Life is but a Dream... (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

*A Study In Pink: Part Two*

Chapter Two: Sherlock

"That totally wasn't a fail, Molly." I said as she made the coffee in the break room. I say on the table as it brewed, reading an article about some woman's murder in the paper.

"Shut up Aspen." Molly scoffed playfully. "Whatcha reading?"

"Murder again." I said, turning a page.

"Really? Man, what's going on lately? It's like people are dying left and right!" Molly said. "Can you pass me a napkin? I should get this lipstick off." She asked. I leaned over the table and pulled one out of the rack.

"He's going to notice." I said, giving it to her. She wiped it off her lips and gave a disgusted look at the red inky substance. "C'mon, let's go give this to him. Maybe we'll see his friend Mike." Molly said.

"Ugh. People. Okay." I playfully complained.

* * *

"Ah, Molly. Thank you." Sherlock greeted as we walked in. I didn't see who he was with until I looked behind me. One was Mike, Sherlocks 'Friend' and the other was- oh crap.

"Aspen!" My uncle, John Watson exclaimed.

He didn't carry a happy look, nor an annoyed look. I didn't really blame him. I'm not one to get surprised over.

"Hey Uncle John." I said as Molly walked out. "Gotta go." I said before intending to follow her, but uncle John touched my shoulder, showing he wanted me to stay.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked. I brought up a stool and offered it to John, noticing his limp, but he refused.

"Sorry?" He asked him as he started typing on the computer.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days." He explained, then looked to us. "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock said, followed by a fake smile. John then turned to Mike.

"You told him about me?" He asked.

"Not a word." Mike admitted.

"Oh, I did." Sherlock said, picking up his coat and putting it on. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult mad to find a flat mate for. Now, here is is after lunch with an old friend,clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Obviously fond of his niece who has a bad habit she doesn't like to tell anyone, much less her relatives, most likely because of a paternal figure. Wasn't that difficult to leap." He said. I shut my eyes as John looked at me. Crap.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" He asked, putting off my questions until later. I could tell sherlock ignored him as he started placing his scarf on in a fashion he always wore it in.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. May even let her come." He said, holding his phone and glancing at me.

"We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o' clock. Sorry, gotta dash, I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He said, going for the door.

"Is that it?" John finally asked, turning to him.

"Is that what?" Sherlock counter-asked.

"We've only just met, and we're going to go look at a flat?" John asked, and turned to me for help.

"Problem?" Sherlock questioned.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting, and I don't even know your name." John said.

Sherlock brought his head down a bit, glanced at me again, then looked to John.

"I know you're an army doctor and have been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you and your niece but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him- possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks that your limps psychosomatic- quite correctly, I'm afraid." Sherlock ranted. The room was quiet, but all of that was true, what he had said. He was always like that.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He asked, then went and opened the door.

"Oh and one more thing." He said. "The names Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. John was in disbelief as he looked to Mike.

"Yeah, he's always like that." Mike stated.