Kingsleigh and Wright detective c.o.

What in the...

It's a waiting room, dark with blue (as Kingsleigh later describes it) fluffy and fuzzy carpets. Kingsleigh and Wright both sit uncomfortably on two stiff black scratchy office chairs, a singular chair between them.

"You here for the apprenticeship too then?" Queries Wright.

"Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose I am... your right hand... which one was it America or Russia?"

'What do you..."

"Your hand, your right hand... take your glove off." states Kingsleigh slowly.

"I don't really want..."

Kingsleigh leans over and grabs Wright's right wrist and slowly pulls down Wright's glove revealing a white animatronic hand. He then gently pulls Wright's glove back up.

"It was America, wasn't it? you were part of the American military until earlier this year, you're now no longer part of it due to an injury that caused you to lose your right hand in a rare bomb disposal training accident, you then had it replaced with a state of the art equivalent which, correct me if I'm wrong, you most likely designed..."

Kingsleigh takes off his own left glove revealing a similar hand.

"It's fine, don't worry, I've been there."

"How did you?... "Begins Wright.

"Don't ask, it doesn't matter."

An old wrinkled man pops his head around a brown door which is placed directly in front of the chairs in which the two men were sitting.

"Come with me." declares Kingsleigh

"What about the interview? "protests Wright.

"You didn't see him but a man entered that room before us, he's now got the job at this detective agency. You are looking for a job and a flat no?"

"Yes, but..."

Kinglseigh interjects.

"But you can't afford a flat on what's left of your old military wage am I right?"

"Yes, but..."

"Don't worry, I know a place, in London a very nice flat in a very nice area if we share the flat, don't worry it'll be big enough, then we could afford it together, not only that but New Scotland Yard is offering job positions, you're more than over qualified for the job I'm sure don't worry, the job will pay well and I'm sure you and I will make it past the interviews. I'll drive."

"But I don't even know your name!"

"Kingsleigh, Felix Kingsleigh, and you are D.r Wright, D.r Alex Wright."

"How'd you?"

"Your name was sewn into your gloves, come on now! We've got to get to London."

_________________________________________________________________

Both men were now sitting within the old beaten up BMW driving up to London on the M25.

"How did you do that Kingsleigh, how did you do that back there? What with the Americas and my hand, and well, knowing that the man before you had gotten the job?"

"Deduction."

"Deduction?"

"Yes, the simple science of deduction..."

"Isn't that?"

"Yes, it is how the great M.r Holmes solves all of the cases he's ever encountered."

"Well then how did you deduce all of that from  items about my person?"

"I'll start with your hand, the way you hold it is the same way that I hold my hand, not only this but it is not cold in the slightest, you have no reason to be wearing gloves, let alone on only one hand. That you had come from America? well that is simple, it would have to be your tie-"

"My tie?"

'Yes, it's by a  company that only works in America, not only that but the way I knew about how the accident occurred was because, firstly, it is a relatively new hand, this shows that the accident was recent and only two accidents had happened with military men's right hands in the past year, one in Russia and one in America. How did I know you were military? Well, that's simple enough, the stitching you used to sew up your glove is of military origin, used for stitching up soldiers wounds to stop heavy bleeding. And I knew that you most likely designed the hand yourself as its colour matched, slightly the colour of your shirt, which by the way, is your favourite, I can tell by the wearing."

"That's wrong ."

"Pardon?"

"I didn't design the hand."

"Hmmm... okay, was anything else incorrect?"

"....No....Not one bit, What's the address of this flat that we're buying then?"

"221c Baker Street..."

"Why that's!"

"Yes, that's flat beneath the shared flat of M.r Sherlock Holmes and D.r John Watson."