Hi readers! Welcome to the fourth chapter of False Names! This chapter is the taxi ride from 221b to Lorestant Gardens. Sherlock finally spills the beans on his skills!

Last chapter had some formatting issues so sorry if you had to put up with that. Its fixed now but sorry if you had to put up with that.

Please enjoy!

Explanation

Sherlock flagged down a taxi and they both clambered in, sitting in silence for several minutes. This suited Sherlock just fine, as it gave him time to calm down and think. Several times he had arrived at crime scenes to excited to make any sound deductions. This didn't go down well, especially at murder scenes when there were family members around. For some reason they found it offensive when he smiled.

His second meeting with John had gone better than he had expected. He hadn't said anything to scare him away so far. Well, so far .Their meeting was far from over. Now they were going to investigate a possible suicide. How romantic, thought Sherlock. Taking your maybe soul mate to see a dead body.

John had a curious effect on Sherlock, and one that he was definitely not used to. He made him nervous, and Sherlock Holmes doesn't get nervous. Worse than that, he made him stutter and stumble over his words, when Sherlock Holmes was never lost for words. But worse of all, he made him feel. And Sherlock Holmes shouldn't feel. It's too dangerous.

"Ok you've got questions," Sherlock said, finally giving in to John's curious glances that he had been trying to ignore.

"Yeah where are we going?" John was determined to find out as much as he could while Sherlock was in a questions mood.

"Crime scene, next."

OK, so maybe Sherlock didn't have a questions mood. "Who are you, what do you do?"

"What do you think?" asked Sherlock.

"I'd say private detective, but..."

"But what?" Sherlock prompted.

"But, the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. I'm the only one in the world, I invented the job. It means when the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs," John said, amused. Sherlock glared at him. He hoped this time had been different, but it seemed he had to prove himself to John too. Here goes, thought Sherlock, taking a breath. Amateur indeed.

"When I met you yesterday I asked you Afghanistan or Iraq yesterday. You looked surprised,"

"How did you know about that?" This must have been the third or fourth time John had asked now. and Sherlock decided it was time to give up the ghost and tell him. That was bound to change his mind.

"I didn't know, I saw. The way you hold yourself, your haircut, says military. But your conversation as you entered says trained at Bart's. So army doctor, obvious. When you handed me your phone I saw your tan, but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad recently but not sunbathing. You limp really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, as if you've forgotten about it. That shows it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury is traumatic. Wounded in action then. Wounded in action, tan, Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist," John said quietly.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapists."

There was a pause - Sherlock made sure if it. Just enough time for John to process what he just said.

"Then there's your brother. Your phone, it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. If you're looking for a flat share you wouldn't waste your money on this. It's a gift then. Scratches. Many, over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his luxury phone like this. It's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy. You know it already.

"The engraving," John said, nodding.

"Harry Watson, from Clara Xxx". Harry is clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not you're Father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin but you're a war hero looking for somewhere to stay. It's unlikely you've got any extended family, certainly not one you're close with.

"Now Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment, expenses of the gift says wife, not girlfriend. It was given to him recently, the model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, six months old and he's just giving it away? Marriage in trouble then. If she left him, he would have kept it. Sentiment. People do. But no. He wants rid of it. He left her.

"He gave the phone to you which says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help? It shows you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife. Maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How could you possibly know about the drinking."

"Shot in the dark. Good one though. There are tiny little scuff marks around the edge of the charging socket. Every night be goes to plug it in, but his hands are shaking. He scratches the plastic. Never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunks without them. So it seems you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

"That was... amazing." John said, staring at the detective in awe.

"You think so?" Sherlock said, raising his brow in surprise and confusion. It pained John to see how genuinely surprised he looked.

"Yeah of course it was. It was extraordinary. Can you teach me to do that?" John

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock stated.

"What do they normally say?" When speaking to Sherlock, John got the got the impression he knew exactly what he was saying, as if he had had every conversation before. But this turn of events seemed to throw him.

"Piss off." Sherlock smiled, but rather sadly. Not many people appreciated what he could do. Most people found it annoying or freaky.

Not that he was feeling sorry for himself.

Definitely not.

John laughed. "Anything else?" John asked.

"Well... um..." he stumbled. There was always one thing he refrained from deducing, at least out loud. One thing that was absolutely not his business. But he had asked, hadn't he? "No. That's it."

They sat in silence again, both looking out their separate windows, occasionally looking round at each other but never catching each others gaze.

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