**I do not own Sherlock. I only own Sarafina and Liza Holmes.**

Chapter 3

The next day, we came back from Bart's again and saw John walking towards 221B. The cab stops in front of the door and Uncle Sherlock and I get out.

"Hello." Uncle Sherlock says as he stops to pay the cabbie. The cab drives off and I hear John say,

"Ah, Mr. and Ms. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please." Uncle Sherlock says as he and John shake hands.

"And Liza, actually." I speak up.

"Alright, Liza. Pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well." I reply back.

"Well this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John says.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Uncle Sherlock replies.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no. I ensured it."

Uncle Sherlock smiles at John as the front door opens to reveal a smiling Mrs. Hudson. She looks at him and opens her arms to hug Uncle Sherlock.

"Sherlock, hello." Uncle Sherlock accepts her hug briefly and steps back.

This time she opens her arms to hug me. I welcome it.

"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Uncle Sherlock introduces John to Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello." She says to John.

"How do?" John replies. She then gestures John inside.

"Come in."

John says, "Thank you." and walks in.

"Shall we?" Uncle Sherlock asks Mrs. Hudson.

"Yeah." Mrs. Hudson replies.

We all walk inside and Uncle Sherlock and I trot upstairs while John hobbles up the stairs after us. Uncle Sherlock opens the door and we walk into the flat. John looks around the room and says,

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

"Yes. Yes I think so. My thoughts precisely." Uncle Sherlock says as he happily takes a look around the flat.

"So we went straight ahead and moved in." Uncle Sherlock says as John simultaneously says,

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out… Oh." I look at John as he pauses.

'Awkward…' I think to myself as I watch them from my spot on the couch.

"So this is all…" John starts.

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Uncle Sherlock says.

He walks across the room and I watch as he throws some folders into a box. I get up, deciding that I should probably help since I helped create some of this mess, and pick up some unopened envelopes and put them on the mantelpiece. As an added measure I take a knife that was sitting there and stabbed it into the stack of envelopes. Uncle Sherlock briefly nods his approval and keeps cleaning. John lifts up his cane and points to 'Finnegan the Skull', as I had named him.

"That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'…" Uncle Sherlock replies shrugging.

"I call him Finnegan." I say proudly.

John smiles and Uncle Sherlock just rolls his eyes. I stick my tongue out at him as Mrs. Hudson comes into the room.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

I stifle a giggle as John throws a puzzled look at Mrs. Hudson. Uncle Sherlock just rolls his eyes again as he takes off his coat and scarf.

"Of course we'll be needing two."

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here," her voice drops down to a whisper. "Mrs. Turner next doors got married ones." Mrs. Hudson says to John.

John just turns to Uncle Sherlock expecting him to say something, but he doesn't. He just looks as oblivious as always. Mrs. Hudson walks into the kitchen and frowns at Uncle Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made."

She starts tidying up as John walks over to one of the armchairs and plops himself on it. He looks at Uncle Sherlock, who's still tidying up.

"I looked you up on the internet last night."

I frown and look at Uncle Sherlock to see what his reaction is. He just turns to John and says,

"Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."

Uncle Sherlock smiles proudly.

"What did you think?"

I look to John as he gives Uncle Sherlock one of those incredulous looks.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Oh he can." I jump in. "I've seen it. It's very interesting."

"Thank you, Liza. But you're still helping me clean later…" Uncle Sherlock says back.

"Dang it…" I fold my arms and pout, but he just rolls his eyes and turns to John.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brothers drinking habits in your mobile phone."

"How?" John asks.

Uncle Sherlock just smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes back from the kitchen reading the newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

Uncle Sherlock walks up to the window.

"Four. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

I get up and walk over to where he's standing at the window.

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asks sounding slightly confused.

I turn from the window to see Lestrade coming up the stairs.

"Where?" Uncle Sherlock asks.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade replies.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

'Please don't be Anderson. Please don't be Anderson.' I plead to myself.

"It's Anderson." Lestrade replies.

'Of course it is…' I think to myself.

I think Uncle Sherlock was thinking the same thing because he grimaced at the same time I did. Either that or it was wind.

"Anderson won't work with me."

"Well he won't be your assistant." Lestrade persuades.

"I need an assistant."

"I'll be your assistant." I say to Uncle Sherlock.

He looks at me, sort of like he's contemplating it when Lestrade interrupts.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." Uncle Sherlock says.

"Thank you."

Lestrade looks around at me, John, and Mrs. Hudson before hurrying downstairs. As soon as Lestrade left, Uncle Sherlock leapt into the air and twirled around the room, something I thought I'd never see him do.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

I realized it wasn't one of the happiest situations in the world, but his reaction brought a smile to my face and I ran to get my jacket. He does the same and yells in the kitchen,

"Mrs. Hudson, we'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson replies.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

By then I was ready and Uncle Sherlock and I headed downstairs. We were halfway to the door when I heard John yell something like, "Damn my leg!" but I wasn't quite sure. Uncle Sherlock looks at me.

"Wait here." He says as he heads back upstairs.

I sigh, but stay put. A few minutes later I hear Uncle Sherlock and John coming down the stairs.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, ill skip the tea. Off out." John says.

Mrs. Hudson stands at the bottom of the stairs.

"All of you?" She asks

Uncle Sherlock is about to reach the door when he turns around and walks back towards Mrs. Hudson.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He says as he grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson smiles

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Uncle Sherlock says as he walks out the door.

I smile and run out to catch up to him as he hails a cab. It stops by the curb and all three of us climb in, I being seated in the middle, of course. Uncle Sherlock takes out his phone and starts messing around with it, I sit there and twiddle my thumbs, and John keeps glancing over at Uncle Sherlock.

'Get a little more obvious there John?' I think to myself as I try not to smile.

Uncle Sherlock puts down his phone and says,

"Okay, you've got questions."

I assumed that was directed towards John, so I looked over at him.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?" Uncle Sherlock says.

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

John takes his time to think of an answer.

"I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"… but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?" John asks.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always,"

"Not always…" I correct.

He looks at me and I look at him. I cock an eyebrow and he continues.

"… most of the time, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs." John says.

I giggle and Uncle Sherlock gives John a look.

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

"Yes, how did you know?" John asks.

I love when people ask that and I think Uncle Sherlock enjoys it too. I sit back and watch him go to work.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room…"

I flashbacked to Bart's and the way John had said, "Bit different from my day" and went back to the conversation.

"… said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but not sun bathing. 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." He finished with a loud "k" sound from 'Iraq'.

I felt like clapping, but I knew he was far from finished.

"You said I had a therapist." John said.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

Uncle Sherlock holds his hand out and John hands Uncle Sherlock his phone.

"Your phone. Its expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then." He turns it over and continues.

"Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to Liza and I wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bits easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." John says.

I look over and see the words,

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 models 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 not, 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." Uncle Sherlock rambles.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asks. Uncle Sherlock smirks.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scruff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see these marks on a sober man's phone; you never see a drunks without them." He hands the phone back to John.

"There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?" John asks confused.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Uncle Sherlock says as he looks out the window.

I turn to John and wait for a response.

"That… was amazing."

Both Uncle Sherlock and I jump slightly and look at John, surprised at what he said. Uncle Sherlock waits and asks,

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John replies.

I stare at him, mouth agape as Uncle Sherlock says,

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?" John asks.

"'Piss off'!"

Uncle Sherlock smiles and John does the same as he turns and looks out the window. I give a little smile as I lean my head against Uncle Sherlock's shoulder and close my eyes. Sometime later, the cabbie stops at Lauriston Gardens and we get out and walk towards the scene.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Uncle Sherlock asks John.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

Uncle Sherlock looks impressed with himself. Frankly, I'm impressed as well. Usually he gets at least something wrong.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

I do an air quote motion with my fingers and Uncle Sherlock just keeps walking.

"And Harry's short for Harriet."

Uncle Sherlock stops suddenly. I also stop and look at John.

"What?" I ask.

"Harry's your sister." Uncle Sherlock says.

John keeps walking and asks,

"Look, what exactly and I supposed to be doing here?"

Uncle Sherlock grits his teeth and says,

"Sister!"

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asks, ignoring Uncle Sherlock.

Uncle Sherlock looks exasperated but keeps walking.

"There's always something."

We approach the police tape and I see Sergeant Donovan standing there.

"Oh yay…" I mumble sarcastically.

"Hello, freak." She says.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Uncle Sherlock replies, ignoring her greeting.

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"Why?"

Uncle Sherlock looks at her and replies sarcastically,

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always, Sally." He says and smells the air.

"I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't…" She looks at John. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson."

He turns to John and says,

"Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." He says that last part sarcastically.

"A colleague? How did you get a colleague?!" She asks turning to John. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and…" John starts.

Uncle Sherlock lifts up the police tape and says,

"No.".

John walks under the tape as Sally turns and looks at me.

"Sorry, no minors allowed at a crime scene."

"Hm. Weird that they'd let morons like you and Anderson in but not minors…" I said bitterly.

Uncle Sherlock smirked and turned to Donovan.

"She's with me. Come, Liza."

Donovan rolls her eyes and walks away. I walk under the tape and look at Uncle Sherlock.

"Would you quit calling me like a dog?!" I say.

He chuckles and keeps walking. I can hear Donovan say, "Freaks here. Bringing him in." into the radio.

"Did you know that if you frown like that all the time, your face could permanently stay like that?" I ask Donovan.

She turns to me and frowns.

"Oops, sorry. Too late." I say as we walk up to the house.

As we get closer, Anderson comes out.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Uncle Sherlock says to him.

Anderson looks at him distastefully and says,

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" He turns to me. "I'm talking to you too, girl."

"Really? I thought that was just toward him?" I ask as I point to Uncle Sherlock.

Uncle Sherlock breathes in through his nose again and says,

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson replied.

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

Uncle Sherlock makes a quirky expression with his face and says,

"It's for men."

I snort and Anderson glares at me. He turns his attention back to Uncle Sherlock.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Uncle Sherlock says.

Anderson turns and looks at Donovan in shock as Uncle Sherlock sniffs pointedly.

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized."

I smelled the air and plugged my nose, proving his point.

"May I go in?" He finishes.

Anderson turns to hi and points at him angrily.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying anything." He says as he walks towards the door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over."

He turns back and says,

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

I laugh out loud and cover my mouth with my hand. Just as I was about to run inside, I had to look and savor the looks of horror on Anderson and Donovan's faces.

'Priceless.' I think to myself.

Uncle Sherlock leads us to a room where I see Lestrade putting on a coverall. Uncle Sherlock points to a pile of coveralls laying on a table in front of him and looks at John and me.

"You need to wear one of these."

I roll my eyes but take one anyways. Lestrade looks at John and back to Uncle Sherlock.

"Who's this?"

Uncle Sherlock looks questioningly at Lestrade.

"It's Liza. Don't you remember her?"

Lestrade rolls his eyes.

"I know who she is. Who is he?"

"He's with me." Uncle Sherlock says as he takes off his gloves.

"But who is he?" Lestrade persists.

"I said he's with me."

By that time both John and I have our coveralls on. John looks at Uncle Sherlock.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?"

Uncle Sherlock sternly glares at John and John just shakes his head.

"He never wears one." I assure John. I lower my voice to a whisper. "Might wrinkle his precious coat…"

John chuckles. Uncle Sherlock ignores us and asks Lestrade,

"So where are we?"

Lestrade picks up a pair of latex gloves and replies,

"Upstairs."

Sorry this was such a long chapter. Sherlock's deducing really took up a lot of space! Hope you like the story, even though there isn't much of Liza in it as I had hoped. I'm planning on, after this episode, putting in a little "backstory" on Liza, though. For those who are wondering. Let me know what you think of that. I love reviews!