Chapter 2: Sherlock Assesses
John did run the case by Sherlock, but not until later that evening. He'd found that he didn't want to share her with his friend so quickly and was putting off the inevitable time when they would meet. Little did he know that it was just his delay, and his restlessness during that day, that decided Sherlock that he would meet the young woman and not so much anything that he'd heard of the case. John texted her, as they'd agreed, and suggested a time the following afternoon. Her reply came quickly, making his heart race again, though her response was businesslike and with no personal comments - "A little 'x' would have nice," he muttered to himself wistfully.
John was looking forward to meeting her downstairs before bringing her up - one last chance to have her to himself before Sherlock took over all her attention and admiration, that - or she was so insulted by Sherlock that they never saw her again. He'd bothered to comb his hair and put on a clean shirt, which made him feel more uncomfortable and he nearly changed back again at the last moment. It had been quite a while since Sherlock had chased his last girlfriend away and he couldn't now remember what she was called - Sherlock's doing he knew as he'd (quite possibly deliberately) constantly mixed up their names.
As it turned out Mrs Hudson showed her up as their bell seemed not to be working. A small elfin face appeared at the door. She looked older than before, wearing a smart, fitted jacket and without the alice band in her hair. She looked as if she'd dressed to be businesslike, though her expression was one of childlike bewilderment until she surveyed the room, seemed to see something there that pleased her - perhaps she'd thought Sherlock wouldn't show and she'd be stuck with him again - and came in more confidently than John would have thought possible of her a moment before.
He stepped towards her, ever the gentleman, ready with a hand out to guide her to a chair. Before he could speak, the withering look she gave him, made him retreat more quickly than he'd just advanced. Sherlock, who had looked bored before this encounter, suddenly looked attentive, his eyes darting between them, resting on the young woman. John could almost hear him saying 'the game is on!' There was something about the young woman that even attracted the usually stoney Sherlock.
"When John said 'girl', I was rather expecting pig-tails," he said.
She half glanced in John's direction and then stopped, but not before he had spotted her narrow her eyes and purse up her lips.
She stepped forwards and held her hand out to Sherlock - when he didn't immediately take it she stepped a regimented step backwards and, looking amused rather than offended, giving her name and saying stiffly, "I shan't bother with rank and number as I've no doubt you will enjoy telling me rather than being handed anything on a plate." She all but saluted.
Sherlock slit his eyes slightly, but didn't take his gaze off her.
"You're older than you look. University age - undergraduate - not a genius ..." (she was smiling still and if anything looked more amused) "... but smart enough - orphan, though John told me that, so hardly counts, middle class family, home countries, Buckinghamshire or Berkshire, farming family but you didn't carry on at the farm, parents died tragically and together - mysterious circumstances - you haven't got over their death. You dance, on pointe, but not professionally, probably practice yoga - Vinyasa I'd say judging by your level of fitness. University course will be something that takes in your arty side but with a good dose of science, maths, computing ... uses your brains, but has a practical element too ... something fairly main stream but with opportunity for non-conformism ... not accountancy ... building work, but not civil engineering more like art and design with a purpose ... architecture most likely."
"Bravo! Spot on, I'm just about to start my final year at London Metropolitan - spot on with that anyway and I do dance of course - hence the odd way of walking ... there was nothing mysterious about my parents' death - painful to me, but not mysterious - car crash."
John had been totting it up in his head - "That would make you 21 this December?" he couldn't help asking. Not as bad as he'd feared, but still a huge age gap. He'd completely ignored what she'd said about her parents while calculating her age and swallowed uncomfortably as he realised his social faux pas. Her reply was slightly terce, but better than he'd expected given his lack of tact.
"Twenty-four," she said, something fascinating on the carpet prevented her from looking in his direction. "It's a 4 year course, not three, and I took two years out."
And suddenly twenty four seemed like the perfect age.
The rest of the interview was a rehash of what she had told him previously, but now slowed down, speeded up, abridged and extended by Sherlock's interruptions, comments and questions and odd looks that he gave periodically when nothing much of interested seemed to have been said.
Throughout the interview the young woman gave her full attention to Sherlock and seemed to forget John was there. It was a painful experience knowing that his friend's presence had wiped his own existence from her mind. He managed to contain his feelings as he always could in public and to take a back seat to allow his friend to work in the hope that she would at least find a solution to her problem.
Sherlock, however, came up with no easy answers nor even gave his own observations on the case at all. "Leave it with us, if any further packages arrive, or there are any other developments, then report them to Dr Watson." ... And that was that.
She seemed uncertain what to do at first, lost and smaller, like when he'd first encountered her outside their front door. Then she stood up, was about to raise her hand to shake hands goodbye, but thought better of it. And then the impish look came back to her face and she said "Well, maybe Dr Watson can see me to the door, or kiss me goodbye ... whatever I can get ... ah, though judging by his expression, I'm more likely to get shown the door - ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," and she was out and down the stairs before he could speak.
"Er, what on earth was that about?" John stammered as he could hear her retreating footsteps down the stairs. He'd found her tease painful. She'd obviously noticed his interest and decided to make fun of him and he'd found it rather hurtful given her obvious lack of interest in him.
Sherlock looked superior, but then, as he nearly always did, there was little change to notice. "And I thought that you were supposed to be the one who was good with people - obviously not when it comes to yourself then."
That Friday evening, Sherlock texted to meet at a favourite restaurant in China Town. I was surprised to find that she had also been invited, in fact already seated with Sherlock, laughing at something that he had obviously just said. She looked a little more sober when I sat down and started with the opening gambit: "So, Dr Watson, Sherlock was just telling me about the time he had you drugged and locked in a basement laboratory with the recording of a dog!"
... and that was so funny, how exactly!? Things were a little uncomfortable for a while then and Sherlock actually moved the discussion on to how we solved the case showing me in a slightly better light - though him in a very much better one of course. They carried on as they obviously had been before my arrival, like old friends, or lovers now stuck with a gooseberry, but making the most of it by heartily ignoring him.
Sherlock seemed to be enjoying discussing elements of his cases with her that even we hadn't gone into. I learnt more of his methods on even some of our more publicised cases that evening than I did at the time. Note to self: I shall have to revisit at least three or four of my more detailed write-ups on cases and rehash what I've recorded previously.
That was the evening he chose to explain his initial observations about her when she first came to our rooms. It was surprisingly flattering for someone being Sherlocked and she listened attentively with some amusement at the less flattering aspects.
Geographical location was simply accent apparently, though she could have come from anywhere in the South East as far as I'd have known. Farming was deduced from the old and scuffed Young Farmer's sticker on her bag that I hadn't even noticed - I looked later and it said Bucks Young Farmer's if you looked more closely - so much for accent analysis, Sherlock!
The dancing and yoga was down to the way that she moved and when he asked her to demonstrate her flexibility she got up from the table, flexed her legs a few times, took hold of her right foot and put her leg up over her head with her leg perfectly straight, before sitting down again. Luckily she was wearing a pretty version of Chinese peasant trousers or she'd not have managed it. Sherlock made some remark about how I, as a doctor, must appreciate the anatomical observations that led him to that conclusion ...
That he knew she hadn't got over her parents' deaths was apparently due to her wearing her mother's engagement ring on her right hand, her choice of car (her father's old BMW), and her mobile phone. The mobile was pink and flowery, and she'd said that girly very definitely wasn't her thing; knowledge I'd passed onto Sherlock in a moment of I don't know what. It was an old phone, which she carried in an inside pocket instead of one of her many bags - near to her heart as Sherlock said. Most likely bought for her by one or both parents when she was in her teens or previously belonging to her mother. Kept for sentimental reasons and not out of necessity as she enjoyed modern technology and certainly wasn't short of cash. His reasoning that this was exhibited by the MacBook Pro that she had recently purchased, which replaced a very up to date MacBook Air. This he knew due to the receipt for the newer machine left in the previously mentioned bag, which was for a MacBook that she was no longer using - and her expensive clothing, minimal but choice jewellery and recent manicure, which he believed to be a regular occurrence.
He didn't mention again how her parents had died, but then Sherlock doesn't like to admit when he's wrong.
Her choice of MacBooks apparently decided him on her degree course, amongst a few other minor observations that went over my head, and I really didn't get the logic of this either. Basically that she exhibited more of a mathematical mind in many of her choices but sufficient arty tendencies from the way she dressed and held herself. I'm not entirely sure about the depth of Sherlock's interest in her deportment, he seems to mention it rather a lot ...
I'd suspected from when first Sherlock suggested meeting for a meal that there were ulterior motives and some spectacular case would emerge with dangerous consequences all round - he does nothing solely for social reasons. When the evening went as near to a normal evening out with friends - or rather a date with a gooseberry on the side - as it is possible for him, however, I became rather suspicious of his motives. There was obviously something about the young woman and I wasn't sure that it was solely her intellect and interest in his work that attracted him.
Sherlock gave his usual acerbic reflexions of other people's motives and transparency - showing off. She found this both entertaining and fascinating and asked questions that would not have occurred to me that showed she understood his reasoning better than I ever had.
She laughed a lot. More than she ever did when it was the two of us alone and I didn't think it was anything to do with the wine which Sherlock had ordered as I never saw her drink more than the odd sip at any point in the evening and her glass was never once topped up. I however, was in a less sober state by the end of the meal and remember her offering to prop me up to get me out the door, to avoid a public incident.
She and Sherlock walked out in front of me, however, chatting excitedly about a new case as if I wasn't there. Any propping up was done by the odd door frame and table that I passed. I can't say that I was particularly proud of my conduct either then, nor the next headache-ridden morning when I bit Sherlock's head off with less than usual provocation.
