"Hello, Inspector Cheveux. My name is Colin Ellery."
Tall man, early 40's. Deep set wrinkles around his eyes: worries a lot. His left eye is slightly weaker. Firm lips: calloused, pessimistic. Steel gray hair, tousled and soft: brand name shampoo. Completely spotless gray suit: vaguely OCD. Pale blue dress shirt, top button unbuttoned: comfortably aware of his physical attractiveness. Versace Pour Homme cologne and Talbot wine: wealthy. Slight muscle twitch in left arm: recently went through a stressful incident. Death in the family? No, he's too well mannered to drink a $300 bottle of wine so soon after a relative's death. Fight with a spouse? Possibly. More likely a recent near-death experience. Probably related to a case.
"What happened?"
He turns, holding the cab door open for me. Someone recently had sex in here.
"Excuse me?"
"Your near-death experience. What happened?"
He's slightly nervous, but trying to hide it. He was probably warned about me. The cabbie is giving me a confused look through the mirror.
"I'm sorry, how did you..."
He's trailing off, probably unsure of whether or not to tell me. He's a bit narcissistic, though. He will.
"I got injured on a case involving..."
I don't really care. I tune him out. I have work to do.
Creak. The door to my mind palace opens and I step in. Ok, let's see, the room full of information about Moriarty. Ah yes, here it is. Diploma on the right hand wall: Professor. I know that well enough. Next, a bookcase. Let's see, books: Carl Powers, The Great Game, Shared Boredom, Consultant Criminal, Clean Hands, Underwear, Burning Hearts, Stayin' Alive, Irene Adler.. Oh!
"Inspector Cheveux?"
My mind palace shatters. Ellery is holding the cab door open and staring at me. It's a good look for him. The cabbie is German, has three kids, and smells like cigarettes, sweat, and Old Spice. (Unimportant: delete) We're at Scotland Yard. Familiarity. Cheveux is talking to the receptionist. I wonder if she still doesn't know her husband is cheating on her. She motions the way to Lestrade's office.
26 cubicles. It's a bit chilly in here. Too bad I can't wear my old coat. "Turning up your coat collar so you look cool." John.
I don't do that!
"Lestrade, this is Detective Inspector Hamish Cheveux. Mr. Cheveux, this is DI Lestrade."
"Pleased to meet you"
What's his first name again? Gavin? George? Oh, who cares.
"Likewise."
Ellery is handing over my papers. I wonder what Lestrade thinks about Hamish Cheveux. What do I look like to him? Young, inexperienced, shy. What is going on in that splendidly dull brain? He's unimpressed, that's for sure.
"Inspector Cheveux will be in your division. He's specialist chosen to pursue the Holmes/Moriarty case. You'll find all his necessary files here. Now, if there's nothing else, I really have to be going. A pleasure, as always, Lestrade. Cheveux."
Lestrade won't comprehend much from those tedious files he's pouring over. I'm a Detective Inspector from Birmingham. Probably won't bother checking to see if that's true. He has orders from above to take me. What's in his eyes? Resentment? Probably doesn't like an equal being given his case. If only he knew we were not equal. At least not in intellectual prowess.
"Alright, Mr. Cheveux, everything seems to be in order. The office next door has been cleared out for you temporarily. I hope you find it satisfactory. Now, if you don't mind, I have some work to get to. Donovan will be in soon to give you the necessary details. Good day."
Overly formal speech, loss of respectful title, barely veiled sarcasm. Definitely resentment.
"Thank you."
That's what people say, I think. Who cares. Lestrade's noncommittal nod means I can leave. The office is small, but I don't need vast amounts of space. Nice desk and comfortable chair though. I suppose that box on the desk is my personal affects. Personal in the loosest sense of the word. Mycroft's idea, obviously. Dent in the corner, scratch on the top. Accidental, not malicious. Inside the box: Oxford diploma, 40x-2500x Biological Microscope, 10MP camera, Macbook Pro laptop, elephant figurine, iPhone, and empty picture frame. "Photograph someone and put their picture in here. You need to not be a sociopath." Thanks for the sticky note, Mycroft.
"Inspector Cheveux?"
Donovan is looking as dull-witted as usual.
"The same. I'm assuming you're Donovan?"
"Yes, that's me. I heard you're here about the Holmes/Moriarty case. I'll give you a hint: It's not as complicated as some are making it out to be. Sherlock Holmes was a psychopath, pure and simple."
High-functioning sociopath! Does no one understand the difference?
"Leave the case files on the desk, please."
She's staring at me. Am I being rude? Well, I can hardly be blamed, being called a psychopath on my first day at work. She'll get over it. The door did not need to be shut so firmly. I guess I should be nicer. I'm just not in the mood for acting today. Good, some peace and quiet. I can get back to my mind palace.
Creak. The door to my mind palace opens and I step in. Why did I put so many stairs in here? Here's my Moriarty room. Morbid place. Book shelf: Irene Adler. Book opens: "Hello? Yes, of course it is, what do you want?" "Say that again! Say that again and know if you are lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you!" Irene Adler was working for Jim Moriarty, in a way. She had his number, not the Professor's. I wonder - "That was amazing!...It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary." John. What are you doing here? No, leave, you're breaking my concentration. Don't look like that, John, you know what I mean! I'm going crazy, I need to get out of here.
I open my eyes. The light is bright, but that's because my pupils are dilated. Why is Anderson staring at me through the glass?
"If you have something to say, come in and say it."
Anderson looks embarrassed. I guess that wasn't what he expected me to say. What would he expect me to say? I guess something sentimental about being glad to meet him. But I'm not glad to meet him. Isn't honesty a virtue upheld by ordinary people? I don't think I'll ever understand them.
"Hello, I'm, uh, I'm sorry I was staring. I just, was wondering if you were ok."
"Why?"
"You were standing there with your eyes shut. I guess, well, you're probably tired. I don't want to bother you. I just came to say introduce myself."
What an idiot.
"Well, then say what you came to say."
"Oh, right. Well, I'm Philip Anderson. I'm a member of the forensics team."
"If you're in forensics, than what are you doing here?"
"To meet you, of course!"
Why would he want to meet me? Is this a normal social gesture?
"Oh?"
"Well, I was a personal...I mean, I knew Sherlock personally. I just, I thought maybe I could help you with the case in some way. I mean, if you need any personal accounts of the man."
"I think I have everything under control for now. If I need anything, I'll be sure to let you know."
"Right. Well, I'll be off then. Good to meet you Mr..."
"You know my name."
"Of course. Good to meet you Mr. Cheveux."
I really dislike that man.