Ah, yes, it's not beta-read or brit-picked, by the way.

Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. Also, credit to Ariane DeVere for her series transcripts that had been extremely helpful.

linebreak linebreak linebreak linebreak linebreak

The next evening found Joan sitting in a very nice flat, in a very comfy chair, still reeling a little from the revelation that the nice old lady in a floral dress had hired someone to ensure the execution of her husband and that her own potential flatmate was friends with a skull. The man seemed somehow eager to please today, unsuccessfully trying to tidy up his own mess. She caught herself thinking that the chaos might be quite cozy, despite the landlady's subtle inquiries of their sleeping arrangements.

"I looked you up on the internet last night" she said to keep up the conversation.

"Anything interesting?" He didn't look back at her, seemingly going over some letters on the dining table.

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." That got him to turn around, a proud grin on his face.

"What did you think?" Joan had a fleeting impression of a kid showing off his school project. She gave back a small smile.

"An unusual read, to say the least. There is so much detail, do you really keep all of this in mind?"

The grin widened instantly. "Even a small detail can reveal worlds of information. It is usually ignored, but for those who know where to look…" he let the sentence unfinished, giving a small wave with his hand that supposedly described something impressive. In his head, it probably did.

"That's what you did yesterday, right?" She had to be sure, after all. But fate had different plans.

Mrs Hudson came back from the kitchen, a newspaper in hand. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." A trickle of irritation ran through Joan's composure. She wanted answers, not more mysteries!

"Four" the distinctive baritone commented from the window. Lights flashed behind the glass, giving him a slightly eerie look. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" It felt good to know she wasn't the only one not following. The appearance of grey-haired DI Joan recognized from last's night wanderings on Google and the subsequent dialogue were just more puzzles on her growing list of urgent questions. Clearly something about a crime scene, what with forensics, but what did it have to do with the eccentric man she was now seriously considering living with?

An intention that wavered when the said man leapt in the air as soon as the front door slammed shut. "Oh brilliant! Thought it was gonna be a dull evening." Ta for that, mate. "Honestly, can't beat a really imaginative serial killer when there's nothing on the telly." Wait, what?

Apparently while Joan was processing the 'serial killer' part, Holmes got dressed and disappeared downstairs, giving off-handed instructions about dinner to his landlady. The doctor slowly blinked at the door, then at Mrs Hudson, desperately trying to make sense of this madness. "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same." Yeah, I can imagine. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." What gives? "I'll make you that cuppa, dear. Rest your leg."

That was just too much. "DAMN MY LEG!" Judging by the gasp from the lovely lady, the shout was not only in her mind. "Sorry, I'm so sorry, ma'am. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" This seemed to mollify her.

"I understand, dear, I've got a hip."

Let's get the most of it then, decided the little voice. "Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you."

linebreak linebreak linebreak linebreak linebreak

She never had that tea, in the end. Whatever pushed her to accept the invitation from a madman ("Wanna see some more?"), it had her best interests at heart. After all, it was going along or going back to the silently chanting gun at the bedsit. Not much of a choice, really.

The ride was filled with awkward silence. She didn't dare to break it, for fear of losing the opportunity to learn more at a later date. Holmes noticed anyway. "Okay, you've got questions?" That, she had.

"Yeah. Who are you? What do you do?" She winced inwardly at her own bluntness.

"What do you think?" countered the man, unperturbed. Good one. What did she think?

"I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"…but the police doesn't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Of course he did.

"What does that mean?"

Here it is again, a falsely bored look of a kid looking for approval. "It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs." Oops. Maybe not the right thing to say. The look he gave her could have pierced iron walls.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised." Oh, goody, answers!

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw." The following explanation was even more breath-taking than the tirade at Bart's. All this, just from the way she was standing and a phone? Seriously? Sherlock was talking at a speed rivaled only by hyper-caffeinated teenagers, and the way his eyes looked at something far away, remembering, tended to indicate it wasn't an elaborated setup. "The police don't consult amateurs" concluded the man-wonder at her side.

Wow. Where were you all my life, man? She blurted the first thing that came to mind. "That was awesome." The muffled snort from the other side of the cab made her glance at the man with concern. He actually looked pleasantly surprised.

"Do you think so?" Yes, definitely a kid that lacks praise.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary." She made her point sink with a sincere smile.

"That's not what people usually say." Hmm?

"What do people usually say?"

"'Piss off!'" It was her turn to snort derisively. Didn't she know how ignorant the mass tended to be?