The police force really wasn't as easy to manipulate as they used to be. They would put up with a few shouts of "murder" and have a few looks, but if the caller had nothing to do with the case, they ignored the hints and tended to get fed up very quickly. There was a point where it just had to stop.

Sherlock would have been the very best detective out there if he had wanted to actually be a detective. He didn't much like being under someone's control. He called himself a consulting detective, and he tried his best to point the police in the right direction, but when he found that he had no home for lack of money, the seventh arrest was his last straw.

He tried to shove his way into the police force as a detective, but they took this as threatening with how violent, loud, and downright childish Sherlock was being about it. He was nearly arrested again.

Sherlock actually began looking in the wanted section for non-official cases. When he didn't find any, he closed his eyes and jabbed at the paper, deciding to pick whatever it landed on. Repair man? He could do that. He heaved a sigh and dialed the number.

The next day, he found himself smooth talking the man interviewing him into giving him the job.

"It seems you've been arrested... seven times." The man looked up from the paper at Sherlock with a skeptical look on his face. Sherlock put on a complete look of innocence and annoyance.

"Yes, well... I was only trying to help, you see? They didn't see it that way, obviously.. You know how the police can be. It doesn't help, I suppose, that I'm just this lanky and pale. It's discrimination."

Sherlock shook his head, looking right into the eyes of the man with his piercing gaze set on droopy-mode. The man grimaced, a hint of sympathy on his face. Sherlock could tell he'd witnessed or been a part of such discrimination before, even if Sherlock knew that wasn't what the police had been doing.

He got the job with ease. However, he was given a uniform. Sherlock glared at it as he walked to his locker, noting the hesitance of the other men in the room. It was easy to tell the last man was either a menace, or just plain scary to work with. He was fine with them keeping their distance.

He heaved another sigh, thinking of modifications he could make to his uniform without getting fired. As he shoved on a tank-top, he noted someone standing just out of view in the room.

"Yes?" Sherlock looked up, waiting. The man started and stepped forward into Sherlock's view.

"Ah, uhm... New guy, the boss says you're to be on this." The man handed Sherlock a paper report. One "John Watson" had some sort of problem with his dish washer.

Sherlock reached the address... eventually. He took his sweet time. He knocked on the door quickly and loudly, looking utterly bored.

A man with short, blond hair answered the door. He looked incredibly tired and very annoyed.

"Hello," Sherlock said, pointing to the tag on his shirt clarifying that he was the Repair Man he had called for. The man, John, looked at him in disbelief and shook his head slightly.

"Hello? Hello- I've been waiting for seven hours, you do realize? I had to skip work, I..." John sighed and moved out of the door way. "Well, come in, then."

Sherlock looked at him with interest. John had clearly been annoyed, but had tossed it aside and immediately looked completely calm and fine again.

"What's the problem with the washer, then?" Sherlock asked in a bored drawl as John led him to the kitchen. John stopped in front of the washer and shrugged, putting his hands on his hips and looking at it.

"That's why I called. I quite honestly don't know. It was working fine last night."

"Well, if you had thought to ask your brother to rinse his dishes beforehand, this might have been avoided. Or it could have been the fact that he kicked it last night in a drunken rage when he found out his… No, when he left his wife and she called merely to argue with him, but what do I know?" Sherlock muttered as he looked at the dishwasher. He opened it, almost feeling the silence in the air.

"That... Was amazing. Incredible. How did you…" John trailed off, staring at Sherlock. Sherlock stared at the dishwasher for a second, and then looked up at John.

"You think so?"

"Yes, of course! That was…" John gave a breathy chuckle, moving his hands around in a slightly comical way that made Sherlock smirk. They made eye contact and John frowned slightly. "Do people normally not say that, or... was I... Wrong in saying that, somehow?"

"No to both," Sherlock said, looking up at John with an odd expression. "What did I get wrong?" John looked at him for a second, moving around quite comically again and causing Sherlock to get rather antsy, waiting for the answer.

"Huh?"

"I had to have been off somewhere, what was it?" Sherlock nearly snapped, but held down his tone. He was on a job, and he'd rather not get fired on his first run, especially considering arrest record. He had nearly been kicked out of his flat as it was.

"Oh, ah, it was my sister." John scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. He clearly hadn't wanted to admit that Sherlock had been wrong. Sherlock looked him over for a split second. Interesting.

"Your... sister. There's ALWAYS something," Sherlock said, opening the dishwasher and getting to work. John watched silently for a minute, and the second he shifted slightly, Sherlock opened his mouth again. "Yes, water would be nice, thank you." He heard the breathy chuckle again as John went to pour a glass of water.