Stereotypical (BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 2 - Lie Detector

The media went insane the moment Sherlock’s return became public. We couldn’t leave the flat without being bombarded with reporters and angry people who still thought he was a fraud. Someone in the government was working to bring in the last of the evidence against the late Moriarty. I couldn’t say I minded too much. I barely ever left the flat as it was.

But one day, I ran out of things to say on the subject of my newest story. And I really needed to start looking for a job. I got my things together and prepared to head out to the library. Research first, job searching later.

“I wouldn’t go out there. They’ll eat you alive.” Sherlock was just coming down the stairs.

I shrugged. “I’ve got to get some research done. It can’t be that bad.”

“Stay behind me then.” He opened the door and pushed through the crowd, slipping into a cab. I kept a hold on his coat and slid in behind him. He told the cabbie to go to the library and then settled back.

“No cases yet?” I rubbed my hands together, shivering already. It was gonna be a heck of a winter. How did those people stay out there that long?

“Lestrade is waiting for things to calm down.” He rolled his eyes like that was an idiotic idea. “I’m bored. Hopefully, Molly will have something I can work on.”

“Right. John said that since you’re back, I should be prepared to be dragged on a case or two. Should I?”

He looked me up and down. “It depends on how useful you’d be.”

I nodded. “So then, you won’t ever need me. Cool, I’d rather not be shot at.” We pulled up and I paid the cabbie, stepping out. “See ya.” Sherlock turned away, dismissing me. He gave the cabbie new directions and they left. I shrugged and went to go inside when a man grabbed me.

“Excuse me. Hi, I’m Gerald Hanes with The Informer. What’s your name?”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “I have nothing to do with the guy! I just live downstairs. Leave me alone!” I pushed past him and yelped as he grabbed me again.

“Can I just get a quick statement?” I sighed and nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Jordan. You’re not getting a last name.”

“Alright. Can you tell me, how is Dr. Watson taking the return of the so called genius?”

“He’s doing great. He’s better than I’ve ever seen him and Sherlock isn’t a so-called genius. He is a genius. Now piss off.” I wrenched away and went inside, rolling my eyes as I heard him call after me.

“What’s your opinion on Sherlock Holmes!”

I slammed the door and ran up the steps, hoping he wouldn’t follow me.

………………………………………………….

“Jordan.”

“Hm?” I was in my sitting room, hunched over a notebook and writing down what I could use for the next section of my book. I looked at him over the rims of my reading glasses.

“I have a hand and I need to store it. There’s no room in my fridge.”

“What?”

“I need to store a hand.”

I closed my notebook and looked up, taking my glasses off. “A human hand?”

“Yes, what else? May I use your fridge?”

“Um… Let me see it.” He turned to go back upstairs. I followed him and stared as he showed me a severed hand. “Right, okay… Seeing as you’ll probably do it anyway, sure. Just, put them all on one side, away from my food. Keep them in bags.”