The Mind Reader - A Sherlock Fanfic

Déjà vu

The cab drive was long. Well, it felt long, it was really only fifteen minutes. The crime scene is a local therapist's office, Andrew Goldberg. Specializes in aiding patients who suffer from post-traumatic stress. Apparently, he had some files recently stolen by a common street thief. The police only looked into it for a day before they gave him the "We will get back to you when we have more information" trick.

The office is part of a office complex. The way to get in is by buzzing the office of your choice and having them unlock the door. John and I approached the large doorbell panel next to the front door. There are twelve offices in the complex. How did a street thief access his office? Unless it wasn't a street thief. John located the doorbell for Goldberg's office and pressed it. "Hello! Who is this?" A pixilated voice chimed from a communication system built into the wall, next to all the doorbells.

"Hi," I responded through the communicator. I put in extra effort to seem as cheerful as possible. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my colleague, John Wats-"

Almost immediately, we herd the front door buzz open. We both hesitated in confusion, then headed inside. Goldberg's office was on the third floor of the complex. His office door was made from dark brown wood, and had distorted glass towards the top of the frame so you couldn't see anything inside except for a yellow glow of fluorescent light bulbs. On the glass, gold letters spelled out; Goldberg Therapy. John nicked on the door twice. He was just about to knock one more time, but the door suddenly swung open before he could. An average sized, young man was staring at us with wide eyes. "Sherlock Holmes," the man said, almost in awe. "What an honor it is for you to come knocking at my door!"

The man showed us inside. "Andrew Goldberg, I presume," I said as he forcibly shook my hand.

"Yes sir!" He cheerfully responded. "And you must be Doctor John Watson. My, it really is a pleasure to meet you in person. You see, I've frequently..."

His platinum blond hair speaks for his personality. Every word he speaks seems to be full of energy. A pure, wholesome smile is plastered on his face, as if the people standing in front of him are gods. He's a common fan, I suppose. He's quite pale, he's one of those people that stay inside all day on his computer, or working. The electricity in his body is probably from not moving at all for most of his life.

"... You know, I've been wondering when you would come to my office," he finished. He must've been talking this whole time. Poor John, he had to listen to him this whole time.

"Really, why?" John asked.

"I mean, I specialize in post-traumatic stress, you see. And you lost Amy Winters recently in that warehouse incident a couple months ago. That does a lot to one's brain,"

I stared at him intently. "How do you know of that?" I asked him, my voice sounding irritated.

He didn't seem embarrassed, or phased at all that he clearly said too much. "Oh, you must understand. You are very interesting in the minds of phycologists,"

"How?"

"You've been through so much, and after all this time, you've never once seen any help. On top of that, you have the most complex mind out there. I follow all of your cases, they are my main sources of entertainment, to be honest,"

John and I both narrowed our eyes at the man. I almost feel sorry for the man. Is his life really that boring? "Well, that's, uhh, flattering. Unfortunately, we're not here for phycological help, Mr. Goldberg. We're here because of the robbery here recently,"

There was a split second where he didn't move. He just stood there like he was a little kid whose candy was just stolen. Then, he was suddenly back to his normal self. "Oh. The robbery. Of course. I was, umm, I was wondering when the police would get back to me on that,"