Wonder boy (A Sherlock love story)

Part of the freak show

Jacqueline sighed, once again unceremoniously tucked between John and the right side door of the cab they were in. She struggled against her confinement, to which John responded by trying to move more to the other side. Soon, at Sherlock's request, the cab lulled at a small nook in the street that was swarmed with official looking people. Jack gulped. She wasn't used to all this commotion outside of a classroom or convention.

"We're here." Sherlock opened the door before the car had completely stopped moving. "Get out." He was gone into the crowd of officials in an instant. After John kindly paid the cabbie what was due, he led Jack into the mob. Some people stopped what they were doing to look at her questioningly. She felt like she was being scrutinized and carefully observed. She looked down at her light jacket, which was more like a sweater, over her purple button up shirt, blue jeans, and brown 3 1/2 inch boots. Of course, she was wearing her Joker chain necklace that she'd gotten at a convention one year. Was that what they were staring at? It was a little weird to see a professional wearing something like that. But it was a very small thing to make such a statement. In addition, she hadn't done anything too crazy with her makeup today. A simple winged liner, a pair of fluffy falsies (which were her guilty pleasure) and a sheer coat of pink gloss. She hadn't needed to do anything to her eyebrows, as her hair was covering them. She thought about her hair. It was in a tight top bun with her blunt bangs hanging in front of her brow. Maybe it was her hair. It was, after all, bright red.

"Jack, dear." John tried to catch her attention before she tripped over a body. A body. An actual human body that she had almost fallen face first over. She felt sick. "What can you make of it?"

"Who's this?" A slightly older, greying gentlemen approached them, eyeing Jack.

"She's the American." Sherlock popped his head up from observing the body.

"Right. That doesn't answer my question, actually." The man explained while Sherlock ignorantly went back to sleuthing the body.

"Er, Lestrade. What he meant to say was, this is Jack Flourence. The American." John corrected. Lestrade's eyes went wide.

"You mean... that... American?" He asked in disbelief. Jack didn't really get why he was so disturbed.

"Yeah, hi. I'm Jack."

"You're a girl!" Lestrade grabbed her by her shoulders in an almost bone-crushing hug and tipped her from side to side. Ah, more gender confusion. Jack could feel someone's eyes rolling, but a small giggle escaped her.

"Yes, I'd like to think I am." She smiled at Lestrade as he let her go. Lestrade seemed like a nice person. He also seemed pretty intolerant when it came to Sherlock; as did everyone else. The air around them felt too stiff. Instead of respect or workplace courtesy, she felt like the people around them all loathed his presence. She could understand why, though.

"Er..." He became flustered and sloppily threw a hand out to Jack. "Greg Lestrade." She shook it.

"Well, you already know me." Jack joked, a bit unsure. Greg laughed a little.

"Yes, well..." He turned to the body. "Are you familiar with the case?"

"Actually, no. Sherly here told John and I close to nothing about the case. Care to fill in?"

"Female. Age unknown. She's gotta be mid-twenties, though. They found her this morning. No cash, no keys, no jewelry. Hell- no identification either."

"Then it was a stick up." Jack figured.

"Perhaps not." John waved to her to put her focus on the body, rejoining the conversation.

"It would explain everything." Jack countered without really looking at the body.