"Mister Wilson, if you would please continue with your story?" Holmes gestured to the w-wrinkled advertisement.
"Oh, yeh, right. Well, see this? "Attention Red 'Eads" it says. Caught my eye, because, well..." He tugged his hair with a self-deprecating smile. I reached for the paper, which he pushed over to me. It read,
"Attention, Red Heads! New openings in the Red Headed League-"
I looked up.
"Red Headed League? Like... A Cricket league?"
Holmes sighed again.
"Not as such. Perhaps, if you'd continue reading, you'll find out the answers to your questions."
"Oh, right. Sorry." I apologised and resumed.
"New openings in the Red Headed League. Earn 350 pounds a week doing practically nothing! Only true red headed men need apply..." below which there was the usual contact information. I looked up from the paper.
"Why would they want red heads only?"
Holmes smirked at my question.
"I don't believe it's that they wanted red heads. It's that they needed Mister Wilson, who happens to be a red head, away from his duties here on the grounds," he frowned. "Although I'm still not sure why, at the moment. But from what he has told me, he was definitely the target of a scam."
"I should think so!" huffed the groundskeeper. "I was making a nice bit of pocket change! Although, my 'and does 'urt a bit..."
"Yes... Quite. Writing letters for several hours every day does tend to do that." Holmes remarked as he stood.
"So you'll 'elp me find the blokes that cheated me?" Wilson asked, deflating slightly when Holmes merely shook his head.
"They hardly cheated you, Mister Wilson. You did receive payment for your services for... Eight weeks, I believe, if the date on this flyer is correct."
"Oh... So... You won't take my case, then?"
Holmes' eyes shone.
"I didn't say that, Mister Wilson." he flipped the collar of his coat up as he headed to the door. "In fact, I am most definitely taking your case."
"We're here." Octavia's voice pulled him from his memories. He looked out the window - they were in a parking garage for a rather high-end apartment complex. Sherlock reached for the seat belt, but stilled as she cleared her throat.
"Did you know that you stopped stuttering, like, ten minutes ago?"
Sherlock blinked. He had been so caught up in his reminiscence that he had almost allowed his cover to slip once again.
"I, uh... When I get n-nervous..." he scrabbled for some sort of explanation, only to have one given to him by his interrogator.
"Oh... Yeah. I know I can be pretty intimidating." She tucked a strand of her brown fringe behind her ear as she sighed.
"Well... Not physically. Obviously." She flapped her hand. "I mean, my personality can be a bit much for some people. The guy who worked with me before you transferred in only lasted three weeks before he quit."
Her eyes widened as she realised how that really didn't help her case at all.
"Not that I think you're... What I meant was... I'm straightforward and shit, but... I don't mean to freak you out. I get it if you're not totally comfortable around me - culture shock's gotta be tough, too. So, um... If you've got questions or whatever, you can just ask 'em."
"All r-right, then...Why do you drive such a small vehicle?" he asked, opening his door and unfolding his long legs from her compact vehicle. I've been looking for an excuse to stop that damned stuttering... He thought, before nearly bashing his head on the roof of the compact.
"Oh, hey, c'mon, Howard; don't be hatin' on my car!" She popped out of her side of the vehicle, her head in no danger whatsoever. "But to answer your question... It gets me where I need to go, it's not a gas guzzler, and it's cute." She shrugged and continued. "I'm gonna go find out where we're supposed to be - could you grab the kits from the trunk?"
She walked to the guard kiosk, pulling something from her pocket and showing it to the men stationed there.
Sherlock, having stretched his legs sufficiently, went to retrieve the kits as requested. He shook his head at her eclectic collection of 'fandom' bumper stickers she had plastered all over her vehicle and her kit:
'The Chameleon Circuit on my TARDIS makes you think that this is a car', 'Curiouser and Curiouser', 'I break for Hobbits', 'Expecto Patronum' and 'Criminalists are Superheroes in Labcoats' stickers he understood. (To a point.)
But there were quite a few he didn't recognise, such as 'Fus Roh Dah', 'I spend my summers at Camp Half-Blood', 'OBJECTION!', 'Pastaaaaaa!', 'Alchemy: it only costs you an arm and a leg', and so on. There were also a large amount of stickers depicting what he assumed were characters from Japanese television shows, judging by their large eyes and bright colours.
He filed all of these observations in the small room in his Mind Palace he had set aside for his new, temporary assistant and proceeded to join her as the security guard unlocked the gate to allow them access to the lift.
"So... You've really been to crime scenes before, right?" Octavia asked once the three of them had entered the lift and turned to face the elevator door.
"Yes, I really have." He was trying to control his excitement. It had been several weeks since he had 'died' - four weeks exactly, now that he thought about it. He hadn't really had anything to challenge his mind since leaving his brother's flat the day after his funeral. He needed a case.
"With him?"
Him..? Oh. Me. "Yes, but there weren't any bodies." He entered his Mind Palace and flipped through his memories of John's stories. He transferred the ones involving violent crimes to the box marked "Not for Howard", which already contained all the 'case files' John had published on his blog.
He blinked as he left his Mind Palace, amused that had visibly deflated at his words.
"I have been to crime scenes where bodies were involved, though. Just not-"
The elevator door dinged and opened, revealing a tanned man with greying hair. He was dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, and his tie was loosened around his neck. He noticed the security guard, checking his name tag and looking at the well-built man's face before nodding.
/ Office Worker / going down / moved in two weeks ago / recently divorced / no children / casual drinker / no relation to the deceased /
"Sorry, sir, but I'm going to have to ask that you take the stairs down to the garage," Octavia said, barring him from entering the lift. "Official Police business. And you're going to have to answer some questions at the guard station before you can leave." She shrugged in a sort of 'what can you do?' manner and pushed the 'Close Doors' button.
Author's Note:
Raise your hand if you're going to miss Howard's stutter. ;)
And the first person to name all of the fandoms referenced by Octavia's stickers gets a cameo as a police officer or apartment tenant.
