Sherlock blinked. "What?"
"I believe I was speaking English."
"You- you- she can't- tell her, John!" Sherlock gestured towards Astrid, obviously flustered.
John blinked. "Um... I- I think I want to stay out of this one, if you don't mind."
Sherlock shook his head. "No. No, no, absolutely not. Good day." He started to shut the door, but she stuck her foot in the crack.
She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "You- you don't understand. I had to spend months trying to convince my parents to let me go, and I still had to use my own savings to buy a plane ticket. I hardly have any money left, no where to stay, and I can't get home until the end of the summer. And I don't think anyone would hire a strange American girl, and- and-" She turned her face away as Sherlock opened the door back up. Then she sat down, her back towards the detective. Her shoulders were shaking.
John rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sherlock. At least give her a chance."
Sherlock sighed. "Fine. You can come in and-"
Astrid perked up immediately. She jumped to her feet and gave Sherlock a hug. "Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret it, I promise!"
Sherlock peeled her off of him and walked into the living room, Astrid and John close behind. He gestured towards the room. "Alright, if you think you're worthy enough to be an intern to me, show me what you've got. Look around this room and tell me everything you can deduct about me."
She nodded, then took in her surroundings. Hm. After a few minutes of pacing and poking around, she began.
"You don't read very often, for starters, unless you've read them all and are bored of them (likely). You get bored often and can't think of anything to do until someone hands you a case. You hardly ever carry a gun, (unlike Dr. Watson here) although you know very well how to use one (You haven't used yours in about a week, I'd say). You have your own laptop, but usually don't use it. You do, however, use John's (can I call you John?). You usually can't be bothered about getting dressed unless you have somewhere to be, and you use the kitchen (much to John and Mrs. Hudson's dismay) as a lab of sorts; often leaving your experiments for John to find, such as a decapitated head in the fridge. And you're single and have no intention of ever dating or (God forbid) getting married."
John stared slack-jawed at Astrid while Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Explain."
She took a deep breath. "Well... First of all, the books. You have large shelves full of them, but the dust on their binding is pretty thick."
"Yes..."
"The carpet isn't vacuumed very often, and you can see evidences of quite a bit of pacing. Also, the couch is well-worn as if you've had it a long time or you shift around a lot, both of which are most likely true."
"Go on..." Sherlock prodded.
"John's coat hanging over there has an impression on the pocket that looks a lot like the outline of a gun, however yours does not. And there are bullet-holes in the wall that John would never make, therefore it was you. The gun is lying on the ground, half-slid under the couch with a fine layer of dust on it. Also, the holes in the wall are not just a smiley-face, but a spray-painted smiley-face that you shot afterwards. This shows good aim at the least."
"The laptop?"
"The hinge on yours is pretty stiff, unlike John's. Also, I know you have a website that you update often, so you usually use his."
"And the clothes?"
"You're wearing a bathrobe."
"Oh?" Sherlock looked down. "So I am. Continue."
"There is evidence of at least a few acid-burned holes on the kitchen table, not to mention the test tubes just sitting there."
"And the girl thing?"
Astrid smiled. "Well... You just are one of those men that looks like a bachelor."
John cracked a smile at that while Sherlock thought. "Just a moment." He walked out of the room.
John turned to Astrid. "That was... amazing." She blushed. "Except... How did you know about the severed head?"
She smiled mischievously. "I read your blog. Don't tell Sherlock!"
Holmes walked back into the room, a grimace on his face. "I- I suppose-" He sighed. "Welcome to Baker Street."
Astrid squealed and jumped up and down. "Thank you! You don't know what this means to me! I- I-" She couldn't finish her sentence, because she then promptly fainted from excitement.