Highever was miles behind. Sherlock and John sat in silence while Dimmock scolded them. Sherlock had his nose in a book. John thought about the woman in the bar. There was something very deadly about her, and he wondered if he and Sherlock would be targets. The idea didn't frighten him as much as he knew it should have. He'd never seen Sherlock in a fight, but he figured they could take on any serious threat.
What interested John more than anything was Sherlock's ability to know things, just by looking at them. John was a mage; he knew magic. What Sherlock could do was different. It was rather fantastic.
"I'm sure you have questions," Sherlock remarked, as if to the air itself. He glanced briefly at John, then turned back to his book.
Dimmock sputtered into a moody silence. The look on his face reminded John of how some apprentices looked when they received homework.
"You're from Orlais?" John asked.
"Yes."
John accepted this answer, though Sherlock had no accent and seemed pretty Fereldan.
"Then why are you here?"
"The White Spire has much to be desired. There are one too many fanatics among the templars there," his response was dry.
John fought off a frown. "You said you saw something similar to the murder in Highever in Orlais."
"I did. The head of a prominent chevalier family was killed in his sleep."
"Did you figure that one out?"
Sherlock's lips twitched. "There was very little to go on. Between family members and household hand mucking about, all solid evidence was either damaged or lost."
"But you think they're connected."
"Yes."
"You said the woman wasn't working alone. How did you know that?"
"Same way I know that you were at Ostagar, but instead of fleeing back to the Circle like other mages, you went to stay in Denerim. Likely to figure out where next Fereldan forces would fight the darkspawn. You remained in Denerim for the last leg of the war, partially out of duty—otherwise why would you have ever returned to the Circle? You're a duty oriented person. But you also stayed in Denerim because you reconnected with family you haven't seen since childhood."
John blinked a few time. "How could you know that?"
"I don't know. I observe."
"Sure, but how?"
"Your staff. It's not Circle-made. I've seen a few like it, all from a certain craftswoman in Denerim. You bought it at the Wonders of Thedas, correct? And then there's your ring. It's nice. A step above the rest of your attire. You don't seem like the kind of person to own superfluous thing, nor to buy one, so it was a gift and holds sentimental value. I might say you've had it for a long time, but there is no tan line on your finger, which suggests newness. The inscription on it contains your family name, meaning it was a gift from a family member."
John took a deep breath. "Fantastic," he said with a smile.
"Excuse me?" Sherlock frowned.
"That was amazing. Remarkable."
Sherlock didn't look like he knew how to react. "Most people don't say."
"Then what do they say?"
"'Sod off.'"