1. Introduction.
"Detective Donovan, this is Sherlock Holmes."
Sally Donovan automatically puts out her hand, but the well-heeled though too thin and sickly-looking young man openly ignores it, keeping his own hands clasped behind his back, and instead taking a moment to examine her critically with steely grey-blue eyes, and she feels for that moment as if he can, impossibly, read and know everything about her just with this one look, which is uncomfortable to consider, and she bristles at both the attention and the snub, so she casts a questioning gaze back at Lestrade, who tells her, "I'll be taking him to the scene."
Sally gapes, "And he's a civilian? But we can't-" And Holmes is already walking away.
"He knows his stuff. You'll see. It'll be on me, alright?" He reassures, and is already jogging after the young man before she can reply. "Sherlock! You have to stay with me, you know!"
When she catches up with them the dark haired man is leaning closely over the body, smelling it. And he's not even wearing a forensic suit, but has only removed his long coat and put on a pair of gloves, which he's using now to actually touch the victim- picking up a hand and examining the fingers closely.
Seeing her look of outrage at the already innumerable breaches in protocol, DI Lestrade cuts her off before she can speak with a placating hand up,
"Just... give him a minute. Let him work."
"And does my professional opinion not matter at all?"
"It does, its just-"
Their 'guest' stands up and sniffs in derision. "This woman died of natural causes. Why have you wasted-?"
Sally laughs mirthlessly, gesturing at the victim, "Do you not see the bleeding head?"
"She hit her head when she fell. Its clearly not what killed her." He won't even deign to look at her as he speaks, but is circling the room, taking everything in.
"Clearly?"
"As clear as the fact you've just moved out of your fiance- no, just a boyfriend's- apartment, where you lived" He pauses only a half second, "2 years? And on the market again already, I see," with an amused glance at her freshly manicured fingernails. "Yes, it is."
"Just where the hell do you-?"
"Sherlock-" Lestrade cuts in with a warning look to each of them. "How was she killed, if it wasn't murder?" He's got his notebook out, ready to take notes. This whole charade is an insult, Sally considers.
"Do I have to do everything for you?" With the mien of a put-upon child.
"Don't get smart, Sherlock."
He smirks. "Diabetic Ketoacidosis. Coma, then death. Easy enough to deduce if you're paying attention."
Sally crosses her arms across her chest and returns her own smirk. This is where this pretender is put in his place. "Well that's where you're wrong. We have her medical history. No diabetes."
Without hesitation, words coming almost too rapidly to process, "She was undiagnosed. Recent weight loss despite a diet of junk food, chronic dry mouth, smells of fruit." He looks at either of them pointedly, as if they should understand, and shakes his head in clear disappointment when they clearly do not. "Nearly a third of people who die of ketoacidosis have no known history of diabetes."
Sally appeals to Lestrade, this cannot be tolerated, "What is he even doing here?"
Lestrade looks almost sheepish, "I asked him to come take a look. As a consultant."
"Since when do we hire consultants? What are his credentials? You do realize if-" She's pushed too far, Lestrade is her superior and he puts all his authority into his next statement-
"Since now." End of argument. Holmes has retrieved his coat and is fixing his scarf. "Listen, he's not exactly a people person, I'll admit, but, he knows his stuff. Its strictly off books."
She gapes, "So he's not even getting paid? What's in it for him, hmm?" She raises her voice to address the next bit to Sherlock, who is flipping up his collar for show, "What are you, some kind of freak? Get off on this sort of thing? You don't belong here."
Sherlock merely looks at her and, turning to Lestrade, "Call me when you've got something that won't bore me." He walks briskly away, comfortably passing through the police tape meant to keep the obviously disturbed hangers on like himself out.
Lestrade only shrugs apologetically at Sally.