Elementary, My Dear Joan

A Consulting Detective?

The next afternoon at one O clock, Joan Watson set out for 221B Baker Street. Naturally in typical British fashion rain wept from the grey sky, coating the street in a mirror-like film. Joan ambled away from her flat and glanced down at the directions she'd printed off of Google the night before. As it was Sunday the city seemed a little quieter than usual, the odd tourist or homeless person dotted on the side of the street.

Joan hailed a cab from the main road (giving up entirely on trying to follow the poorly printed information) and asked the driver if he might take her to Baker street; he obliged and told her to hop in. The drive took roughly only twenty five minutes or so and, when she'd paid the man, Joan stepped out to be confronted by a large, polished, black door. The faded gold numbers were all slightly crooked above the golden knocker. Taking a deep breath, she knocked twice and stood back, expecting Sherlock to come and throw it open. However she was met with a short, elderly man. He wore a gingham shirt with a woollen vest and small spectacles on the end of his nose. What with his gentle, rounded features, he looked like the grandfather every child wished for. "Why hello. Can I help you at all?"

Joan nodded eagerly and cupped her hands "Yes. I'm Joan Watson; I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes?" A broad grin made its way onto his clean shaven face and he gestured inside "Oh yes!" He chuckled "You're the young lady interested in the flat share! I'm Matthew Hudson." Before she could react, Joan found herself wrapped in a warm hug which she returned hesitantly as he patted her back "Sherlock's told me all about you!"

"Really?" She dreaded to think what Sherlock had said. Who knew what came out of that woman's mouth sometimes? "The flat's right up these stairs, follow me." Joan nodded politely and shut the door behind her as he led the way up. The worn, wooden steps creaked loudly under their weight, causing her to flinch.

Once they reached the top, Mr Hudson knocked gently on a battered, whitewashed door at the end of the hall "Sherlock?"

There was a long pause before it was flung open "What?" He frowned in shock at the rude tone but seemed to brush it off "Joan's here." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and peered over his shoulder at the young woman shrunk back behind him "Joan?" She pursed her lips in thought "Ah, Joan Watson!"

"You say that like you know hundreds of Joans" He sighed before stepping to the side to allow Joan forwards. She smiled tightly "Hi."

"Hello."

They stared at each other briefly as Mr Hudson pushed past Sherlock into the sitting room "Sherlock, the mess you've made" he whined. Papers and folders were stacked up endlessly on the desk and the mantelpiece was lain with a number of beakers and test tubes and... "Is that a skull?" Joan asked, pointing inside the room behind where Mr Hudson was stood plumping pillows on the armchair. Sherlock looked back and smiled "Friend of mine- well, I say friend." There was another long silence before Sherlock finally moved aside "Come in."

Mr Hudson still continued to desperately make the place more presentable but Sherlock simply followed him, placing the objects back where he had found them. "I'm not your housekeeper, Sherlock" he scolded. Joan smiled politely and wrapped her arms tightly round herself "So, this is it?" She glanced round into the kitchen area which led onto a small hallway with two doors. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two" Mr Hudson informed her. Sherlock rolled her eyes and Joan frowned in confusion "Of course we'll need two."

"Right, I think that'll be all" Sherlock snapped, pushing the man from the room. He glanced back quickly "But..." The door slammed in his face before he had chance to finish. Joan tutted in sympathy as the sound of his footsteps got quieter down the stairs "That was rude."

"You do know what he was insinuating?" Sherlock asked with another quirk of her brow. It took a moment for Joan to clock what she meant before her mouth formed an 'O' shape. Sherlock grinned and shook her head; she gestured for Joan to sit "So, what do you think?"

"Nice" she replied, looking round "Very nice. What's the rental price?" Sherlock licked her lips slowly, placing her hands on her hips "Well, £300 each per month. Dear Mr Hudson owes me a favour: helped him when his cousin decided to slit a prostitute's throat in Florida." Joan's brow furrowed slightly and she folded her arms "I thought you were a pathologist."

"Whatever made you think that?" Sherlock asked, confusion evident in her voice. Joan sighed "You work in a morgue." Realisation registered on the woman's face and she chuckled "No, I'm not a pathologist. I'm a detective, consulting, only one in the world" she boasted proudly. Joan narrowed her eyes sceptically "A consulting detective, really? What on Earth does that mean?"

"It means that when the police are out of their depth- which is always- they consult me" Sherlock told her, moving to inspect one of the flasks on the mantle. The contents was a strange yellowy orange. Joan's nose wrinkled in disgust "So you got his cousin off a murder charge?" Sherlock ran a hand through her hair and gazed out of the window "Oh no. I assured it."

Suddenly, blue lights began to flash outside and sirens began to whir. Sherlock's eyes widened and Joan shot up "What the Hell?" Hurried pounding on the stairs made them turn as a woman with darkish skin burst through the door. Her breathing was heavy and her back hunched slightly "Holmes-"

"There's been another one?"

"Will you come?"

"Not in one of your cars. I'll get a cab and follow you."

"Thank you." The woman gave Joan a nod before exiting swiftly. Sherlock watched her go before grinning widely and grabbing her coat from where it lay on the sofa, along with a navy blue scarf. Joan stared up at her, eyes wide "Where are you going?"

Sherlock looked at her as if it was obvious "Murder. We've been waiting on this for months."

Joan raised an eyebrow "We?"

"Me" Sherlock corrected before taking off towards the door. Joan chased her and stopped her "What do I do?" She didn't like the idea of staying on her own in this toxic waste dump. God knows what weird chemicals might burn her if she dared to touch anything. Sherlock gazed around thoughtfully "You're a doctor- are you any good?"

Joan shrugged shyly "Very good." Sherlock seemed to consider this for sometime before her phone bleeped, snapping her out of her daze "Army, you saw a lot of gore; much action?"

"More than enough" the doctor answered curtly.

Sherlock grinned "Would you care to see more?"