~~~
After a few minutes of silence in the cab where Sherlock is on his phone the whole time, he feels John's eyes on his so he puts his phone down and speaks up. "Okay, you've got questions."
"Yeah, where are we going?" John asks.
"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock replies easily.
"Who are you? What do you do?"
"What do you think?" Sherlock turns around and asks John in reply.
"I'd sayprivate detective." John starts slowly.
"But?" Sherlock encourages.
"But the police don't go to private detectives." The curly, raven haired man smiles.
"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world." Sherlock explains. "I invented the job."
"What does that mean?" John questions.
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always," He adds. "They consult me."
"The police don't consult amateurs." John points out. Sherlock turns to the doctor, smiles slightly, and starts to explain.
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised."
"Yes, how did you know?" John interrupts him.
"I didn't know, I saw." Sherlock tells him. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation, 'bit different from my day.' said trained at Barts, so Army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic." Sherlock rattles off all of the things he deduced the first time he saw John in Barts morgue. "That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq."
"You said I had a therapist." John reminds him.
"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist." Sherlock replies as if it's obvious. "Then there's your brother. Your phone." He grabs John's phone out of his pocket and gives it a slight toss in the air. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. You're looking for a flatshare. You wouldn't waste money on this, it's a gift then. 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?" John guesses.
"Harry Watson." Sherlock says reading out from the back of John's phone. "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 you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. 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. Must have given it to him recently, the model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then, six months on he's given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do: Sentiment. No, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but your not going to your brother for help. 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?" John asks in disbelief cutting Sherlock off.
"Shot in the dark." Sherlock admits. "Good one, though. Power connection, tiny little scuff marks round the edge. 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. There you go, you were right." He gives the phone another toss and hands it back to John.
"I was right?" John asks taking his phone. "Right about what?"
"The police don't consult amateurs." With that there was a few minutes of silence in the cab.
"That was amazing." John finally said slowly.
"Do you think so?" Sherlock asked earnestly.
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary." John tells him.
"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock explains.
"What do people normally say?" John questions.
Sherlock pauses for a moment before answering. "Piss off!" He smiles and John smiles back.
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asks after they arrive at the crime scene and get out of the cab.
"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker." John confirms for Sherlock.
"Spot on, then." Sherlock says proudly. "I didn't expect to be right about everything."
"Harry's short for Harriet." John adds bursting Sherlock's little bubble.
"Harry's your sister." Sherlock realizes angrily.
"What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John questions but Sherlock ignores him.
"Sister!" He groans.
"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John tries again.
"There's always something." Sherlock mumbles to himself.
"Hello, freak!" Sally says walking up to the two men.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Is all Sherlock says in reply.
"Why?" Sally asks with an attitude.
"I was invited." Sherlock smirks.
"Why?" Sally repeats in the same voice.
"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock replies sarcastically.
"You know what I think, don't you?" Donovan questions with the tilt of her head.
"Always, Sally." Sherlock smirks again. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."
"Er, who's this?" Sally ignores Sherlock's last statement.
"Colleague of mine, Dr. Watson." Sherlock replies. "Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." He spits a little when he sarcastically says 'old friend'.
"A colleague?" Donovan laughs crossing her arms. "How do you get a colleague?" She turns to John mockingly. "Did he follow you home?"
"Would it be better if I just waited?" John suggests trying to avoid conflict.
"No." Sherlock says curtly holding up the caution tape for him to walk under.
They start walking to the building when another person walks down the stairs and outside.
"Freak's here. Bringing him in." Sally tells the girl.
At that, the girl, Kat, looks around only to see Sherlock and his friend.
"Sherlock! Hi!" She says surprised. "Sally, where's the freak?"
"Sherlock is the freak." Donovan points out.
"You realize Sherlock isn't a mirror, right?" Kat snaps back defending Sherlock. Sally's mouth snaps shut, for the first time ever, and Sherlock smiles a Kat. A man then walks out from behind Kat.
"Hey, I don't believe we met earlier, I'm Kat Moore." Kat introduces herself to John.
"John. Watson." John replies shaking her hand.
"Ah, Anderson." Sherlock says spotting Anderson on the steps into the old building. "Here we are again."
Anderson groans. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated-"
"You mean with anything besides your stupidity?" Kat throws a jab at Anderson.
"Who's side are you on?" Anderson asks incredulously turning to look at Kat.
"Oh, I thought it was fairly obvious." Kat replies feigning innocence.
"Again I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson repeats.
"Quite clear." Sherlock replies walking closer to him. "And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asks with a smile on his face because of Kat.
"Oh don't pretend you worked that out." Anderson says exasperated. "Somebody told you that."
"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock replies.
"My deodorant?"
"It's for men." Sherlock says as if that means anything.
"Well, of course it's for men, I'm wearing it." Anderson tells him flustered.
"So's Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock informs him and Anderson turns around quickly to look at Sally. Sherlock sniffs the air mockingly. "Ooh think it just vaporized. May I go in?"
"Whatever you're trying to imply-"
"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock cuts Anderson off. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." With that Sherlock smiles and grabs Kat's arm and leads her into the house and upstairs to where Greg was.
~~~~~~~~~
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