Having hailed a taxi, Sherlock and Edith were now whizzing across London. Edith kept flicking her gaze between the man sitting next to her and the blur that was London as it passed by the window of the cab.
"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock invited her to talk.
"Um, yeah, who are you?" He threw a sceptical look her way. "What do you do?"
"What do you think?" It wasn't going to be easy, extracting personal information from him. She'd have to be creative.
"I'd say private detective…"
"But"
"But the police don't go to private detectives." Sherlock smiled at her observation, so she must be on the right lines.
"I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job." He told her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."
"Oh." His description barely gave any indication to what he actually did. She looked down at her hands, unsure of how to ask him about his inhuman capacity of knowing everything about people, yet hardly looking at them.
"Well," patience was not Sherlock's key attribute.
"Um… Yesterday, how did you know about Afghanistan?"
"I didn't know. I saw. The way you hold yourself says military, your face is tanned, but there is no tan line above your wrist. You've been abroad but not sunbathing, especially unusual for a young woman, so you've been working. The way you intently watched what I was doing from the moment you entered the room suggests that you are used to observing people to pick up a skill, so student. Also, you were completely unfazed by the apparatus and set up of the laboratory; medical student then. Where abroad are they desperately in need of medical help, due to military action; Afghanistan or Iraq." He paused.
"Wow!"
"Then there's your sister. Your phone. It's expensive: a Blackberry, if you're looking for a flat share you wouldn't waste money on this, it's a gift then, but not a very valued one. Scratches, many of them. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. Luxury item mistreated, so you don't get on with the person who gave it to you. Next bit's easy, you know it already."
"The engraving?"
Mary Crawley
From Richard
xxx
"Mary Crawley, clearly a family member who has given you her old phone. I'm assuming sister since you're looking for cheap accommodation so it's unlikely that you've got an extended family, certainly not one that you're close to. Now Richard. Who is Richard? 3 kisses say it's a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says Husband, not boyfriend. Must've given it to her recently, this model is only 6 months old. Marriage in trouble then, 6 months on and she's just given it away. If he'd left her, she'd have kept it, people do. Sentimental reasons. But she wanted rid of it; she left him. She gave the phone to you, that says she wants you to say in touch, but you're not going to her for help. That says you've got problems with her."
"Oh."
"What?"
"I didn't realise it was that obvious. Mary and me don't get on, never have. Mary always seemed to get everything she ever wanted, and I was always overlooked."
"Something must have gone wrong though – she obviously didn't want Richard." Sherlock spoke as if he knew them.
"No, she didn't. She's at home now; her divorce went through when I was in Afghanistan. I don't know why she ever married him in the first place."
"Good. I'm not always spot on, but I think that comes pretty close!"
"You're Amazing!"
"You think so?" He turned to face her.
"Of course. That was extraordinary." Edith gushed.
"That's not what people normally say."
"Why, what do people normally say?"
"Piss off!"
~X~
The taxi cab pulled up at the address Sherlock had given and they climbed out.
"Hello freak." Sherlock was greeted by a female sergeant.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade invited me to take a look, so don't go asking why I'm here." Sherlock dipped under the police tape and held it up for Edith.
"Who's this?" Only certain people were obviously welcome onto the crime scene.
"Colleague of mine. Edith Crawley."
"Oh, any relation to the scandalous Mary Crawley?"
"Would it be better if I just waited here?" Edith tried to shrug it off. She was forever trapped under Mary's shadow.
"Anyway, how do you get a colleague?" The policewoman turned back to Sherlock, "Did you follow her home?"
"Edith, this is Sgt Sally Donovan."
"Hello." The two women smiled, before Edith followed Sherlock into the dingy building. They were met by more scepticism inside the building as well.
"I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend?" Lestrade asked upon noticing Edith.
"Edith is here to help me." Sherlock told him.
"Right. That's one way of putting it!" the policeman joked.
"Where are we?" Sherlock had switched to business mode, if that was at all possible.
"Upstairs." Lestrade responded to the serious tone.
Sherlock once again proved his genius, giving a detailed account of the poor woman who was lying dead on the floor, including which hand she used, her job and where she came from. Plus the fact that this woman had been involved in a number of romantic affairs that could almost compete with Mary's string of lovers. Suddenly Sherlock was dashing down the stairs yelling suitcase and some nonsense about serial killers and then he was gone. Edith started down the stairs after him, but was met only by an empty street and flashing blue lights. She suddenly felt very alone without her colourful companion.
"He's gone." Sally told her as she neared the tape barrier.
"Yeah, I gathered that." Edith replied.
"So who are you? You can't be his girlfriend, surely?"
"Why does everyone keep assuming that? I only met him yesterday!"
"I suppose it's just such a funny idea; Sherlock with a girlfriend."
"Why?"
"Do you know why he's here? He's not paid or anything, he just likes it. We all think he's a Psychopath, although you won't get him to admit it. So how do you know him?"
"A Mutual acquaintance introduced us. We were both looking for a flat share."
"Wait, you're going to be flatmates with Sherlock Holmes?" Sally's face was a picture of disbelief and surprise. "Good luck with that one!"
TBC...
