Not so Shakespearean

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything that pertains to BBC's hit-show. I only own my original character (OC) Ophelia Doreen Watson and minor plot. Please enjoy and don't forget to review, alert, or favorite! Thank you.
Author's Note:Thank you to: ChibiCheshire, Thetroublewithexes, and shinigamigymnast13 for the favorites! And LadyInAzure, PrincessMacaroni, SpectrumLight, XLauraEmrysX, cloudsomniakitty, ermahgerdwhatever, and mf6661 for the alerts! Now onto the story~

4. Intermission: Cab ride

*bonus chapter*

"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock said after a short, but pregnant silence.
John didn't know whether to feel amused or curious, perhaps both would be best: "yeah, where are we going?" There was a sort of smile on his face when he looked over at his new flatmate.
"Crime scene. Next?" was the short answer he got. John huffed slightly, "who are you? What do you do?"
"What do you think?" Sherlock looked curious to what John would said, and John was hesitant to take a guess; however, slowly and cautiously he replied, "I'd say private detective..." John stopped short, in taking some breath, "but?" Sherlock interrupted. "But the police don't go to private detectives." John finished, his eyes scanning over the man's face to see an affirming expression; none came.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."
John felt a tremor of shock go through him, but rebounded quickly, "what does that mean?"
Sherlock let out, what John believed was, a sigh, "it means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."
John chuckled ever so slightly, "the police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock threw John a look, which John couldn't entirely place; if he didn't know any better he'd say that he was upset.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John curiously asked, hoping that his question might finally be answered.
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room... said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." A click of a 'k' sounds from the last word as Sherlock then wordlessly looks out the window, satisfied with himself.
"You said I had a therapist." John stated.
"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." Sherlock answered, he looked back to John who looked surprised and squeaked a small hmmfrom the back of his throat; Sherlock holds his hand out, "your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." John handed him his phone and watches as Sherlock turns it over before speaking again, "scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

John didn't skip a beat: "the engraving."

Harry Watson
From Clara
xxx

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked, astonishment heavy on his words.
Sherlock smiled, "shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He handed the phone back to John, quite satisfied with himself.

"What about having a younger sister? You couldn't have known by looking at my hair or phone." John pushed, watching as Sherlock's smile twitched larger. Sherlock's eyes shifted over to John's wrist, "you wear an old watch; almost ten years old by the worn leather. You clean it regularly, so it's obviously something that means a great deal to you - given to you by someone you love. No ring, not a wife. Can't be a girlfriend or else you'd most likely be living with her and not searching for a flatshare. Could be niece or nephew, but your brother doesn't have any children or else you'd have their photos in your wallet; sibling then. It wouldn't have been your brother since you hardly talk to him, so that leaves another sibling."

"Okay, so how did you get the younger sister part?"

"I was getting there, John," Sherlock said reluctantly before continuing: "the brand is expensive, meaning the person that gave it to you cares about you. I could say it was your mother, but watches are an uncommon gift from mother to son; however, whoever gave it to you doesn't know much about watches. The brand is expensive, pretty, but that doesn't mean it's good; you've had it repaired more times than you'd be likely to count. Most men know about watches, but women on the other hand tend to not know much - or anything - about them. So a woman, a sibling: sister. I say younger because there is a pinkish tint to the watch band, but it's not the color of the leather: something was rubbed off against it. Most likely plastic or ribbon, I'm going to say ribbon because of the material barbs that are still stuck to it. An older would not put a pink ribbon around the band, only a younger one would do that."

"That's how you got a younger sister?" John looked at the man sitting next to him with non-belief.

"You want me to continue? Well, while we were at the hospital you had a run in with her, correct? The woman who had the pale blonde hair and a cast around her hand? You look surprised to see her there, and she was trying to hide her face; she didn't want you to see her? Or maybe she didn't want you to look surprised when you entered the room, either way she was worried about you. You both were surprised to see each other - she must've just gotten the job and moved into town. Haven't seen each other in years, though you've talked frequently. You immediately stood straight up when you saw her, your hand gripped your cane more than it was before - protective; an obvious trait in older siblings." Silence fell over them once again.

"There you go, you see – you were right."
"I was right? Right about what?" John blanched.
"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock looked out the window, biting his lip (nervously?) while waiting for John to say something, anything.
"That ... was amazing."

Sherlock looked towards John, shock and surprise marring his face before replying, "do you think so?
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."
"That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?"
"'Piss off'!" Sherlock smiled briefly at John, who returned the smile before looking back out the window, "like brother, like sister I suppose."

"What was that?"

"Oh nothing, we're almost here." Sherlock responded quickly, looking back out the window, but this time not waiting for a reply. Silence settled over them once again.