In the psychotherapist office John sits in a chair that was opposite from his therapist who was holding a pen as if she was ready to write.
"John, you're a soldier, and it's going take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you," she explains to him.
John just gazes at her but his face full of despair, "Nothing happens to me."
In the park John is limping through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a large man sitting the bench he notice that man staring at him but ignores it until he hears someone calling out his name, "John! John Watson!"
John turns back to see the man standing up and hurries towards him, smiling."
"Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together," Mike reminds him.
John shook his head, "Yes, sorry, yes, Mike," he takes his offered hand and shakes it, "Hello… hi."
Mike smiles at him, "Yeah, I know. I got fat!"
John shook his head, "No."
"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?"
John looks at him with confusion, "I got shot."
A little later they were holding a cup of coffee and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park.
"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked.
John snorts, "Yeah, like that's gonna happen!"
Mike shrugs, "I dunno – get a flatshare or something?"
John gives him a wide smile, "Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?"
Mike chuckles while John looks at him with confusion.
"What?" John raised a brow.
Mike gives him a mysterious smile, "Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."
"Who was the first?"
Next thing John knew he found himself walking in one of the labs in St. Barts limping around the room, looking around at all the equipment. I spotted a mysterious dark man glancing at them.
"Well, bit different from my day."
Mike chuckles, "You've no idea!"
The mysterious man sits down and starts talking to Mike, "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."
Mike looks at him with confusion, "And what's wrong with the landline?"
"I prefer to text," the man uttered.
Mike shook his head, "Sorry, it's in my coat."
John fishes in his pocket and takes out his phone, "Er, here. Use mine."
The man looks surprised about the offer and gives him a small smile, "Oh. Thank you."
John glances briefly at Mike, who was standing up and walks towards John. Mike introduces him, "It's an old friend of mine, John Watson."
The mysterious man reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John frowns while Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock with confusion, "Sorry?"
"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John hesitates, and then looks across to Mike, confused, "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…?
Before John could finish a young women walks into the room with a cup of coffee in her hands and hands it to the mysterious man.
"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," He hands back John's phone as he looks closely at her as he takes the mug.
"What happened to the lipstick?"
Molly smiles awkwardly at him, "It wasn't working for me."
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," said the mysterious man as he turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.
"Oh… okay," said Molly looking disappointed and turns and heads back towards the door.
"How do you feel about the violin?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
The man starts typing on a laptop keyboard, "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?"
Before John could open his mouth to speak the man interrupts him, "Do you mind having a five year old around the place? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."
He throws a fake smile at John who was looking at him blankly then looks across to Mike, "Oh you… you told him about me?"
Mike shook his head, "Not a word."
John turns to Sherlock, "Then who said anything about flatmates?"
The man picks up his black coat and puts it on, "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."
"How did you know about Afghanistan?"
The man ignores the question, wraps his blue scarf around his neck and took out his phone to check it, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it."
"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."
"Is that it?" John raised a brow.
"Is that what?"
"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"
The man looks at him with confusion, "Problem?"
John smiles in disbelief, "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."
The man looks closely at him for a moment before speaking, "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through but leans back into the room, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. He gives John a wink then looks at Mike, "Afternoon."
Mike raises a finger in farewell then looks at John and smiles at him, "He's always like that."
The next day, John limps along the road and reaches the door marked 221B. He knocks on the door as Sherlock gets out of the black cab.
"Hello," Sherlock greeted.
John turns around, "Ah, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock smirk, "Sherlock, please."
The both shake hands.
John saw a face of a little girl next to Sherlock, when the girl notice he saw her she jerks and hides behind Sherlock.
"Problem Doctor Watson?" Sherlock raised a brow.
John points at the empty sidewalk, "A girl… there was a little girl behind you."
Sherlock steps away and looks at the little girl, "Oh, you mean her?"
The girl looks at John with shyness but also with curiosity. She was short but also thin. She had curly black hair, chocolate brown eyes, her skin was pale, and she was wearing a pink blouse underneath a Levi jacket and was also wearing a Levi skirt.
"John, this is my daughter Ophelia."
John looks at Sherlock with disbelief; he didn't think that Sherlock was a father figure type, but then again you can't judge a book by its cover. He looks down and smiles at the little girl, "Hello."
The girl smiles at him shyly, "Hello."
John looks up at the flat, "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentence to death in Florida. I was able to help out.
"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"
Sherlock smirks, "Oh no. I ensured it."
Ophelia giggles as the front door is opened by Mrs. Hudson, who opens her arms to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, hello."
Sherlock turns and walks into her arms hugging her briefly, and then steps back to have Mrs. Hudson look at Ophelia.
"My dear Ophelia!" said Mrs. Hudson as she knelt down and hug the little girl.
"You've grown the last time I saw you."
"I've grown 4 inches," said the little girl as she held out four of her fingers.
"You've grown 3 and half inches Ophelia," Sherlock reminds her.
Ophelia glares up at him, "But I'm still growing!"
Mrs. Hudson chuckles, "Yes you are, and you've become beautiful."
"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson," said Sherlock as he introduce the awkwardly doctor to Mrs. Hudson.
"Hello."
"How do?"
Mrs. Hudson gets up and gestures John inside, "Come in."
"Thank you."
"Shall we?" asked Sherlock.
Mrs. Hudson nods her head, "Yeah."
John, Sherlock, and Ophelia go inside as Mrs. Hudson closes the door.
"Daddy, I'm tired!" Ophelia complains.
"Ophelia, you just got out of a taxi."
Ophelia raise both of arms, "Carry me!"
Sherlock roll his eyes and carry the little girl on his arm, "Last time," he warns her as Ophelia nods her head with excitement. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs.
"Hurry up John!" Ophelia yells at him.
"I would if I could," John panted.
As John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. John follows him in and looks around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.
"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."
Sherlock place Ophelia down, "Yes. Yes, I think so. My thought precisely."
He looks around the flat happily, "So we went straight ahead and moved in."
"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out… oh."
John paused as he realized what Sherlock was saying."
"This is not rubbish," Ophelia raised her voice.
"I didn't mean that… So this is all …"
"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit," said Sherlock as he walks across the room picking up some pieces of paper and stabs it with a tool knife on the mantelpiece. John notices something else and uses his cane to point it, "That's a skull."
"Friend of mine. When I say friend…"
John could feel someone poking his legs and look down to see what was poking him. There was Ophelia who gesturing him to put his ears close to hers. He knelt down a little bit as she cover his ears with her hands and starts whispering at his ear, "I call him Billy."
John chuckles, "Really?"
Ophelia nods her head and left to pick up some toys from the ground.
Mrs. Hudson followed them in the room and picks up a cup and saucer as Sherlock takes off his coat and scarf.
"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."
John looks at her with confusion, "Of course we'll need two."
"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married one," she whispers.
"Do I have share bedroom with daddy?" Ophelia asked.
"No, you'll still be using your bedroom except John will be next door," Sherlock informs her.
"Don't you think you should get the bedroom next to your daughter?" John asked.
Sherlock shrugs, "I don't see a problem really John."
Mrs. Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock, "Oh Sherlock. The mess you've made. She goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up, John walks over to one of the two armchairs, plumps up a cushion on the chair and then drops heavily down into it.
"Are you solider John?" asked Ophelia as she cuddles her worn out teddy bear.
John nods his head, "I am, and I bet your father told you that."
Ophelia shook her head, "He didn't."
John raised a brow, "He didn't?"
Ophelia nods her head and went back playing with her teddy bear.
"Does it have a name?" John points at the teddy bear.
Ophelia nods her head, "He's name is Hamlet."
John raised a brow but nods at the same time, "Good name…"
Ophelia smiles at him, "Thank you."
"I looked you up on the internet last night," said John as Sherlock walks pass him.
Sherlock turns around, "Anything interesting?"
"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."
Sherlock smiles at him proudly, "What do you think?"
John frowns at him while Sherlock looks hurt.
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb, John points out.
"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."
John raised a brow, "How?"
Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading the newspaper, "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street, three exactly the same."
"Four," said Sherlock as he looks down at a car that just pull up and saw an older gentleman walking out of the car.
"Fourth?" Ophelia asks.
Sherlock nods his head, "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."
Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade trots up the stairs and comes into the living room.
"Hi Uncle Lestrade!" Ophelia greets him.
Lestrade gives her a quick smile, "Hello Ophelia, how are you dear?"
"Where?" Sherlock interrupts them.
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different," Sherlock informs him.
"You know how they never leave notes?"
"Yeah."
"This one did. Will you come?" asked Lestrade as if he was hoping Sherlock will say yes.
"Who's on forensics?"
"It's Anderson."
Sherlock roll his eyes, "Anderson won't work with me."
"Well, he won't be your assistant."
"I need an assistant," Sherlock hissed.
"Will you come?"
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."
"Thank you," said Lestrade as he waves at little Ophelia and hurries off down the stairs. Sherlock then leaps into the air and clench his fists with joy and stars spinning around the room happily, "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"
"It is?" Ophelia asked with excitement.
"No," said John and Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock picks up his scarf and coat he starts to put them on as he heads for the kitchen.
"Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need to take care of Ophelia and need some food."
"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper or babysitter."
"Something cold will do. John and Ophelia have a cup of tea, make yourselves at home. Don't wait up!"
Said Sherlock as he disappears from view.
Mrs. Hudson shook her head with disbelief, "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same, but you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll make you the cuppa. You rest your leg."
"Damn my leg!" John yells loudly which made both Mrs. Hudson and Ophelia jump.
"Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" he bashes his leg with his cane.
"I understand, dear; I've got a hip."
"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you."
"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."
"And some biscuits!" Ophelia adds.
John nods his head, "Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em."
"Not your housekeeper or babysitter!"
John has picked up the newspaper which Mrs. Hudson put them and starts reading about suicide. Before he could finish reading Sherlock interrupts him, "You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor."
John nods his head and gets to his feet, "Yes."
"Any good?"
"Very good."
"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."
"Mmm, yes."
"Bit of trouble too, I bet."
"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," John said quietly.
"Wanna see some more?"
"Oh God, yes," John says fervently.
Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John out of the room.
"Can I come?" Ophelia yells for them.
"No,"
"Yes," both Sherlock and John respond.
John looks at Sherlock with disbelief, "You're kidding right? She's what three or four… I don't know where you're taking me but the way you make it sound it I don't think she should come."
"I'm only 5!" Ophelia raise her voice as she cross her arms on her chest.
"John, Ophelia has been with me for three years. She knows what to expect. Put on your coat Ophelia!"
Ophelia jumps with excitement and grabs her leather jacket that was on the couch and puts it on.
"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, Ophelia and I will skip the tea. Off out."
"All three of you?" asked Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock turns and walks toward Mrs. Hudson, "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" said Sherlock as he kisses her cheek.
"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent or good for Ophelia," Mrs. Hudson gives him a weak mile.
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"