Suddenly, there’s plenty of stuff I would like to write on my blog, I don’t know if I really want to do this, but someone needs to know about this man, he’s absolutely flawless. I know I’ll have a lot of things to do when I return to my new home, like redesigning my upstairs’ room (Which I must have, because I don’t want to sleep near Blaine’s creepy experiments) or filling Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen with my cooking stuff, but I have a good feeling about this. By the way my hand is still warm. Blaine holded it but released it when the cab arrived. He dind'nt say a word while holding it. I don't really mind.It felt weird, acciely, it has been a long time since I don't feel that way. I blush. Why is he making me feel so good?

I look through the window of the taxi (which British just insist on calling cab) and see that there’s not much traffic as usual. It was a good shortcut. Blaine is now texting something on his phone. I wonder how he knew I was an army doctor, or how did he know about the suicides, or the fact that I was looking for a flatmate, or where did he buy that amazing black asymmetrical button shirt…

Blaine stops texting and gives me a quick glance before turning to the window. “Okay... So, you’ve got questions”

This is weird. I really want to ask him "Why did you hold my hand?" but I'm too proud to do that. I feel like I should start with more simple questions. I really don't want to scare him with my sudden interest. We've just met yesterday. I better ask him something else before he changes his mind.
“Yeah, first, where are we going?” Blaine rolls his eyes.

“Obviously, to the crime scene, next”

“What’s your problem with the kitchen?”

“It was its destiny, sorry. It’s the best place besides the toilet for my experiments. We can fix that if you want, I’ll get you your spare fridge and make some space or you can convince Mrs. Hudson to let you cook in hers. Next question, please. ”

“Who are you? I mean, what do you do?”

“What do you think? Try and guess” He asks again.

“I’d say rather stalker or serial killer” Blaine frowns “Really Kurt? Do I look that simple?”

“Okay, no I was thinking you might be a private detective but…”

“But?”

“But police don’t consult private detectives, as far as I know”

“I´m a consulting detective, the only one in the world, I invented the job”

“You invented the job? Consulting detective? What does that mean?”

“It means when the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me” He smirks.

I’m skeptic. This sounds like a fairy tale. The London police are well known for the seriousness of their job, they can´t just ask for opinions, they were trained for that… weren’t they? Or I watch too much TV.

“But police don’t consult amateurs” I finally say.

It was like a strike for him. He slightly opens his mouth (I’m seriously thinking about his diva attitude now) but he closes it immediately. He looks away.

“I told you yesterday I knew you were an American army doctor this, obviously, because of the way you maintain your posture, or the expressions you use, besides the high pitched non- British accent of yours. You seem to get annoyed whenever I say "cab" instead of taxi. And then we have your OCD, clearly, by the state of your hands (some marks that show they’ve been bleeding recently) in a way which can only be a result of a constant hand washing regimen. In addition to this, we have your limp, which is merely psychosomatic due to the fact that when you’re standing up you don’t ask for a chair, and your arm remains stiff, even if it hasn’t to, which leads us to the next statement you were shot in your left arm. Then we have Afghanistan or Iraq because of the tanning (which in your case is burning, due to your skin type) which is visible just in some parts of your body. So where can we find a brave active American army doctor in a hot arid climate with subtropical influence these days? Either Afghanistan or Iraq…”

Wait, has Blaine just called me brave? This is awesome, continue please. I can’t believe I understand everything he says, he seems to be talking at a peculiar fast speed. Even the cab driver is peeping from the rear-view mirror.

“And then we have your brother. You have an expensive phone which a man who’s looking for a flat to share doubtlessly can’t afford so it had to be a present, perhaps from a relative, to a young relative, indeed, due to the fact that this phone’s model is just six month old. So I discard the possible parent or uncle gift. Not from a cousin, either. Let’s take a look at the back inscription… and it says “Harry Hummel from Clara XXX” So this little detail screams more than girlfriend, wife please. It also had scratches and small damage around the port where he plugs in his charger; you don’t find those in a sober man’s phone. So why do you have this? Because it has a romantic attachment, therefore your brother would like to get rid of him, because he left Clara or she left him. Then you’re looking for a cheap accommodation instead of asking for home to your brother, maybe that’s why you rarely keep in touch with him, because you disapprove him or he disapproves you because…” He hesitates a moment “… because you’re gay.” I gulped. Has he just regret taking my hand now? Maybe he is straight and he know feels embarrassed, I can't really tell. He shakes his head.

“And you were right, police don’t consult amateurs.” He ends and looks back to the window. I nod gaping. “Wow, that was amazing” I say. He looks at me with amazement and then turns it into a frown.

“You think so?” I nod excessively.

“That was the most god-damn freakish thing I’ve ever listened in my life… you could even beat Google!” I praise him. He shows dapper flatterment. He looks cute doing that. It reminds me like some sort of little puppy, a little proud puppy, very British and very cliché by the way.

“Ok, that’s new. That’s not what people normally say…”

“Really? What do they normally say?”

“Piss Off, freak!”

Why? They don’t appreciate Blaine’s talent. I don’t see why people are so mean with him.

“Did I get everything right?”

“Right in almost all counts.” I answer, with a little smile on my face.

“Almost?”

“Yes, Harry and Clara spit off three months ago, now they’re getting a divorce. But Harry is short for Harriet.” I correct. Blaine is shocked. “Harry is the short for Harriet… so Harry is your sister, your Sister!! And why didn’t you mention her before?”

“Because as you said, I don’t like to keep in touch with her (God, I don’t even consider her a relative), I just don’t feel comfortable.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my stepsister, my mom got married twice” I explained briefly. He hums something.

“Oh I see, that just explains your lack of self-confidence.”

“Wait, my what?”

“Oh look, there’s our crime scene” He interrupts me pointing outside the window.

There are 2 or 3 police cars parked in front of what seems like an abandoned pale blue house. They are surrounded by the typical yellow tape. There where men and women getting in and out very fast. Some of them are dressed in the typical London police uniform while others wear pale blue suits; I guess those are the forensics. I’ve never been into a crime scene before; I feel nauseas running through my whole body. There’s a woman right behind the yellow tape. She is blonde and she has green eyes. She rolls her eyes when she spots Blaine.

“Guys! Freak is here…” She shouts. Blaine doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too busy mumbling “Harry was the short for Harriet...” The woman stops us with her arm.

“Easy there freak, who’s he?” She asks Blaine pointing at me.

“My colleague Sergeant Fabray, Doctor Kurt Hummel, come in Kurt. Oh, and Sergeant Fabray… I see you didn’t make it home last night, did you?”
She stares at him skeptical; anyway, she raises the yellow tape so I can pass. “Off with you freak…” She hissed.

“Ah, Sam Evans here we are again, how’ve you been doing?” Blaine asks with a huge forced smile on his face. A tall blond man rolls his eyes. He is very well- built, his hair is combed in a Justin Bieber way (Oh and I can tell it comes from a bottle) and his mouth is bigger than any other I’ve ever seen. He steps in front of Blaine, and makes the height difference very evident. My flatmate doesn’t seem intimidated.

“It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that, little hobbit?” There’s a threatening tone in his voice. Blaine hasn’t stopped smiling.

“Quite clear. And is your mom away for long?” He asks looking right to his phone. Evans shakes his head.

“Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.” He growls.

“Your deodorant told me that.” Blaine says, in a very confident tone. Sam frowns.

“My deodorant?”

“It’s for men.” The hazel-eyed man replied. Whoa, where is he going? Sam uses his mom’s deodorant or what?

“Well, of course it’s for men – I’m wearing it, duh?”

“So’s Sergeant Fabray”

Oh my... It was perfect gunshot. Blaine has an incredible power. Sam and Sergeant Fabray are exchanging amazed and uncomfortable looks, she’s blushed. “Ooh… I think it just vaporized. May I go in?” Blaine asks politely. Sam is blinking very fast.

“Now look, freak, whatever you’re imply…” Sam grunts. His mouth is a bit scaring I feel like he is going to bite us at any time.

“I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Quinn came round for a nice little chat perhaps a cup of tea or coffee, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floor, going by the state of her knees…” Blaine blurts out.

Okay, so before I even noticed, I knew that Sergeant Quinn Fabray had something with Sam Evans the forensic, too much personal information for now. I’m very surprised that Sam didn’t slapped Blaine or something like that (If I had been him I bet I would have totally done that). I follow Blaine to the upper floor, where Mr. Michael Chang is waiting for us. The other forensics roll their eyes when the pass by. No one says hello. It makes me feel uncomfortable. They don’t seem to like Blaine. Some of them whisper things among them. I think they don’t like to see me either. Mike is upstairs, wearing the blue suit and putting on his gloves.

“Well Sherlock, I see you didn’t take long… who’s he?” He asked pointing at me. I didn’t know what to say. Blaine seems to have it under control.

“He’s with me”

“Hey Blaine you know that…” Mike started to protest.

“I said HE’S WITH ME! He’s just my colleague. I told you I needed an assistant.” Blaine bellowed. Mike looked at me with eyes wide open. Wow, his colleague. “Kurt, put one of this…” He says in his standard tone. It’s one of those blue suits that I’ve seen on CSI. It’s quite uncomfortable (and of course, unfashionable) but I don’t really care. I’m going to see Blaine in action. I grab my gloves and put them on. I’m not ready for this.

So, this is the crime scene. There’s a woman face down in the middle of the room. She’s (or was, to be more specific) wearing pink clothes and shoes. She was blonde. I like her jewels, simple but elegant, I think those are some kind of silver with Swarovski little details. There’s a message near the edge of her right hand were I can read “RACHE”.

“Her name was Jennifer Wilson” Officer Chang said. Blaine leans closer and takes out a little magnifying glass; he is casting an eye over her. He touches her coat, takes out an umbrella from her pocket. Then, he takes a closer look to her jewels.

“RACHE… from Rachel perhaps? So Doctor Hummel, what can you tell me?” Blaine asked. Mike is about to protest. “Don’t say a thing; he’s here to help me. Come on Mike, you really need me…”

Mike nods, angrily “Of course I do, do whatever you have to…” He says waving. He is walking downstairs. I lean closer to Blaine.

“What am I supposed to be doing here?” I whisper

“Help me make a point”

“I’m supposed to help you pay the rent, only”

“Um yeah? But this is much more fun. Come on Kurt, tell me what you see.”

I sigh. Okay Blaine you win.
“I don’t think she meant Rachel, why would she like to call Rachel when she was about to die?” I ask Blaine. He simply shakes his head.

“If you were dying, if you were being murdered, in your last few seconds what would you say?”

“Please God, let me live, I deserve a second chance…”

“No, Kurt! Use your imagination…”

“I don’t have to” I snapped. Seriously Blaine? I’m an army doctor who has been in the Afghan war, remember?

Sam tries to enter the crime scene. “She wrote “RACHE”, which means revenge, she was German, no doubt of it…perhaps she was trying to imply something” Blaine closes the door in his nose while he browsed something on his phone. “Yes, thank you Sam. But no she isn’t German, she was from Cardiff”
“So, Doctor Hummel, what can you tell me?” Blaine asks me.

I think the answer is evident, but I don’t want to precipitate me.

“About what?”

“About this, why do you think she died from?”

I examine the body. We have a bluish tint around the lips, which are also painted with pink lipstick, by the way. I grab her hand. There’s also the blue coloring in her fingernail beds, clearly cyanosis. Definitely she died from a lack of oxygen. Poor woman, she couldn’t be more than 30…
“I’d say she was choked to death, probably while seizing” I diagnose. Blaine nods. Officer Michael seems a bit nervous and impatient. “So do you think you’ve got something Blaine?” Blaine takes a deep breath and starts talking.

“The victim was a professional woman, probably in the media (judging by the choice of colour), a serial adulteress (because of her jewelry, especially her ring which is polished by the inside but not the outside and since her work doesn’t need her to remove her rings I would only say she was a serial adulteress..” He explained.

“Brilliant!” I said. Blaine continued.

“And was from and in town for one night by the size of the luggage. And I insist she was from Cardiff …”

“How do you know that?” Mike asked.

“Her coat is slightly damp; she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too; she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused: no just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but not more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff.” He explains showing his phone.

“That’s fantastic…” I say, amused. Blaine turns to look at me.

“Do you know you do that out loud?” He asks. I feel like I’ve blushed a little.

“Sorry, I’ll stop” I apologize.

“No! It’s...” Blaine spluttered. “It’s fine” It’s fine? This guy likes to be praised. I don’t see why people don’t praise him I could even make a sculpture of him… Michael clears his throat.

“Excellent Blaine, but I must tell you there was no suit case with her… We’ve checked the entire building and there’s no sign of a suitcase.” He confesses. Blaine frowns. The always awkward silence returns. Suddenly, Blaine’s face is illuminated.

“Oh, Serial killer's always hard. Have to wait for them to make a mistake.”

“We can't just wait! “

“Oh, we're done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel! “Blaine raises his tone.

“Of course, yeah, but what mistake? “ Mike asks. I don’t get it, and it seems like Chang neither.

“PINK!” Blaine whooped, while he ran downstairs. I try to follow him.

“Hey wait! What did you deduce?” Officer Michael shouts.

“The victim must have been accompanied by someone who took the suitcase. That means that she was driven here and somehow forced to commit suicide by a serial killer, and indicating that the killer took the suitcase. It also means that the other three victims were all murders…” Blaine yells from the first floor, and then dashes off, again.





So here I am, outside a crime scene and all by myself. I walk to the yellow tape. Sergeant Fabray is staring at me.
“He’s gone” She tells me. Fine, it’s no problem I can return to Baker Street all by myself. I’m okay with that. “Sorry, do you know where am I?” I ask her. She smiles with pity, fake pity. “Bridgestone” Where? Oh, I’m really lost. “Do you know where can I get a taxi?” She frowns. “Try Main road, perhaps you can get one there.” She says raising the yellow tape. “Well, thank you…” I say, I pretend to leave, but then I hear her speak right behind me.

“You know, it’s curious. Blaine freaking Anderson hasn’t got a friend before. Who are you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, I should warn you doctor, we all here believe that Blaine freaking Anderson is a psycho, someday, he’ll be the serial killer who had set up the entire crime scene for us to believe that he’s found out everything behind it… he’s not as good as you think” She warns me. I’m speechless.
There’s an inner voice which says to me that she’s right, that I must not get closer to Blaine… Oh screw that.
“Okay… so I will take that into consideration, thanks Mrs. Grumpy and entitled…” I mumbled. She grabs my coat from the neck and forces me to look at her directly.

“I’m being serious, he’s crazy. He even gets off on it. Get, away from Blaine Anderson, doctor…” She hissed. I raise my hands up and push her to release me. Sergeant Quinn has the scariest look I’ve ever seen in a woman since “The Grudge” movie. I rather get out of here fast.

“Okay, thanks for the warning!” I shout. If it wasn’t because of my damn limp, I’d run in this precise moment. I walk away from the scene, lost in my thoughts. Then I reach Main road. My phone is buzzing.

“Hello?”

“Doctor Kurt Hummel?” A man’s voice asks. Again, I forgot to check who it was. I’m not going to survive to this world.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“An anon who wants to have a little chat with you. There’s a car parked to your right. I need you to get in there.”

“And what if I said no? Look I have some important business to attend; I really don’t have time for this…” There’s a small pause. I can swear I hear the other man is smiling.

“All right, so listen carefully. There are two armed men pointing at you with a long range riffle right now. One is on the building to your left and the other is walking somewhere around the street. So any attempt of running away will be punished… and you’ll get yourself another limp.” The voice warns me. I shiver.

“Okay, so I guess I’ll just have to cancel them” I say with a “what a shame” smile.

“Good boy. See ya” He hangs up. The car’s back door opens. I sigh. I have no choice at all, I hate my limp, and two of them will only make matters worse. I decide to get into the car. Someone covers my face with something that feels like a bag, a black bag. I realized that I couldn’t be reluctant. “Sorry doctor, chief’s orders” A voice near me says. They start tying my wrists and feet too. “Do I have a choice? Just be careful with the hair, please” I beg. 2 or perhaps 3 people laughed. “We’ll consider that, don’t worry”





I really don’t know how much time we have spent in this car journey. The men around me were talking about some kind of match I guess Arsenal vs. Chelsea or something like that like half an hour ago. I didn’t even care. I am being kidnapped, would someone find me? Are they going to kill me? I want to cry now, I want to cry at all times.

“Lucky guy, we’ve arrived to our destiny. We’ll get you down, don’t worry. Dave, please…” I feel two strong arms carrying me out from the car.

Now, he’s putting my arm around his neck. He’s a big sized person; I can feel it, perhaps, one of those gorillas who play in football teams, or even a zumo fighter. After a few steps, he throws me in something that seems to be an armchair. They get the bag off me.

“Watch the hair” I hear one of them said. I can breathe again, my eyes are opening slowly. Three men wearing dark blue blazers are standing right in front of me. They have their faces covered by creepy Jason’s masks and (besides the blazer) they are all dressed in black, two of them have a huge body (I guess one of those was the one who carried me). The other one has a Mohawk; he’s now crossing his arms in his chest.

“Hi, Doctor Hummel, it’s nice to meet you… ” A fierce voice said. It had a wanna-be-sassy tone on it. I can’t see him clearly. His face is sort of covered by a sand colored hat, I can only see his smile, and it sort of gives me goosebumps. He’s wearing a white blazer, we’ll he’s all dressed in white; It reminds me of the old gangster movies I used to watch with Matt.

“I would say the same but, I didn't hear your name.” I say. He giggles. It's evil.

“Oh you bet your cute ass, you don’t...” He hisses. Hey! That was rude… I blush. This is getting dangerous, I can feel it “You should know upfront, we’re not here to talk about it Doctor, maybe some other time… Right now I want to make you an offer” He confesses, while he walks towards me. I can see he’s taller than me, perhaps stronger too… I really don’t like the way the 3 men are looking at me. They seem like 3 starving wolves who had just found a bunny to eat.

“I know you’ve recently moved with a flatmate who has lost his mind…” The leader pauses.

Should I say yes? I haven’t even moved all my stuff… but it’s partially true. I nod.
“A man with a foolish grin, you don’t really want to know Blaine Anderson, that’s too much for you”

“I don’t want to… all I want to do is live a peaceful and normal life.” I reply. That was true. Maybe, after this night I will never accompany Blaine again. I will occasionally greet him with a “What’s up?” and leave him mind his own business. The man is laughing. What’s so funny?

“Blaine Anderson’s life and mind is as entangled as his released curls, you will never have a peaceful and normal life if he is your friend, or something more...”

“Who said something about friends or something more? I’ve just seen him twice! I’m not going to throw directly into his arms, I’m not looking or anything serious, and I’m not even single…” I defend myself. He chuckles.

All the single ladies! All the single ladies! Now put your hands up!

Yeah, my damn text message ringtone. The 3 men burst into laughter.

From: Harry Hummel
Hey Kurtsie! Answer your damn phone! Or at least send me an email :/


Harry, please not now. This is just another thing I’ll have to add to your black list.

“Not single huh? Of course, Blaine Anderson doesn’t have any friends; he doesn’t even show his feelings. But, the fact that, he accepted you as his flatmate isn’t just a coincidence. So listen carefully, here’s the deal. I’ll pay you enough pounds for you to buy the entire Marc Jacobs or Alexander McQueen line if you keep me informed and updated about Blaine Anderson.” He pulls out his wallet and shows me a thick bunch of twenty pound notes. I gape. "Not only right now, but also every single MONTH" He remarked.

What should I do? Do I tell him yes? I hardly know Blaine, so this couldn’t be a betrayal. There’s so much hate around him, nobody seems to like him, they only see he’s just a fool… he seems like the Fool on the Hill…Then I think of his hazel eyes. How peaceful they appear to be. He doesn’t even seem to listen to them, all the haters on his way. Why I am I feeling this? Is this pity?

“No, I don’t want to. Thanks, but I prefer to work for that…” I finally say. They are laughing at me.

“Where did you get that dog's loyalty feeling , Doctor? You scarcely know this guy. Anyway, if you want to earn this money by yourself, you would do a magnificent stripper, Doctor Hummel; I suggest you take that job into consideration, you’ll do great.” The white man said. I fake a smile. “Thanks for the advice, I'll consider that then”

“Okay, guys please escort Doctor Hummel out”. Then, the bag is in my head again. The same guy that brought me here is carrying me, perhaps, back to the car. “Dave, wait! Turn around so we can enjoy the sight over here…” I hear the with man order. The big guy turns me around. I hear the pervert is enjoying himself. “That’s okay, now get away from here”.

I feel like he has walked like half a mile. Now I’m waiting him to get me into the car. Was it this far? I don't really remember. He starts untying my wrists and feet. He leaves the head bag.

“Have a nice evening Doctor Hummel.” He says, and I feel like I’m being thrown into something really, really cold. I hear a loud splash! I can't breathe. I panic. I can´t take this bloody bag off my head...