A Study In Skills
The Knowing
Walking through the park, Phoenix thought back on the past few months of her life; how she had tried to help a fallen comrade, only to end up being taken hostage by the enemy; how in the month or so that they had her prisoner, they had broken her beyond repair, forcing her to destroy a part of herself to survive; blinding light when her own side found her again, only to find a shadow of their former friend. Seeing the hurt in their eyes should have hurt her in turn, but she had felt nothing, knowing what was to follow.
She had been sent home to a stoic twin brother who offered her a hand to shake, which she took. They were both Skilled, and he knew what she had done as well as why. He had asked her what she wanted to do now she was back, and she had just replied with "nothing." He understood though, and had suggested that she stay in London for now, though she should get a place for herself, as he only had the one room for himself. That was how she found herself now; wondering the park, both exercising her sore leg, and thinking what to do about a flat; she would be kicked out of her one the next day.
As she passed a bench seating a rather large man, she heard her name being called.
"Nix? Nix Moss!"
She turned to see who it was calling her, and what they may want. She was approached by the large man who looked oddly familiar. He had a beige coat on, covering a white shirt and black trousers, though not covering the hideous green, yellow and red striped tie he had on.
"Stamford, Mike Stamford." He introduced himself. "We were at Bart's together."
As she remembered, she nodded slowly. "Yes, sorry, yes. Hello Mike." She said, offering him her hand to shake. "I didn't recognise you there for a second."
"Yeah, I got fat!" He said brightly. "I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" He didn't seem to notice the empty eyes that looked back at him. It made for a nice change.
She just looked at him carefully, raising a fine lined eyebrow slowly. "I got shot." She said, gaining a rather awkward look from Mike.
Sitting on the bench again, a cup of coffee each, they talked, having decided to catch up.
"Are you still at Bart's then?" She asked. Her and Mike had once been friends when they were at school together and they fell into an easy pattern.
"Yeah, teaching now. They're all bright, young thing's, like we used to be." Oddly enough, she couldn't ever remember being bright, always paranoid someone would find out her big secret. "God, I hate them!" They chuckled, though hers sounded hollow, the sound having been forced with a practised tongue. "What about you? You staying in London now?"
She shook her head. "No. I cant afford London on an army pension." Though she could easily fix that. She chose not to though, wanting to earn the money. Her mother had always said she was awkward. She remembered briefly missing her mother after she had died; not anymore. She frowned at the emptiness she felt.
Mike saw it as relating to the subject though. "And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the Nix I used to know."
"Maybe I've changed…" She said quietly.
"Couldn't Will help?" Asked mike, referring to her twin.
"No, he has his own problems at the moment." She replied not elaborating.
Mike heaved a sigh. "Flat share or something?"
She felt the ghost of a smile pull at her lips and found the sensation unfamiliar. "Come on." She said, turning to look at the man that used to be her friend a long time ago. "Who would have me as a flat mate?" Mike just chuckled, looking away as he did so. "What?"
"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today." The man explained.
An idea struck her then. "Who was the first?"
Sherlock glanced up as the two people walked into the lab.
He took in the sight of the short woman; long, wavy black hair fell down to her elbows, but tied back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, leaving her face free of the thick, dark locks. She had incredibly pale skin, contrasting brightly against the black of eyeliner and mascara, and the bright green of her eyes. She moved with a limp, though she had no trouble walking in the heeled boots she had on her feet, giving her an extra four inches in height. She looked toned under her black trousers and fitted black shirt that was showing through underneath her long, open, military styled coat, with a high collar and two strips of large, silver buttons, five on one side, seven on the other, two going up onto the collar. She held herself with a straight back, walking with a slight march to her step, taking in all of her surrounding with a single glance. Interesting, he thought, turning back to his work.
"Bit different from my day." She said, checking out the new room.
Mike just chuckled. "Oh, you've no idea."
"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Said the man at the desk.
Mike stepped forward. "And what's wrong with the landline?"
"I prefer to text." The new man said looking up at Mike. Phoenix caught the colour of his eyes, and her own widened slightly in realisation. She had met a few Skilled in her life, and every single one of them had something strange about the colour of their eyes; hers were a bright, bold green, her brothers were just as bright and bold, but stark blue. This mans had the same brightness, though they were more of a frosty blue. They were somehow softer than hers and Will's, but they held the same intense boldness.
She knew what he was.
"Sorry, it's in my coat." Said mike, not sounding sorry at all.
She took out her blackberry, holding it out to him. "Here, use mine."
He looked up to her and their eyes met in a bold stare off that lasted an infinite fraction of a moment. "Oh, thank you." He said finally, getting up and walking over to her.
"This is an old friend of mine, Phoenix Moss." Mike introduced her.
Taking the phone from her, he said, "Nice to meet another." They both knew what he meant, even if Mike didn't.
"Likewise." She replied, watching him carefully.
"Another?" Asked mike, not knowing what they were talking about.
"Person of intelligence." Replied Sherlock smoothly, not even missing a beat.
Just as Mike was about to reply, a brunette woman walked in holding a brown cup. As she passed Phoenix, she smelled it was coffee. This was only confirmed by the man.
"Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you." He said, following up with a question. "What happened to the lipstick?"
She seemed to get a bit flustered before replying, "It wasn't working for me."
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement; mouth's too small now." He said, turning away, walking back to his work, taking a sip of his coffee as he walked.
She replied with a small mumble of "Okay" and left again.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Asked the man randomly.
"If played well, it can be enjoyable. Why do you ask?" She replied, giving him a question in return.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't speak for days on end. Would that bother you?" He asked giving her another glance.
"Thinking is healthy, and unless I wanted you to answer a question, no. Why?" She thought she knew where he was going, but wanted to be certain.
"Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He said simply, given her a look that meant that they would have to have this same conversation on a different topic.
She gave him an empty smirk. "Flatmates?"
"Yes." He replied, getting up to grab a long coat and putting it and a dark scarf on. "I have my eye on a nice little place in central London, together we should be able to afford it. We'll meet there, tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."
She briefly wondered why on earth he would have a riding crop in the mortuary, but seeing him making a quick escape she called out to him. "So that's it, then?" He carried on walking, but turned, making a wide but small circle, turning to face her again. She noted that he was half a foot taller than she was; and she had heels on. "We've only just met and we're going to look at a flat together?"
He looked at her, seeing that she was different in more than one way; she seemed somehow damaged; broken. He frowned slightly internally. "Problem?"
"Just a couple; I don't know the address, nor do I know your name." She replied, knowing that she should at least think about the offer.
He smirked and replied, walking backwards easily, towards the door, speaking as he went. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He told her, ending with a wink, earning a raised brow from her. He turned to Mike. "Afternoon." And he was gone.
A moment passed after the strange man left, and Phoenix made a small, contemplative "Hm."
"Yeah," Said Mike, catching her attention. "He's always like that."
Limping down the street, trying to walk as straight as she could, Phoenix saw the door of the flat, and approached it just as a cab pulled up, Sherlock Holmes stepping out of it.
"Hello."
She held out her hand to him. "Ah, Mr Holmes." She greeted, as he took he hand. He noted that her handshake was quite firm.
"Sherlock, please." He requested.
"Then you must call me Nix, everyone else seems to." She replied.
"Nix it is." He half smiled.
"This is great spot," She said, looking around the street. "Must be expensive."
"Mrs Hudson - the landlady - she's given me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." He explained, sounding as though it really was nothing.
"You stopped her husband being executed?" She asked, wondering how he could have done it.
He smiled down at her coldly. "Oh no." He said. "I ensured it." She just pulled a face saying fair enough.
At that moment the door opened, revealing a mature woman in a purple dress. "Sherlock!" She greeted him, hugging the man in question.
"Mrs Hudson, Doctor Phoenix Moss." Sherlock introduced them.
"Nice to meet you." They both said.
"Shall we?" With that, they went inside.
Sherlock jogged up the stairs, two at a time, but he waited for Nix as he got to the top, before opening the door to reveal a living room. She first saw the boxes and bricker-brack that covered the room, but under it all was a nice room.
"Well, this could be very nice." She said, looking around into the kitchen area that had a table full of what looked like science equipment. "Very nice indeed."
"Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." The man replied. She was about to suggest a clean up, but noted the lack of dust on the boxes and items. She caught herself just in time it seemed, as the man carried on speaking. "So, I went ahead and moved in."
"Hmm. That's a skull." She said obviously, pointing to the object on the corner of the mantle. He looked at it for a second.
"Friend of mine." He looked up to her. "Well, I say friend…"
Mrs Hudson came in then, pottering about. "What do you think then, Doctor Moss? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two."
"Well, of course we'll be needing two." Nix replied, as though it were obvious.
"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here!" She said. Well, that's going to be so true soon, Nix thought. Moving to the kitchen, Mrs Hudson tutted. "Oh, Sherlock!" She sounded like a doting mother scolding a child. Sherlock looked up from his unpacking, to see what she was talking about. "The mess you've made!" The man just ignored her though.
Phoenix lowered herself into a chair, trying to be careful, but just ending up dropping into it with a painful but suppressed groan. She held her knee; she had done the best she could with it when she had gotten back, but it had still ached terribly. Sherlock was still moving about, and she decided to strike up a conversation.
"I looked you up on the internet last night."
"Anything interesting?" He seemed wary of what she might have found.
"Found your website. The Science of Deduction." She told him, remembering the name.
"What did you think?" She saw he seemed to be expecting some sort of praise, but she just gave him a disbelieving look, making him frown slightly at her.
She thought she should explain. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie, and an airline pilot by his left thumb?" Her voice went up at the end, asking if she got it right.
"Yes." He said. "And I can read your military career in your face and your leg, your family life in your jewellery and your phone as well as your Skills in your eyes."
She suddenly became very defensive, straightening up in her seat and bringing up her face slightly. "How?"
Mrs Hudson chose that moment to interrupt however. "What about these deaths then, Sherlock? Thought that would be right up your street; three exactly the same."
"Four." He corrected as he walked to the window. "There's been a fourth; and there's something different this time."
The landlady frowned. "A fourth?"
A man ran in the room then, slightly out of breath and looking at Sherlock expectantly. He didn't disappoint. "Where?"
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The newest arrival replied.
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me otherwise." Sherlock spoke quickly.
"You know how they never leave notes?"
"Yeah."
"Well, this one did. Will you come?" The new man sounded like he knew the answer already.
Sherlock thought for a second. "Who's on forensics?"
"Anderson." The other man replied somewhat reluctantly.
Sherlock just looked away in undisguised disgust. "He doesn't work well with me." Nix was just sat in the chair, silently watching the verbal tennis between the two men.
"He wont be your assistant!" Said the man by the door, sounding annoyed at the delay. Sherlock just let out a long sigh. Sounding much less sure, the man tried again. "Will you come?"
Despite his apparent lack of an assistant, Sherlock answered, "Not in a police car, I'll be right behind."
"Thank you." Said the man, sounding very grateful. Throwing the two women a polite smile he left again.
As he did, Sherlock jumped and turned in mid air, knees bending and arms raising in triumph, grinning as though he had the best day ever planned. "Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas." He muttered, making Nix wonder briefly what his Christmases must be like. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." He called to her as he went to get his coat.
"I'm you landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." She said.
"Something cold will do!" He replied. "Nix, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. don't wait up!" And with that, he was gone again. Does he ever just stop? Nix wondered.
"Look at him, dashing about!" Mrs Hudson said turning to her. "My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll get you a cup of tea, dear, you rest your leg."
At the mention of her leg though - the one thing that annoyed her more than anything - she snapped. "Damn my leg!" She shouted fiercely, soon followed by the thought that it may not have been the smartest thing to do. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just sometime this bloody thing…" She trailed off, smiling falsely and hitting her aching leg with the stick in her hand, resulting in a flash of pain shooting up the infuriating limb in reacting, a shot of pain that she ignored completely, showing no sign of it's existence.
Mrs Hudson just nodded understandingly. "I understand dear, I've got a hip."
Nix sighed, picking up a paper that was lying on the side. "Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you."
"Just this once dear, I'm not your house keeper."
"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them." She added, thinking she may as well do the job properly.
"Not your house keeper!" Came the reminder.
She looked at the front page, seeing a photo of the man that was not long in the flat; DI Lestrade. She was brought out of her numb musings however by a low voice, making her look up sharply.
"You're a doctor." Sherlock stood in the door way. "In fact, you're an army doctor."
She pulled herself up with some small effort. "Yes."
"Any good?"
"Very good." She said unabashedly, remembering using her Skill to help the wounded as well as her knowledge.
"Seen a lot of injuries then." He said, talking over and pulling his last glove on. "Violent deaths."
The reminder of the war sent a small spark of life through her; it was all she had known for several years, and she had found that she had missed it since she came back. No matter how much she told herself that it wasn't a good thing, that it really wasn't healthy, she couldn't deny it either.
"Well, yes." She said in a low voice.
"Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock saw the spark of life ignite in her eyes for the first time, and was trying to tempt her further, testing her reactions.
"Of course." She replied, voice a little tight. "Yes. Enough for a life time, far to much."
"Want to see some more?" It was all she needed to hear.
"Oh god, yes." With that, Sherlock turned and they made their way down the stairs quickly, Sherlock smirking as he went.
"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." She called to the landlady.
"Both of you?" She asked from the hallway.
Sherlock turned and walked over to her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? No point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He exclaimed, kissing her cheek.
She just tried to suppress a smile, patting him on he arm. "Look at you all happy, it's not decent."
"Who cares about decent?" Came the man's reply. Good point, Nix thought. I'll have to remember that one. "The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"
Out in the street, Sherlock though up his hand with the shout of "Taxi!"
