'Yes, Detective Inspector, I'm on my way,' Sherlock spoke with a clipped tone, hanging up immediately after he had finished speaking. 'John, fetch my coat. And one for yourself. I'm going out I want to you assist me at work today,' he called to John who was in the kitchen.
'Yes, sir,' John replied, moving quickly to get the coats.
John sat quietly next to his owner in the back of a taxi, the temptation to ask where they were going was burning on his lips but he resisted. He doubted he would get an answer anyway, Sherlock had a faraway expression on his face, one that had become familiar to John as his thinking face. He had instructions not to interrupt when his master was thinking.
'Master,' he thought to himself, bitterly. He had grown used to the unusual gentleman that had purchased him a few weeks ago from the notorious Southwark Slave Market, had some modicum of respect for him, even had begun to admire his evident genius, but the master-slave dynamic still existed between them, and it caused John almost physical pain to know that he was not his own person, let alone have daily reminders from his own mind.
The taxi slowed to a stop down by the wharf, the Thames lapping at the wood languidly. Sherlock strode confidently down the creaking wooden planks, towards the fluorescent yellow presence of the police at the end of the wharf. John trotted along a reasonable three paces behind him, eyes lowered, pretending he was invisible. He was increasingly uncomfortable as he stood behind the huddle of police officers, all talking and interacting with each other and Sherlock and utterly ignoring his existence.
He became more and more angry the longer he stood there. 'I'm a human being too, you shits!' he wanted to scream at them, but common sense held his tongue. The only thing that would stop them from drowning him if he spoke to them like that would be his owner's protection, but he did not know or trust Sherlock enough to rely on him yet.
'It's like the others, the killing style?' Sherlock asked one of the officers who nodded, 'There's no discernable pattern to the dump sites, but all the victims have similar wounds.'
He watched Sherlock examining something in the water below, John thought he could see a small wooden boat at the end of the dock. Sherlock moved swiftly, with a sense of purpose and an air of superiority that was evidently irritating those around him. He pulled a cameraphone from one of the voluminous pockets of his coat, and took several pictures from different angles.
'Is that necessary, Holmes?' asked a man with floppy, greasy hair and a big nose when he noticed the pictures.
'Shut up, Anderson, I'm trying to think,' Sherlock quipped back. John noticed the man's jaw visibly clench. Anderson now turned to look at John, hovering behind the officers, 'Got a new toy, Sherlock? Didn't know you swung that way… Donnovan you owe me fifty quid!' he called to a curly haired, dark skinned woman who rolled her eyes.
'Shut up, Anderson,' this time it came from a silver-haired man, standing the closest to Sherlock, who had just finished his examination. 'Any ideas, Sherlock?' he asked, turning his attention to the taller man.
'Seven,' Mr Holmes replied, beginning to stride back towards John.
'Care to share?' asked the detective, having to walk quicker than normal to keep up with Sherlock's long strides.
'I'll call you when I have a clearer picture, but tell your men to be on the look out for a five foot nine male wearing a suit made of black polyester fibre, extremely agile and strong, and carrying a short, curved blade - like a scimitar,' Sherlock answered him, John thought he detected a note of satisfaction in his owner's voice.
The other man shook his head, 'I don't know why I'm still shocked by you, Sherlock. I'll have the body sent to the morgue immediately. I'll call you if I have more details.'
A faint smile pulled at the corner of Sherlock's mouth, 'Good day, Lestrade.'
On the drive back, Sherlock was looking through the pictures he had taken, frowning to himself. John watched him curiously.
'Youre a detective, then?' he asked, flinching immediately as the piercing blue eyes shot up to meet his own, 'Apologies for speaking without permission, sir.'
Sherlock didn't even acknowledge his apology, just answered his question, 'I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world.'
'What's a consulting detective?' John asked him.
'When the police are lost, which is always, they consult me. I help them solve cases,' Sherlock told him, a note of pride creeping into his voice, 'Evidently they have a string of similar murders with no way of catching the killer as yet.'
'Are you any good at solving crimes?' John asked, smirking slightly.
'The best,' Sherlock replied.
'Not hard if you're the only one in the world though, is it?' John teased, smiling at the detective.
Sherlock's face broke into a smile, and teased back, 'Cheek. Behave yourself.'
John nodded, still smiling but not wanting to push it. He was glad he had found that he could hold conversation with his owner, otherwise it would be a lonely time in the little flat on Baker Street.
Passing under a motorway bridge Sherlock called to the driver to stop. He hopped out, leaving John in the car. He squinted curiously as Holmes spoke with a young woman, wearing several layers of clothing that looked as though she had been sleeping rough for a while. After a brief discussion the girl nodded and left, and Sherlock returned to the taxi.
'Homeless network,' he said in response to John's curious look, 'Much faster than police work.' John nodded, still confused but decided against asking for clarification.
They arrived outside St Bartholomew's Hospital, and headed inside to the morgue. John once again walking quickly behind Sherlock's long strides, coat billowing behind him dramatically. Sherlock marched through the double doors, startling a young mousey looking woman who was pulling a corpse out of a freezer.
'Hello Molly,' Sherlock's baritone rumbled across the cool lab.
'Oh, h-hello Sherlock,' the young woman stammered back. John studied her from a distance. She was clearly somewhat intimidated by Sherlock's presence, the way she scurried around him.
'I suppose you're here for the body that was found in the rowboat this morning?' Molly asked him, moving to open a freezer for him, laying the cadaver out for his inspection. John moved closer, curious.
The young medical pathologist noticed John's movement and started, just realising she and the consulting detective were not alone. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed the collar he wore and John looked away awkwardly.
'You - you have a slave, Sherlock?' she almost whispered.
'Hm? Oh yes, Molly Hooper, meet John Watson, John this is Molly one of the best medical pathologists in the world,' Sherlock chirped without turning round, attention fixated on the cold, blue-ish body on the metal slab before him, gaping wound to the chest visible even from where John was standing. John noticed Molly flush at Sherlock's acknowledgement of her expertise. John had only just met her and could tell she was strongly attracted to the tall, dark detective.
'He's helping me on a case,' Sherlock continued, seemingly to justify John's presence. Molly nodded, but John saw a glint of jealousy in her eyes as she moved to help Sherlock roll the body over.
'Jealous? Why on earth - oh God, that's the second one today to think we're sleeping together,' John rolled his eyes to himself, shaking his head slightly, 'Too bad for my owner, I'm not gay.'
'Looking at the wound close up confirms my initial thought, a scimitar or similar curved short sword,' Sherlock spoke to himself, but Molly gave him noises of agreement anyway.
'Time of death is between twelve and two this morning,' Molly informed him, and he nodded thoughtfully.
'Thank you, Miss Hooper, that will be all for today,' he nodded to her, turning to stride towards the exit, 'Come, John.'
John's stomach lurched slightly at the commanding tone in Sherlock's voice, he was clearly a man on a mission - a shark with the scent of blood. John nodded to Molly politely and she raised a hand before he jogged after the detective.