"I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. 'It is both, or none,' said he. 'You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me.'"-SCAN
I tried not to ever think too hard about what exactly I was doing with my life. When I did, past all the normal bits, like my job at the practice and dates with Sarah and visits to the therapist, there was the constantly confounding reality that I served as a sidekick to a high-functioning-crime-solving-nicotine-addicted sociopath. And that was a thought that served little purpose but to bewilder me.
When I did have the misfortune to think about it, I could hardly believe it. Besides that there was actually an existing job of "consulting detective" and besides the unexplainable fact that I hadn't yet died in some misconstrued chemical experiment and besides the fact that a sociopath would even want a sidekick; what really got me was that I was allowed to be there. Practically. Legally. It was police work. It was a miracle that even Sherlock was allowed to be there. But me, some stray the sociopath had picked up? Why should I be allowed to be there?
I wasn't, it turned out, at least not all the time. Sherlock got a case, a high-up one, a properly royal case from the prime minister of some country on the continent (I never did find out exactly where).
I was updating my blog and Sherlock sitting in his robe and pajamas on the settee plucking diminished minor chords on his violin one morning when the man climbed the stairs to the sitting room, looking more than a little pompous. Sherlock stood up and waved him in with a flourish of his robe. The man took a seat, smoothing his lapels. Sherlock sat across from him in the basket chair, his legs under him. I closed the computer.
"Mr. Holmes, I trust-"
"Please," said Sherlock, "Start from the beginning." He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his fingertips.
"Mr. Holmes. I am not in a position to disclose this information with simply anyone listening on."
Sherlock's eyes flickered open in confusion. He glanced around the room. "Oh, you mean John. I can assure you he is absolutely trustworthy."
"Regardless of affirmations of trustworthiness, Mr. Holmes, this information is more than confidential. I hardly know anything about you, save for a recommendation."
"Yes, I'm sure Mycroft sends his best." Sherlock drawled.
I stood. "I can leave."
"Do sit down."
I sat.
"Mr. Holmes, I cannot-"
I stood.
"If you cannot bear to disclose information to me while my partner is in the room, please do not ordain to disclose information to me at all. John, sit."
I sat.
"Really, Mr. Holmes-"
I raised myself halfway out the chair.
"Sherlock, I don't mind."
"John, sit down. Mr. Carter, thank you for your interest. However, I refuse to take on your case if you cannot agree to my terms."
The sitting room door slammed and the man stomped down the stairs. Sherlock leant back and resumed plucking his violin.
"Brother Mycroft will be ever so happy."
"Sherlock, you didn't need to send him off like that. I could have gone out."
"Don't be stupid, John. Of course our-" he faltered, minutely, as if he were going to say something else, "-partnership comes before a case from an old fogey Mycroft sent over.
I looked up, trying not to seem too surprised.
"Besides," said Sherlock, "what do I want with a case preventing the outbreak of war throughout the whole of Europe?"
