The Taxi roared along the London street, fast and furious. Melody sat between the boys as the streetlights flashed past the windows.
Sherlock flicked listlessly through items on his PDA. "Okay, you've got questions!"
John and Mel looked over at the man and nodded in silent agreement.
"Where are we going?" Melody inquired.
"Crime scene, next."
"Who are you? What do you do?" John asked.
"Ahh, the million pound question. Who exactly is Sherlock Holmes? Go on, Mr. Watson. What do you think?"
Sherlock gave her a curious glance as she spoke. Melody had certainly gotten to know him and his mannerisms during the time that he assisted in her father's case. He dared say they knew eachother better than anyone else.
He thought for only a moment on her statement, before John spoke.
"I'd say you were a private detective but --"
"But?"
"The police don't go to private detectives."
"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job." Sherlock explained.
"And quite proud of it at that." Mel chuckled quietly.
"What does that mean? Consulting Detective?" John said,trying to figure out the title.
"It means when the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me." Sherlock quipped.
"But the police don't consult --" John started before biting off the word. Sherlock looked sharply at him,as Melody took a sharp breath. "Amateurs." He finished.
Just the merest flash in Sherlock's eyes showed both of the people sitting with him: he didn't like that.
"Good thing he isn't an amateur then, eh?" Melody said decidedly.
"When I first met you yesterday I said, Afghanistan or Iraq? You seemed surprised." Sherlock said quickly.
"How did you know?" John said, suspicion laced in his tone.
"I didn't know. I saw. Tanned face, but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your haircut and the way you hold yourself says military - but your conversation as you entered the room says you trained at Barts. So - army doctor. Obvious!"
Melody was greatly enjoying watching him as his mind easily picked out details. She had learned a few things from him when they spent time together, and she was getting rather good at observing things the way he did.
"Your limp is 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 circumstances of the original injury were traumatising - wounded in action then." Sherlock continued.
"Wounded in action, a suntan. Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"You said I had a therapist." John added.
"You've got psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist." Sherlock concluded.
"Melody, would you like to take a swing at his brother? See what you can deduce. John, hand her your mobile phone if you would."
John hesitantly handed the woman his phone.
"Don't worry, John. I'll give it right back. Promise." She said, flipping the device around in her hands. After a few moments, she began speaking.
"Your phone is expensive. Email enabled, mp3 player, the lot. But you're looking for a flatshare, so you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then."
She looked up at Sherlock, who simply nodded for her to continue.
"There's scratches - not just one, but many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. I doubt the man beside me would treat his one luxury item like this, so there's been a previous owner." Melody said proudly. She looked again at Sherlock, who gave her a small smile.
"Well done, Miss Hudson. Now, John. Next bit's easy - you know it already."
"The engraving." John realized.
Melody once again flipped the phone over, this time, looking closer at the engraving.
'Harry Watson
From Clara
xxx'
"Harry Watson - clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father - this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live - unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to. So - brother it is." He deduced.
"Harry could be a girl's nickname, Sherlock." Melody reasoned.
"It's possible, but not likely." He decided. He looked at the phone in her lap and held out his hand. "May I?" He asked politely.
Mel nodded and handed it to him.
"Clara, who's Clara - three kisses says it's a romantic attachment, the expense of the phone says wife not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. It's a marriage in trouble then - six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he'd probably have kept the phone - people do, sentiment - but no, he wanted rid of it: he left her. He gave the phone to you - that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help - that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking-" John suddenly cut Sherlock off, mid-ramble.
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"
"Shot in the dark - good one though. The power connection. Tiny little scuff marks all round it- Melody mentioned them before. He plugs it in every night to recharge, but his hands are shaking."
"Never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them." Melody said, her voice wavering slightly.
Sherlock tossed the phone back to John, before placing a gentle hand on Mel's leg.
"There you go, you see? You were right." Sherlock said, looking at John.
"I was right? Right about what?"
"The police don't consult amateurs." Melody said, smiling gently at the blonde haired man.
Sherlock having made his point, was tapping away at his PDA with his free hand.
John stared at him, a little gobsmacked. "That was ... amazing."
Sherlock glanced at him - a little surprised, a little pleased. Honestly he wasn't used to that reaction - and wass really rather pleased by it.
"Do you think so?" He asked,genuinely perplexed.
"Well, of course it was. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary. The both of you."
"That's not what people usually say to me." Sherlock mused.
"What do they usually say?"
"Piss off."
The three of them shared a laugh as the cab pulled to a stop outside of the crime scene.
