I had been at Baker Street for two weeks, when a new emotion took over . . . . . .I
was bored . . . bored to the point that I would probably have tried to find out the death of
a cat on the side of the highway. Except there was no such thing as a highway yet, and
there was no such thing as a car. I was starting to wish Ford had come up with the
automobile and sold them quicker, so that I could see some kind of road-kill (a/n please, this is *not* how I feel, its just how Olivia feels).
I was in the middle of watching a mother scold her child on the sidewalk when I heard Holmes' knock on the door. I could always tell it was him by the quickness of the steps that was only a characteristic of his.
I opened the door, his smile was more a smirk.
"If you want to prove you're what you say you are, come with me."
Turning and getting my coat, I did just that.
Once we had a cab, we started on our way accompanied by Watson.
"What's this all about, Holmes?" I asked after a few minutes.
"Not sure. Lestrade wouldn't tell me. All I know is that is was . . .a murder." He
said the last two words with extra emphasis, as if it would get a larger reaction out of me.
I looked at him with a poker face, and didn't say anything for a moment. "So?" I said in a monotone. "I *do* work at crime scenes, as well as hang out at the local college waiting for a new cadaver. That type of thing just doesn't phase me."
He stared at me in a way I couldn't identify. "You're not at all like the other women, are you?"
I colored, no idea why. "Um, . . . .I suppose so."
The rest of the cab ride was spent in silence from all sides.

Watson had taken me in as a sister, and I did the same without reluctance. I had been an only child and had no one to look up to. There was much to look up to in Watson. He had a kind heart and was amazingly loyal, he could always make people laugh.
Holmes had gotten used to me, as he now had to see me first thing each morning.
Watson and I, meaning also Holmes, would have breakfast together. Watson would most likely discuss topics along the lines of medicine. They would both ask questions about the future, and I told the answers to the best of my ability. This morning's big question had been about dating.
"So what you are telling me is people do all those things before they are even married?" Watson asked as I explained about a friend of mine who had just gotten pregnant with her boyfriend. I nodded my head.
"Yes. People do all sorts of things that only people that are married in this time would do, and then break up and start dating some one else."
Holmes, who had been quiet and asking only a few questions up until now, asked me quietly if I took part in this custom.
"No, not ever. I haven't dated anyone since, Lord, my first year in college!"
"Why? It seems everyone else from what you say were probably too busy looking at each other than the lesson."
"Because I wasn't. I was top student in my class, actually." I remembered the comments that had generated from peers; Brainy, Geek, Miss Know-it-All . . . the list was endless. "I was busy doing what you're *supposed* to do there. But, I don't know, I guess I hadn't found the sort of person I would want to date." Holmes had this way of getting people into the most embarrassing situations before they knew about it. Uh oh, time to go. "Thanks, you two, I'll take the rest of my coffee upstairs."
"No, no, Watson, get back here. What is the 'sort of person' you would want to date?"
I sighed and turned. "I suppose someone who was smart, no, brilliant. Very comfortable to be around, but knows the boundaries. I'd have to trust them completely, though. I hate those spur-of-the-moment sort of things." I laughed. "There's not enough of them in the future, but too many now!"
Holmes groaned at my bantering manner and went back to bed for an hour.
So here we were, at Scotland Yard. I tried my best not to gape at it, although it took a lot of effort. A small man in frumpy clothing greeted Holmes.
"Lestrade, my associate, Watson, and his sister."
We greeted him politely, and went inside. The smell that I had always related to a medical bay took over the room we were now in.
Lestrade paused before opening the door. "Are you sure you'll be all right, Ms. Watson?"
I pretended to be hesitant. "I . . I think I will."
When we entered, he showed us a cadaver. Obviously new, it still was wet.
Lestrade pushed Holmes towards the table. "Go on, tell us what you think."
Holmes shook his head. "No, I want to see what Ms. Watson thinks of this. She's studying and this would be great practice for the young woman."
*'Young woman'* I quickly glared at Holmes and then turned. He was only a year older than I, and the fact that I had always looked younger than I actually was didn't help. Of course, not many people of the time could say they were actually in the same atmosphere as Holmes, and I was almost as tall as him.
Glancing at Lestrade, he shrugged. "Go on, let's 'ave a looksee."
Leaning over the body, I could see that this man had died a few hours earlier. Taking a look at the hands, I saw the ring missing. No, not missing, just that he didn't have one.
"He wasn't married, no ring, no indentation of a ring." I looked at the foot without a shoe. "Definitely, there's a hole in his sock."
Casting a side-long glance in Holmes' and Watson's direction, I looked for a reaction. Watson's mouth was opened, and Holmes only raised an eyebrow. Lestrade's face was scrunched in a questioning look.
"'Owed you know that by a hole?"
"Would any self-respecting wife let her husband wear socks with holes in them? No, she would not."
I went back to the body. I had over-looked it up until now, but it hit me. This man might have been dead before he was even in the river. I looked over at the Inspector.
"Negative diatoms?" I asked, on a hunch.
"Huh?" He had *no* idea what the meant. Ouy, all right then . .
"Was there water in the lungs?" Let's make this a little simpler for the poor man. Now I could see why the Great Detective had basically *zero* tolerance for him.
"Oh, no, none."
I looked at the arms, those strange, purple bruises. I could remember something involving them, I just couldn't put my finger on it.
"Did they determine what these where from?"
"No, they're just scrapes from being in the river; currents and all."
I looked even closer. No, he was wrong. "Inspector Lestrade, these are not abrasions, how could-"
"Now, Ms. Watson, I really think that this has gone far enough and that it's time for Mr. Holmes to take over." His voice was laced with impatience.
It took all of the control I had to stop from doing something drastic. Turning
quickly, I was about to leave when Holmes caught my arm. "Stay, Watson. Lestrade will
say he is sorry."
Lestrade stuttered. "I . . I'm . .sorry, Ms. Watson." He looked a bit miffed.
Holmes heaved a sigh. "Now, let's get back to what is on hand, shall we, Watson?"
His eye-contact had been with me, not his friend, and I smiled at him.
"Yes, let's."