Sherlock: The Consulting Detective Jones

'Excuse me; I'm here to see Lestrade?'

Sgt. Donavan looked down at the small brown haired woman.

'And you are here to do what exactly?' She said with all the venom of a snake.

'Does your mother know you're sleeping with a married man?'

Sally was stunned into silence, for almost a minute.

'Oh good lord…LESTRADE! One of your freaks has arrived!'

'I'm not a freak, I'm a consulting detective. And you still haven't answered my question. Though, I know the answer.' The woman smiled defiantly, as Lestrade grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the crime scene.

'I do wish you people wouldn't do that.'

'Do what?'

'Never mind.' Lestrade sighed. He wasn't quite sure what had compelled him to hire another consulting detective, but he felt it could be the death of him.

'Sherlock, John, I'd like you to meet Scarlet Jones, consulting detective.'

John shook her hand heartily, smiling, then realised what Lestrade had said.

'Lestrade…Sherlock is the only…'

'Prove it.' said the crouching Sherlock, who had failed to even so much as look at Scarlet.

'Excuse me?'

Sherlock stood, spun on his heels, and walked over to loom over her.

'Miss Jones, prove you are worthy of the title consulting detective. Analyse me.'

'Oh dear, how god-awfully boring, but, ho-hum. Let's entertain the sociopath shall we?'

She looked at his face for mere seconds, before smiling and chuckling to herself.

'Well, Mr Holmes, your body language says psychopath, but the way you speak says sociopath. You are looking at me, but not into my eyes, which suggests a tense relationship with a main female figure in your life. First guess wife, but, no wedding ring. Second guess, girlfriend, but, you live with Mr Watson here, so again, implausible. That leaves either a sister or your mother. It wouldn't be a sister, though you do have siblings, judging by the way you are trying not to say much to me. Any man with a sister would know that women love nothing more than a decent conversation. So we have mother issues. Not abusive, just overbearing, disapproving? Yes. That's it. Just not quite as good as your older brother, are you? You also like keeping human body parts in the fridge.'

Scarlet smiled, walked towards the body, but, before getting there said, over her shoulder, 'Oh, and Mr Holmes? When you experiment with melting nicotine patches into your tea, try not to spill so much on your knees, its quite unattractive.'

Watson let out a half laugh, then looked to Sherlock, to check if he was ok. He was smiling. Lestrade was not. He sensed what was coming next.

'Miss Jones?'

'Yes?'

'Is it my turn?'

She smirked. 'Be my guest.'

'I'm not going to bother explaining your sociopathic behaviour, as that's boring. You're unmarried, haven't been with someone in quite some time, your work gets in the way. But…ah. Your father died, two…no…three years ago, and you've avoided men since. You're looking for somewhere to live, low in rent, because, lets face it, this line of work pays very little. You already dislike Donavan over there, and you don't really know her. Smart lady. You observe well, perhaps too well, you're intelligent, you know nicotine when you see it, and…you are incredibly attracted to either me, or John.'

She froze.

'Pop quiz?' he queried.

'Bring it on.'

They were facing each other now, eyes locked, fierce and dark.

'I'll start.' Said Sherlock. 'What instrument do I play, and, how can you tell?'

'Yawn. Violin, because your left arm is slightly stretched, due to over use. And you have an overbearing mother, which immediately screams violin. Why am I here? And don't just say 'work'.'

'You…you are here…because…you enjoy it! I can see it in your eyes! You love the thrills, the chase, and the deduction. It's like your drug, along with the nicotine gum you chew. What do I keep on my mantelpiece?'

'A potted plant. In place of a human skull, which you used to talk to, before John arrived. Which one of you am I attracted to?'

'I'd say me, not only because we are so alike, but because I didn't immediately talk to you, which everyone does, but you hate. Why…'

He began another question, but before he had finished, Scarlet pressed her lips to his, and he put his hand behind her head, and the other round her waist. She knotted her fingers into his hair, and they were locked together for what seemed like eternity to Watson and Lestrade, who just stared, dumbfounded, at them. Scarlet was first to pull away, straightening her jacket and brushing her hair back behind her ear.

'Talk to the gardener, mention a lion, call me when another case comes up, I just solved your crime.' She smiled, put her hands in her pockets and walked back down the stony path.

'JONES! How did you get all that from kissing Sherlock?' asked Lestrade, but she wasn't listening.

'Sherlock? Are you…ok?' asked John, waving a hand in front of his distant face. He immediately snapped out of it, smiled and said, 'I'm fine. She's right, trust me. Call me in the morning.'

'Sherlock?'

'Yes John?'

'I think you may have just met your match.'