"I need everything you've got on Lindsey Walters," Sherlock ordered, slamming a hand down on the desk in front of him with considerable force to make his urgency more obvious.

Lestrade did not look amused. He had lent back in his chair and had one eyebrow risen in, seemingly, disbelief at Sherlock's continued audacity at strolling into Scotland Yard and demanding things willy nilly, especially when they weren't even working on a case together.

"Who is Lindsey Walters?" Lestrade responded. Sherlock rolled his eyes in response.

"She's the case, do keep up. I need everything you know, and don't give me that look because I'm sure that you have her on file."

Lestrade tried to keep from narrowing his eyes at the other man, and very nearly failed. Sherlock could be the biggest pain in the neck when he wanted to be, but he was always useful when it came to the crunch. It was usually a good idea to keep on his good side, even if it was just for the future help.

"How're you so sure about that?" Lestrade questioned, knowing that he had probably given something or other away for the consulting detective to pick up on. Sherlcok raised his right eyebrow in disbelief and looked poised to go in for a full length rant. "Okay, don't get started… The name sounds familiar," Lestrade picked up the land line phone that was sitting on his desk and dialed in a number. "Donavon, do we have a 'Lindsey Walters' on file?" He asked into the phone. Lestrade was silent for a moment, only making some small humming sounds in response to whatever it was Donovan was saying. At one point it looked like he had to suppress a chuckle. Sherlock rolled his eyes. By this point he was used to their underhand jabs at his sanity and person, they were laughable most of the time and rarely irked him in the way that he imagined they would like them to.

"Well?" Sherlock asked, tapping his foot to show his impatience.

"Yeah we've got her on file, Donovan's bringing her up now. But what's this about a case? Do you need our help?" Lestrade asked cautiously.

Sherlock looked positively mortified at the thought. He didn't go to the police for help, they came to him for help. He was a consulting detective, not a detective that was ready to be consulted. "No, Lestrade, all I need from you is the files, and then we'll be on our way."

"On your way? You can't possibly think I'm letting you walk out of the building with them," Lestrade retorted.

"You've never objected in the past, I don't see why now would be any different," Sherlock deadpanned, almost as if he were egging the other man into a fight. Lestrade fidgeted in his seat for a moment, unsure of how to progress.

"No, fine, you're right. If it helps stop whatever it is you're stopping then fine. It's probably something important anyway."

Donovan chose that moment to enter the dress. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, taking her in. A modest black jumper covering what was probably a standard button up shirt. She was wearing trousers, and they didn't look like they were her own, probably held up by someone else's belt too. A hint of deodorant lingered as she walked past, shooting Sherlock and John a dirty look as she did so, and that was definitely not her own either. Sherlock didn't even try to hide the small smirk that had made its way onto her lips.

"Lindsey Walters, for the freak. Not that we should even be letting them see this stuff, it's classified," Donovan snarked, tossing the file onto Lestrade's deck. It was brown and unassuming, like all files at Scotland Yard where. But within it would hold a menagerie of wonderful secrets and titbits of information, all of which would let Sherlock get closer and closer to finding out who Lindsey Walters was. In all honesty, it probably wouldn't take him that long. The only reason that he wanted the police file was for her picture. She had been wearing a wig when she had visited the flat, it sat very slightly askew on the top of her head. No one would notice if they weren't paying close attention. He needed her real hair colour, the one that she would wear in a photo or on the way out to the shops. That would be the only way that the homeless network would be able to track her down. He'd have it done by morning.

"Thank you Lestrade," Sherlock stated pleasantly, taking the file and turning on his heel. John followed him out of the office, still not saying a word, but they could both hear Donovan yelling after them. Probably some semantics about confidentiality. Sherlock brushed it off with a swish of his cloak and a closed door, he'd stopped paying attention to her as soon as she'd placed the file on the table.

xXx

They sat at the table with the file between the two of them. It was sunny outside, the light lancing through the window and shining directly onto the file like it were a god given message to open it. John wasn't able to focus on the task at hand, however. He was hungry. He'd already ordered his tapas and now he was waiting for it, but that didn't stop the distraction from his stomach.

"You really don't eat on cases, do you?" John asked.

Sherlock allowed himself to look up from the front of the file, he had a small smile on his face, as if the very notion of eating on a case was amusing. "The digestion slows me down," Sherlock stated as way of explanation. John wasn't entirely sure how accurate that self diagnosis was, he was a doctor. Nothing had ever been said in his studies about digestion slowing down cognitive processes. If anything hunger would slow you down much more than digestion would. Before John could bring it up his food was brought along. All thoughts of Sherlock's unusual eating habits were replaced by the need to fulfil his own stomachs orders.

Sherlock opened the file. He had wanted to wait until John's food had arrived. As much as he liked the man that sat opposite him, he could be a distraction. Sometimes that was a good thing, hi distracting nature, that was why he kept the man around. But other times it could be hinderence, such as when he wanted to go through sensitive documents. The file had her picture at the very front of it, her name underneath it. Unlike the unassuming brunette hair that she had worn to the flat her real hair was a vibrant red. Sherlock allowed himself to smile at that. Blazing red hair and a penchant for odd footwear whilst wearing suits? She would be incredibly easy to pick out. Her brown eyes had flecks of a lighter hazel in them, something that he hadn't noticed when she had been sitting so far away from him in the flat. Her eyes looked old, older than the rest of her face. That made sense considering the way in which she had approached them.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and fired off a text to his homeless network, informing them of exactly what they should be looking out for. It wouldn't be long before they got results, the needy worked quickly when there was something to gain in the job for them, and they would be paid handsomly upon their return. Sherlock began to leaf through the file, doing nothing more than skim reading key words and phrases. It was impressive, her repotoire, and not too disimilar from his own. The only difference was that she had actually been on the force. Sherlock had no such ties. It was surprising that she hadn't been brought to his attention sooner.

"So," John said around a mouth full of tapas. "What does the file say?"

"Exactly what I expected it to," Sherlock replied shortly.

"And what does that mean?" John replied.

"It means, John, that we are many steps closer to finding the mysterious Lindsey Walters."

AN: Really hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know that it's kinda short, and that isn't the usual for Sherlock fics that plan to be lengthy, but with my A-Levels coming up I don't really have that much writing time that I can do my own thing with. Should all be over in three weeks, then I'll be able to dedicate much more time to the fic.