"John?" Mary opened the door to John's office, "It's Sherlock have you got a minute?"
"Sure, send him in." John said, rolling his eyes.
Sherlock walked in and petulantly slumped into the chair.
"So… What happened?" asked John, not even looking up from the days notes.
Sherlock jumped up and started pacing, he flung his arms up angrily, "It was insufferable John."
"What–" he looked up, a little confused.
Sherlock interrupted him, "She talked to me… like an equal… her and her psycho-nonsense." He waved his hand as he walked and turned to John, abruptly stopping and slamming his hands on John's desk, "She tried to analyse me, John!" He slumped in the chair again.
"The client?" John looked confused.
"No, she was dead. Shot and her face bashed in, dressed up like the woman from our first case." He said dismissively.
"So how did she speak to you?"
"What?" asked Sherlock.
John sighed, "Alright... Start again..."
"The woman, this Doctor Freddie..." he rolled his eyes, "She can read people. She's clever, not like all the other normal people." His mind twinged at the mere thought of her.
"You're not jealous are you Sherlock?" John chuckled a little.
"No." Sherlock said sternly, "There was a murder... She seems to think it's a message for me."
"Why wouldn't it be?" John shrugged, "I mean she's smart, I Googled her."
"So you're taking her side now?" He turned sharply to John and narrowed his eyes.
"Sherlock–" John sighed.
Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, gritted his teeth and took a deep breath.
John rolled his eyes, sensing a need for a subject change. "How's the flat mate hunt going?"
Sherlock folded his arms, "I don't need a flat mate."
"Oh yes you do." John laughed, "Mrs Hudson said–"
"Ah, Mrs Hudson said…" Sherlock started pacing, "I'll be having a word with her later."
"Mrs Hudson told me that you've been talking to yourself again."
"Not myself... my skull."
"Right... Because that is way more normal." John rolled his eyes, "Oh, I know. Why don't you ask Freddie to move in with you? She's new to town, right?"
Sherlock looked over John as if he had just suggested the most ridiculous thing someone could ever think of.
"John?" Mary poked her head around the door, "There are people waiting."
"Right then, Sherlock, off you go!" John said showing Sherlock the door.
"John–" Sherlock whined.
"Go home, talk to your skull..." he scoffed.
Sherlock grumbled and left quickly.
"Is he ok?" asked Mary, "I mean he didn't even comment on any of my pregnancy stuff..."
"There's a woman, at work." John replied.
"Is she bullying him?"
"I don't think so..."
"Oh... Do you think he–"
"Who knows..." John shrugged and shook his head.
Sherlock went back to 221b Baker Street. He went upstairs to find that his door was open. He crept in as the many possibilities rushed into his head. Freddie was sat in his chair holding his skull in one hand and twirling a set of keys in the other.
Sherlock sighed, he was hoping someone was trying to rob him. He felt like he needed an excuse to get into a fight. "How did you get in?" he asked as the twingey feeling in the back of his mind sparked up again.
"A magician never reveals her tricks." She said smiling.
"It was Mrs Hudson wasn't it?" he folded his arms.
She stopped playing with the keys, sat forward and rolled her eyes. "Spoil sport." She pouted.
"What are you doing here?"
"You need a flat mate, I need a flat. Simple as that."
"I don't need a flat mate."
She smirked, "Yes you do." She examined the skull, "You see these marks here? Prints, only from the various oils on human hands and dust, none on poor Yorick here. So you pick this skull up a lot and judging by the way you hold it and well... your personality, you talk to it... a lot. Ergo, you need a flat mate."
"But you're–"
She interrupted him, "A psychopath? An addict? A freak? Oh wait..." she rubbed her chin in a quizzical fashion.
"I'm not a psychopath." He snapped "I'm a high–"
"–functioning sociopath... right..." she interrupted him again "You do know they're the same thing right?"
Sherlock stayed quiet and narrowed his eyes at her, "You're a psychologist..."
"Are you afraid I know too much? Who am I talking to?"
He almost laughed a little, but caught himself.
"So, the bathroom is over there and my room is upstairs?"
"You are not moving in." He said stubbornly
She sighed and put the skull down.
"Ok... How about a game, you like games don't you? You show me your trick and I show you mine, if I impress you the room is mine, if not... I find somewhere else. Ok?"
Sherlock smiled knowing that he was going to easily out do her, and he wouldn't have to suffer being around her or that twinge unless they were working together. He reluctantly sat in John's chair then he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees clasping his hands together, touching them to his lips as he examined her closely.
'Clever.' he thought to himself, 'Trustworthy, quick witted, forthright... psychologist, anthropologist, criminologist... fake glasses, nervous habit... dies hair.' he sat back and placed his hands on the arm rests, 'Different...'
"You're not from the city." He said, "Obvious from your accent, you're from the south."
"Easy..."
"You don't actually need glasses, you only wear them to make people think you're smart."
She removed her glasses, "And they quite frame my face, don't you think?"
Twinge.
Sherlock shooed it away in his mind and went back to observation. "You dye your hair frequently, it's naturally blonde... but you like it white because you feel it makes you stand out, but daddy still doesn't notice you does he? Always wanted a boy given your name, so you got a big job and a big title to impress him, but after all this still no one takes you seriously."
Freddie shuffled uncomfortably and scratched her wrist.
"You don't like people talking about your family, there are scratches on your wrists and around your fingernails where your nervous habit has gotten the better of you... you take sugar in your tea–"
"How do you know no one takes me seriously?"
"You have a doctorate and you dress like that?" he smirked.
"Ok... how do you know I had tea?"
"Mrs Hudson let you in, I'm sure she wanted to get to know you given the fact that you're a woman and that you're here to see me and how Mrs Hudson seems so interested in who I am seeing... one can only assume she's at the door listening with a glass."
They looked over to the door and heard footsteps going down the stairs.
"And southerners do like their tea. Should I go on?"
"No, that's quite enough... It's my turn now." She sat back in Sherlock's chair, flipped her legs over the arm rest and stared at him.
He frowned, the way she was mistreating his chair clawed at him. But he had to stay composed.
"Should I go for looks or personality... so much to choose from... Your parents are quite old fashioned, still married, happily and you have a sibling... you have that drama complex that only comes with sibling rivalry, you see a lot of it in developmental psychology, kids stealing toys. I'd say a brother... Older brother, I bet he worries about you, you're his kid brother... but you love to watch him squirm don't you? You're a dog person."
Sherlock shuffled awkwardly, feeling a small crack in the walls of his carefully built mind palace.
"You don't really socialise well... but you had a dog... he meant a great deal to you, but he had to be put down... didn't he?"
He felt shaken, his balance knocked. 'No way she could notice any of that...' he thought.
"I can recognise a dog person by the way they act around other people... You've done well... I've seen people do worse over losing the only one they can open up too..."
Sherlock got up and paced, he didn't like this. Exactly the reason he didn't want a psychologist around.
"You like puzzles," she stood, trying to keep his attention, "They provide an escape for you along with certain other... vices... you need distractions as you're easily bored– understandable given your mind. You're different but your fear of failure gives you a need to distance yourself from everyone around you, you worry that if they see a weak point they'll think you're just like everyone else... you've built these huge walls of logic and reason around you as a shield from any sort of painful emotion... being completely vulnerable with another person or opening up about yourself is something you feel you could never really do."
He looked over to her.
"But I guess we don't need to do that now..."
They were both silent for a moment.
"So... on to looks I guess... You like the coat collar because it makes you feel taller, you hate your curls but your mother likes them, you play the violin, physical markers on your fingers and jaw line– right handed, I've noticed. You're itching for a smoke," she leaned close to him and he stayed perfectly still, she looked him in the eyes and whispered, "And you're afraid of heights." She walked over to the window, "How did I do?"
He stayed quiet and narrowed his eyes at her. She stared back eagerly awaiting a response.
"That was more than just psychology..." he said slowly.
"Observation is one of the most basic survival skills... Easy to learn difficult to master. I find it helps a lot in my line of work. I'll keep the keys then?"
Sherlock said nothing as she headed to the door. He stared into space trying to think of something he could say back, something more cutting that what he had noticed. But more observations were needed. He was falling into her trap.
"I have some stuff to do, I'll move my junk in later, I'm going out tonight, text me if I'm needed for the autopsy and uh... your secrets are safe with me..." she half-smiled at him and left. Then came back and poked her head around the door, "Has you're fireplace always smelled like piss?"
Sherlock turned to her, "Still?"
Freddie left 221b and sauntered down the street a little, thinking of her small victory. She felt a little bad for going so far with her trick, 'I could have just tried spoon bending...' she thought, 'Maybe I'll get him something... a moving in present?'
A telephone box nearby started ringing. She looked around suspiciously and picked up the phone.
"You've reached burger king, how may I help you?" She said.
She heard the voice sigh, "Doctor Frederick Jones?" it was a man's voice, already exhausted by her.
She looked around nervously, "...God?"
"Not quite... "
'Slight amusement detected.' She thought.
"Can you see the security camera on the building to your left?"
She looked over to it, "Yes."
The camera turned to face the wall.
"Clever, did ya do that with your mind?"
Obviously ignoring her comments the voice carried on.
"And the camera outside the shop across the road?"
"Yeah..."
The camera turned to face the wall and a limo drove up beside her.
"If you could step into the limousine please."
"Why should I...?"
"Because I asked nicely."
"Well... I'm kinda busy, so uh... this kidnapping better be quick..."
They hung up. Freddie put down the phone and looked over the limousine. Someone very important needed to speak to her, she surmised. She eagerly got into the limousine, there was a woman sitting inside using a mobile phone. Dark hair and pale skin, wearing a smart business suit with a short skirt.
"Oh, hey... uh so now I don't feel so special... he picking anyone else up?" Freddie asked.
"I work for him." The woman said, not looking up from her phone.
"Right... so he pay well?"
"Yes." She smiled, very intentionally.
"Okay..." Freddie sat in awkward silence twiddling her thumbs as the woman tapped away at her phone.
The limousine pulled up at an old warehouse, the woman took her inside without saying a word, still on her phone. A tall man met her in the empty warehouse. He was wearing a suit as if he'd just come from something very important, his hair was thinning years of stress, job or family could be either. He stood very prim and proper, almost robotic. The most unsettling thing was his smug smile, as if he enjoyed what he was doing.
"Howdy." Freddie waved.
"Hello..." he replied, he was clutching a small notebook and an umbrella.
"So..."
"What is your interest in Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked.
"Straight to the point huh? Why should that concern you?"
"I'm a concerned party." He smiled politely.
She stared at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Are you moving in to 221b Baker Street? Are you working with him?"
"We have a case, and I needed a place to live. I'm not encroaching if that's what you think..."
The smile washed off of his face and was replaced with a look of pure disgust, "I can assure you that is not–"
"Oh!" she put her hand to her forehead, "You're the brother aren't you?"
"I'm sorry...?"
"Come on... Concerned party? And well, you both have that... look. And I mean come on, this is a little dramatic."
He looked through his notebook, "You're a psychologist..."
"Bingo." She smiled, "Now what exactly is it that you want?"
"My brother is quite an... interesting person. He frequently... upsets people. I like to know that he's taking care of himself."
"And you want me too...?"
"Gather information for me... for a price of course. I can only get so much out of him if we ever meet in person."
"Not interested."
"I can get you anything... if you're inclined."
"No. I'm not that person anymore... and besides, if I was you wouldn't want me around your brother would you?"
"How do you know that?"
"I know the signs... Look, I don't plan on interfering with... whatever this is... I just want to help– with the cases... I applied for Scotland Yard, not Sherlock Holmes."
He raised his eyebrow at her with a slight smirk on his lips, "But...?"
"But... I feel like I understand him..." a small amount of pink fluttered into her very pale cheeks.
"Oh? And do you think he feels the same about you?"
"Does that matter?" she shrugged.
He smiled.
"Mycroft Holmes, I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other." He stepped forward and offered his hand to shake.
She frowned and smiled, shaking his hand. "I'll be going now then? I have a party to shop for..." she headed for the way out.
"Oh, don't mention this... little meeting to him will you? He doesn't like it when I touch his things."
She stopped without looking back, "Am I his now...?"
Mycroft said nothing. Freddie smiled to herself as she left the warehouse.