The boys and Ophelia sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and John keeps stealing nervous glances at him and Ophelia who is sitting between them looks at both of them waiting for one of them to speak. Finally Sherlock lowers his phone.

"Okay, you've got questions."

John gave him a quick nod, "Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?" John raised a brow.

Ophelia looks up at him and smiles, "What do you think?"

John starts to hesitate, "I'd say private detective ..."

"But?"

"... but the police don't go to private detectives," John points out.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job," said Sherlock with pride.

John looks at him with confusion, "What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me," he explains.

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Both Sherlock and Ophelia throws him a look which made John feel uncomfortable.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq."

"Okay than how did your daughter knew I was a soldier? She said you didn't tell her."

Sherlock nods his head, "She's right I haven't told her, I was testing her to see if she was doing her deductions right."

"I could tell you were soldier by your cane," said Ophelia as she smiles up at him.

"A lot of people who are not soldier carry a cane," John points out.

"You walk strong with a stern face," she points out.

"You said I had a therapist," John looks at Sherlock.

Sherlock roll his eyes, "You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock holds out his hand out, "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then."

John hands his phone to Sherlock as he turns it over and looks at it again as he talks, "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

The thing John knew Sherlock was pretties much talk about things he knew about John and they only met for a day. John sits there with amazement and finally says, "That ... was amazing."

Sherlock looks round, apparently so surprised that he can't even reply, "Do you think so?"

John looks at him with disbelief, "Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

Ophelia looks at John, "Piss off!"

Sherlock smiles briefly at John, who grins and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continue.

The cab has arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock, Ophelia, and John get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road, "Did I get anything wrong?"

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

Sherlock smiles "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet," John adds.

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, "Harry's your sister."

Both John and Ophelia walk pass him, "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!" Sherlock hissed.

John looks down at Ophelia as he points at Sherlock, "Is he always like that?"

Ophelia nods her head, "Yeah."

"And he's your biological father?" John raised a brow.

Ophelia nods her head again.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John raised his voice at Sherlock.

Sherlock walks towards them, "There's always something."

They approach the police tape where they are met by Sergeant Donovan, "Hello Freak."

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"We were invited," Sherlock sigh.

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock said sarcastically.

Donovan rolls her eyes, "Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

Sherlock lifts the tape and ducks underneath it, "Always, Sally. I even know you didn't make it home last night," said Sherlock as he breathes in through his nose.

"You brought her again?" asked Donovan as she points at Ophelia.

"Well I can't leave her alone can I?"

"How many times do we have to tell you? You can't bring a little child to a crime scene," Donovan snaps at him.

"I'm not little!" Ophelia snaps at her.

Donovan ignores her and looks at John, "Who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

Donovan looks at Sherlock with disbelief and scoffs, "A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!"

Donovan turns to John, "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."

Ophelia grab his hand, "No,"

Sherlock lifts the tape for him as John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth,"Freak and his daughter is here. Bringing them in."

She leads the boys and Ophelia towards the house. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as they approach. As they reach the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."

Anderson looks at him with distaste, "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Sherlock takes another deep breathe through his nose, "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

Anderson rolls his eyes, "Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

Anderson looks at him with confusion, "My deodorant?"

"It's for men," said Sherlock with a quirky expression his face.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan."

Anderson looks round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffs pointedly, "Ophelia I'm pretty sure you smelled it when we walked in." Sherlock looks down at Ophelia.

Ophelia nods her head, "Yeah."

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"

Anderson turns back and points at him angrily, "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."

Sherlock shook his head, "I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan stare at him in horror. He smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. John walks past Donovan, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then follows Sherlock inside.

Ophelia looks at John with confusion, "What did he mean by the state of her knees?"

John looks at her with embarrassment, "You're too young to know about it."

Ophelia pouts, "I'm not young."

John chuckles, "Ophelia, when you become my age you want to stay young forever."

Sherlock leads them into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items.

Sherlock turns to John, "You need to wear one of these."

Lestrade looks at John, "Who's this?"

"He's with me," said Sherlock as he takes off his gloves.

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with me," Sherlock hissed.

John looks down to see Ophelia who was struggling to put on the latex gloves, "Daddy, help me!"

Sherlock roll his eyes, "Ophelia, you don't have to wear one."

Ophelia glares at him, "I want to!"

Sherlock kneels down to the floor and helps Ophelia to put on the latex gloves, "You're five years old you should know how to put this on," he uttered with annoyance.

John could tell Ophelia was hurt by Sherlock comment but tries to pull a strong face.

"Sherlock, she's just a kid give her a break," said Lestrade as he pats Ophelia's shoulder.

"She's my daughter Lestrade you don't need to tell me what to do," Sherlock mutters.

Before Lestrade could argue Sherlock gets up from the ground, "So where are we?"

Lestrade picks up another pair of latex gloves, "Upstairs."