Sometimes John wondered where Sherlock got his money. He didn't get paid by the police and he quite often refused to take the money offered to him by the people he helped. John suspected Sherlock might have some kind of trust fund. After all, judging by Mycroft, the Holmes family could be a rich one. But it was so impossible to get anything out of Sherlock on the matter, or any matter really. If their roles were reversed, John had no doubt Sherlock would've figured it out within minutes.

"Home again, dear?" Mrs. Hudson came towards John.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson," he answered. Why did he just say thank you?

She touched his arm in a loving gesture before leaving for the kitchen. John smiled at himself as he remembered all the times Mrs. Hudson had exclaimed she wasn't their housekeeper, while in fact she was much more like their mother.

"I do feel like I should warn you, he seems to be in a mood," Mrs. Hudson said as she returned from the kitchen carrying two teacups.

"When isn't he," John said under his breath as he followed Mrs. Hudson up the stairs. By now John had gotten used to it and considered any day he didn't come home to a Sherlock shooting the wall, a good day.

"Here you are, dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she placed one of the teacups on a small side table and handed John the other one. They both looked at Sherlock - who was standing by the window - waiting for him to say something. He did not.

John let out a small sigh and said, "Thank you Mrs. Hudson." She smiled at him, glanced at Sherlock and then left the room.

"You could at least…," John started to say, but then got distracted by what Sherlock was wearing. "Is that my jacket?" he asked. John was wearing his brown, suede jacket and he was fairly sure Sherlock was wearing his black jacket.

"Hmm?" Sherlock barely glanced at John. "Yes, I tried a shirt first, but it was too big."

The coat seemed to be too big as well, but that wasn't what John was trying to figure out. He cleared his throat. "Why are you wearing my jacket?" he asked.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock answered. "A new disguise I want to try out."

"Consisting of… my jacket?"

"Yes!" Sherlock said, turning on the bal of his foot to face John. To John it seemed like a rather useless disguise. Because this just looked like Sherlock. In a jacket.

John nodded, "Right," he said. "Can I have it back now?"

Sherlock looked genuinely perplexed. "You're already wearing a jacket," he answered.

John let out an aggravated breath. "True, but…"

"And I have yet to test my disguise."

John looked at him sheepishly. "Test it?"

"Yes, you didn't think I was testing it on you?"

John shook his head while trying to think of a reply when Sherlock's phone made a buzzing sound.

Please call me.

Lestrade

Sherlock glanced at the screen, smirked and then put the phone away. "Well I'm off to St. Bart's," he said.

"Er…," John tried to gage the situation, "do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Sherlock said brightly, "I want you to go to the police station."

"What?" The sheepish look returned to John's face.

"Lestrade has a case for me."

"And you think I can pass for Sherlock Holmes?" John asked dryly.

"Why not? You did once," Sherlock said, a smirk flashing across his face. John thought back to the case of the blind banker, he had only just finished his blog entry about it, and now he wondered if Sherlock had read it. "I want you to pick up the file."

"The file?" John asked. "Is there a file?"

"There always is," Sherlock said, "I just usually don't use it."

"And now?"

"And now I can't come in person, so I'm sending you to pick up the file. I would ask you to just bring me the data, but you seem to always fail to notice the important facts."

John clenched his jaw, trying to accept Sherlock just was always like this. "Fine," he finally said.

St. Bart's was one of the few hospitals that had managed to keep mint green away from most of their walls. Sherlock had several theories about why they had done this, but was too bored with the subject to pursue it seriously.

It was true that over the past five years Sherlock had spend quite a bit of time here, but still there were only a few people he had spoken to in that time. However, he was fairly sure most employees would have a pretty good idea of what he looked like, so they should be able to spot him. Therefore, this was a very good place to test his disguise.

John, though a good man, was not a very insightful man and had failed to identify what made this disguise a disguise. It wasn't just the fact that this slightly too big coat hid Sherlock's distinguishable, angular figure. Or that is was very different from his own coat, and therefore changed the first impression people would have of him. It was the fabric of the jacket, the fact that it was obviously inexpensive and worn quite a bit. The dozen or so pockets it had would indicate someone with a need for them, or someone practical. It were things any one would pick up on. And based on that, subconsciously half a dozen conclusions would be reached about the person wearing this coat.

And from there it would be fairly easy to manipulate people into believing he was any number of things, all Sherlock would have to do was change his way of walking, the way he used his voice, little ticks, body language any one would pick up on. Even people who had seen him in here before would be able to mistake him for someone else.

What John always failed to realise, was that it were the smallest things that were the most important. With the smallest changes in his posture and manner, Sherlock would easily pass for the relative of a recently deceased person. Or a intern on his first day. A doctor who had only recently passed his final tests…

And by the end of the day Sherlock had passed for all of them. He was just about to try one last character when he ran into the one person he wouldn't be able to fool. Molly. Sherlock turned to leave, not feeling the need to be bored, but she had already spotted him. "I didn't know you were here today," she said. Shyly smiling at Sherlock.

Bored, Sherlock thought to himself. Forgetting to answer Molly. Making Molly look at the floor and glancing up shyly.

"You're here for the foot, I think?" she asked in an unsure voice.

"Foot?" Sherlock asked, slightly more intrigued now, but still not hoping for too much.

"Yes," Molly answered, feeling encouraged by the change in Sherlock's manner. She smiled at him again. "Inspector Lestrade said you might be coming by to look at it… I think he might still be here."

Sherlock smiled, something new, he thought to himself. Molly, seeing the smile on Sherlock's face thought, maybe he does like me.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said as Molly let Sherlock into the room. The room was mainly made up out of shining metal. Shining metal square doors, hiding shining metal trays with bodies on them, and one shining metal table, with one severed foot on it.

"You could at least have texted me back," Lestrade said aggravated.

"I thought I would just stumble in," Sherlock said, already devoting all his attention to the foot.

Lestrade half opened his mouth to say something else, but then he noticed something about Sherlock. "What are you wearing?" he asked.

"John's coat," Sherlock answered simply.

"Sharing wardrobes now?" Lestrade asked mockingly. Molly's face fell.

"Do you know who the foot belongs too?" Sherlock asked. His face was hovering just above the severed foot, and Molly imagined seeing him sniff it. Sherlock's eyes were tracing every inch of it.

Rich, went through Sherlock's mind.

"Of course we do!" Lestrade exclaimed. "For God's sake, if you're not even going to read the file, why did you ask for it?"

Sherlock smirked, imagining John sitting in their apartment with the file. "Keeping John busy," he said. "Now will you explain?"

Lestrade took in a deep, measured breath. Five years of having to deal with this man had left him with an unimaginable amount of self control, but it still took so much of him every time he had to bite his tongue around Sherlock Holmes.

"Rosa Windibank-Darvill, that's who the foot belonged to. We haven't found the rest of her."

"And she had been reported missing?"

"Yes, by her daughter, a week ago."

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade. "Now tell me why you asked me for this case." He straightened himself.

"Because I'm desperate," Lestrade said under his breath. "The mother disappeared just weeks after the daughter's fiancé had vanished as well. There are no obvious signs the two are related, but…"

"But obviously they must be," Sherlock said. Lestrade could hear Sherlock was becoming impatient and he knew he had to hurry up with saying something that would make Sherlock interested in taking the case - and from experience he knew he didn't have long.

"The fiancé had stood her up at the altar and was unreachable after…"

"Dull," Sherlock said. He turned around to leave.

"Then you know what happened?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock let out a deep breath. "Two people disappearing, the older one with quite a bit of money and the younger one leaving his fiancée, the older one turning up dead, and the younger one disappearing? Of course I know what happened," Sherlock rattled it off as if it was just nothing more than cold data to him. Parts of a machine moving in predictable ways.

"Wait a minute, I never said she had any…"

"Money? It's obvious, isn't it?"

Lestrade looked at Molly, than back at Sherlock. "From a foot?" he asked. After all the foot was the only thing of this case Sherlock had seen, so he had to have figured it out by that - somehow.

Sherlock nodded once.

"I don't see how you…" Lestrade started saying.

Sherlock turned from Lestrade. "Oh god," he said under his breath. Slowly, he took a step back, so he was now standing parallel to the bodiless foot.

Pointing at the foot he started to rattle off his findings, "On the second to last toe you can clearly see an indentation of a toe ring, the swelling of the foot makes it clear it was found in the water, yet there is no discolouration - that a cheap toe ring would have left - around the indentation, indicating the ring was made from precious metal, silver or gold," Sherlock moved around the table with the foot on it, locking eyes with Lestrade to make sure he was paying attention. Sherlock bended over the table, moving his face closer to the foot.

"Same thing with the indentation around the ankle. Most likely the swelling of the water caused the ankle chain to cut into the flesh leaving that indentation and once again no discolouration, therefore once again, precious metal." Sherlock straightened himself, once again locking eyes with Lestrade. "It's winter, not the best time to show off foot jewellery, that meant she wasn't showing off her two pieces of expensive jewellery, she just liked wearing it, even at the risk of damaging it. Obviously this wasn't something very precious to her, despite its monetary value. Meaning money probably came easy to her. That, combined with the pedicure - once again in winter, not to show at the beach then - would suggest someone with money. Then when you mentioned the fiancé of the daughter also disappearing it was confirmed. Fiancé of the daughter, therefore probably quite a bit younger than the mother than. Most likely he went after the mother for her money." Sherlock only paused long enough to take a breath. "Therefore, dull." He said and turned to leave. "Arrest the fiancé," Sherlock called back over his shoulder. Still looking perplexed, Lestrade turned to Molly, who was still staring at Sherlock's disappearing form.