I entered Sherlock Holmes's apartment the day after we arrived back from the Baskerville H.O.U.N.D case. He had asked to be alone the night before; 'time to think', he told me, and I didn't question it because I did not want to argue, not again, not after last time. I had slept around my latest dates house; Jenna, no Laura, or was it Sarah? Oh god I hate Sherlock when he's right and doesn't even know it. However Mrs Hudson told me he was in a rather good mood this morning as we wandered up the creaky stairs this morning.
'Why yes, he didn't even shoot the wall once' she told me in her oh so innocent way.
'That's good for Sherlock. Not exactly what I would call 'good' for a normal person, but for Sherlock' I replied as we reached the top of the stairs, his door was wide open, not something to be worried about. He says that he doesn't keep anything important in case it gets stolen, and if someone wanted to kill him they would have gotten it over with by now.
When I entered the room he was sat in his chair staring at the seat opposite, his blank eyes focused on some microscopic detail in leather of the wingback. 'Morning' I said to announce myself.
'Yes I know you are here' he replied quickly, 'I heard your taxi park outside'
'How did you know it was my Taxi?' I asked, sitting down at my laptop to check the ever growing blog.
'The sound it made when it squeaked indicates its weight, and after calculating the weight of a normal Cabby driver in London, the only access weight was that of the screech was yours' he smiled to himself.
'No' Mrs Hudson said frantically as she followed me into the room, 'he was looking out of the window when your taxi arrived'. Sherlock shot her a spiteful glance. 'What?' Mrs Hudson replied, 'It's not nice to lie'.
'So we are lying about our deductions now?' I questioned and Sherlock's eyes quickly glanced over to me for a second, then back to the leather wingback.
'You have been at Tina's' he began his deduction, 'the single strand of long, but not too long hair on your collar indicates a woman, and its colour, a dark auburn indicates the red head you have been fond of lately. The small amount of chalk residue on your shoe indicates that she lives in, or around the countryside, so you couldn't have met her in London, maybe on the train back last night. If so you move quickly, but I doubt that, probably some business contact you made ages ago. Now for your hair, slightly out of place with a little bit of grease, showing you slept the night somewhere unfamiliar. But your eyes seem alert so not somewhere uncomfortable and you definitely slept, so no sex for you. Normal people wouldn't consider you a couple but you obviously do' he paused for a moment, 'are you going to question my ability to deduce again?'
'Tina' I replied, pretending to ignore his deductions, 'that's her name'.
'You don't even listen to me do you?' he asked, sounding a little frustrated.
'Not really' I replied, scrolling down the open page in front of me.
'My talents are wasted on you' he returned to his cold, distant self.
'Yes they are' I refreshed the blog in front of me to see the views were increasing again. "We haven't had any new cases in a while. Nothing on the site and nothing from the police, everything is rather fine or you have solved every case handed to you".
"Probably the latter' He replied, not moving a single muscle but those around his mouth, 'I very much doubt everything is fine in London' he froze for a moment. 'Guess what John' he asked in his monochromatic voice.
'You're Bored?' I baited
His voice increased in volume and intensity, 'I'm bored' he threw his head back on his chair. 'I'm so bored in fact that I have worked out exactly where that chair was made and the age of the person who designed it. It's not an old chair, but the design of it is deliberately Victorian. The chair itself can't be more than three years old, the design is centuries older. Now for the age of the woman who designed it, yes it was a woman you can tell by the distinctly feminine design of the legs, symbolising the female reproductive organ, an unconscious design of a trapped feminist, probably because she was in a male dominated job and no one else would listen. Now for her age…' The doorbell buzzed though the flat and Sherlock lifted his head like a dog when its master has put their key in the door. 'A case' he announced excitedly.
'I'll set the chairs up' I quickly closed the laptop and grabbed two chairs from the kitchen/dining room and put them in front of the wingbacks; the usual placement of the chairs when interviewing a client.
'Sherlock' Mrs Hudson called up the stairs.
'Yes Mrs Hudson let him in' Sherlock cut the sweet old lady off in his excitement. He froze in place and thought, obviously about what he had just said because he quickly added 'sorry Mrs Hudson' before continuing.
'It's a nice man come about a case' she replied, the creaking floor boards indicated there was two of them, Mrs Hudson and the new client.
Sherlock and I quickly took our seats in the wingback chairs, which he angled just right so they faced the clients chairs. The seating was entirely aesthetic, something I convinced Sherlock we needed to do to make ourselves look more professional, he begrudgingly agreed in the end.
Mrs Hudson shuffled into the room and stood to the side to let the man in. He strode into the room with confidence, confidence I had only ever seen in Sherlock. He wore a long brown coat, not as nice as Sherlock's but good for the winter, black trousers and shirt. His hair was light brown and swept back into that classic yet rugged look, the look designed for use rather than look. His entire ensemble made him look older than he was, he looked around twenty seven at first glance, but under that hair and coat he was no older than twenty one. Of course my simple deductions would be nothing to Sherlock's ingenious background analysis on the dandruff on his shoulder.
'Morning' the man's voice was surprisingly melodic; it didn't suit his look in any way. 'I'm guessing I should take a seat here' he said taking one of the two dining chairs.
'Morning' I replied with a smile, 'so what brings you here?'
'Just to say hi' he answered with a warm smile.
'If you have nothing important to tell us then get out' Sherlock said, he had been unusually quite since the man walked in.
'Ah Mister Holmes it's nice to hear your voice been directed to me' he changed his direction to Sherlock, the smile stayed but his eyes became sharp, he had that vague look Sherlock got when he was deducing something. 'And don't worry Watson I was expecting this type of behaviour when I got here. There is no need to apologise'.
'How did you know I was going to apologise?' I asked bemused, I wasn't expecting to be read by anyone that wasn't Sherlock.
'It wouldn't be out of character for you' he smiled again but his eyes stayed the same. Something about him wanted me to trust him, he reminded me of Sherlock so much more than he should.
'You are clever aren't you' Sherlock broke his silence.
'You have no idea' the man answered, now his eyes smiled, no, they grinned. 'But I'm probably not as clever as the great Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective. Please sir, can you give me a demonstration of you legendary skill'.
Sherlock grinned 'you are trying to bait me' he pointed out.
'Yes I am' the man replied, 'but do you want to pass up the chance?'
Sherlock looked over to me, excitement was in his eyes and a smile crept across his face. He was like a child waiting for their parents' permission, and like a child it wouldn't matter what I say he would just do what he wants. 'Go ahead' giving him permission.
Sherlock turned back and he began his deduction with his monochromatic tone, 'your hair is pulled back is used to make you look older, if you wanted to look younger you would let it drop forward. Now it has a thin layer of grease showing that you haven't slept, or at haven't washed it recently, so you have been traveling for a long distance. If you live far away then you must be set up somewhere near here. The mud on your boots has an unusual colour to it, lighter than London mud, so you are from the south of England.
'Now to your coat, it's obviously expensive but designed to look old, you wear it because it makes you look older than you are. However its state shows that you don't care if it was expensive, you use it for function, but not enough to damage it as free will. There have been no corrections so it has never had to be fixed before. This tells me you look after it in some degree. Because you wear it to make you look older tells me one of two things; you don't like how old you look, or you want to hide yourself. Because of the dark colours of the rest of your cloths tells me it's the latter of the two. Something about your job or just your own insecurities you want to disappear. I'm going to guess you are twenty two years old and you just want to look older' the room went silent for a moment, 'am I correct'.
The client laughed a little, 'not even close'. Sherlock's face dropped, 'admittedly you did get a little right. You got that I have travelled lately, but not from down south. Actually I came from the north, after being in America. And I am twenty to be exact so that was close, the rest was just wrong. My coat was handed down to me, I wear it because I want to and it keeps me warm, nothing to do with me or my job. My hair is swept back because it keeps it out of my face when I work. But I do love the way you work'.
Sherlock looked annoyed, but only slightly, 'I can't be wrong. You are lying'.
The man kept his smile 'Yes I am. But not about your deductions, I am lying in the way I am dressed'.
Sherlock looked stunned, 'what do you mean lying about your attire?'
'Oh look at that Sherlock, so sure of himself, asking the questions' he replied. It was amazing watching the two obviously intelligent people testing their minds, like watching Sherlock and Moriarty with less threat of death.
'Just tell me or get out' I could hear Sherlock's anger now, subtle and cold but there.
'Alright then, I am here to help you' he replied, 'I dressed deliberately like this to throw you off. All of the little details have been chosen deliberately to test my skill'.
'Your skill?' Sherlock asked.
'Yes. There is a reason I hold the titles of world's greatest thief and Lord of deceit' the man sounded proud of himself.
'The Ghost' Sherlock whispered to himself, 'You are the Ghost?' he asked, he sounded bemused, not something I wanted to hear from Sherlock, the man always so sure of himself.
'Gabriel Penlock' the man announced, 'otherwise known as the Ghost'.
'Wait' I asked, bemused myself, 'what exactly is the Ghost?'
'A title' Gabriel replied, 'A title given to the world's greatest thief with a very unique skill. I am the man behind the name, and my unique skill is my ability to blend in, or out if I want to'.
'Yes, yes, yes' Sherlock interrupted 'but the Ghost is dead. He died years ago'.
'The Ghost didn't die' Gabriel corrected, 'I disappeared. I retired from my thieving lifestyle for something more relaxing'.
'And that might be' I prompted.
'It doesn't have a name; I guess you could call it a consulting thief' he smiled to Sherlock.
'There are too many professional consultants' Sherlock sat back in his chair sullenly.
'But why come out of hiding now?' I asked because Sherlock obviously wasn't going to.
'I want to help Sherlock catch Moriarty' he answered. When we stayed silent Gabriel continued, 'he's starting to annoy me. He's getting too big for himself. He thinks he can do anything'.
'What makes you think you'll be able to help?' Sherlock asked.
He smiled again; it gradually got less smug, 'I am the Ghost. Of course I know Moriarty; he tried to contact me a few years ago when he finally tracked me down. I rejected it instantly, but it was that he found me that caught my attention; no one had been able to do that. So I started keeping an eye on him. I know more information on him than anyone'.
'Why not just go to Mycroft?' I asked as Sherlock fell silent again, deep in thought.
'Mycroft has connections but not skill. He has the natural ability that he and Sherlock share, but he has been mollycoddled by his connections, he doesn't have to think anymore, he just has to ask. Sherlock on the other hand has nurtured his skill, honed it into what it is today. I need Sherlock'. Gabriel sat back and waited.
The room fell silent for a long time before Sherlock broke his concentration 'I'll do it'.