glass.

"Put them back." Logan says.

Roman looks up at him, judging. "They were in the microwave."

"It's an experiment."

"Keep looking, Roman." Remy dismisses him. Roman lingers for a moment, a condescending, contemptuous smirk on his face, before wandering off back into the sea of officers that are in the process of tearing the flat apart. Remy then looks to Logan. "Or, obviously, you could start helping me properly, and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." Logan spits, arms folding across his chest.

Remy's tinted glasses slip down to the end of his nose, and he peers over them at Logan. "Yeah, well, I'm dealing with a child. Logan, this is our case." He stands, and marches over to the detective, and the DI presses an accusatory finger to Logan's chest. "I'm letting you in, but you don't go off on your own. Clear?"

Logan looks between Remy's outstretched hand and his face, unimpressed and still fuming. "What, so you set up a pretend drug bust, to bully me?"

Remy's eyebrow quirks upwards. "It stops being pretend if they find anything."

"I'm clean." Logan says, in a definitive tone.

"Oh yeah? Is your flat? All of it?" Remy steps back, hands pressing to his hips.

"I don't even smoke." Logan says firmly, tugging up a sleeve to show Remy his nicotine patches for emphasis.

Remy does the same. Also a patch. "Neither do I."

The two stare each other down for a moment, challenging each other. Eventually, Logan tugs his sleeve back down with a huff, and Remy looks quite smug. "Good, then. Let's work together. We've found Rachel." Remy says.

Now that has Logan's attention. "Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter." Logan crosses past Lestrade, stepping over discarded books and papers as best as he can, avoiding the crinkle of paper to the best of his abilities. He moves past to sit in his chair. The one that Remy had been perched on only moments before. "Why would she write her daughter's name, why?" He asks, as he sits on the chair, elbows resting on his knees.

"Nevermind that." Roman's back, this time standing at Remy's shoulder. "We found the case." He nods to the red suitcase that lays open on the coffee table. "According to someone, the murderer has the case-- and here it is. In the hands of our favourite psychopath."

Logan scoffs. "I'm not a psychopath, Roman. I'm a high-functioning sociopath, do your research."

"Whatever, at least I'm not about to get caught for murder."

"At least I didn't get caught having an affair with my boss." Logan quips.

Remy and Roman both freeze. The former turns to Roman, giving him a 'what the hell??' look.

Roman's hands fly up in defense. "I didn't say a word! He figured it out, I--"

"Shut up, not here. We'll talk about this later." Remy says.

Logan is speaking again, ignoring the way Remy is now glaring daggers at the sergeant. "You need to bring Rachel in, you need to question her. I need to question her, preferably--"

"She's dead." Remy cuts him off.

Logan's eyes blow wide. "Excellent! How? When? Is there a connection? There has to be." The detective leans forward, fingers knitting together under his chin, which seems to be a habit of his.

Remy shakes his head. "I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Wilson's stillborn daughter fourteen years ago."

Logan looks properly winded by this. This doesn't make sense. "No, no. That's not right. Why would she do that?"

Roman makes a disbelieving noise. "Right. Why on earth would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Mhm, sociopath, I can see it now."

Remy shoots him a look that says 'you're not helping'.

Logan agrees, head whipping up to stare down Roman. "She didn't think about her daughter, she scratched her name into the floor with her fingernails. She was dying, it took effort, it would've hurt. She was trying to tell us something."

Virgil pipes up for the first time in a while, although cautious when adding his opinion. "You said that the victims take the poison themselves. Somehow the killer makes them take it, right? Me he... I dunno, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow?" He crosses over to stand adjacent to the arm of Logan's chair. Now two pairs of men standing opposing each other, like they're playing an intense game of chess, still somehow on the same side.

Logan looks up at Virgil, confused. "But, that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset about that?"

Virgil winces, and shakes his head at Logan a little.

"Not good?" Logan asks, quietly.

"A bit not good, yeah."

Logan's nod is apologetic, but quick. He stands, and begins pacing frantically. "But listen, if you were dying, if you were being murdered, in your very last seconds, what would you say?"

"Please, God, let me live." Virgil says, leaning with both hands on the back of the chair that Logan had been sitting in just seconds prior.

"Oh, use your imagination!" Logan bats.

"I don't have to."

Logan shakes his head. "Yes, but if you were clever, if you were very clever... Jennifer Wilson, running all of those lovers. She was clever, and she's telling us something."

The door the flat is opened again, and Mr. Hudson comes into view, a shadowy figure standing behind him. Patton steps into the flat, and looks around, looking a bit frightened. "Um, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Logan, your taxi is here."

Logan is incredibly focused, deep in thought, eyes flickering back and forth as he tries to organize his thoughts. "I didn't order a taxi, go away." He snaps, pacing slowing and speeding up randomly.

Patton looks around the flat, and looks like he might faint. "Oh, dear. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mr. Hudson." Virgil explains quickly, not taking his eyes off of Logan, who's now pacing like a whirlwind. Alive, energised. Images and words are flying past his vision. Rachel, murder, self-administered, public hunt, red, red, red. He's nearly got it, he's nearly there--

"Shut up!" Logan shouts. "Everybody shut up, I'm thinking, don't move, don't breathe, Anderson, face the other way, you're putting me off!" Logan's words are slurred and frantic.

"What, my face is?" Roman asks, affronted.

The policemen slow to a halt, and look at Logan, confused. But, Remy knows the signs. He knows that Logan is about to figure it out. "Everyone, quiet and still. Roman, turn your back!"

Roman turns on Remy. "For God's sake--!"

"Your back, Anderson. Now!"

Roman looks angry, and a little frightened, but the protest dies on his lips. He does as he's told, and turns away, furious and embarrassed.

Logan is pacing faster and faster, if that's even possible. He's thinking, thinking, clutching his head. "Come on, come on!!"

Patton fumbles. "Logan, your taxi--"

"MR. HUDSON!!" Logan yells.

Patton physically jumps, and startles into silence. Virgil is quick to move over and put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

Logan's eyes snap open with a bright spark. "Oh, oh!" Logan freezes. "Oh, she was clever. Clever, yes, I love her! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead!" Logan says, throwing an arm out the motion to everyone else in the flat. There's some noises of offense, and some furrowed brows, but Logan takes no notice. Neither do Remy and Virgil, who are listening intently.

"Do you see? Do you see it?" Logan asks, eyes focusing on Remy, Patton, and Virgil in turn. He's met with blank expressions of confusion and fright one after the next. Logan puts a hand to his mouth, trying to find the words to explain this. "She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death-- she left the phone to lead us to her killer!"

"But, how?" Remy interjects, smacking Roman across the shoulder when he starts to turn around. Roman groans, and returns to his backward position.

"What do you mean, how?" Logan turns on Lestrade. "Rachel, don't you see? Rachel isn't a name at all!"

"Then, what is it?" Virgil asks, trying to understand.

Logan has grabbed his computer off of the sofa, and sets it on the desk. He opens up an internet browser hurriedly, and sits in the wooden desk seat. "Virgil, the luggage label, it has an email address on it."

Without questioning, Virgil goes straight to the suitcase, still as shockingly scarlet as ever, and picks up the tag. "Jennie Scarlette, with two T's and an extra E, dot Wilson at mephone dot org dot U.K." Virgil reads out.

Logan types rapidly, opening mephone.com as fast as he can. The screen changes, and there's two empty fill-in boxes for the log in. He types the email address into the top one:

[email protected]

"And, all together now, the password is...?"

It slams into Virgil like a bus. "Rachel." He says, stunned.

The screen changes again, opening to reveal an inbox of mostly read emails.

"Amazing." Virgil says, in disbelief. He crosses over, and sets one hand on the back of Logan's desk chair, the other on the edge of the desk, staring at the screen in marvel.

"So we can read her emails, so what?" Roman asks, turning back around now.

"Don't talk out loud, Roman, you lower the IQ of the whole street." Logan says, tapping away. "We can do more than just read her emails. Her phone, it's a smartphone, it's got GPS, so if you lose it..." Logan drags the mouse on his laptop screen over to a button that says 'Find My iPhone', and clicks on it. Another button: 'Update Location'. He clicks it, too. "...you can locate it online."

On the screen, a little clock appears, arms spinning.

Your phone will be located in: 3 mins.

"She's leading us straight to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it." Remy says.

Virgil shakes his head. "We know he didn't."

"How the fuck--?"

"Come on, quickly, quickly!" Logan raps on his computer screen with his knuckles, impatiently.

Patton's voice comes from the doorway, a little desperate sounding. "Logan, dear, this taxi driver--"

"Patton, please." Logan shuts him up with a halting hand out towards where he knows Mr. Hudson to be standing. Then, he springs up from his seat, and crosses to Lestrade, paper crinkling underfoot. "Get some vehicles ready, Remy. Get a helicopter, if you can. We need to move fast, that phone battery won't last forever."

Virgil has gone to the laptop, taking Logan's spot before it. He's drumming his fingers on the wood of the desk, staring at the little clock on screen, willing the search to go faster.

"We'll only have a map reference, Logan. We don't even have a name!" Remy protests.

"It's a start." Logan fires back.

Virgil's eyes go wide, as the screen flickers to life. "Logan--"

However, Logan is still arguing with the DI. "It narrows it down from it being literally anyone in London, which is what we knew before, in case you'd forgotten. This is the first proper lead that we've had!"

"Logan." Virgil says, again.

Logan turns around, to see Virgil staring at the screen.

"Where is it?" Logan asks, at Virgil's side in an instant, stooping to peer at the screen.

Wait, what?

"It's... It's here. It's at 221-B Baker Street." Virgil whispers.

The graphic on the screen shows a map of London, with a target symbol hovering over Baker St.

"But, that can't be right." Logan says. "How can it be here?"

"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back, and fell out somewhere?" Lestrade offers.

Virgil shakes his head. "No, I texted it, earlier, and he called back."

"Guys!" Remy calls over his shoulder to his team. "We're also looking for a mobile phone, belonging to the victim..."

Remy's voice is lost to nothing but an echo, as Logan is thinking once more. His mind is racing, the room around him becomes a slowing blur. Voices seep and drone, and he can hear the thu-thud of his own heartbeat in his ears. Thinking. Thu-thud. Thinking. Thu-thud.

He hears his own voice now, echoing in his head.

"Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?"

Still in eerie slow-motion, Logan's gaze rises, and closes in on Patton Hudson, who's still standing in the doorway.

"Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?"

Thu-thud. Closer on Patton.

"Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

Thu-thud. His gaze slowly rises, drifting over Patton's shoulder, to...

The man standing behind him. A shadow slants over him, concealing his face. But there's a badge around his neck, just visible, gleaming against his chest.

Thu-thud.

Jeffrey Patterson. In the railway station. He's just hanging up the phone with a smirk on his face. He starts off down the street, his hand reaches out, flagging over a car with the sign TAXI on it's roof.

Thu-thud.

Jimmy Almore. He's running back through the rain for an umbrella. Beyond him, through the rainy gloom, he sees a yellow taxi light turn on, like an evil eye in the darkness.

Thu-thud.

Beth Davenport. She's a little tipsy, in the carpark at the back of the town hall. She's at her car, rooting in her bag for her car keys. Damn it, they've done it again! Beyond her, a taxi is just slowing to a halt.

Thu-thud.

Jennifer Wilson. She's chatting away on her phone that's encased in red. She shuffles forward in the queue she's standing in, full of all of the other people waiting for a cab.

Thu-thud.

Logan's sight narrows in on the badge, which reads TAXI in gold lettering. Logan notices something else, too. A bright red phone, gripped in one of the figure's hands.

The figure slowly steps away, and turns down the stairs.

Logan's rooted to the spot.

"Logan. Logan? Are you okay?"

It's Virgil, watching him with concern.

Logan's phone beeps from his back pocket. He pulls it out.

(1) New text message.

Logan unlocks his phone with a swipe, and opens the message. It's from an unknown number:

COME WITH ME.

Logan is just staring at the text. "What? Yes, yes. I'm fine." He says, distracted. The flat is still swarming with bustling police officers, loud noises, and a lot of movement. But Logan simply stands there, in silence, just staring at the message. Then, his feet are moving, seemingly on their own, of their own accord. They carry Logan toward the door, after the taxi driver. Logan's hand twitches, and he slowly tucks his phone away. He grabs his discarded coat on his way down the stairs.

"Wait, where are you going?" Virgil is standing at the top of the stairs.

"Nowhere. Fresh air. Be right back."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Virgil asks, troubled.

"Fine." Logan says, and the front door closes shut behind him.