Part 3

"Twice in one day!"

"Will you stop?"

We had finally finished working at Scotland Yard. We were all a bit hungry (well, Waston and I were hungry), so we stopped by a restaurant and picked up something to eat. Unfortunately, ever since we had made final confirmation of my rifle skills, Sherlock had been pouting about how he had gotten a few details wrong. It was nearly ruining my dinner.

"Twice!"

"So you got a few things wrong. The point it that we know the truth and she's one step closer to regaining her memory. Besides, being wrong confirms that you're human."

I tried to stifle my big laugh but I ended up inhaling my food. I started coughing, awkwardly. John gave me a couple of pats on the back, trying to help me. Sherlock, on the other hand, wasn't very happy that I had started laughing at his expense. He decided to leave rather than be laughed at.

Oh, well. At least John and I could finish our dinner in peace.

"How long have you been his roommate?"

"A little less than a month."

"And you're still sane?"

John gave out a laugh and said, "Yes, well. Sane enough to keep doing my job."

"Where do you work?"

"Well, technically, I work part time at a medical clinic."

"What do you mean 'technically'?"

"I mean that's the job that actually pays."

"And you have another part time job that doesn't pay?"

"Yeah… working with him." I knew he meant Sherlock.

"Oh, yeah. Speaking of him, what exactly does he do? Private detective?"

"'Consulting detective'. It's a job he made up. Any time the police are stumped on a case, they call him and ask him for help. You've seen first hand what he can do."

"Oh. So… I guess that makes you the 'Consulting Pathologist'?"

John gave a laugh at the title. "I prefer simply being call a doctor."

We both gave a little laugh a moment of silence fell.

"How did you meet him in the first place?"

He gave a laugh again. "It's a long story."

"I got time."

He sighed and said, "Alright. I just got back from Afghanistan about two months ago. I was living in a flat on my own, and I had a therapist who was trying to help my cope with my psychosomatic limp."

Confused, I looked under the table. John did walk like he had a limp. He didn't treat his foot gingerly. He didn't have a cane. I looked at him and he understood my unasked question.

"I'll got to that. It's part of the story. Anyway, I was talking to an old friend who told my that I should get a flatmate. When I asked him who would want to be flatmates with me, he said that he had been asked that same question earlier that day."

"Sherlock."

"Yes. We were introduced and he did the same to me that he did to you. Knew practically everything about me from one look."

"And you still moved in with him?"

Another laugh. "We were just going to look at the flat but he got called in by Lastrade that day. There had been a murder and he asked me to go with him to look at the body. After that… well, come complicated things happened and… here we are."

"I thought you said that the limp would be part of the story."

"Oh, right. Well, we sitting in a restaurant, trying to stake out the killer. A suspect got into a taxi and we started running after him. We had run a good few blocks there and back to the apartment before I had realized that I had left my cane at the restaurant we were eating at."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You mean…"

He nodded.

"Color me surprised."

"Don't worry. There's more stories where that came from."

…

"Shall I hail you taxi?"

We had just walked out of the restaurant and we were going our separate ways.

"No thanks, John. I'll think I'll walk home. I have a lot to think about."

"I'll walk with you then."

"That's okay, John. I'm alright. You go on home. I'm sure you've had a long day."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Good night."

"Good night."

With that, I turned away from John and started walking down the sidewalk.

I had gotten a good few blocks where I started noticing something. Phones were ringing off the hook. Every time I walked by a phone it rang. When someone else about to pick up, they'd stop ringing. What was going on?

It happened again, right as I was calling an empty telephone both. I stopped and stared for a moment. Then, I went inside and picked up the phone, but I didn't say a greeting. I just listened.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" I turned my head slowly to see the camera that the male voice was talking about. "Do you see it, Miss Cavendish?"

"… Yes."

"Watch."

Suddenly the camera started turning and pointed across the street. "There is another camera across the street. Do you see it?"

"… Mm."

"Finally, there is a camera at the top of the building on your right." Sure enough.

By then, I was shaken enough. I dropped the phone, letting it hang from it's cord and dangle. I ran out of the booth and sprinted down the sidewalk, weaving my way in and out of people. I came to an alley way and made a sharp turn down it. I worked my way through a maze of alley ways, try to loose or confuse whoever was watching me

I was coming to the end of an alley way when a large, black, shiny car pulled up, blocking my way out.

When I turned to run back to where I had come from, there was a large African American man in a trench coat behind me, point a gun at me.

I put my hands up and started backing away from the man towards the car.

"Get into the car, Miss Cavendish."

I didn't want to. I didn't want my nightmare man to find me.