The sky above the Emerald City shone a thousand different colours; warm reds; comforting oranges, soft yellows. Dawn.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The obnoxious blare of the alarm woke the zombie. Liv lazily hit the snooze, but dragged herself out of bed regardless.

She stumbled, tired, out of her bedroom, like a zom- wait. Let me re-phrase.

She stumbled, tired, out of her bedroom, like a college student before coffee. [Better?]

In a mixture of groaning and mumbling (grumbling? It's literally grumbling), she grunted, "Coffee."

Peyton passed her a cup of black coffee and a bottle of Tabasco sauce.

"Seriously? I still take milk..."

Miss Charles smiled a dazzling smile, a flash of white teeth between pretty lips.

"So Ravi called yesterday."

"He did?" inquired Liv, pretending to care.

"Yeah. Something about dinner."

"Great!"

Ding!

"Hm? Oh," the ME sighed, "Body. Gotta go."

Liv, in full lab jacket, jeans and striped purple shirt, read the autopsy report outloud.

"Cause of death: asphyxiation. It seems, actually, that he was suffocated with..." she gestured towards a bowl on Ravi's desk, with a wad of folded dollar bills in a plastic bag in it.

"Victim's name?" asked Clive, looking up.

"Running the prints now," Ravi answered as he weighed the brain for Liv. "There wasn't a passport, or driving licence, or anything." Turning his attention back to Detective Babineaux, he continued, "Whoever killed the poor guy took his wallet."

Clive looked from the brain, to Liv, and back to the brain. "Are you really gonna..."

Liv grimaced. "With pasta. Want some?

He laughed blandly. "I'll pass." Turning to Ravi, he noted, "Soon as you get an ID on my John Doe, tell me." With that, he walked out.

"Don't know why he's so reluctant to try brain," Liv joked, "Tastes like chicken."

"We've got a hit!"

Liv rushed to Ravi's side. "Who is he?"

"Name is... Jarod Cheng. He was a private investigator. Went to school at..."

As he continued, Liv's face gradually dropped more, and more, and more.

"Are you okay?" said Ravi, alarmed, when he saw her expression.

"I went to school with Jarod," Liv answered. Having a personal connection to victims always made performing an autopsy (and eating their brain...) harder, no matter how much you actually knew the person.

"An old boyfriend?"

Liv snorted. "No way. He was in the year below me, I only knew him because he was always making bad puns."

"Private investigator with bad puns? Tell me we're not going to have a CSI: Miami case on our hands."

Liv shrugged. Looking back at the corpse, she had no idea how she didn't recognise him. He had the same dark hair, same small eyes, same white skin. Honestly though, he wasn't just white, he was... white. You know. Vampire white. Zombie white.

She shook her head. Whatever.

The oil sizzled in the pan as she added the brain and the onions. They slowly browned as they fried, giving Liv her queue for adding the tomato. She tried the pasta.

"Perfect!" she smiled as she combined all of the components.

"Why does brain always look so appetising?" Ravi complained as he eyed her lunch.

Liv gave him a satirical smirk.

As she walked past the body, she found herself staring at it, then at the bowl of cash on Ravi's desk.

'Jackpot.'

She almost hit herself. Of course. Of all the specific personality traits to get, she had to get the damn puns.

Ugh.

The door swung open at Liv's touch.

Damn right. Ravi and Liv were on the scene. The Dynamic Duo have been engaged.

Okay, I'll stop.

They looked around the house, searching any and every nook and cranny for clues and vision triggers. But alas, no visions. Just lots - lots - of really bad puns, like, 'well his organisation is just grate,' when one of the cheese graters was on the floor, or 'that's soFISHticated' when she saw the picture on the wall of a fish in a top hat.

All she wanted to do right now was suffocate herself with a lollipop.

Sweet.

And then they found the bedroom.

They looked everywhere. Bedside cabinets, under the mattress, in the wardrobe. Sadly, they didn't find Narnia, but they did find a map to it. Sorta.

On their final search, after double- and triple-checking the house, they found a small safe behind a painting in the bedroom. Very Scooby-Doo-ish. Don't worry, Liv made a pun about that, too. [If you're wondering, it was 'that was paintstakingly obvious.']

In the safe was...?

Yup. A giant bag of cannabis. We're talking, three or four kilograms.

Clive stared at it with, almost reverent, disbelief. Woah.

"If this guy were still alive, he'd be looking at a long time in prison. Five years, perhaps."

"Wow! There's easily two or three cannabis * stuff!" exclaimed Liv, as she took it out gingerly.

Ravi and Clive shared a silent, 'Did she just?' look.

Yes, boys. Yes she did.

"So who would want Mr. Holmes** dead?" asked Liv, making a physical effort not to find some way of making a pun. Like, she actually tried.

"A lot of people, apparently," grimaced Clive, passing her some letters. All of them were addressed, 'Jarod Cheng: Private Investigator,' though, as Liv looked through them, she quickly realised none of them had anything to do with his profession.

"'I'm going to kill you with a rope-'," read the final one, before the bottom half was ripped off. "That's just plain rude," remarked Liv, staring at the sheet. "Don't leave me hanging here, man."

Clive looked at her, in disbelief and disgust. Not because she was being so disrespectful of the death threat; because of that awful pun. Seriously. Who even does that? He was genuinely thinking of bludgeoning her to death with a cactus. [Wow. What a prick.]

"No visions yet?" he pushed, trying to ignore that pun. The urge to scream was intense. It was practically strangling him.

"Visions?" She looked up. "N-"

She saw a woman with long brown hair in cornrows, dark skin and eyes the colour of chocolate. She'd have been beautiful, were she not screaming at him.

"It wasn't my husband! I refuse to believe your 'methods' work at all! What else do you do to find the criminal?! A magic eight ball?! Do you get visions?!" She spat in his face and then left, slamming the door shut behind her.

Liv panted hard.

She glanced up at Detective Babineaux.

"I think I've got a lead."

*unless you didn't get the pun, it's 'There's easily two or three cans of this stuff.' Cannabis - can of this. Does that work? I feel like that works.

**the actual reason I didn't put a drugs pun here is because in the books, Sherlock did cocaine.