"My step-daughter Amelia is such a sweet girl. I-I'd just hate it if something… happened to her. I mean- she's probably fine. Occasionally she goes out to see friends and things but It's been days. I just get so worried." A man in an expensive yet casual suit blubbered from the sofa. As he fidgeted with his hands, John eyed the rolex around his wrist. This was going to be a good pay-off. "Her mother has been away visiting family for a few weeks and I don't know how I could possibly tell her if Amelia didn't come back. Please, Mr. Holmes. Could you help me?"

Unfortunately, Sherlock didn't seem to think the same. He'd had the same expression of mild disinterest since he walked in. He hadn't even bothered to tell him to get to the point, which was a clear sign that he either already knew where the client's step-daughter was or he just couldn't care if he tried. Sherlock opened his mouth, in preparation to pronounce this case 'boring'

"Sherlock, may I speak to you for a moment in the kitchen?" John cut in, just before he could brush the case off and leave the client for John to dispose of.

Sherlock glanced at John with a look of surprise and faint distaste. "Alright." He sighed, pushing himself from his chair.

"You aren't seriously going to ask me to take the case, are you?" Sherlock asked once the made it out of earshot.

"Well, why not? It's bound to pay well."

"Why not? It's a missing persons case. Basically a game of large-scale hide and seek while carrying a sobbing client on my back." Sherlock spat, looking like he just found a pubic hair in his blood bag. "It's not as if we actually needed the money anyway."

John blinked hard. "We've been scraping the bottom of the barrel for weeks!"

Sherlock scoffed. "Hardly the bo-"

"Mrs. Hudson's been kicking up a fuss because you don't have rent." John said pointedly, shocked that he didn't see the financial state they were in as dire. When he first moved in, he was given the impression that Sherlock had exactly the sort of inexhaustible wealth one might expect from an immortal being of myth. But as the months went on, it became more and more apparent that his monetary wealth comes and goes with all the predictability of the average tornado.

"She's just being dramatic. She knows how these things go. Besides-"

"Just yesterday you borrowed ten quid from a member of your homeless network to pay a cabbie."

"Yes... Well." Sherlock slumped, losing steam rapidly. "Money really isn't my primary form of currency anyways."

"Maybe not yours. But some of us have to live off it. Have you even seen the state of the pantry?"

"Well, I don't know your dietary preferences! I just thought you really liked beans and toast!" Sherlock snapped angrily, causing the client to peer in at them. "Sorry, brief... Culinary discussion."

"We don't even have beans and toast anymore. Just stale crackers and formaldehyde." John hissed after the client awkwardly shuffled back to the sofa. "You might be able to survive on bodily fluids and unpaid debts, but the rest of need a bit more cash."

Sherlock sighed, deflating into something almost like shame. "Alright I'll take the bloody case."

"Thank you." John sighed.

It didn't take long for John to realize that when Sherlock said that missing persons cases were torturous, he wasn't being dramatic. It was only half an hour into the case and already he wished he had the money to pay someone else to do it for him. Her best friend claimed, (after a significant amount of improv on Sherlock's part) that Amelia had gone to a different friend's place to escape her mother's overbearing boyfriend.

"If I had the room, I'd have her stay here for the rest of the week. It's alright when her mum's around. But otherwise... He just seems off." She paused for a moment, considering something. "It's strange, Amy never told me she plays the cello."

John flinched from where he hid.

"She wouldn't've. I just began teaching her this past week. She has a lot of potential, but she just doesn't see it in herself." Sherlock said, smooth as silk. John sighed and rolled his eyes. "That's why I'm so concerned. I'd hate for her to to give up so soon."

"Yeah, that'd be shame. Well, I'll tell her you were concerne-"

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't. I mean, tracking her down through her friends... It's a bit creepy, isn't it?" Sherlock said with a self-deprecating chuckle. John could just imagine the fake puppy dog smile he must've slapped on like a halloween mask. He rolled his eyes harder.

"A bit, yeah." The girl chuckled back. "Well, is there a number I could reach you at? In case I see Amy or... Need music lessons."

John groaned. This case could end before lunchtime and it'd still be too long.

A two minutes and one bumbling explanation of why one's phone would end up at the bottom of the Thames later, Sherlock walked to the niche where John was waiting.

"Well that went well." John smirked, trailing behind the detective as he swept stormily down the street.

"I'm not a magician, John. No matter how often you insist so on your blog." Sherlock sighed, pouting to himself. "Women have never been my area of expertise."

John hummed in concurrence. "So, off to this other friend's place?"

"No." John blinked in confusion.

"But it's the only lead we have." John stated, going through the facts in his head. "Isn't it?"

"Our client introduced himself as Amelia's stepfather, correct?" Sherlock asked, rhetorically.

"Yeah so?" Sherlock answered only with a pointed silence. John got it. "The best friend called him her mother's boyfriend."

"Her mother's boyfriend 'who seems a bit off' no less. Teenage girls have a sort of sixth sense about these things. If sweet old ladies are the security cameras of the world, teenage girls are it's sniffer dogs." Sherlock said proudly as he flagged down a cab.

"I just hope this doesn't affect our pay."


Just a reminder that comments are very welcome! I know people are reading this somewhere out there in the world because the numbers keep changing,, but if I never get comments, I still feel like I'm writing to an empty room.