Just a touch too short
Not for the first time, John wished he was just a little bit taller. And that they'd stop putting the cheapest strand of multicolored lights on the top shelf. He tilted he head back trying to guess if he threw something if he could knock down the light box. However, there were other people around and that would make quite the commotion. Which he decidedly did not want to cause.
Why exactly his sister had sent him out to pick up her Christmas lights as beyond him. He wanted to sit in his sorry excuse for a flat and zone out to piss poor television for several hours.
He knew his best bet was probably to ask someone. Preferably a tall someone. He looked around. There was a young mother with her two kids and aisle down, but they were all shorter than he was. There was an elderly man with a walker, also no helpful. His eyes settled on a man who was currently testing a drill on some mystery metal he appeared to have brought into the hardware store.
He was tall. John noted the manic look in his eyes and the drill, and possibly crazy. Noting he was already late, John made his way over to the tall man with a mess of curly dark hair and blue great coat.
"Ah…excuse me…" John asked, standing a reasonable distance from the drill.
The man gave no inclination of having hear or seen John and was intensely focused on the drilling.
"Excuse me!" John repeated a bit louder, with half a step closer. Nothing.
"EXCUSE-" the drill cut off "..me."
"In your opinion, could I use this drill on bone? It's worked fairly well on cast iron, but would the bone splinter?" The man made eye contact with John, who fond himself taken aback by both the question and the ice blue silver of his eyes.
"I…?" John stammered.
"Never mind. If you're going to be useless, much like most physicians…" The man trailed off and set the drill down, turning as if to walk away.
"Wait!" John stepped alongside the man, "How'd you know I was a doctor?"
"An army doctor. And it's quite obvious."
"Obvious?"
"Yes," the man replied and walked over to where John had been looking at lights before. He plucked down the package of cheap multi colored lights and handed them to John, who had followed closely.
"Almost as obvious as why you came to speak to me in the first place."
John gaped at the man.
"Now doctor about the drill?"
John blinked rapidly, "I…imagine it would do fine, on the basis that you already used it to drill a hole in iron."
"Excellent."
The tall strange smiled widely and turned to leave.
"Hold on a minute," John said following behind him, "How'd you know about me being an army doctor?"
"The same way I know you looking for residence in the city."
John blinked expectantly.
The man sighed.
"You're tan, but not above the wrists. Time spent abroad but not sunbathing. When walking, you use a cane, evidently wounded, but not your leg, because when you stand you don't favor the leg, and hold yourself at military attention. Proving your limp is at least partially psychosomatic. When you approached, you kept a reasonable distance, as if I was a patient with psychiatric history, clearly because I was holding a drill. Yet, you spoke to me with obvious concern and gentleness. You are looking for residence because as a returnee from war, you are only provided with a small flat and pension for six months."
John's eyes widened, "That was amazing!"
The man leaned back, brow crinkled, "That's not what people usually say."
"What do people usually say?"
"Piss off."
John chuckles and the man can't help but smile.
"How did you know I wanted the lights?"
A faint blush tinged the man's face but dissipated quickly, "I noticed you staring up at them. Scowling."
John laughed again, "Who are you?"
The man didn't reply to that but said, "I play violin at all hours and conduct experiments regularly."
"I'm sorry," John asked, "what?"
"Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."
"We've only just met?" John was confused, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I don't even know your name."
The man in the coat grinned.
John stopped at the checkout line as the man turned around to face him, "The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."
Then the surreptitious fool winked and sauntered out the door with a swirl of his coat.
John looked at the lights in his hand and grinned.
