7

"Don't bother taking your coat off," Sherlock said to me the second I entered the flat.

"Well, a good afternoon to you too, Sherlock."

I stood on the threshold as he busied himself about; wrapping his scarf about his neck, sliding his phone into his pocket then quickly checking his laptop before slamming it shut - all in one impressively smooth motion.

"Is...everything okay?"

"We're going out."

"We are?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Investigation."

As much as I hated myself for doing so, I had to ask: "Where is it this time?"

"The body's been identified. Stephanie Marker. Seventeen years old. Her mother's at Scotland Yard right now."

"So...?"

"We're going to question her."

Ten minutes later, after a short taxi ride, and an even shorter exchange of abuse between Sherlock and a broken-nosed Anderson, Sherlock and I were sat in an interrogation room with Mrs Marker.

She was a plump woman, and wore a badly-fitted, flowery blouse that looked over-worn, (and as if it had been around in the 70s), along with a pleated, ankle-length skirt (also from some age long, long ago). Her hair was unkempt, greying, and frizzy, and her gaze was unimpressed. It didn't look as if she cared very much for the situation she was in, nor anyone who presented themselves in front of her.

"Mrs Marker; I'm Sherlock Holmes, and this is my partner Dr John Watson-"

"Colleague." I corrected, holding out a hand for her to shake. She look at it in disgust.

"-we're here to ask you a few questions about your daughter."

"I know why you're 'ere," She said bluntly, "And I've had enough damn questions about me bloody daughter, thank you very much. Your folk've been comin' in 'ere an' questionnin' me all mornin'. When can I go 'ome?"

"We don't work with the police," I explained. "We're more-"

"Consultants." Sherlock finished.

"You mean like private investigators?" She asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well I ain't payin' you nuffin'." She spat, crossing her arms across her chest.

"We're not here to be paid, Mrs Marker," Sherlock said, with an edge to his voice that showed he was running low on patience, "We're here to try and figure out what happened to your daughter. Is there anything you can tell us about the day before your daughter went missing? When did you notice she was gone?"

"I didn't notice." She answered bluntly.

"What do you mean? You didn't see her leave?"

"No, I didn't notice she went missin'."

I glanced at Sherlock to see his reaction to this; his brow was furrowed in concentration, but he didn't appear affected by what Mrs Marker had just said.

"How could you not notice that your daughter had gone missing?" I said, as politely as I could.

"Why would it be any different for me? I ain't seen the girl in two years. She ran away when she was fifteen, 'case me and her dad was rowin', and she refused to come back. I didn't report it - she rang me on her phone every week, so I knew she was safe. Told me she was livin' with a friend of hers until everythin' got sorted. Then she'd come back."

"But she didn't?"

"Nah. By that time she was sixteen, and said that 'cause she was a woman now she wanted to make her own way."

"And what did you think of this?"

"I was fine with it. She had a good point. I'd moved out of my mam and dad's 'ouse when I was sixteen, so I thought it was just as well she did the same. Wanted nothin' to do with me after that, it seemed. Wouldn't answer her phone to me, nor visit at all. She just sorta stopped callin'."

"Thank you, Mrs Marker," Sherlock suddenly put in, after spending the last few minutes in silence, "I think we have all we need."

I watched as Sherlock stood, confused as to why he had cut the interview so short. Without a word he headed towards the door. I followed him out into the corridor.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? We hardly asked her anything!"

"No need to waste our time asking anything else either," He said, "You heard her - she hasn't seen her daughter in two years; what use is she going to be with clues for the recent murder of her daughter?"

"She could have given us idea of what Stephanie was like-"

"No. She couldn't. The yellow stains on her fingertips, the reek of spirits on her out-dated clothes and that bored expression of hers says it all. She didn't care about her daughter - most likely an unwanted accident in the first place. She can't afford clothes from this decade because she spends it all on cigarettes and booze - how could she have found time to bond with her daughter with such addictive habits to keep up? She discovered her daughter was murdered this morning - don't you think a responsible mother would be a little upset about that? And yet there wasn't a tear in her eye, nor a tissue in her pocket. Mrs Marker is of no help to us, as she was no help to Stephanie. Whoever led the girl out into the forest knew she was easy prey - she comes from a broken home. But that would most likely mean she has trust issues. So the only reason a young, unloved girl would be led into the woods at that time of night would be because she thought she could trust the person she was meeting. You see, John? Mrs Marker has told us all she can with those blackened teeth of hers - time to move on."

I stopped in the corridor in my shock and awe. Sherlock strode past me without a second glance. I watched as his lanky frame disappeared through the front door of the building as if the recent interview had never happened. He hailed a cap, and without checking to see if I was coming to, got in and drove off.

I shook my head slowly, feeling my brain ache from all the information I was trying to make sense of. Even after all this time, it was still difficult for me to make sense of all of Sherlock's lightening deductions. There was a time when I questioned him on his theories, but there's only so many times a man can be proved wrong before he gives up.

Lucky for him, I hadn't been planning on going straight home. Instead, I hailed my own cab, and asked the driver to stop off at St Bart's Hospital.