Analysis

"Was there really not much about the dead body?" John asked as he and Sherlock took a seat in the corner of a small café in central London. Sherlock, taking off his scarf and coat sat down opposite John, letting out a loud sigh. He remained silent as he examined the salt and pepper pots sitting on the table. John sighed before picking up the menu.

Night had fallen and Sherlock insisted that the two of them should go out for a 'date' at the café after a leaflet advertising it was posted through their letter box. Sherlock had remained silent about the case after leaving Camden Town.

"It's a murder," Sherlock eventually said. "A blow to the head. She was walking home alone after a night out, hence the dress, overly-done make-up and high heels. Someone had pushed her to the ground by the ankles. She has bruises circling round her ankles. And by the look of the rip in her dress and grazed legs, she was dragged down the alleyway, therefore due to her bloody, broken and dirty nails, she tried to scrabble away. There is dried blood on the wall and a dent in the side of her head. The murderer smacked her dead against the wall, killing her instantly."

John nodded as he shifted in his seat. Sherlock, who was leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table, watched John intently.

"The girl was only seventeen. Judging by the puppy fat round her waist and her not-yet developed face."

"Seventeen?" John spluttered. "Would her parents know about this?"

"She's been dead for over 24 hours and the police haven't had any phone calls about a missing daughter. Her parents have split. Her mother running away to live up north leaving her to live with her father who beats her."

"And you knew this because?"

Sherlock didn't respond as he leaned back in the seat.

The black waitress approached them and asked for their order. John ordered black coffee for both of them and Sherlock demanded for a basket of bread to share. Once the waitress was gone, John turned to face Sherlock.

"Now what?" He asked as Sherlock pressed his fingers to his lips in deep thought. John raised his eyebrows, expecting an answer from Sherlock but he knew he wouldn't receive one. "We can't keep this from Lestrade. You've been told enough times that you shouldn't go off on your own without consulting the police." John wasn't intending to tell Sherlock what to do, nor was he condescending him. He knew that Sherlock knows better but sometimes his stubborn attitude can get the better of him.

"That's why I play the role as a consulting detective." Sherlock said indifferently.

"A role that you created yourself."

"And how many times have they in the police department doubted my assumptions?"

John paused a minute before nodding. It was true. In some cases the police didn't like to believe Sherlock's analysis until the very moment when the criminal was caught.

"Coffee for two." The black waitress said as she placed two mugs of coffee on their table as well as their basket of bread. As the waitress left, Sherlock looked at another waitress who was wiping down a table not far from theirs. Once he had caught her eye, she flushed and quickly hid her face behind her long auburn hair. Sherlock watched her as she tried to gain her composure again as she picked up a pile of dirty plates and scuttled through the double doors at the back. Sherlock then turned to the mug of coffee that was sat on the table in front of him while John tucked into the bread and jam.

Sherlock sniffed. "I like this café," He said. "We should come here again soon."

It was the evening and once June had finished her nine-hour long shift, she used the time to walk out of the café. She had a thumping headache and a brisk walk through the cool night in London would be a good way to clear her mind. Zipping up her black leather jacket, June quickly ran across the road and walked along the embankment.

The conversation she over-heard between the two young men in the café earlier that day was ringing her in head. One of them declaring their role as a consulting detective and then talking about the murder of a young girl. It had intrigued her and she couldn't help but listen in. Until one of them caught her listening.

June found herself walking back into the heart of London towards the local gym and sports centre. It was still open during the evening and both men and women were walking in and out of the front doors. June watched the ones that she had passed as she walked in. The reception seemed rather busy with people as she squeezed past to get to through one of the double doors round the side. The doors lead to an alleyway which seemed a lot quieter than the reception but there were still people walking past. The brick-walled hallway past the swimming pool and changing rooms and eventually led to a staircase going down. June paused at the top of the stairs, a smile growing on her face as she saw the sign on the wall saying 'ARCHERY'. Quickly, she skipped down the staircase and followed where the hallway took her. Eventually she reached another set of double doors which led her into a large hall. At one end was a line of targets lines up side-by-side; the other side were lockers, benches and pinned to the wall were bows. The hall was empty as archery wasn't a particularly popular sport for most people late in the evening.

June walked across the hall, taking in her surrounding and headed for the wall which held the bows. Slotting a two pound coin into the machine on the wall, June managed to easily remove the bow off its hook and admire the craft work of the bow. She then took off the elbow patches off the wall and fastened them round her elbows.

There were ten targets in total and about forty feet in front of each target were holders containing five arrows. June approached the arrows and gingerly removed on from its container. It was a metal arrow, just like the bow which June was not particularly fond of. A metal bow and arrow tended to decrease the flexibility of the hold and June wasn't used to the tough texture of it, not like her wooden bow and arrow she hid in her apartment above the café.

With the arrow attached to the bow, June held it in position and aimed at the target, a little above the red circle in the centre. She breathed in and out heavily as she steadied her grip on the bow. After making sure that she was happy with her aim, she pulled the arrow back further and released. The arrow shot through the air and hit the target.

Bulls-eye.

June relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief as she smiled to herself. It was the first arrow she shot for a long time and June was satisfied that her aim and archery skills were still as strong as it was when her father taught her as a young girl.

June picked up another arrow and moved onto the next target. Shooting, she got another bulls-eye followed by another and another. June's confidence and pleasure of doing her childhood favourite sport again increased as each target she hit was a bulls-eye.

Once she had reached the last target, June took her time, determined to hit ten targets in a row. She slowly pulled back the arrow, breathing in and out heavily as she steadied her grip.

"You have a good aim." A male's voice came from behind.

June, startled, quickly released the arrow which hit the outer ring of the target. Frustrated, she turned around. Sat on one of the benches was a slim man with long, dark brown hair which was swished to one side. He was wearing a black business suit with a stripy tie of an awful colour. June narrowed her eyes and dropped the bow down by her side.

"I've never seen someone with as much skill as that," He stood up and started to walk towards her. "I'm impressed."

"It takes a lot of practice." June said clearly although she felt somewhat embarrassed and angry that a) this man had been watching her and b) he messed up her last shot.

The man stuck out his arm. "The name's Steven White."

June hesitated before taking his hand but she did not shake it. Just merely looked at it. Steven chuckled and shook her hand firmly.

"Sorry." June apologised, shaking her head. "I'm not brilliant at this whole greeting new people thing."

"I guessed that. And you are?"

"June Lawrence."

There was a moments silence as Steven let go of her hand and smiled broadly. June, who felt somewhat uncomfortable, crossed her arms over her chest.

"And you were watching me because?" She questioned.

"Well," Steven started as he dug his hands in his trouser pockets. "Not many people come down here this late at night to shoot some arrows."

"It's a habit of mine," June quickly said. "I prefer it quiet."

Steven raised an eyebrow and June nervously looked at the double doors on the other side of the hall.

"Tell me," Steven said. "Why does a young girl like you wish to hide her talent away? I haven't seen anyone that good at archery in a long while," The corners of his lips curled upwards. "You should be proud."

Flattered, June relaxed a little in Steven's presence. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"I'm really not as talented as you're making me out to be."

"Oh don't be so modest. You are and there's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart."
June bit at her lower cheek but found herself smiling. No one other than her father told her that her archery skills were good.

"Sorry, who are you again?" June asked.

"White. Steven White. Human resource manager of this gym," Steven gestured the ceiling of the hall with his hand. "I've been working here for the past six years."

June nodded and glanced at her wristwatch. "Well it was lovely to meet you Mr White but I'd best be off." June took a step forward but Steven took her hand.

"No, call me Steven, please." He said.

June smiled a little as she managed to shake his hand. Before she left, Steven handed her his business card.

"If you're in any trouble, June, I'm only a phone call away. And this hall is open for your use at all times."

June felt his eyes on her as she left the hall. But without hesitation, she threw his card into the nearest bin. She still couldn't trust anyone.