Flair

"You were . . ." Jane's eyes were closed. He grabbed the woman's wrist. "You were there — the house with golden curtains."

"Yes! The Douglases' dinner party!"

"And there's something . . . Yes . . . your dog is sick. You know why. Subconsciously . . ."

"Why?"

"The salmon she ate there — poisoned!"

"Poisoned?! I have to get Trixabella to a vet now!" She ran out the door.

"There was no need for the show. She would have told you about the party if you'd asked."

"I have flair."

Sherlock just snorted and turned away in a whirlwind of coat.

Lisbon watched him disappear down the hallway.

"Now that's flair."