"But the question is John," Sherlock began as he paced up and down the living room, unable to control himself from the case which had occupied his mind so suddenly. "Why kill him? He was a stay at home father...never did anything which could result in murder...there was no affair...no debt...he looked after his child all the time. There had to be something."
"Maybe," John shrugged. "But by the looks of it you're after someone with a steady hand, did you see the wounds in his neck? No one shaking could have done that."
"That's true. Even in a crime of passion there would have been some shaking involved," Sherlock agreed for once.
"Oh!" Sherlock suddenly said as he heard the door slam downstairs and then footsteps approached.
"That's brilliant!" he cried out, jumping onto his coffee table and then down onto the floor as Scarlett walked into the living room, throwing her bag down and placing her keys on the coffee table which Sherlock had just stood on before removing her heels and coat, just watching as Sherlock muttered under his breath so that no one could hear him before he shouted;
"We need to go the museum!"
"What?" John stammered. "Why on earth would we need to go there?"
"Every day I count myself lucky I don't have your brain John," Sherlock insulted his friend who just remained silent, knowing that talking back to Sherlock wouldn't do anyone any good and if he had to be frank, he could be particularly bothered to do it anyway.
"Do you plan on telling me why we need to go there or not?" John wondered as Sherlock watched Scarlett moved into the kitchen and then down the hallway, slowly, he stood in the doorway and watched her wonder off down the corridor, ignoring John's questions;
"Where are you going?" he asked her. "You come in without saying a word and now you wander off."
"I didn't want to interrupt your flow!" She yelled from the bedroom. "And I'm having dinner tonight, with a friend."
"What friend?" Sherlock asked, moving to his room where he saw her stood, the door wide open and her hands searching through the wardrobe which she shared with Sherlock, even though she took up more space than him, which he had initially complained about but then she reminded him who was currently paying most the rent. To which he responded by calling her 'insufferable' and that she should 'keep her theories to herself'.
"James." Scarlett said, picking out her maxi dress and dropping it onto the bed whilst Sherlock simply raised a brow;
"A male?" he asked her.
"I don't know many females called James, do you?" Scarlett grinned and Sherlock scolded himself for asking her such a daft question but he remained calm, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway.
"You've never mentioned him before," Sherlock informed her and she began to go into her jewellery box, looking through her items.
"Haven't I?" She asked him and he shook his head. "We haven't known each other too long anyway, he's a new solicitor and quite nice..."
"Oh I can imagine," Sherlock drawled dryly.
"Anyway, he offered to take me for dinner as friends and I said yes...considering you and John have been busy on this case for a while," Scarlett waved a hand, resting down the jewellery on her dress and observing it from a distance whilst Sherlock remained quiet until he heard John from behind him;
"So why are we going to the museum?" he asked and Sherlock huffed as John handed him his coat and he placed it on.
"He made a donation to a painting," Sherlock said. "I think he found out the painting was stolen."
"How did you even deduce that?" John asked but Sherlock continued to watch Scarlett as she brushed her hair in the mirror.
"I see through everything John," Sherlock snapped. "How do you not know that by now?"
"Okay then." John picked up on Sherlock's awful attitude and he stepped back down the corridor as Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at Scarlett who was then playing with her golden curls.
"Do I even consider waiting up for you?" Sherlock asked her and she shrugged;
"I'm not fussed," she said. "I'm only going out for a meal with a friend Sherlock...no clubbing or anything like that."
"Oh that's a relief to know," he said. "At least I don't have to worry about getting a call at one in the morning to come and fetch you because you've managed to get yourself into some drunken brawl."
"What has gotten into you?" Scarlett asked, turning around and placing a hand onto her hip.
"Nothing," he said quickly back. "Anyway, I shall leave you to it...some of us have killers to catch."
"Okay then," she agreed. "See you later."
"Maybe," Sherlock murmured and left her to change.
...
"You've been in a foul mood all night," John commented as he and Sherlock walked the paths of London, Sherlock peering around into restaurants and shops.
"Am I normally in a pleasant mood?" Sherlock wondered, looking down at the smaller man who shook his head;
"Well no," he mused. "But you're even worse than normal tonight."
"Humph," Sherlock grunted and finally he spotted her. She was sat on a chair opposite a tall blonde man, pulling her dress up and laughing as she did so. She held an orange juice in her hand as she laughed at the man and Sherlock stopped and watched. John drew to a halt beside his friend and looked onto the scene.
"Ah." He said. "That's why you wanted to walk."
"I wanted fresh air," Sherlock counteracted.
"To see her with him," John ignored his protests. "How did you even know she was eating here?"
"I looked into her schedule in her Blackberry," Sherlock whispered as he watched her laugh again and John shook his head;
"You followed her because you're jealous," he said and Sherlock scoffed and continued walking.
"I am not jealous," he said. "Why would I be jealous?"
"Because you truly want her to yourself," John replied. "Sherlock Holmes, jealous of another man."
"Don't make me push you into the road," Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth whilst John chuckled.
...
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