Sherlock - The Game Is On!

A Study In Pink- Five

Chapter Five

The taxi roars along the London street, fast and furious, streetlights flashing past the windows. Sherlock occupied the left side of the taxi, whilst John occupied the right. I sat, travelling backwards, facing both men but turning to face the window. "Okay, you've got questions!"

"Where are we going?"

"Crime scene, obviously." I answered. John looked to me for a moment before turning to Sherlock. "Who are you? What do you do?" Sherlock stopped texting and faced both of our peering gazes. "What do you think?"

"I'd say you were a private detective but..." John sat for a moment, pondering in lost thoughts. "But?" Sherlock gestured on. "The police don't go to private detectives." I answered. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job."

"Yes but what does it mean?" John asked, furthermore confused. "I'm guessing it could mean that when the police are out of their depth, which I'm considering quite about, is always they consult Sherlock. Right?" He gazed at me for a moment before nodding. "But the police don't consult amateurs." I snorted at that bland comment. Hasn't Sherlock already proved to differ?

Looking at Sherlock you could see the merest flash in his eyes, he didn't like that comment. "When I first met you both yesterday I said, Afghanistan or Iraq? You seemed surprised."

"Yes I did, how did you know."

"I didn't know. I saw. Tanned face, but no tan above your wrists. You've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your haircut and the way you hold yourself, both of you, says military but your conversation as you entered the room says you trained at Bart's. So army doctor. Obvious! Your limp is really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it."

"Told you, John." I muttered. "So its at least partly psychosomatic. That says the circumstances of the original injury were traumatising wounded in action then. Wounded in action, a suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq?" He questioned, again. "You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother, your Phone. Expensive, email enabled, mp3 player, you're looking for a flat share, you wouldn't waste money on this..." Damn this man and his ego. "Scratches, not just one, but many over time. Been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man in front of me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so there's been a previous owner. Next bit's easy... You know it already."

"The engraving." John stated flipping the phone over to show the engravings:

Harry Watson

From Clara

xxx

"Harry Watson, clearly a family member whose given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young mans gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who cant find a place comfortable enough to live, unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not those you're close to... Apart from your friendship with Michelle." Pointing at me. "So brother it is." John handed his half spoken examined phone to him, he proceeded with his thought process. "Now Clara, whose Clara, three kisses says it's romantic attachment, the expense of the phone says wife not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. It's a marriage in trouble then..."

I tuned the rest of the conversation out already knowing the obvious. I don't know why but Sherlock seemed quite similar to myself, his thought process is outstanding. He's brilliant but I can imagine also ignorant to life in itself. Probably the same like me to some wavelengths. Taking his image in whilst he was discussing with John, I noticed a few things. His coat for example, he wears it everywhere apart from when he's home. Easy solution there is that his coat is like his mask he feels self conscious without it. Unsafe without it. Nobody without it.

Rubbing my head I tuned back into discussion. "That was... Amazing." Sherlocks expression was priceless. He was genuinely surprised. He clearly wasn't used to people applauding him for his rare talent and by John doing so he seemed rather pleased by it. "Do you think so?" He asked, unsurely. "Well, of course it was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary." John took this moment to share a knowing glance with me. I laughed lowly. "That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?" I asked. "Piss off." We all shared in a comfortable laugh. As the cab was slowing down to a halt I was panning the view before me. One of the houses had a little cluster of police vehicles outside of it. Uniformed offices going in and out. Climbing out the cab Sherlock asked: "Did I get anything wrong?"

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago, they're getting a divorce. Harry's a drinker..."

"Spot on, then! Didn't expect to be right about everything." John and I started to laugh. This caught his attention. "Harry is short for Harriet." I answered. "Harry's your sister?" John stopped to a halt staring at the police vehicles. "Look, what exactly are we supposed to be doing here."

"Your sister."

"No, seriously, why am I here?"

"There's always something!" We began walking ahead of the crime scene. A tape cordon and blocking our path was the same Sergeant that I've seen on TV with Lestrade, watching Sherlock as we all approached closer. Clearly they know each other but not as friends. "Hello, freak."

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"I was invited." He responded passively. "Why?" She stated, once again. God not even a minute within knowing her and she was already starting to rub me up the wrong way. "I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well you know what I think, don't you."

"Always, Sally. I even know you didn't make it home last night." The so called 'Sally' looked at Sherlock dead in the eyes. She then turns her attention to us. I stood with feet shoulder width apart, arms behind my back, squaring up my shoulders with my head held high and John... Was just standing there, so out of place.

"Who are they?" She pointed at us. "We are colleague's of Mr Holmes. Dr Phillips and Dr Watson. I presume your an old friend of his?" The last sentence dripped from my mouth sarcastically. "Colleagues, how'd you get colleagues? Did he follow you both home?" John went to answer but I butted in. "I highly doubt Mr Holmes would stand a chance against a Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and a General from near enough, same regiment don't you think, Sergeant Donovan? Now are you going to let us through or will I have to rencounter last nights events with yourself through detail." I answered sharply.

John looked over to me surprised, that for once in what seems to be in forever, I used my intelligence. Sherlock raised a brow but eventually smirked down to me. Raising her dominant hand she spoke through the walkie-talkie. "Freak's here. Bringing him in." I rolled my eyes at the comment. She turned and starts to lead us down the garden path. Sherlock expertly scans the front of the house. Dark, abandoned. Not too rundown but cold and empty...

Sherlocks attention is caught when a man exits the front door of the building. "Anderson! Here we are again."

"Its a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. We clear on that?"

"And is your wife away for long?" Anderson scoffs at the comment. "Don't pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that!"

"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock answered amusingly. "My deodorant?" Anderson questioned. "Of course your deodorant told me that simply because yes your wearing it but so is Sergeant Donovan." A panic look rose to Anderson's face as it did for Donovan. "Whatever you're trying to imply..."

"I'm sure Sherlock here isn't implying anything. In fact, I'm most certain that Sally came round for a lovely little chat and happened to stay over..." I briefly glanced at Donovan before stating: "And one must assume that she scrubbed your floors, going by the atrocious state of her knees anyways." Waving my hand in the air dismissively. John snorted in a laugh whilst Sherlock let out a deep hearty laugh.

"Right, just go in, just go!"