There were many things he had no clue about. He knew close to nothing about astronomy, literature, philosophy, he just had no desire to learn about it. There were a few things he knew very little about, such as politics (which was feeble at best), British law (however mostly practical), botany (but mainly of belladonna, opium, and poisons nothing of practical gardening), and geology(limited but all practical). Then there were the things he had extensive and accurate knowledge of. He had a great deal of knowledge about chemistry, anatomy, sensational novels (he knows many from the Victorian era and quite a number of newer realistic-fiction murder stories and novels), and playing the violin. There was just one thing he simply couldn't understand: other human being's emotions. He found it quite impossible to sympathize with someone, he didn't get why somebody would get upset over something he said, that in his opinion was perfectly reasonable, or how it could even remotely bother someone in the first place. Although he may be able to tell you exactly what your occupation is, how many dogs you have, if you haven't smoked your first cigarette today, or if you were off in a foreign country recently, he would undoubtedly be unable to tell a lick of your personality nor why it upset you (and still upsets you) so much that your cat passed away a year ago. My name is Dr. John Watson and this absolute sociopath is my colleague- my friend- Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

1. Noting the Problem

"Come now, John! Lestrade called, he wants us to come take a look."

"Let me grab my coat first!" I reply, groaning as I rose from my chair. I retrieved my coat and was right out the door behind Sherlock. He was putting on his favourite soft blue scarf as we left the flat and headed for the street.

We both already knew what the case was, because it'd been all over the news. A serial killer that leaves little notes on the doors or work desks of the people he intends to murder two night prior to the murder. The notes usually requests a response taped somewhere on the house at ten as a reply to the question asked on the note. So far these notes have said:

"I will pay you a visit in two nights, would you like me to bring you a slice of cake? If so then is chocolate cake all right? Leave me your answer at approx. 10pm tapped on your mailbox please. -S"

"I am coming to visit two nights from now, can we have tea? I'll bring the tea, do you prefer earl grey, or green tea? Leave your answer around 10pm taped below the window on the right side of your front door please -S"

"I'll see you in two nights, Would you play a game of chess with me over some coffee? Leave for me your answer at about 10pm on the right side of your house in the flowerbed, preferably tapped on the tallest sunflower -S"

Lestrade was waiting for us outside the house of the fourth victim. It was a suburban house on the outskirts of London, it looked small and inviting, but was now vacant. "Ah Sherlock, good to see you, I want you to meet someone," He began as we walked up to him

"I highly doubt whoever you introduce me to will spark any interest with me, Lestrade, you'd be wasting their time and breath."

"I'll let you decide that for yourself, she's a brilliant one she is," he turned and called out, "Hey, you there! Send me detective Trotter!"

A lovely petite young woman jogged into view. She looked a bit young, with a small pale round face, large eyes and rosy lips, dark brown ringlets framed her face. As she approached I noticed how much shorter she was than me. She was dressed in an oversized leather jacket and a plaid skirt with tights, boots and a back pack slung across one shoulder. As she rushed over her skirt and short jaw-length curls bounced and swayed making her seem like a first year high school student and not the full grown woman I would assume she is.

"Lestrade? You called me?" She had bright green eyes I noticed as she came up beside Lestrade. She made small gestures with her hands as she spoke in a Scottish accent, "I'll have you know, that, you can bet your coat and your boots that this 'ere murderer is most likely a shorter man or woman- although I am leanin' towards a man- with delicate hands, which applies to the reasoning behind the bruising pattern on the woman's arm, and the height where the note was placed," I liked they way she softly rolled her R's.

"Well I'm sure with Sherlock Holmes here assisting he should prove your assumption, right Holmes?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock and Miss Trotter's eyes followed. When she and Sherlock had caught each other's eye they examined each other but it seemed different. "By the way this is my best man, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

"Right..." Sherlock mumbled as his gaze swept over the tiny woman. He was undoubtedly deducing every tiny detail he could figure out about the girl.

Lestrade gave a swift, slightly forced smile then turned to Miss Trotter and said, "I know you're not the type to, but you wouldn't mind showing off a little for Mister Holmes here now would you?"

"Sure thing, don't see why not," then she really looked Sherlock up and down, studied him from his face down to his boots. "Can I see your hand?" Sherlock looked unamused but removed his glove and held out his hand which she took in her own much tinier hands, poked at his palm a bit and turned it over and back twice. "You sir, are probably a show off, but you show off using your brains though. A consulting detective as your job is an excellent choice, brain work and a chance to show off! I must admit you'd probably be an excellent actor if you we're not as developed in the mind area. But you also are quite stubborn at times, correct? Having set ways of doing certain things that you refuse to change unless proven wrong. You're also very graceful, but probably not overly friendly I suppose you don't have many friends do you?" Sherlock looked mildly surprised she was so spot on but not much.

"Obviously you've heard of me before Miss Trotter, so you must have known some things about me already, how about you tell us about my friend here, Doctor Watson?" One of Sherlocks hands rested on my shoulder, while the other gestured to me.

She smiled and said, "With pleasure Mister Holmes," before eyeing me up, whice made me feel more than a little uncomfortable. She also held out her petite hand and I gave her mine, which she examined in the same way she did Sherlock's. "You seem to be a strong type, very good at getting things done, you must be awfully bored when you've got nothing to keep you up and about, huh? You must love this field work, and you are a doctor which implies your previous occupation involved a lot of movement and hand work as well. You also seem to be fairly friendly. I'm also sure you must have times when you enjoy relaxing with a cake or biscuit and a cup of coffee or tea, but probably only if you had something else to keep you busy like reading, talking with company, or maybe watching something entertaining." I was shocked at how spot on she could be about some of the things she understood.

Sherlock gave me a small nudge and said quietly, "close your mouth, John, and remember what you said about staring." I straightened up, closing my mouth and looking down. Sherlock began to speak to her, "That display you just did was fairly impressive would you like me to say something about you?"

She gave him a bright smile and said "I'd love to hear that!"

Sherlock gave her a superior glance before stating "You're from Scotland, I'm guessing somewhere near Edinburgh judging by your accent. You arrived in London not too long ago based on the fact those appear to be your casual clothes and not the kind of clothes you wear to work, not to mention your hair is flatter in the back because the curls in the back were pressed flat against the seat on the train for the approximately four and a half hour train ride-" He began in a higher voice probably to represent hers "But Mister Holmes! How do you know that?- I will tell you how I know because, you have a backpack on, presumably with your personal items such as electronics or books, that don't go in luggage, because you used them on the train, and kept the bag by your feet. If you had driven here yourself you would not have a backpack but rather most likely a purse because those items would be in the car, and all you would need on you is things like your mobile phone and maybe your lipstick. Seeing as how you still are wearing it and it still looks fairly full implies Lestrade or one of the other officers must have taken you straight here from the train and you left your luggage in their car. That also in turn explains why you have not gotten the chance to notice your flattened curls and fluff them back up because you haven't gotten to the hotel yet to have a look in the mirror or change your clothes into work appropriate items. Is that sufficient?"

Miss Trotter looked impressed but then stated "But you've said nothing about me. Sure you may have been able to backtrack where I'm from and my morning but answer me this. Who is Jean Trotter and what is she like? How would you describe her personality, and what should I expect when I talk to her?"

Sherlock looked dumbfounded. "How do you expect me to know that just by looking at you?"

"How did I know you were a stubborn show off just by looking at you?" She retorted.

It was the first time I'd seen Sherlock appear so surprised and knocked off his pedestal. I mean I'm sure he had it coming since he acts so high and mighty all the time, but bloody hell, this girl who's about half his size just knocked the wind out of him with three questions he couldn't answer to save his life.

AN: This will be a short-ish series, that will be updated as I finish the sections of it