Joan fastened her mp3 player on her upper arm and hung the earbuds round her neck. "I'll be back in half an hour," she called to Sherlock from the hall.
"Mmn."
He was hunched in front of the rack of televisions in the back room, jabbing the remote control at them as if he could prod the screens into showing what he wanted.
"See you later then," called Joan with emphasis.
Sherlock leapt up. "Actually, could you fetch some more pop tarts? And popcorn, more popcorn. I crave items that pop." He jogged into the hall.
"You could get them yourself," Joan said mildly. "Now you've taken that first big step of getting up from your chair."
Sherlock flung his arms wide. "Six days and no case! I am looking for anomalies in the reported news, in the papers, the internet... Nothing. All, apparently, is well with the world."
He rolled his eyes. "I can't do it, Watson, I can't do it. I must have stimulation for my mind."
Before she could respond, the doorbell rang. Sherlock's eyes lit up. He darted into the front room, leaving Joan to answer the door.
Joan pursed her lips - no run this morning then - and pulled the door open.
A woman stood there, a quite beautiful young woman wearing a dark outfit which covered her except for her face. Her hair was hidden too by more of the same navy fabric as made her full length, long-sleeved dress. Her eyes were large and hazel and her skin a clear brown.
"Can I help you?" Joan asked her briskly. There was a gleaming black car purring at the kerb, she saw.
The girl gazed at her with contempt. "Is your master at home?"
"My what-?"
"Is Sherlock Holmes here?" She spoke clearly, with an Indian accent.
"Who shall I say wishes to see him?" Joan enquired acidly.
The girl stepped to one side, eyes to the ground, and Joan saw in her place a small, round woman in similar all-covering garb as the girl, but this of a rich brown and beige print, with gold thread woven through the pattern. Her golden skinned, puffy face was framed with gold lace, her headscarf fastened in place with bright gold pins set with sparkling stones. She had a white fur stole over her shoulders and carried a disturbingly similar fluffy white dog.
"I am Shabana Ibrahim, " said this woman with great drama. "I will speak to Sherlock Holmes. It is a private matter. Take me to him."
Joan held the door and merely pointed the way into the front room.
The two women swept in, and then Joan walked down the steps and away into the street. She was going for a run after all.