"No," Sherlock huffed, and he felt the draft as the door shut.
"Nope," the same action repeated.
"Next!"
"Sherlock, at least let them get in the bloody door," John smiled apologetically as another man retreated.
"But I don't need them to come through the door."
John sighed and opened the door again. A man in his early thirties stepped through, but Sherlock quickly dismissed him.
"You know there's only one person left out there, right? And I'm not doing this again next weekend. It's been three months, this is getting ridiculous."
"Fine. Name?" the detective replied, uncoiling his fingers.
"Micah Hawksworth. Twenty six, originally from Leeds, not education above A-levels, unemployed, freelance creative writer. Do you even want to bother?"
"Of course. Writers are always interesting," Sherlock cast a sly look upon John, "much more imaginative. Not boring."
John allowed the door to swing open and a woman stepped forward. With no instant dismissal, she made her way lightly into the room and perched on the sofa.
"You're Micah? Micah Hawksworth?" John enquired.
She nodded her reply.
"Oh... sorry... we were expecting a... umm..."
"Man?" she interrupted.
John nodded; Sherlock pressed his hands together under his chin and examined the woman.
Auburn hair, hazel eyes, minimal make up, uncomfortable in her dress even though it's only casual, implies she's iffy with her feminine side. Flat shoes, opaque tights, indicates the same. Full figure, nothing obese but not exactly a dieter either. Shy, relatively guarded. Hippy parents, hence the name and her general demeanour but...
"Why are you in London?" Sherlock demanded softly.
The woman, Micah, almost flinched. Sherlock repeated himself.
She shrugged, "convenience?"
Sherlock huffed.
He rose and skated across the room, taking the woman's hand in a formal shake.
"Sherlock Holmes, pleasure to meet you," he turned to John, "I'll take it."
"It?" both John and Micah said at the same time.
"Uh, her. Yes. Micah. Hmm."
"Excuse us for a second." John said gently to Micah as he tugged Sherlock into the hallway.
"I thought you only wanted a bloke?" he said quizzically to Sherlock.
"I said a man would be preferable. It was you who decided to exclude women from the interviews."
"Well she's here and you've said yes. Maybe you would've said yes three months ago if another chap had an ambiguous name."
"It's not the name, John."
"Then what... ah. Oh.. I see," he chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
"You like her."
"Oh, what? No, John, don't be silly."
"Perfectly pretty, seems pleasant. A lot less dangerous than your last infatuation..."
Sherlock scoffed.
"Well if it's not that, then what?
"Not boring." Sherlock said briefly, swooping himself back into the room and closing the door on John, who promptly left Baker St.
"So," Sherlock put on a grin, "tea, one sugar, right?"
Micah nodded, a little taken aback.
He clattered around the kitchen for a few moments. Micah winced as she heard the tumbling of a pan in the sink, the metal on metal, grinding her ear.
"You should get tat seen to," Sherlock murmured as placed the tea on the coffee table.
"Sorry?"
"Your wisdom tooth."
"But how...?"
Sherlock simply smiled and sat in his usual chair, tilted towards her.
They sat in silence for a few moments.
"Interview?" Micah finally pipped.
"Oh, no, I have what I needed. I'm sure you'll settle in nicely." Sherlock put on the grin again.
"But I don't even know what the rent..."
He cut her off, "oh, I'm sure we can arrange something later."
Micah nodded slowly, confused.
"There is one thing though..."
She looked up, and saw the man suddenly directly in front of her, towering.
"I'm about to head out and approximately three minutes later a black car will pull up outside. Don't struggle. And accept the money."
Sherlock swiftly took a small plastic bag from the fridge and left the building without a second look. As his cab turned the corner onto the man road, he took a glance in the rear view mirror. Sure enough, Mycroft's car was just pulling up.