The Art of Disguise

Sherlock, Stop Being an Arse

"John," Sherlock's english accent pronounced his friends name. He had stopped walking and was staring at something.

"John, Look," Sherlock slightly raised his voice so the man would hear him. John stopped and turned whilst rolling his eyes.

"So help me, Sherlock. If you don't get your bloody arse on the move, i will take away your experimentation privileges for a month. I would like to get out of this wretched place," John harshly whispered and walked with a slight limp over to the strange, tall man. Sherlock didn't let the comment bother him on the outside, but he felt a wave of cold heat pass over him. He knew John wasn't joking and he knew he had been acting worse than John's actual child, but he pushed his feelings aside and pointed to a girl standing in a check-out line uninterested in her surroundings.

His mind was swirling with deductions and questions. He would deduce something, but find something else that proved it wrong. This made him feel something he wasn't used to feeling, uncertainty.  He gathered simple information on her, but nothing too detailed like he could anyone else standing beside her.

"Yes. Lovely. A girl. Can we be going now," the irritated brit sighed and went to turn. He turned back around after realizing that his friend hadn't moved a millimeter.

"5'10. Female. Around 20. Bracelets on her left arm and clear signs of fresh self harm on her right. Clear signs of body problems. What would make her joints that bad at such a young age? Obviously depressed and suicidal. The cuts prove that," Sherlock mumbled and took a step towards her. He was going to continue, but John grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock. What in the bloody hell. Leave her be and come on so we can check out and go to the flat," John quit trying to hide his sour mood.

"John, there is something about her. I have to know. I can't make concrete deductions," Sherlock's mood began to worsen by the second. This girl that stood slightly hunched with her hands shoved in the pockets of her somewhat baggy jeans had perplexed him.

The girl scanned over the people around her not really paying attention, but deducing simple things about them. She stood unnoticed by most and observed all. Her black shirt helped her blend into the crowd. Her black curls were escaping from the bun on top of her head. Red lines went up and down her pale right forearm. She didn't try to hide them, because she knew no one would pay enough attention to notice. She seemed so completely bland that she was interesting to Sherlock. She looked glaringly at a man that was stood next to her in line.

Sherlock was quick to notice how she guarded herself from him. She jumped at her every opportunity to slyly move further from him. The consulting detective concluded that the man was a friend of hers that she didn't personally like, but agreed to accompany him out anyways.

John rolled his eyes and pulled the detective back and around to look at him. "Sherlock-" John's lecture was cut off before it began. The detective had pushed their trolly up to a line and was getting checked out in moments. John gave the cashier a few pounds and they walked to the entrance where Sherlock pulled a cigarette from his coat along with his phone. He stepped outside the door and lit it.

"Where did you get that? I hid those from you weeks ago! It was a bloody brilliant spot too!" John exclaimed to his roommate.

"Bought a pack yesterday," Sherlock blew out smoke into the already polluted London air and put his phone away. Johns face began to go slightly red as he set his jaw. Sherlock paid him no mind as he watched the girl and her friend walk out and to a car. A taxi soon pulled up and Sherlock dropped his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it while climbing into the back. John climbed in after him and sat fuming.

"Follow that car but don't make it noticeable," the detective murmured to the driver and sat back.

"What is with you today. You are being a bloody arse. You're not usually this bad. First you pour the milk down the drain and then try to feed Rosamund a cat tongue! Every single client was too boring and now this. This girl! What has crawled up your arse today?" John glared at his friend. Sherlock said nothing and so the doctor gave out a sigh of defeat and looked out the window.

They drove in silence for a few minutes until they stopped outside of a restaurant. Sherlock jumped out of the cab and ran around to the back. John asked the cabbie to drop off the groceries at their flat to their landlord and paid him extra for the inconvenience. John then ran around to the back to find Sherlock waiting impatiently at the back door. They walked in together and went unnoticed because of the dinner rush.

They walked to the dining room and sat at the opposite side. They were offered menus, but they went untouched. The girl's friend left the table and went to the bathroom. Sherlock went to get up, but he stopped and froze in place when she stood and walked to the bathroom. He resumed his movements and whispered to John,"Don't let anyone enter."

John's jaw dropped as Sherlock entered the bathroom, but he did as he was asked and stood by the entrance.

The girl was washing her hands when he came in. Her guard immediately went up seeing as though he entered the girls bathroom. She dried them and threw the paper towel away. He just stared at her until she went to step around him. He grabbed her arm.

"Are you left handed?" He asked.

"No," she grunted as she pulled her arm from his grasp.

"Then. What are you?" He asked with his eyebrows knitted together. He couldn't believe that he got it wrong.

"Right handed," she gave him a short answer.

"Why are your bracelets on your left arm and cuts on your right?" He pushed for answers. She only held up her hands with her palms facing up. There were calluses on the fingertips of her left hand. "You play... guitar and the bracelets got in the way... elementary," he concluded in a whisper. She nodded and shoved her hands back in her jean pockets, but not before he noticed the scars on her knuckles. She boxed?

"My friend did the stuff on my right arm," she said after a short silence. She had to look up at him through her lashes since he was so tall. Something about him both intrigued and irritated her.  

"So. You aren't suicidal?" He asked getting annoyed that he was so wrong. She didn't answer. He noticed that her hand was scratching her thigh through her pocket. She didn't cut her arms. Of course. The arms are too noticeable. She cut her thigh. Things began to click in his mind as he thought more. "May i see your thigh?" He asked while kneeling and unbuttoning her jeans. Her hand instantly went up as if to slap him, but the bathroom door came open and another man entered.

Watson paled and pulled Sherlock away from her and onto the floor. She dropped her arm and buttoned her pants back up. She was startled by how red the short man was getting in such a short amount of time.

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING. YOU DON'T JUST DO THAT TO A GIRL SHERLOCK!" The guy yelled. The girls eyes widened as she realized who the men were. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were in the girls' bathroom bickering with each other in front of her.  She remembers reading the papers about Moriarty and Sherlock's fake suicide. Her cheeks burned a red that her freckles couldn't hide.

"Shut up!" She shouted. Both men instantly stopped talking and looked over to her. "What the hell? What are you doing in here?" She was getting upset.

"I apologize for him. He can be...," John started.

"I am sorry," Sherlock mumbled. Johns eyes grew and he looked to his friend. The doctor knew that the detective rarely apologized and he was genuinely shocked. "I just wanted to see if my deductions were right," he stood and brushed off his clothes.

"So you follow me into the bathroom!" She looked up at him.

"Obviously," he over pronounced every sound in the word as if it were, in fact, obvious.

"And you don't see a thing wrong with what you did?" She scoffed. How could this man be so nonchalant about this.

"Not one," he knew he was pressing her buttons and he knew the repercussions of doing so, but that didn't stop him. He dared her with his eyes.

"You have a lot of nerve. I will be visiting you soon Mr. Holmes. Good evening," she walked out of the bathroom and went back to her table. There was no indication of what happened in her facial expression. Sherlock smirked and dragged John out of the restaurant and into the night.