"Sherlock, I just think it's a good idea if you meet him, that's all."

John stood behind the worn red armchair, staring at the back of Sherlock's unruly mess of hair and resisting the urge to sigh. Or smack him upside the head. Both were tempting.

"I have no need for attorneys. Any infractions I commit are minor and done in service of king and country."

Sherlock, unblinking, absently turned the page of the leather book held in one hand. Unblinking, because his eyes were too busy roaming over the small-lettered font, and absently because John was certain he'd memorized this volume ages ago. Who knew what he was really concentrating on. The mere pretense of reading was a signal that he was going to be difficult; well, more difficult than usual.

"You mean queen and country," John stated, opting for the easy target.

Sherlock let out an irritated huff. "Queen, king, what does it matter? Should I find myself in some unanticipated quagmire - and I assure you the chances of that are statistically insignificant - my dear brother will ensure my swift release."

"You're certain of that?"

The pause was telling.

"Ah. And what will happen when Mycroft decides he's too busy or too tired to drag you out of another mess?"

John braced his arms against the back of the chair, leaning down slightly next to Sherlock's shoulder. Huh. Erotica in 19th Century London: Sex, Scandal, and Economic Policy. At least it wasn't another medical journal. The BMJ archives had not survived Sherlock's last bout of insomnia, and the pages were currently scattered in morbid pieces around the flat. Even for a doctor, it was disconcerting to find a diagram of a dissected human heart hanging in the shower.

"Lestrade needs me. The solve rate will plummet without my input." Sherlock sounded disinterested, but John knew that he was sifting through contingency plans, should he find himself on the wrong side of the law. "Worst case scenario, I end up defending myself. Which means I would be free within a matter of hours, a few days at most."

John laughed, which caused Sherlock to finally glance over at him. "Really? You think you could win over a judge? Or a jury?"

Sherlock slammed the book shut, scowling. "Even an imbecile should understand any facts I-"

"Yeah, that attitude will let you walk free." John smirked, letting the sarcasm drip into his voice. "With your admirable people skills, they'll lock you up and throw away the key. And you know I'm right."

Three more unread books, two messy experiments relegated to the fridge, and one broken violin string later, Sherlock and John threw on their coats and headed toward the cafe.

"It's good to meet you both," the attorney, Phoenix Wright, stated as they sat down at one of the tables outside. He was an amiable looking fellow, though his hair was unusually spiky. John wondered if felt as sharp as it appeared. "The professor told us a lot about you."

"Yeah, but he didn't say you were so handsome!" The woman at his side, Maya Fey, stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. She introduced herself as a master spirit medium; why a lawyer would hang around with a fortune-teller was a mystery. Especially since she looked quite a bit younger than Mr. Wright.

Miss Fey dug an elbow into the lawyer's side. "We should take him back to the States, Nick! Give Edgeworth some competition for all those frothing ladies."

They both burst out laughing, and John felt a twinge of sympathy for whoever that 'Edgeworth' fellow was.

Cups and a steaming pot were distributed by the server, who quickly left them alone. John studied their companions while he poured them all servings of tea.

Sherlock, meanwhile, cooly glanced at the pair of them. "Comfortable, physical - partners, but not romantic. Fond but in a more detached, protective manner. A mutual desire to look after one another. Tragic bond then, something - no, someone important linking you both together."

Mr. Wright shifted his eyes over to John, frowning. "Um, what is he..."

John smiled back at him, just a quick quirk of his lips. "He does this."

Sherlock continued undeterred, gesturing at Mr. Wright. "Cheap suit, overly ironed, an attempt to impress without the budget to afford it. Badge worn down, edges smoothed, but shined. Pride, then, commitment to either your job or those in it. Possibly both. Definitely both. Too sentimental and trusting."

"Wow, Nick, I think he's got you pegged!"

Sherlock turned that inestimable intellect toward Miss Fey. "Training dress, though you hold a position of authority. Insecure. Or perhaps resentful. A duty you don't want then. Which explains your presence here - better to gallivant around the globe and play at crimes and courtrooms."

The two companions sat unmoving, gaping in some mixture of surprise and wariness.

There was a hint, just the barest glimmer of a smile on Sherlock's face. "Duty is boring anyway. Crime is much more fun."

John was shocked. As far as he was concerned, the pair had gotten off easy.

Mr. Wright recovered first, clearing his throat. He rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "Geez, I guess that proves you really are descended from Sherlock Holmes. You didn't get just the name, but the smarts too."

"How very observant," Sherlock dryly quipped, and John kicked him under the table to keep him from saying something rude.

Mr. Wright's grin widened, oblivious. "Yeah! I was pretty shocked when I learned our ancestors knew each other."

Miss Fey clasped her hands together, eyes shining. "I can see it now: lawyer and detective, solving crimes and defending the innocent in Neo Olde Tokyo!"

"I think you mean just Old Olde Tokyo, Maya."

John and Sherlock exchanged baffled looks as the pair broke off into an argument about neo old cities and something about samurais. John interjected before it got too heated: "I take it lawyers run in the family?"

Mr. Wright gave him that embarrassed smile again. "Uh, no, not really. Just me, I guess. I had to, um, save someone." He rallied, his shoulders moving back proudly. "But I'm an ace lawyer just like my ancestor. You could say he was my 'ace'-ster."

Both John and Miss Fey let out groans at that horrific pun.

"And you say my social skills are awful?" Sherlock looked askance at John.

"Hey! So my jokes are bad, but I do better in court," Mr. Wright protested.

John, mercifully, picked up the new line of conversation. "What sorts of cases have you handled?"

"Mostly murder. Almost... always murder, actually."

"Just mundane, humdrum, run-of-the-mill murder?" Sherlock looked decidedly unimpressed.

"W-Well, there's usually revenge involved, and sometimes disguises, and one time I cross-examined a parrot."

A pause.

"...Tell me about the parrot," Sherlock said, interest caught at last.