Play the Game - Sherlock fanfic (Sequel to Painting Murders)

Test Subjects

 I suddenly realised I'd updated a few things but left this out! I'm sorry this update has taken longer then the others. But it's here now and I hope you enjoy it after my long absence :)

Hope you enjoy! Happy reading X) 

 I decided to get the driver to drop me off a few streets away from Baker Street so could walk.

It was surprisingly a nice day, just a few faded clouds lounged in the sky, drifting lightly but not enough to obstruct the cool, Autumn sunlight.

 I adjusted my scarf careful not to get it stuck in my coat’s zip.

 People buzzed around me, eating breakfast on the go – toasted sandwiches and breakfast bars in their hands and coffee cups strategically held in the other while hailing cabs and chatting on the phone. People, I decided, defied all logic. Most would admit to not being able to multitask or not being good at something. Yet here I was, just an observer, watching as everyone multitasked and showed ease carrying out their daily activities without even considering what they were doing. And to me, they were good at it.

 Checking my watch I drifted over the road to the nearest Costa and waited as a man dressed very smartly pushed through the glass door using his shoulder, his phone to his ear and holding his coffee cup.

 “Do I have to repeat myself again?” He asked viciously down the phone, “It’s an O-7-5-4-1 number ending in: 4-6-4, surely there was missed call by that number somewhere in the records . . .?” He nodded to me politely as I caught the door so it wouldn’t swing back and hit him. Then he briskly walked off and blended in with the crowd.

 The shop was crowded but most of the tables were empty. No one wanted to sit down – they just wanted coffee and to leave.

 “What did you get as the mark for your mock dissertation?” The student in front of me asked the girl stood next to her.

 “Ugh, I did shockingly! I wish I’d never opened the email! I was talking to Jason and he managed to scrape 54% but he’s not happy with it. Probably going to get it remarked knowing him. But then again it’s only a practise.”

 I zoned out, beginning to read the packets that were stacked in the cooler beside me. Ham and cheese toasty, Full English breakfast sandwich . . .

 “ . . . Megon got 46% . . .  must be well gutted, . . . Jimmy just flatly failed with 4% . . . is that even possible? . . . I love your shoes!” Blah, Blah, Blah . . .

 I started listening again when the Barista asked me what I’d like.

 “One mocha latte to go, please.” I said while fumbling in my backpack for my purse.

 I grabbed a small packet of biscuits too and passed them over the counter.

 “£4.64 altogether.” He said with a slight yawn.

 I walked out sipping the coffee and watching as the students continued to giggle unnecessarily at whatever they found funny.

 I often wondered if I would be like them one day – even though I’d given up on education and schooling ages ago. I liked to think that working for Mycroft was like having an unofficial apprenticeship.

 As I rounded onto Baker Street I dropped the cup into a bin nearby and trotted up the steps to the front door. I knocked three times and waited, listening carefully for any sounds of movement inside.

 Mrs Hudson opened the door but quickly gestured to the phone she was holding to her ear.

 I nodded and shut the door quiet behind me before shrugging my coat off and putting it over the coat peg.