Sherlock and John left the bank. They were heading to Van Coon's flat. A woman was walking quickly in front of them. When she got closer to them both she looked at her phone. Sherlock didn't bother to move, as the lady bumped his shoulder, apologised and hurried away. Just a few second later, she went back to them both, who were waiting for a taxi to show up, and called: "Mr. Holmes, I believe you dropped this."
She was holding John's phone, smiling as if she knew something they don't. Sherlock immediately realize how did she manage to snatch John's phone, yet he couldn't understand who she was.
"Who are you?" asked John, surprised. Unlike Sherlock, he did not manage to understand how she got to his phone.
"That's not a very good question, isn't it?" She said, obviously provoking Sherlock.
"Excuse me?" Asked John, as he glanced over to Sherlock, who was just staring at her with his eyes surveying her, trying to learn as much as possible on her.
"Well, for a couple who answers questions for living, you don't ask the proper questions."
A taxi went by, but Sherlock didn't want to go to Van Coon's place now. All he could think of is who's that mysterious girl who's under the impression she's better than them.
"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, half asking half testing her to see what she will say about his question.
She sighed. "Not the best option, but that'll do. And as a matter of fact, I want to help."
Sherlock smiled a smile full of contempt. He looked up, as if he's to laugh, and then looked at her again, still half smiling. All of the mystery the girl seemed to have now disappeared, and all the detective saw was an idiot girl who thinks she's smart.
"You want to help us."
"Ah, Nr. Holmes, being that judgmental is so beneath you." She said. "I need a volunteer – Dr. John, you'll do. You're a military doctor, served in either Afghanistan or Iraq. You used to limp, but it was psychosomatic, obviously, and I suppose Mr. Holmes here had thought of a way to make you stop. You had strawberry jelly this morning, and your favourite color is blue."
Sherlock wasn't impressed, but he was curious. Curious because the first part of her words was exactly what he said to John when they first met. He knew she did it on purpose, yet somehow he also knew that she had never heard him saying it in any way.
"Wha – How could you possibly know that?!" John was shocked, clearly over the last statement. He also seemed a bit annoyed that there's someone besides his flat mate that cam see so easily through him.
"Mr. Holmes's scarf is dark blue." She said with an amused smile. Sherlock's eyebrows lifted in surprise, as John looked confused, as if he'd never thought of the reason why he likes the colour.
"Well, I've heard enough." Sherlock said impatiently. He went to the road and lifted his hand, calling the taxi that was getting near. Only it did not stop for him, and neither did the next two. Sherlock took his arm down and looked up angrily, and as another taxi came by he lifted his hand again and shouted "taxi!", yet once more it ignored him. Just as it reached them without stopping, the lady whistled loudly. The taxi immediately slowed down and stopped just a few paces away. Both men looked at her, clearly surprised, as she went to the cab and entered it, leaving the door open.
"Are you coming, Mr. Holmes?" she called them. John was a bit offended that she only referred to Sherlock, yet he knew he's the one to make the call whether to get in the cab or not. The detective hesitated for a moment, and then walked to the cab. The doctor followed him, and entered it before him. Sherlock entered after him, shutting the door closed and gave the cabbie the address.
"I'm not impressed. Just so you know." Sherlock said, clearly trying to make her change her mind.
"I don't need you to be impressed, I need you to be interested." Both Sherlock and John noticed the way she used the word "need". Yet only Sherlock noticed the way she said the word "impressed" in contempt, and the way she said the word "interested" in a more mysterious tone, as if she desired to make him that way. And of course he was interested.
After a few moments of an awkward silence, John asked: "So how old are you?"
"Twenty ni-"
"Thirty two." interrupted Sherlock.
Both looked at him surprised.
"How do you –"
"Women always lie about their age."
John looked at her, but she just shrugged, as if it's obvious he's right.
"So where are we heading?" she asked without looked at either of them.