2. Meeting
Paint flecks, definitely paint.
Green.
Must have been a ladder.
No other way into that window.
Sherlock Holmes looks through the microscope in the laboratory at St. Bartholomew's hospital.
No vines or railings, no trees.
He used a ladder to climb into her window and murdered her.
Elementary really.
Of course, the door was locked.
Must text Gregson.
There's no signal.
The protein test should be ready now.
Sherlock walks over to the light table. He doesn't really need the light table. A white sheet would do as well, but Sherlock likes the light table. It makes the colors sharper. He pipettes the sample into the petri dish noting that there is no change.
Negative for proteins then.
He glances up as Mike Stanford enters the room.
Damp lines, grass marks, on his shoe says he's been in the park.
Stain on his horrendously bright tie says coffee.
Takes it with milk.
Has he found me a flatmate already?
He looks down.
A longer time will make a more conclusive test.
I'll mix the sample and leave it overnight.
He picks up the samples and swirls them.
Ah, the flatmate!
Military haircut.
Limp.
Wounded in action?
If he needs a flat, then he has probably only recently returned from...where?
"Bit different from my day," John Watson says.
"You have no idea," Mike replies.
Clipped phrases.
Used to giving commands, but makes casual small talk references.
Trained at Barts, then.
He's an army doctor.
Army doctors don't serve on the front lines.
How did he get wounded, I wonder?
Ah yes, the ladder.
"Mike can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock says, "There's no signal on mine."
"And what's wrong with the land line?" Mike replies.
"Oh I prefer to text."
Less time spent on tedious smalltalk.
"Sorry, it's in my coat," Mike says.
Disappointing, maybe Molly has a phone.
"Uh here, use mine," the other man says. Sherlock looks up.
Generous gesture. He seems nice enough.
"Oh, thank you," Sherlock replies.
"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson," Mike says.
Sherlock walks toward the man, his heels clicking on the linoleum floor. He buttons his jacket. First impressions are important.
Age mid-thirties.
Military bearing, jacket with epaulets. Yes, he's Army.
Reaching out, John passes his phone to Sherlock.
Scuffs on the power connection.
An alcoholic's phone.
Not his then.
He has a bad leg.
Why doesn't he sit?
Stamford is sitting... Obesity.
Wait...
It's psychosomatic.
Interesting.
Wartime trauma?
Afghanistan or Iraq?
The only two choices with that tan.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asks while opening the expensive phone that John obviously didn't buy.
Harry Watson from Clara, three kisses
His brother's marriage must be on the rocks.
Mike Stamford gives a wide smile. John Watson tilts his head, obviously puzzled.
"Sorry?" John asks.
Message sent.
Now Gregson can arrest the brother.
Another criminal bagged.
He's puzzled, oh ...my question.
"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"
Sherlock can see Molly through the door window. John tilts forward against his cane. "Afghanistan, how did you know?" He says shuffling his feet nervously.
Definitely psychosomatic.
He must drive his therapist crazy.
"Ah Molly, Coffee, thank you," Sherlock says as she comes in. She hands it to him. "What happened to the lipstick?" he says.
"It wasn't working for me," Molly says with a smile.
"Really, I thought it was a big improvement, your mouth's ...too small now."
Caffeine, good, not too hot.
"Okay," Molly says sheepishly before leaving the room as Sherlock walks back over to his bench. He places the coffee on the table.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asks.
Slow to answer.
He thinks before he speaks.
Very self contained.
Steady with just enough problems to be interesting.
"I'm sorry what?" John says.
A bit slow on the uptake, but generally genial.
I think I'll take him.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Will that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other," Sherlock said with a tacked on smile.
John's eyes shifted from Sherlock's to Mike's. "You told him about me," John says.
"Not a word," Mike replies shaking his head.
"Then who said anything about flatmates?" he said, an edge of anger in his voice.
Stubborn with a bit of a temper.
I like him already.
"I did," Sherlock said putting on his coat, "I said that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for ... now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. It wasn't a difficult leap."
"How did you know about Afghanistan?"
"I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening at seven o'clock. Sorry got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock walked past John Watson and toward the door.
"Is that it? "John questions. Sherlock steps back around to face him.
"Is that what?" Sherlock asks looking closely at the hard line of John's chin.
He isn't convinced.
Why not? This is perfect.
"We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat," he says stating the obvious. Sherlock glances from John to Stamford who is smiling.
"Problem?" he says.
John gave an odd un-grin and looked aside. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."
Stubborn.
He wants me to convince him.
If I don't tell him how I know, he'll follow me to the ends of the Earth just to ask.
Sherlock gazed hard at John ordering the facts in his head. "I know you're an army doctor and that you've been invalided home from Afghanistan and that you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him possibly because he's an alcoholic more likely because he just walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is just psychosomatic quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?"
Sherlock opens the door just as the last of John's sentence registers in his head.
"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker street," he says clicking his tongue at John and winking.
Yes, he'll do very nicely.
Must tell Mrs Hudson to take the flat off the market.
She was tempted by that pregnant couple.
Ghastly tenants they'd make with her snoring and his infidelity.
He takes the stairs two at a time smiling all the way.
