Sherlock - The Game Is On!

A Study In Pink- Three

Chapter Three

Third POV

A loud zip echo's the morgue. The Sherlock Holmes, stands over the new dead body laying across the dissection table. "How fresh?" He inspects the contents within whilst fire-spitting deductions out: "Early thirties, tall, lean, imperious. He is plainly but neatly dressed." Next to him, Miss Hooper: Lab-coated, Clearly works here. "Just in, sixty-seven, natural causes. Used to work here, donated his body. I knew him. He was nice." She answered. Standing back into place he responded: "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop."

Watching from the side minutes later, Sherlock's shadow flaps all over the wall. He was slashing at the dissecting table with a riding crop.

Whack!!

Whack!!

Whack!!

Miss Hooper seemed to be in a form of fluster. "So. Bad day, was it?" Sherlock proceeded to write notes down, ignoring the petty little joke. "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. Text me."

"Listen, I was wondering, maybe later, when you're finished..."

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing any before."

"I just... Refreshed a little."

"Sorry, you were saying?" He focuses to her once again. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." With that he gave a brief forced smile and strides away.

***

Mike opened the door for us, proceeding to walk on. "Bit different from our day." John spoke. "You've no idea." That caught my brief attention before I placed myself, standing besides the table. I stayed silent whilst discussion progressed over the man taking John's phone. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" He questioned. I snapped my head towards the person in question. "Afghanistan. I'm sorry, How did you..." John drawled on, glancing to myself then Mike.

"Coffee! Thank you. What happened to the lipstick?" I took in the moment to assess this girl. A Miss Hooper according to name tag. Works around the morgue or is in charge... More or less. Brave by physical result but not so brave by emotion. Judging by the previous conversation this man before us has just given a huge blow to Miss Hooper's confidence. Either way, She fancies him. Either way, he doesn't care.

"Sociopath." I mutter aloud. The man in question briefly glances to me, with scrutinising eyes before looking away. "How do you both feel about the violin?"

"I'm sorry, what?" John was beyond baffled. "I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother either of you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other," John, who seemed flummoxed for the most part, looks towards Mike as if to ask if he's told this unknown man about him. "Not a word." Mike responded. I smirked a little already enjoying what was before me. "Then who said anything about flatmates?" John asked.

"He did."
"I did."

We both said at the same time. The man in question looked to me once more before continuing with his texting. "I said to Mike this morning, that I was a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now he turns up after lunch with some old friends both just home from military services in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap." After, for another moment, John trying to ask this unknown man how he knew of our background, the unknown man still ignored and proceeded to speak: "Problem?"

"We don't know a thing about each other. We don't even know your name. We don't even know where to meet tomorrow!" John seemed a little irritated but the man smiled. He smiled as if he loved what was coming next. "I know you've got a brother with a drinking problem whose worried for you, but you wont go to him because of the obvious. Although, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic quite correctly, I'm afraid. I know that she was also in Afghanistan but worked in some form of either intelligence or something higher..." He glanced at me solemnly before snapping out of wonder. "That's enough to go on with, don't you think?"

John was staring at him in amazement, slack-jawed. I, on the other hand was just looking at Mike. "I'm guessing this is his personality?" I asked, ignoring the obvious. "Yeah. He's always like that."

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He turned on his heel, out the door but not before winking and clicking his tongue: "Afternoon."