Sherlock Holmes sat in total silence. He was a hard one to read, but Joan assumed that he was thinking. She had resigned herself to the thought that the taxi ride would be spent in total silence and leaned back in her seat to watch the city lights turn on. Night was falling rather quickly and London's night life was beginning to wake up.
Without taking his eyes from the window, Sherlock Holmes abruptly asked, "I'm sure you have questions?"
The question took Joan by surprise and she started. Then the young doctor nodded and replied, "Where are we going?"
"Crime scene in Brixton," said Sherlock Holmes without any obvious emotion - like a professor at a college would if he were talking about a subject that did not interest him. "Next."
"Who are you? What is it that you do?"
"I am Sherlock Holmes," he said as if it were obvious. "I am the world's only consulting detective."
Having never heard of that particular line of work, Joan asked with a touch of incredulity in her voice, "A consulting detective?"
Sherlock addressed the question simply, "I invented the job." The man still had little to no emotion in his voice or face and that intrigued Joan.
"But the police don't consult amateurs," she reasoned aloud, prompting another answer.
"When we met this afternoon," said Sherlock, casting her a sideways glance, "I asked if you had much family in Florida."
Eyes widening in remembrance of the shock she had had earlier that day, she nodded. her mouth opened and closed a few times before she came up with the correct way to respond, "How did you know I had family there?"
"Your phone." It was a simple enough response, but Joan was too perplexed to see just how her phone pertained to anything.
Her face must have given away some of her inner turmoil, for Sherlock continued, "It had a picture of a famous road sign in Florida. Obviously it was an amateur photo." He made a slight tip of his head in Joan's direction, You have a faint tan line around your neck. The only logical assumption is that you visited there recently and to visit family."
"Yes. But," Joan paused, trying to cypher through this new information, "how did you know it was family."
A smile spread across Sherlock's face, "A lucky guess." For the first time during the drive, the thin man looked at her, his penetrating, lime-green eyes focused on her instead of the passer-by, "You are alone in a big city and have no friends - at least not those you are close to as you are looking for someone to share a flat with. Who else would you be visiting other than family?"
Joan nodded. It made sense.
"Your limp is very bad when you walk," continued Sherlock as he turned to look out the window again, "but you don't ask for a chair when you stand as if you have forgotten about it. Psychosomatic."
"How did you know about my psychiatrist?"
"You have a psychosomatic limp - probably caused by the awakening of formally repressed trauma - and a family in Scotland who is worried about you - of course you have a psychiatrist."
"What about my family, then?"
"Your ring is of Scottish make with a Scottish clan crest - you also bear a slight, almost undetectable Scottish accent, but your name is not Scottish. That suggests that maybe your parents divorced when you were younger - it is possible that they separated." Sherlock gestured to Joan, "Your brother is a drunkard. This is obvious in the phone. It is not originally your phone, this is not something a practical woman like yourself would buy. So, it was gift, then. Again, you have no close friends. Maybe your father gave it to you, but, no, this is a young person's gadget."
Joan's parents had divorced when she was ten years old and her mother took her to Scotland to be with the rest of the family. Young Joan had not understood the reason for the separation and internalized much of the pain.
"OK," she said slowly, still trying to grasp at this strange man's intentions, "but my brother?"
Sherlock picked up Joan's phone and pointed to the inscription on the back, "Inscribed on the back is 'To Harry Watson, From Clara'."
Amazed, Joan could barely even say, "Wow."
"So, who is Clara? The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend or partner. But, you have the phone and it is less than three months old. He gave it to you, that means he's probably worried about you and wants you to call. You are looking for cheap accommodation, but won't go to your brother for help. So, you have problems with him, probably because of his drinking."
Joan's eyebrows were knit together, "How can you know about the drinking?"
"There are scratches all over the phone, specifically near the power connection. Never see a sober man's phone with those scratches - never see a drunk's without them. See? You were right."
"What?" Joan looked completely shocked, "I was right?"
"Police do not consult amateurs."
"That," said Joan with an enormous amount of enthusiasm coupled with nervousness, "was bloody amazing."
There was silence for several seconds. Sherlock looked torn between flattery and disbelief, "Do you really think so?"
Joan scoffed, "Yes."
Ok, I know this is an awful lot like the scene from the show, but I HAD to put it in.