I just realized that we've gotten to double digits.
Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaa!
Anyway, here's the latest update.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Collin's office was relatively clean, with everything having a place to call home. The writing utensils were in the black cup, the papers worth filing were in the appropriate folders in the filing cabinet. Even the dust bunnies seemed to be stacked neatly in their corner.
Sherlock knew that people who kept personal spaces remarkably clean were prone to keep things hidden more cleverly than people who kept their personal spaces messy. The latter would shove important, secret documents into a random pile, thinking that it would never be found. The former would come up with a clever little cubby or hidey-hole where they knew that it would never be noticed by the average human.
Well, Sherlock wasn't the average human.
John went straight to the file cabinet, while Sherlock started to tap his leather-incased knuckles on the desk. It was silent, except for the rustlings of paper and the light tap-tap. Tap-tap on the wood.
John was wondering what he should be looking for, and was about to ask, but he didn't. He knew Sherlock would say "Anything out of the ordinary," so John pressed on.
The thing was, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary at all with the filing cabinet. So far, there were just recipes in categorized folders and droors. He really didn't feel the need to look through all of them.
He pulled out a folder marked "Holiday-Turkey" in black permanent marker. (They all were.) He opened it. He was surprised.
What John was looking at was a recipe printed out from a computer. It looked like it had been printed out from a recipe website. The title said the dish was called "Cranberry Turkey", but John knew it was something else.
"Holmes," he ventured eyes still on the paper.
The detective didn't respond.
"Sherlock," John tired again.
He grunted and poked his mop of curly hair from behind the desk. "What?"
"Come here. I found something."
Sherlock obliged and got up, his thin frame bending over his friend when he got over there. He looked at the white sheet. "What?"
"This recipe. I've seen it before."
"And? How is it relevant?"
"My mum makes this every year."
"So? A recipe can be changed. It doesn't mean anything."
John picked up the piece of paper and noticed the top of it bent backwards unnaturally. He felt it. There was white-out along the edge.
"Sherlock," John poked him in the leg. "Here." He handed it to him. "There's white-out along the top edge."
Sherlock held it up to the light, and then proceeded to pick at it.
John flipped through the rest of the folder's contents. On some, he could see the faint sheen of white-out, on others, there were things deliberately crossed off in pen. John was having some doubts now; it probably didn't mean anything. But something told him to hang onto it, whatever it was.
Someone knocked on the door frame. Both men looked up. A lanky young man, about 24, stood in the door way. He was wearing a black sweater rolled up to the elbows, and brown cargo pants. He had a headset around his neck.
"Um, can I help you?" he asked.
Sherlock stared at him for a minute, and then walked forward. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. I'm here to investigate Collin O'Connor's death."
"Doug Brian. I'm a graffer." They shook hands.
"Ah, yes! We've heard about you already."
"Oh really? Hey, can I get you something to drink, coffee, tea?"
Sherlock smiled. "Sure! And actually, we have some questions to ask you, so if you don't mind. . ."
"Oh, of course! Follow me." Doug turned around and walked away, with Sherlock following him.
John hoisted himself off the floor and shut the droor. He tucked the recipe into his jacket pocket and left the office, turning off the lights as he went.
Please review, even it's criticism. Tell me what I can do better!