Sherlock - The Game Is On!

A Study In Pink- Two

Chapter Two

Third POV

Midday - Railway station

"Car? There's no ruddy car!" One sir Jeffrey Patterson, mid-forties, in a very good suit looked a little out of place in a train station. Mobile in hand.

"He went Waterloo, Sorry. Just get a cab." Replied Helen. A very beautiful PA, early twenties. She also with mobile in hand, pacing in her office away from others.

"I never get cabs!" Huffed Mr Patterson. Glancing around nervously, his PA smiled knowingly before replying: "I love you."

"When?"

"Get a cab." She laughed before ending the call.

***

- - Sir Jeffrey Patterson, my husband, was a happy man who lived life to the full. - -

Mrs Patterson was sharing the TV screen before me. Sat between two men. She seemed to have a troubled look in her eyes. The real fear could be determined.

- - He loved his family, and his work, and that he should have taken his own life in this way, is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him. - -

She was truly fearful of the unknowing. A man, of which I presume to be her brother was beside her, comforting her whilst she silently tried to contain her grief.

The screen moved on facing a Detective and Sergeant whom allocated the seat at the end of the table.

- - The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Great London. Preliminary investigations suggest... - -

John came limping through the door. Switching the television off I stood up to greet him. "Hey John, how did your session go?" Placing his cane aside the chair he sat down and we began discussion. "She asked how the non-existing blog is going, wrote that I still have trust issues and explained how I'm still a solider whom is adjusting to civilian life."

I shared some minor sympathy with John. However, I didn't think that he was scared of what he had witnessed. No, deep down I knew he longed for it again. To stride into battle. "John, I think you need to fire your therapist. I endower to express that she's got it completely wrong. Yes, you have a psychosomatic limp but that simply disappears into the air when you title yourself as a solider. Your not scared of what you've witnessed, you don't have PTSD. You miss it, undoubtedly."

***

Walking side by hobbled side. Drinking our coffee's someone I saw quite familiar walked by. "Mike? Mike Stamford?" The man in question paused before turning around. "Michelle? John?" It was then that John faced Mike. "Yes. Sorry, yes, Mike hello."

"Yes, I know, I got fat. I heard you pair were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?"

"Well we got shot." Replied John.

We all sat down on a shared bench, I noticed how Mike kept stealing feathered glances of our fellow soldiers leg. "Bad is it?" Mike asked. "My therapist thinks its psychosomatic." He replied. "What do you think?" It was silent for a moment, John drank some of his coffee. "I think I got shot." I chuckled softly. "So Mike you still at Bart's, I take it?" I asked. "Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them. What about you pair? Staying in town until your sorted?"

Sipping my coffee, I was basking in conversation until Mike started to laugh. I was puzzled for a moment. "What?" John asked. "Clearly Michelle here doesn't mind you as a flatmate, but you're the second person to say that to me today." John looked at him intrigued in spite of himself.

"Who was the first?" I asked.