John quickly closes the door as Caitlin was mere inches away from her freedom. She slams into the door, hitting her head hard and making the world spin. As she begins to fall, Sherlock catches her once more, and sits her down on the couch.
"John, I have told you many times before that I am married to my work, and therefore have no time for…girlfriends…" Sherlock sighs as he turns to John. "I'm investigating a murder, and if you wouldn't mind, I need some help to see if she has a concussion or not from that bloody door."
John smirks at this, almost in mockery. "Wow, Sherlock Holmes needs help from a lowly doctor? That's a first!" He exhales a chuckle to himself as Sherlock sighs again displeased with John's remark.
"John, I swear, if you don't help me-"
"Yeah, yeah. We're looking for signs of a concussion, right? Well, I doubt she has one from how hard she hit the door, but I may as well check." He lifts Caitlin's head as he grabs a small flashlight from his pocket. "Look at my finger," he says, holding up a single finger and inspecting her eyes. When he is done, he gives a nod of approval and looks back over his shoulder to Sherlock. "No signs of a concussion, but you should still go easy on her."
Sherlock rolls his eyes at John, then looks at Caitlin. "I guess now we can begin the interrogation," he says, eyeing her like some sort of parasite. He pulls up a chair opposite of the couch and debates how to begin. "Where were you on May 15 from 9 pm to 4 am?" he questions, his eyes searching her face, smirking with the knowledge of a thousand men.
"I was at home, messaging my…friend…about her plans for the weekend," she says, slightly quivering and hoping nobody notices. Especially not him. The one with the piercing blue eyes, and the ever-knowing smile.
"Is that really what you did, Ms. Winters? Because evidence places you at the scene of a crime committed that night. Do you have any proof that you were in that basement messaging that friend of yours?" he asks, his eyes alight with a fiery passion.
He loves this, she thinks. He loves to watch the way they squirm under his gaze. The way their eyes say everything their lips don't.
"If you allow me to log onto the website I was on, I can show you the messages from that night," she blushes. "Although they are quite personal, and I would prefer that nobody saw them…"
"Great!" Sherlock replied with a clap, then he got up, spinning around to fetch the computer from the table. "John, watch her to make sure she doesn't run. It would be quite unfortunate to have to catch her yet again on the streets."
John walked up to his flat mate, that well known look branded onto his face. "Sherlock," he whispered. "We can't go through those messages!"
"Why not? I see no reason why we should deny her the opportunity to prove to us that she truly is innocent of this crime."
