Deduce Me

Five: Not an Amateur

Sherlock

The police don't consult amateurs.

Amateur.

He still has no idea, does he?

I went and sat on my bed, facing John as I removed my coat and scarf, laying them on the bed beside me. "When you walked in earlier, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked confused.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I observed. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says you were raised by someone in the military. The wallpaper on your phone is a picture of you and another gentleman, your father. However, there's no contact for him in the contact list. If he'd left you, you would have changed picture. Could be dead, but this picture is recent, only a few months old, I think. Someone who'd lost a loved one so recently like that would be traumatized. No, he's in the military, remember. Yes traveled abroad. So, that leaves the question, Afghanistan or Iraq?" I clickedthe 'k' sound at the end of 'Iraq,' just because I liked it.

"What about the rest?" John asked.

"When you set your bag down, it fell open. I saw it. Moms seem to have this general rule: if your kid goes off to boarding school, pack their bags for them. Sentiment, or something. Your bag, though, is a mess. No mother to pack it, at least not one who cares. Not to mention the picture you keep of her. The frame is smudged where you run your thumb over it; you miss her. Again, sentiment. She must be dead. How? Breast cancer. There's a pink ribbon on your bag. The ribbon's old, though, about 2 years old. That's when she died. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

I held my hand out. " Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare - you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." John handed me the phone. I look it over as I talk. "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already. "

"The engraving?" I flip the phone over. It says, "Harry Watson, From Clara, XXX"

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but it's unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then - six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do - sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. Working that hard to receive a scholarship to a boarding school when you could have gotten the same basic education at a public school? You wanted to move out, that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

I smiled. " Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." I gave the phone back.
"There you go, you see - you were right."

"I was right. Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." You could almost hear the punctuation after each word, and I said 'amateurs' like it was a dirty word. I looked out the window as I waited for his reaction. I bit my lip, anticipating hatred and fury.

"That... was..." John started. I filled in the sentence for him in my head. Horrible. Aweful. Rude. "Amazing."

I stared in shock. I couldn't speak for a few seconds. "Do you... Do you think so?"

"Of course," John answered. I could see the wonder and amazement in his eyes. "It was extraordinary. Quite... Extraordinary."

I tried to read his face for any kind of taunting, but I couldn't find any. After a slight pause, I said, "That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off!'" I smiled a bit, and John smiled, too. Soon, we were both laughing- genuine, real laughter, like I hadn't done in a very long time. And I realized, I liked John Watson.

I liked John Watson very much.