"Now, really, Stamford, who would want me for a flatmate?"
Joan Watson was a pale woman in her late twenties. Her eyebrows were thin and her plump lips were a natural pale pink color. She wore no makeup, her clothing was simple and practical and fit her medium-sized frame well. Most people would consider her unattractive, but those who looked closer saw that she held a subtle beauty.
She and her friend Mike Stamford were enjoying a quiet, getting-to-know-you-again meal. Mike had recently been employed by a medical school to teach medicine and Joan had just returned from an extensive trip to America and Scotland. They had both attended Saint Bartholomew's Medical School and had become fast friends, but had drifted apart when he became a doctor and she went into writing.
Upon her return to London, Joan began a search for a flat, but found that the royalties she earned from her published works were not enough to keep her head above water.
As much as she loved the old town, London was just too expensive for her budget and she was not exactly the best of roommates. Joan suffered from night terrors, mild paranoia, and bouts of laziness countered with times of Obsessive-Compulsive activeness.
The cafe that the two old friends were seated in was an old-fashioned one that was used mainly for tourists, chosen by Mike for its inexpensive, but tasty meals. It was crowded, but not so loud that the two people had to strain to hear one another.
They had discussed almost everything. From weather, to Mike's recent marriage to a wonderful woman, to writing, schools, doctors, and the recent news about a serial killer who had no pattern. Finally, they arrived at the topic of finances.
Mike and Joan had often asked the other's advice about certain monetary moves and investments and had, more often than not, been saved from financial disaster.
Smiling, Mike shook his head ironically, "You are the second person to say that to me today."
The first person to whom Stamford was referring was doing some research in the lab portion of Saint Bartholomew's hospital.
When the two friends entered the lab, a pungent, acidic smell greeted their noses. It was almost so strong that it brought tears to their eyes, but both were medical professionals and were used to smells like that.
The lab was small, but not so small that it would hinder those who came to study and examine. The walls were lined with shelves that held various lab equipment and medical machinery was scattered about the floor. In the middle of the room was a table that took up most of the space while leaving enough room to maneuver.
Seated at the table was a tall, thin man with scruffy, black hair that exaggerated his angular features. The man was wearing a casual business suit that suited his lean figure. He was examining something through a microscope and seemed engrossed in his work.
No sooner had the door closed than the man looked up at Stamford and asked to borrow his phone since his had no signal and was running out of battery.
Mike replied, "The land-line is perfectly fine."
"Yes," the thin man replied in a distracted way, "I prefer to text."
Mike shrugged apologetically, "Left mine downstairs."
"Here," Joan said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and checking to make sure it had a good signal before handing it to the thin man.
He thanked her and began to text, but not before sending a curious glance at Joan. The look gave Joan the impression that she was being scrutinized carefully, but it did not make her uncomfortable.
"This is Joan Watson, a good friend of mine," said Stamford by way of introduction.
The man handed Joan's phone back to her and went back to the microscope, "You have much family in Florida, Joan?"
"Just my aunt..." Joan froze when she realized that neither she nor Stamford had said anything about Florida. She stared at this strange man. How on earth did he know that?
"How do you like the violin?"
Joan cast a questioning glance at Mike who gave her an amused smile, but remained silent. She was so shocked that, "Sorry?" was all she could say.
The man continued, filling out a form while he did so, "When I think, I like to play the violin. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. I am prone to sudden bouts of excitability and am, at times, very... sulky." He took Joan's silence as a cue to go on, "Flatmates should know the worst about each other, don't you think?"
"Mike," Joan turned to her friend, "you didn't... say anything?"
He shook his head, clearly very impressed, "Not a syllable."
Turning to the black-haired man, Joan said, "How did you know about the flatmate thing, then?"
"I was just telling Stamford, here, that I was looking for a flatmate and that I am a really difficult person to find a flatmate for," as he spoke, the tall man put away his things and shrugged on his coat. "Here he is, not five hours later. Naturally, I assumed that you had a similar problem to mine."
Joan did not know what to say and the man plowed ahead, "I found a nice place in the middle of London. Two bedrooms, a bath, a kitchen and a sitting room. Between the two of us the rent should be affordable.
"Sorry, I've got to dash, I have a rather important meeting in less than half an hour."
He was halfway out the door when Joan called him back, "Wait." He stood halfway in the lab and halfway in the hallway, facing Joan and listening, "We just met. I know nothing about you, not even your name, and you know nothing about me and we are going to look at a flat that I don't know the address of?"
"I know that you recently came back to England from a prolonged stay in Florida. You have a brother who misses you, but you won't call him - probably because of his alcoholism... maybe because he just split up with his wife. You are suffering from a financial strain, your family is in Scotland and you won't go to them for help. Your psychiatrist thinks that your limp is psychosomatic - and I am afraid that is correct." He said the entire speech in one breath without sounding rushed as if he did that sort of thing all the time.
He smiled, "My name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Shall we meet at 7:00pm tonight?"
