(John's pov)

I had no idea why I was doing this. I sat next to the strange man known as Sherlock Holmes in a taxi on our way to a crime scene whilst I continued to question my present actions. Today was proving to be more eventful than I'd ever imagined it would have been. First agreeing to move in with a complete stranger who seems to have even less sanity than me, then meeting yet another neighbour and now I was on my way to look at some dead body. But the events of today so far weren't the thoughts that fogged my brain. No, my mind was currently bursting with questions that only my mysterious new flatmate could answer. How could someone I've never met before know so much about me? Was it some kind of trick to impress me? Despite my doubts this all seemed too real to be a trick. My restlessness was apparently showing as within a minute of the taxi ride, Sherlock glanced sideways in my direction as he stated.

"Okay, you've got questions." How he could tell I didn't understand but nevertheless I didn't miss my chance. "Yeah, where are we going?" Sherlock's expression seemed to show signs of annoyance as if I was meant to know that already but he kept his tone the same. " A crime scene, next." I'd need to remember that he seems to have absolutely zero social skills later. I moved on to my next question keeping a quick pace, inhaling softly. "Who are you? What do you do?" He kept his eyes forward not bothering to look at me as he questioned. "What do you think?" I'd been puzzling over this for a while now so I went with my most possible guess. "I'd say...private detective-"

"But?" I paused for a few seconds and pursed my lips. "...the police don't go to private detectives." A smirk grew on Sherlock's lips seeming to be amused by my theory. "I'm a consulting detective, only one in the word. I invented the job." Frowning, I shifted in my sit to face him more directly and then pondered. "What does that mean?" Growing impatient he answered now looking out of the taxi window. "It means that when the police are out of there depth, which is always. They consult me." I couldn't help myself from almost laughing at the thought, surely he must be joking.

"The police don't consult amateurs." I scoffed looking at the man beside me. No longer interested in the view of London's streets Sherlock turned to look at me scornfully before giving me a sly smirk. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." I gave him my full interest and replied. "Yes, how did you know?" He corrected me instantly and I prepared myself for a rant which I wasn't wrong about. "I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's 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 original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq." My brow had furrowed as I listened to his reasoning trying to take it all in. "You said I had a therapist?"

"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist." I watched him intently as Sherlock brought out my phone and examined it as he went on. "Then there's your brother. Your phone—it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're looking for a flat-share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already." He then flipped the phone over to revel the engraving which read, Harry Watson — from Clara xxx. Puzzled I questioned, "The engraving?"

"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. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently; this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then—six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left , he would've kept it. 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 and 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." I interrupted him just as confused as before he started 'explaining' his knowledge about my life. "How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

Smirk still in place he concluded. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see? You were right." My eye brows shot up and I found myself completely dumbfounded again, "I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

(Catrina's pov)

After finally arriving at the address and exiting the taxi, I found myself being greeted by the blinding lights of police cars and ambulances along with the noisy mutters of passing pedestrians. Sighing heavily I dragged my heels towards the crime scene trying desperately to ignore the growing aches in my feet. I prayed that I wouldn't have blisters when I finally got to my flat but I knew that it was a pointless thing to do. Blisters at this point were inevitable. My day keeps getting better and better. I gazed down at the police tape which stretched all around the building, glanced around and then lifted it over my head. I was slightly surprised that none of the police officers noticed this or had tried to stop me. I rolled my eyes, despite all of this effort the police put in to 'mark off the area' they're security definitely needed some improvement. My heels clicked as I walked past the police cars which had five male officers surrounding them chatting amongst themselves. I'd pasted two of the officers without being noticed until a female's voice broke through the mix of male voices.

"Oi!" I turned my head. The scowling woman folded her arms and lifted a thin eyebrow. Height roughly 5ft 5 without her two inch heels, recovering smoker, has a string of frequent sexual interactions going by her lack of energy and the state of her knees (not to mention the obviously masculine scent to her deodorant), her make-up also wasn't disguising that she was in her late twenties. I felt myself smile when I looked at her bushy hair, she'd obviously attempted to flatten her locks as there were visible flat iron streaks all over the brown strands that didn't give her appearance justice. Her London accent was clear as a whistle and honestly quite annoying which didn't help my growing headache but I didn't want to be rude. I pursed my lips waiting for her to speak.

"What do you think your doing? Can't you read? This is a clearly marked off area so I'll ask you to kindly leave." No points for personality then. Deciding to drop my usual kind act, I scoffed loudly at the extremely rude woman as she glared at me and glanced at her through my long lashes with a blank expression. "Perhaps you should consider switching to trousers Sergeant, I hear they cover a wide variety of sins." Her face was priceless. Not even bothering to hear her most likely bad comeback, I turned on my heel and walked towards the crime scene but only to be blocked by another male with the same deodorant as the now pissed off woman.

"Hey, this is a crime scene if you can't see that so please-" Losing patience I shoved my shoulder into the ranting man, cutting him off from his speech as he tried to get his footing back. "Yes I can see that thank you. Now if you'll be so kind, get out of my way." Surprisingly not one of the other officers even tried to stop me from entering the building although their eyes followed me as I walked past them. I kept my head forward looking for one man in particular, my uncle. Scanning the faces around me I sighed finding him to be no where in sight, finding that the pain in my heels only caused each second to pass slower. Just as my hand reached into my jacket pocket to grab my mobile phone, I heard a familiar voice trying to catch his breath from behind me.

"Cat?" I turned around finding my uncle standing in the doorway with two other officers staring me down behind his back, my uncle sighed and dismissed them briefly explaining that I was meant to be here. He had taken notice that almost everyone had turned their attention to us so he took me aside and instantly smiled through his exhaustion. "I'm glad you're here but you know you shouldn't have just walked in like that. Its not taken very lightly especially with all the serial suicides going on." This didn't surprise me as I had noticed the highlights on the newspapers when I'd left my train earlier today. I shrugged with a smirk and plucked a stray hair from my uncles coat. "Maybe you should upgrade your security then eh Uncle Lessy? It was fairly easy to sneak past your officers...well apart from the loud mouth and the over confident blue suit." Uncles eyebrows raised and opened his mouth as if to say something but then quickly decided to stop himself. My eyes shifted to the door frame when suddenly a teenage male walked through with a camera in his hands. The expression on my face turned into a sour one. 'Photographer called in sick' my ass.

"Oh no, no, no. You promised me that you wouldn't make me do this again uncle! I don't want to be a part of this." Trying to storm past the exasperated man in front of me I was brought to a standstill when my arm was suddenly grabbed by the strong hand of my relative. His brown orbs bore into my green pools. No words were needed. I could see him pleading me to stay and help him with this case from his brown swirls but I was unwilling to soften which I reflected back in mine.

But the exhaustion had finally hit me like a tidal wave and I caved.

I sighed. "Alright..." Uncle's shoulders dropped in relief like a large weight had been washed from them as the words left my mouth. "But only this one time." A hand now in his pockets he nodded, gesturing upstairs he mentioned for me to follow him. "Right well come on then better get started before your colleague gets here."

My brow furrowed...colleague?

(Sherlock's pov)

"Hello freak." Sergeant Donovan announced as doctor Watson and I neared the restricted police tape. My eyes narrowed at the irritating woman momentarily taking mental notes about her appearance. There hadn't been much of a change this evening, nothing to make a comment on. Even though the bags under her eyes indicated a lack of sleep and her make-up was much more bold and smudged. I didn't bother to question it.

"I'm here to see detective inspector Lestrade." I stated since that apparently wasn't obvious to her. Sally, clearly not being satisfied with just that asked with a questioning gaze, "Why?" Slowly my head turned to look at the woman feeling my patience being tested as the seconds went by. Jaw clenched I kept my tone normal. "I was invited."

"Why." She continued to ask only this time her voice was bitter and cutting although that didn't affect my confidence nor my pride in the slightest. My neutral expression switched into a smug one and I wondered if this numb-skull excuse of an woman had any intelligence whatsoever. "I think he wants me to take a look." Once the words had left my mouth Sally's eyes grew wider with hate as she attempted to unnerve me with her cold gaze. Her voice laced with annoyance as she remarked. "Well you know what I think don't you?"

Lifting the tape over my head I answered, "Always Sally." Taking a step closer to the woman a sudden a scent filled my nostrils and I frowned making another observation to myself though my eyes searched Sally's. "You didn't make it home last night..." Shock glazed over her plain features and her mouth fell open, I took another glance at her appearance but actually looked this time causing my frown deepen. As doctor Watson came into her line of vision she put her arm out to stop him in his tracks if awoken from a trance.

"Uh who's this?" Hm a clear attempt to change the subject. Nonetheless I played along and glanced at the shorter man who leaned against his walking stick. "A colleague of mine. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan...an old friend" Sarcasm dripping from my tongue as the last words slipped through my teeth. The statement seemed to confuse Sally and she looked at me obviously thinking that I was joking. "A colleague?" Her lips grew into a smile as she eyed me up and down. "How did you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?" Sally's eyes darted from mine to John's finding the situation to be very funny indeed. John's expression was an uncomfortable one as he seemed to find the atmosphere tense.

"It might be better if I just wait in the-" I lifted the tape higher and cut him off. "No." As soon as his head was under the tape I let it slip from my fingers and followed Sally to the crime scene. I took notes on everything in sight, the pavement, the cars and even the gutters. Looking up I scowled when I saw another figure exiting the building. Anderson. Each step closer to the idiot made my blood boil more and more until the man stood in front of me. "Ahh Anderson. Here we are again."

"Its a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" I smirked. "Quite clear." Inhaling sharply finding a familiar but unpleasant scent filling my lungs, I swiftly interjected without care of the consequence. "Is your wife away for long?" Anderson rolled his eyes and straightened his posture. "Oh don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Oh well, well now it all made sense.

"Your deodorant told me that," I corrected him looking around the building in boredom. "My deodorant." My eyebrows raised at his stupidity and I openly mocked him. "It's for men." Anderson's frown grew deeper and he raised his voice slightly finding my words offending. "Well of course its for men. I'm wearing it." Glancing at the other party behind him I noted aloud, "So's Sergeant Donovan." The man wheeled around to look at the woman and I inhaled loud enough for him to hear. "Oof, I think it just vaporised. May I go in?" Panicking now Anderson turned to me with a stern expression and wiggled his index finger with a nervous twitch. "Now whatever you're trying to imply-"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over." I brushed past the pair and neared the entrance to the crime scene. "And I assume that she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees." I turned on my heel with a smirk before I caught Sally muttering to Anderson, "That woman noticed as well..." My smirk fell slightly.

'That woman?'

Author's Note - I'm sorry for the late update but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Was this chapter a bit chappy or is it just me? Let me know what you thought of it in the comments. Also, I will have scenes from the show to help the story flow better even when Catrina won't be included but feel free to skip those bits if it bores you. Remember to smile, see you!