Author's note: Thanks for the review (to the first person who has reviewed my story), I'm glad you liked it! This chapter is a little different as it is a third-person POV of John and Sherlock, but Sam will return in the next chapter! Enjoy guys! And please review if you have the time! :D
As the night began to delve deeper into the later hours, John still appeared to be just as heavily invested in his online blog as Sherlock was in his festering petri dish being heavily scrutinized under a microscope. The two men appeared to be totally married to their work, the standard norm after winding down from a case.
It wasn't until John occasionally began to glance up at his flat mate and time began to pass, that he finally decided to break the ice.
"The case of the meddling Mariachi Band?" John murmured, but with enough volume to spark the attention of the other.
"Hm?"
"The name of this case. I've not found a better name that best describes a cohort of murderers sporting some sombreros…" John piped, and continued to type nimbly on his laptop.
"Oh." Sherlock appeared unfazed as his attention was currently buried deep into his scientific toy. It appeared as though John was losing the battle of attention seeking to an unidentified amoeba. "Yes, sounds fine."
"Good." He reluctantly began to return back to his blog. However, it didn't take long for him to pause and glance over towards the kitchen. "Good…" He repeated, his foot impatiently starting to tap on the ground.
"You want to talk about the neighbor." It wasn't a suggestion, but rather it was a statement.
"I…" Oh, he's good. "Well, she's nice." John shrugged, trying to be a little extra blasé about it all, regardless of how he actually felt. "I mean, she didn't seem like she'd be any trouble, considering how carefully Mrs. Hudson would be screening them these days…"
The detective blinked once or twice before pausing from his current task, and sitting upright on his chair before finally looking John's way. He momentarily clasped both hands together, quickly removed them and smoothly strode towards his favorite chair where he then softly sat and teetered on the edge. Finally, he topped that off with his trademark pose by leaning forward and supporting his chin with steepled fingers. Based on the lapse between his last word and now, it was clear that John was in for one hell of a spiel.
"She is nice, isn't she?" While he wasn't panicking on the outside, an uncertainty began to grow; kudos of Sherlock.
"Of course John. Of course." Sherlock's tone suddenly quipped to one of a more positive nature, but his fixed, calculated expression said otherwise.
"But-"
"But nothing; must you always assume there's a catch?"
"Well, with you there generally-" Much to his displeasure, he was abruptly cut off.
"Your detective skills are proving to hone a little sharper; you assumed correctly." The faintest impression of a smirk graced the corner of Sherlock's lips, but it was gone before John even had a chance to question its existence.
"And?" It was clear from John's less-than-impressed expression, he was less than impressed. "If you're going to dissect the poor girl as you kindly started to do earlier on, I might as well hear the worst of it."
"Hm." That glimmer of fleeting amusement came and went as Sherlock prepared to unleash his deductive tirade. "Well, John… Keeping in mind that I've only had a conversation with her that's lasted a total of five minutes and thirty three seconds at the bottom of the stairs it's fair to say first impressions may be incomplete, however setting aside the fact that she's clearly a young woman in her mid to late twenties, clearly emigrated from Australia based on that rather irksome accent and traveling extremely light, quite possibly only possessing the clothes on her back it seems, adding to that the sheer desperation of finding a place of accommodation due to the noticeable abruptness of Mrs. Hudson handing over the keys to the basement flat…" All the while he spoke, the confidence in his deductions was simply radiating, and John clearly wanted the opportunity to speak but knew doing so wouldn't be so wise. Plus, with all the experience he'd had through living with Sherlock, it was best just to let him vent it all out.
"But clearly not here on a holiday, based on the size of her duffle bag; one I caught a glimpse of in the middle of a furniture-less room as she departed to go for a walk. I'll make a mental note to investigate her living quarters later…" He leant further onto his fingers, his attention now narrowing to the wall behind John.
"You want to break in?"
"Nonsense John, I prefer the term 'picking the lock', but beside the point; to take the first flat she saw with minimal to no supplies and to spend the night without furniture, that speaks desperation. The plight of a young woman whose journey spanned continents to escape whatever it is she's running from."
John shuffled his laptop aside and sunk deeper into his chair. "Domestic problem perhaps? Family issues? It's not that uncommon to move after a traumatic event."
"Unlikely. Statistically speaking most women her age and locale of origin don't settle in London following a failed relationship. Adding to that the curious agenda behind her taking 221C… No, it's much more than the destabilization of a failed relationship."
"Well, at least she's single, right?" John's sarcasm sunk thickly through his tone, but again Sherlock appeared unfazed.
"Then there's the skin."
"I'm sorry, her skin?"
"Too pale, clearly not attributable to the dry summer currently being shared by both the Western and Eastern coasts of Australia; earlier on I took the liberty of analyzing weather patterns pertaining to the past three months on either coast, minimal to no rain." He mused. "And before you can say 'she could just simply have a pale complexion, Sherlock', unlikely. Her paleness combined with a subtle sensitivity to the light in the hallway is suggestive that she hasn't spent a great deal of time outside. Locked up indoors perhaps?"
"Oh come on!" John scoffed. "So, what? You're accusing her of being some sort of prisoner?"
"Don't be silly John; I had Mycroft browse through any Australian penitentiaries housing female prisoners and examined the lists entailing those fitting her description that had been either released or alternatively, escaped in the last two months. Needless to say, I came up empty." He shot his gaze back at John. "So, that rules out jail, and we know she's not running from a failed or abusive relationship but she's running from something that's previously caused her to spend a great deal of time indoors, but something serious enough that she's barely taken enough supplies to last the week. I'd imagine funding would be an issue as well, considering that she handed over enough pounds to keep Mrs. Hudson happy for the time being; a bit out of character for our lovely land lady, don't you think?" He mused. "Who previously would spend days getting character references from potential tenants of the basement flat, only to change her ways so suddenly when a young woman turns up and takes the flat at a moment's notice?"
John remained ever so quiet, his mouth occasionally falling open as if he meant to speak, and then shutting accordingly. "You're not going to let her just 'be' a neighbor, will you?"
"I've got Mycroft digging up what he can as we speak…" Without warning he hopped up from his seated position, only to glide over towards the window where he peaked out to observe the street below. "Might prove a little difficult depending on how open ASIO are, but given the strong ties between both nations it's only prudent to assume that he'd have some degree of success…"
"Right." John nodded, but appeared rather… Perturbed by Sherlock's deductions. "You think she might be connected with anyone we've had a run-in with in the past? Could she have another agenda apart from just being 'on the run'?"
"Possible, but again; unlikely." Sherlock remained fixed to the glass, but grew bored of his observations and slowly turned to face John. "She's on the run, if she were some sort of a spy or an assassin, she'd come prepared." He sighed. "People in those professions are meticulous at creating a false persona; they spend their lives creating a ruse; one that this girl has failed to do from the start. If she were a threat in that respect, she wouldn't dare to give me a reason to suspect otherwise."
His partner slowly nodded, now having clasped his own hands together. "That does actually make some sense." He then let out a rather dejected sigh, only to lean forward and unhinge both hands so he could run them down his face. "Could explain why she was so quick to reject an offer to dinner…"
"No, she clearly lacks interest." Sherlock quipped, which got a rather irritated look from John. "Oh, don't be like that; I'm saving you the hardship of wading through years-worth of sentimental baggage. Besides, given the nature of her visit to the UK, I daresay you'd be into dating a woman with a confidential rap sheet."
"You know, there is one possibility that you haven't looked at."
"Hm?"
"I might be overstepping my expertise with this little theory of mine…" John began, teetering forward on his chair. "But. What if… She's just moved from Australia, doesn't have a great deal of funds given the recent gauging in her wallet from the plane tickets, and is on one of those arrangements where a job is sorted for her before the flight?" He smirked. "And better still, what if she's just pale because she's actually pale?"
Sherlock appeared rather bemused by it all. "John, I think you're missing the-"
"Here's what I think." Oh yes; now it was John's time to shine. "That flat has been empty for a long time, and you've been comfortable with that. Now, somebody 'new' has moved in and you're getting ahead of yourself with all your 'deductions'. Couldn't it be entirely possible that she's just a normal young woman?"
"It's possible however based on my deductions entirely improbable. Haven't you been listening?" If Sherlock lacked any self-control he'd likely be pouting by now, but he remained stone-faced. "When I spoke to her, she displayed all the obvious markers of an extremely poor liar; and likewise failed to deny my accusations. She-"
"Was probably entirely off-put by your 'massive intellect', and was probably scared. Everyone reacts differently to your little… Whatever it is you do." John sighed, but let out a frustrated yawn. "Look, I'm exhausted, and I'm going to bed. You think you'll be fine with your home-grown petri colonies and conspiracy theories?" He let out another yawn as he found his feet and began to stand.
"I'm not wrong, John."
"For your sake, and my sake I hope so." The doctor began to amble over towards the direction of his room, but paused upon hearing the sound of a door close from downstairs.
"Coming home late; it's been raining for the past four hours and quite heavily in fact." Sherlock's smooth baritone resounded through the flat, but his attention returned to the rain pattering on the window outside. "Not dressed for the harsh England rain, especially in winter and I find it unlikely a tourist or a newly emigrated traveler would choose a showering evening to inspect the local wildlife. Even you can't say that's not a little bit curious."
John had his back to Sherlock, but the look on his face spoke volumes. He's never 100% right, but he's generally spot-on at least 95%... "Try to get some rest yourself... When was the last time you slept?" He sighed, and continued on his path towards his room. "Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight John." And with the sounding of John retreating to his room, a silent peace reigned strong throughout 221B.
Except Sherlock's mind wasn't silent, for it was reeling with possibilities and potential theories that surrounded the strange young woman who had resided in 221C. Despite John's alternate ideas, Sherlock knew something wasn't right. Something just didn't gel, and he wasn't prepared to let this case go. For John to see it his way, he'd have to stop thinking with that other part of his anatomy, other than his brain.
Suddenly, his phone blipped, indicating the arrival of a new text. Interesting.
Diogenes club. 2:00pm. Need to talk. – MH
And so it seemed that another had seen the light.
