Sherlock Holmes- Meet me on Waterloo (A Sherlock Holmes Fan Fiction)

Chapter One

“Sherlock Holmes.” Lestrade introduced, I shook the tall, thin, wiry mans’ hand, and assessed my opponent.

“Sociopath, doesn’t trust those who-”
“Psychopathic, has a tendency to-” We both began at the same time, it was apparent that the need to voice thoughts aloud had claimed a victim other than myself. I lifted an eyebrow and he cocked his head to the left, which would make him left handed, also revealing a frequently used trapezoidal muscle, meaning a lot of leaning over something, likely a microscope by his chemically roughed hands. He held himself in a way that in a… twenty three year old? -   was uncommon, he seemed to possess a great sense of sensibility, or arrogance.
“Busy day in the lab?” I asked, he had been coolly calculating me in a similar way and I wished that I had washed my shoes of the mud, that I had picked up somewhere along the way here. “Not as hectic as your day I imagine.” It was arrogance. He seemed sure of himself and we stared each other down, daring the other to reveal something else with which the other could make deductions. Neither of us spoke and I watched as the silence obviously amused him as much as me, the mildly wrinkled skin around his eyes tightening and hands moving back into his pockets, I followed the sleeve up and made note of patches of discolouration on the fabric- nicotine patches- evidently hand restrictions irritated him.
“If you would excuse me Miss Cain but I have work to do.” He stood and made for the door. Uncle Lestrade cut in. “Actually you both have work to do.” We both stood staring at him. “What!?” We demanded simultaneously.
“I want you to work together.” He answered nonchalantly.
“I told you I work alone inspector.” Sherlock stated, he seemed almost pissed off, definitely thought others a hindrance, I rolled my eyes- sociopaths. “So what’s Watson for?” My uncle asked.
A man popped his head around the corner, a cane in his hand, that I noticed immediately was crafted from a type of wood that was only found in the Middle East. “Did you call me?” He asked Sherlock. His hair was combed to the side and his clothes were neat, he had a stocky build and from the corner of the room I could see the tip of his wallet peering out of an inner pocket. “Evan, this is John Watson,” My burly relative introduced, I smiled warmly and moved to take the hand offered to me. “Doctor,” I greeted, still smiling, he returned with his own warm smile, “It’s good to meet you-”
“Evangeline, but I prefer Evan,”
“Alright, Evan it is.” He smiled at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and lifted his hands in surrender. “Fantastic.” He said to no-one in particular. I smirked and even my uncle seemed to take pleasure in his exasperation. John retrieved his hand and I had another chance to appraise him, he was a stocky man, as afore mentioned and he had brown hair that was spattered with grey around the temples, (no doubt a genetic trait as he wasn’t that much older than Sherlock), his green eyes stood out of his heavily creased forehead and with the comforting nature of his speech and the Arabic cane, and even the clothes he wore it was clear he was a man of war, (a late one at least). “This is your niece then inspector?” The doctor inquired; apparently my uncle had told Dr Watson about me. “Yeah, and Sherlock you’re not getting onto that crime scene without her.” It was an ultimatum, a weak one, but an ultimatum regardless. “She um...”
“What my uncle is trying to say is that I need something to keep me busy,” I inputted, dryly, standing and pulling my coat off the back of the chair. “So I guess I will meet you there.” Just before I could exit the crowded office, Lestrade called me back. “Do I need to call you a cab?”
I rolled my eyes, and turned to face him. “No, I can walk; Waterloo Road is not that far.”