The Girl Without a Mark

Donovan needs some manners punched down her throat

There wasn't a sign of our new flatmate anywhere, but that was to be expected. John still looked around as we walked back to the police tape where Donovan stood.

"He's gone," she said.

"Who, Sherlock Holmes?" John asked.

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that," she replied.

"Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it."

"Right," John looked around the area again thoughtfully.

"Right," I commented. John turned back to the cop.

"Sorry, where are we?"

"Brixton."

"Right. Er, d'you know where we could get a cab? It's just, er, well," John looked down awkwardly at his walking stick. "My leg."

"Er," Donovan stepped over to the tape and lifted it for us. "Try the main road."

We ducked under, John thanked her, but I couldn't find enough politeness in me to do the same. Something about her just really set me off.

"But you're not his friends," Donovan just had to open her mouth. John and I looked at one another, then turned back to her.

"He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" she continued.

"I'm, I'm nobody. I just met him," John said, and I elbowed him for it, glaring. Nobody my ass, John, you're his new flatmate.

"I'm his fucking mother," I snapped, sarcastic.

She glared at me, then addressed John like I wasn't even there.

"Okay, a bit of advice then: stay away from that guy."

"Why?" John asked.

'You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there." I clenched my fists and stepped towards her, needing to punch her stupid teeth into her dumb fucking throat. The fact that she would be that toxic about someone she obviously barely knew at all was sickening and I really wanted to teach her the manners she should have been raised with. I have high respect for cops who just try to do their jobs. But cops who use their position as law enforcement to belittle and bully people? No.

"Why would he do that?" John asked, restraining me with a hand.

"Because he's a psychopath," she said. "And psychopaths get bored."

"I'm no psychopath myself," I told her. "But I'm getting bored of the words coming out of your mouth. Could I bloody it for you? That'd be fun, I promise. It would only hurt."

Lestrade chose that moment to appear at the front of the house to yell for Donovan.

Donovan gave me a nasty look but only turned to yell back that she was coming. She turns back towards John and me as she walked towards the house.

"Stay away from Sherlock Holmes," she said.

"You and your stupid mouth better stay away from me or I'll make you swallow your teeth," I yelled, but only loud enough for her to hear. She seemed to take my threat seriously and headed off, walking as fast as she could.

John watched her go for a moment, then turns and begins to limp off down the road. I followed him and he glared at me.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" he demanded. "You don't just threaten a bloody cop, Yn, you could get arrested."

"Getting arrested would be worth punching her teeth into her toxic, hate-filled mouth," I replied savagely. "You just DON'T talk about anyone that way, especially if you barely know them. And judging by the way she looked at Sherlock, she only hates him cuz he turned her down every time that she propositioned him."

John looked at me in shock and opened his mouth to say something, but the phone in a public telephone box to the right began to ring. He stopped, and we both looked at one another, then at the phone for a few seconds. John looked down at his watch, shook his head at how late it was getting and we continued down the road. The phone stopped ringing.

Not long afterward, we're walking down what may well be Brixton High Road. Outside Chicken Cottage, the fast-food restaurant which we are standing by, I try to hail a passing taxi.

"Taxi! Taxi!"

The stupid taxi passed us by. The payphone on the wall began to ring. John and I turned and looked on as one of the serving staff walked over to it but as he reached for the phone, it stopped. We continue walking down the road and shortly afterward approached another public telephone box. The phone inside started to ring.

This had me slightly spooked. It felt like we were being watched, stalked even. I reached into the right pocket of my leather jacket to grip the metal pocket knife in it. Though perhaps it couldn't be called a "pocket knife" as the blade itself was about three inches long. As John pulled the door on the booth open and went inside, I scanned around us for threats, thinking to myself that though my knife was legal for me to carry back home, I should really look up the weapon laws for Britain.

"Hello?" I turned to see John speak into the phone.

I could hear another voice coming from the phone, but not the words, though it was clearly a male voice.

"Who's this? Who's speaking?" John frowned, then looked through the window of the phone box, and I followed his gaze to see a CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building. "Yeah, I see it."

The camera, which was pointing directly at the phone box, swiveled away. I narrowed my eyes. Okay, this was getting to be really shady. I watched as two more cameras did the same thing that the first one did.

'How are you doing this?' John asked the person on the other end of the phone.

Whipped my head around at the sound of an engine coming up on us and turned to see a black car pull up at the curb near the phone. A male driver got out and opened the rear door. I looked back at John as he put the phone down and looked thoughtful for a long moment, then turn to leave the phone box. He motions to the car with his head as he looked at me. I huffed and watched him get in, fingering my knife. I did not like this entire situation one bit The male driver motioned for me to get inside and I suppressed the urge to growl before getting in. I wasn't going to let my new friend go wherever the car was headed, even if we were being kidnapped by some sort of mafia or something.