Lost And Found

Curious Sherlock

Elizabeth's POV

The car journey has been quiet apart from the radio. It's 'Graham Norton Saturday morning chat show radio 2'.

John was chatting to Sherlock about something in the front, occasionally glancing back at me in his rear view mirror.

We've been in the car for nearly an hour because we hit a lot of traffic. It's just all of this rush hour traffic. If only it was Sunday so everybody would be in bed. At least we're nearly out of it now.

As we begin to move faster, the buildings we pass become increasingly blurred and pedestrians shoot by with superhuman speeds.

"All I'm saying is that next time you go on a case you really need to be more compassionate to traumatized victims and witnesses." John decides, looking at Sherlock and back at the road several times as he speaks.

"I don't see the usefulness of that, though, if they're already in a state of trauma and on the verge of an emotional breakdown, me repeatedly asking formal questions should not bother them at all. You know, given how terrifying their previous situation was."

"You'd be surprised."

Sherlock turns around to me, catching my attention so I look away from the window, "what's your opinion Elizabeth?"

I stare at him for a few seconds before thinking of an answer, "well, I suppose it would make them answer quickly." Sherlock shoots a glance at John although I'm not finished speaking yet, "but if they're freaking out it maybe wouldn't be a good idea to purge them too early on."

"Thank you, I'm glad somebody agrees with me." John laughs, flipping his indicator down and turning left into a street full of flats, "here we are." He announces, parking the car outside 221b, "this is where we live."

We get out of the car and I stand outside the flat, taking in that this is where I have to live for a while. I grip my bag while John pushes the door open and waves his arm, "coming in?" He smiles as I enter the building. It's a nice place. Kinda dusty, but nice. There are wooden stairs leading up to the second floor which are next to a door on the ground floor, clearly where the landlady lives.

From all of this looking around I didn't notice the two men that just came down the stairs.

"You must be the guards." John decides, reaching his hand out for them to shake.

"Yes, Mycroft sent us immediately, so we have already assumed this is a serious case?" One of them decides.

"Correctly." Sherlock interjects.

They both approach me, "Hello there. I'm Nathaniel Taylor, but call me Taylor."

He holds his hand out and I shake it, replying with "Elizabeth." There is a huge snake tatoo slithering down his arm and all the way down his thumb, which is where the tail is.

The other guard steps forward and also shakes my hand, telling me his name is Victor Keynes. He has several huge rings on his fingers.

"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Now, when you get a minute, would you mind explaining to us how you want to be guarded and what sort of people, if you know, are trying to hurt you?"

I look at John and he nods, "yeah that's fine."

"Cool, we'll join you in about an hour, need to go and fill out some paperwork, you'll be ok until then?"

"Yes."

The two men leave the flat to get the paperwork from their car, and in the meantime John nods his head towards the stairs to show we can go up. As I reach the top, I look around at the flat for a few moments. Inside it is really quite tidy, but judging from the type of people they are, always out and about, it's not going to stay this way for long. There are two chairs next to the fireplace, both looking old and worn but loved all the same. There are some strange artefacts and decor in here, such as the skull on the mantelpiece, the wall-mounted head with headphones on and the yellow smiley face on the wall with bullet holes ripping through the wallpaper in the middle of it. Also to my right there is a leather sofa with a coffee table sitting in front of it, which has files and paper stacked neatly on top. And finally, the last thing that sticks out is the silver music stand in the corner. It has two perfectly thin, straight sheets of paper balanced on top that sit contently, clearly waiting to be played.