This Charming Man
Author's note: Before you read; yes, this fic was inspired by yet another Smiths song and I'm really, really sorry about that. I promise I will write something with no relevance to their music someday! Thank you for your patience with my complete lack of imagination.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but not me. Unfortunately.
Chapter 1
Perfect, just perfect. John sighs to himself and wrinkles his nose in disgust at the heavy rain as he stands on the pavement outside St. Mary's Hospital. When he'd arrived there earlier for a routine check-up on his injuries, the sun had been shining and John was convinced that today was going to be a good day, but after receiving the news that doctors still couldn't work out what was wrong with his leg, he was considerably less optimistic. The weather had just confirmed what John was thinking; it was definitely going to be a rubbish day.
In one hand he clutches his cane and the other pulls his jacket tightly around himself as the rain soaks him through. He squints at an approaching taxi and sticks his arm out to catch the cabbie's attention. The cab brakes to a halt in front of him, crashing through a muddy puddle and sending a wave of cold water onto the pavement and into John's shoes, soaking his socks. He winces as he struggles to climb into the back of the cab.
"Bloody stupid leg," he mutters to himself, rubbing his aching knee as he sits, dripping, in the back seat.
"Maple Street, please mate." John turns and reaches for the door, but before he can swing it closed, a tall stranger in a long black coat clambers into the cab beside him.
"Via Mount Street," barks the stranger. John splutters in protest, but the man slams the door behind him before he can object and the cab swiftly pulls away from the pavement. John stares at him in indignant shock.
The man is tall and rake thin with unhealthily pale skin. His dark hair is dripping wet and plastered to his face, yet his expression is thrilled and he's practically bouncing in his seat. He pulls his Blackberry from his coat pocket and taps merrily away at the keys, ignoring John completely.
"You-what," John says stupidly. He's stunned into silence by the sheer cheek of the man. "What the hell are you doing?" he finally manages to finish.
The stranger pauses typing and raises an eyebrow at John. "I'm in your cab," he states derisively.
"Yes, but what are you doing in my cab? Wait for your own!" John says fiercely. The man's mocking tone is doing nothing but infuriating John, and he briefly wonders as to the amount of time he would spend in prison for attacking this rude stranger with his metal cane. Calm down, he tells himself sternly.
The man stares at John as if he's mental. "I don't have all day to wait for an empty taxi to come along." 3 years isn't really such a long time, John thinks, his fist longing to give the git a good smack in the jaw.
Instead, he scoffs. "So you just jump into other people's, right. Your need is greater than mine then, is it?"
"Yes," the man says simply. He finishes his message, fingers typing quickly, and tucks his phone back into his pocket. He sighs. "I am investigating the murder of Melissa Remington, and if all goes to plan, the murderer should be breaking into her flat, just about-" he pauses and checks his phone again. "-now. If I'd waited for another cab to come along, I'd probably be too late to catch him. So," he continues, concentrating on something outside the window. "Yes, my need for a taxi was greater than yours. Does that satisfy you?"
John is momentarily stunned into silence. "Well, it was very rude," he finishes lamely. He is slightly embarrassed at having made such a fuss when all he's going to do is sit down with a book when he finally gets home. The man ignores him, still staring out of the window.
"Who are you anyway? With the police?" he asks curiously. The man snorts at his suggestion.
"No, I am not with the police." He frowns. "When the police are out of their depth, they consult me."
"Why would they come to you?" John asks. The question comes out more brusquely than he intends, but he has a point. What problems could the police possibly have that they need this bizarre, arrogant and frankly rude stranger to help with?
The man rolls his eyes and sighs as if John is being incredibly stupid. "Because I see things that ordinary people don't. Not like that," he snaps when John's eyes grow wide and he thinks of psychic skills and supernatural powers. "I notice things. You all see but you don't observe."
"For example," he continues, eyeing John up and down. "You've recently returned from active service in Afghanistan. Injured in action – bullet wound to the shoulder. I'd say medic, but doctor's looking more likely. Yes, a doctor. Oh, and your limp-" his eyes snap to the cane John's gripping. "Psychosomatic," he mutters. John isn't sure if he was meant to hear that.
"How in the world-" John starts incredulously, but before he can finish his question, the stranger is yelling for the taxi driver to stop and tossing a handful of change onto the front passenger seat. He throws the door open and scrambles out of the cab, whilst John sits is silence, still reeling in shock from the accuracy of the stranger's deductions.
"Wait," he manages weakly. There are so many questions whirling around his mind and he doesn't know which to ask, so he settles for the easiest. "Who are you?"
The man leans down and pokes his head into the cab, his eyes gleaming madly with excitement. He grabs a small piece of card from his jacket pocket and flings it at John.
"The name's Sherlock Holmes," he says, and with a wink, he slams the door and sprints down the street with his black coat flying out behind him, looking for all the world like an overgrown bat.
John watches him dazedly, and then looks down at the card that had been chucked at him.
'Sherlock Holmes, world's only Consulting Detective.'
Author's second (apologetic) note: Again, I'm really sorry about the 3rd Smiths'-based fic in a row (!), although I guess this one is slightly more subtle. This is my Sherlock-version of 'This Charming Man' (obviously) but I didn't think Sherlock would be one to be offering people lifts and I liked the idea of him going round barging into John's taxi all the time. There will be eventual Sherlock/John, promise! Thank you for reading.
