Elementary, My Dear Joan

Russian?

"Okay, you've got questions."

Joan's gaze rose to Sherlock who gazed intently out the window of the taxi "Yes." The detective looked down and smiled "Okay then. Go ahead." The doctor licked her lips at the invitation, unsure of how to start or rather where to start. Sherlock chuckled to herself before turning back to the window "Why don't we start with your brother, hm?" Nodding vigorously, Joan sat up and crossed her ankles "Yes. How did you know I have a brother?"

"Simple: your phone. You had it placed face down on the table next to you, the engraving of the case quite clear. Dear Harry, love Clara. Now that gadget is far too modern for a father, no offence but you're not in your early twenties, therefore brother was the only logical option. Then I noticed a few cracks round the edges where it's been dropped frequently; you were an army doctor so your hands are far too steady, I suppose that's the gulf of what years in an intense environment does to you. Obviously your brother, Harry, is a drunk."

Joan gasped wide eyed at Sherlock. She could feel her hand trembling slightly as an electric sensation ran through her spine "That was amazing! And all from one guess!" Sherlock rolled her tongue round her mouth while the doctor tried to take in her deduction. After a moment she spoke once more, her tone almost stern "I don't guess." Joan frowned in confusion and raised her eyebrow "Then what's your trick?"

The detective sighed, as if the conversation was suddenly draining her "No trick. I just observe; from what I observe, I come to conclusions." Joan fought back a smile. She understood now why this woman was so arrogant, knowing everything about everyone from a few details. Sherlock let out a small yawn behind her palm as the cab pulled up next to a large park. Police tape fluttered around the perimeter and policemen wandered aimlessly round. The woman from the flat ran up to the car and opened the door "Sherlock!" Her dark eyes fell on Joan who gulped. Sherlock simply got out and paid the driver before striding in the direction of the forensics team. Joan and the other woman followed hot on her heels. After a while they reached the large white tent and a lady with lank, chestnut brown hair put a hand firmly on Sherlock's shoulder "Now, Holmes, this is a crime scene and I do not want it contaminated by you" her eyes fell harshly on Joan "Or any of your pets."

"Pets?" Joan cried, folding her arms petulantly. The woman who had met them at the taxi scowled "Anderson, stand down." Sherlock smiled smugly as the forensic scientist shut her mouth and stood back "Thank you, Lestrade." Lestrade nodded and gestured for Anderson to leave "Your welcome. Right, a young male with a gunshot wound to the temple." With curt nod, the detective knelt down beside the pale corpse which was lain on a plastic blue sheet. Joan shifted her weight under the gaze of Lestrade who seemed to be leaving it entirely to Sherlock to inspect the body. "So you're the new flatmate then?"

Joan smiled awkwardly and nodded "Yes. And you're Lestrade...Sherlock's boss?" The woman chuckled and Sherlock scoffed, not even looking up from her work. Lestrade chuckled harder and shook her head "No. She's a freelance consultant; please call me Georgia." She held out her hand and the doctor took it firmly "Nice to meet you." Suddenly, Sherlock leapt up and pointed down at the body "Oh this is good!" A stunned silence cut the conversation to and end and Joan blinked "What?"

Sherlock grinned and continued to point "This" she gushed "This is the work of a Russian sniper."

"How did you work that one out then?" Lestrade asked, eager to hear the detective's intuitive insight. Joan's ears also pricked up. "A bullet shot at long range going by the smaller entrance wound. Also there is a distinct greenish substance round the hole, when I tasted it I detected the flavour of mould from a Russian cheese; I've written a blog on this process, by the way-"

"So what?" Joan scoffed "The gunman liked Russian cheese." Lestrade's eyes widened at her challenge. This doctor had some guts. Sherlock ran her tongue along her teeth in response before taking an evidence bag from the floor beside her "Oh please, the Russian cheese residue coupled with" she held up the bag "A Russian bullet. Come on now, Glenda even you can make this deduction."

Lestrade scowled peevishly "Georgia" she corrected shortly "And okay the shooter was Russian. Now what about the victim?" Joan watched the exchange, a slight smile drifting a cross her lips. "An internet porn addict with two... no three large German shepherds. He was a serial adulterer as the skin under the ring isn't very pale meaning it was removed frequently. The tattoo on his neck is a 'love knot' which is commonly associated with the Russian mafia; gangland irony." Joan's eyes widened in amazement at her new flatmate before she noticed for herself something on the victim's hand "Uh, Miss Holmes? That mark on his hand looks an awful lot like a rope burn." Everybody's eyes darted keenly from the doctor to the body.

"Brilliant, Watson!" Sherlock gasped before grinning at Lestrade "I told you having an observant medical woman on hand would be an advantage. These burns are from a-" Suddenly, a loud bleeping filled the tent and the two detectives turned to Joan. She blushed, snatching her mobile from her jeans pocket '013 4956 724' Unknown number. Rolling her eyes, she put it away. Sherlock raised her eyebrow "May I continue? The burn is from a whip and going by the deep indents he was the user, not the victim."

Lestrade sighed and put her hands on her hips while Sherlock turned and strode away. Joan scurried after her hurriedly "Holmes!" However the detective ignored her, flicking up her collar and continuing to walk away. Joan stumbled to a halt hopelessly in the middle of the park. "She does that a lot" Joan jumped at the sudden voice. She whipped round to see Anderson stood wiping her gloved hands on a paper towel "Get used to it. The freak never sits still, no matter who she leaves behind." Joan narrowed her eyes, taking an instant dislike to the woman "Tell me where I can get a cab" she gritted out.

"Main road."

With a polite nod, Joan carried on away from the scene as Lestrade finally exited the tent. The inspector put her hand to her forehead and waved "Bye then!"

Joan carried on walking for at least ten minutes before she finally found a cab parked on the side of the street. She knocked gently on the window and the driver looked up "221 B Baker Street, please." He nodded and she got into the car, buckling herself in. Suddenly, the screen underneath the small window separating her from the driver began to buzz as a picture appeared on screen. Joan frowned and leant forward as the image got progressively clearer. A tall, blonde woman with short hair and painted red lips smiled back at her "Hello, Joan Watson. I'm Mycroft Holmes- and I'd like to meet with you concerning my sister."