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Chapter 3 - A Study in Pink

The next day, I'm working the counter, and I wasn’t late this time, otherwise I most likely would have been butchered by Jeremy’s somewhat harsh comments again.

John and Erik come back into the pub and sit down in the same seats as they did yesterday.

“Can I get you anything this time?” I ask them.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Erik says.

John orders a drink, it was 9:00 at night and people were actually starting to leave.

“Kate, I think I’m going to take off.” Jack says, hanging up his apron. “See you later.”

“Bye.” I reply as he walks out the door.

“Burban!” A drunken man yells, slamming down his glass. He had been starting to make nearly everyone in the room uncomfortable.

“Sir, I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I say, starting to take the glass away.

“NO!” The man yells, slamming his fist on the table. Next he calls me a very unflattering name and is starting on calling me another one when I grab his palm where a pressure point would be-between the pointer finger and thumb. I squeeze hard, and the man yells in pain.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I repeat, leaning on the counter with one arm folded in front of me, the other resting on the counter as if I’m arm wrestling somebody (which I’m not, I’m just giving some man a little bit of pain on a pressure point so he can leave). I act as though this happens every day-which it almost does when Jeremy isn't around.

He tries to slap my hand away with his other hand.

“Yeah, sorry buddy, not going to work.” I say. Then I grab hold of his other palm and squeeze the pressure point there as well.

“OW!” The man yells in pain.

“Can you leave now?” I say. “I can call a cab.” I offer.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll leave!” He yells in a slurred voice.

“Thanks.” I let go of his hands. His hands drop on the table and he sits there in silence for a few moments, then turns around, gets off the stool, and lumbers out of the pub.

I walk back over to John and Erik, both of them staring at me.

“Sorry.” I say, pouring John the rest of his drink and sliding it to him.

“Was that even how you're supposed to handle a situation like that? Also, where and when did you learn that?” John asks, taking a sip of the drink.

“When I was 11. I learned it myself. You know, good practice for the future.”

“What do you know about Sherlock Holmes?” Erik asks me.

“Sherlock Holmes?” I ask. “I know very little. Haven’t heard of him too much. I know he’s bloody brilliant. A consulting detective-the only one in the world. Apparently he made the job himself and doesn’t get paid. I’d love to work with him, but that's wishful thinking.” I pour myself some water in a glass and take a sip of it. “Why?”

“Just a thought, I read about him in the paper yesterday and I thought how much you wanted to do detective work. Only curious.”

The last people get up from the counter and leave, one of them very drunk.

“Stupid happy hour.” I say, taking a sip of water. “I hate working here during that time. Happy for everyone but the person working the place.” I take another sip of water.

“If you look at me, what would you know about me?” Erik asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, slightly startled by this random question.

“I mean, do what I did yesterday when I observed you.”

“Okay…” I say, hesitant.

I study his clothes, an overcoat, scarf, pants, shoes, and shirt. Underneath the overcoat is a suit jacket. He seems active, but not in the athletic way, meaning that whatever work he's involved in requires that he runs around every so often. He observes and sees nearly everything based on the way his eyes never rest on one spot for more than a second. He loves to solve puzzles of some sort, possibly something related to detective work because earlier he mentioned the name "Lestrade". He doesn’t have a strong connection to family, and he has a sibling, based on the way he talks and acts around other people. The way he acts around people suggests that he's a sociopath.

“You’re a…sociopath based on the way you act around people. Love to solve puzzles.” I start. “Possibly a detective. But not just any detective, you see nearly everything, and the police come to you for help on a case since you mentioned someone named Lestrade, I can only assume you were talking about Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. You don’t have a strong connection to family. You have a…brother? And you despise him, therefore you two don’t speak very much unless if you have to, or one of you needs help.” I conclude. Erik appears to be pleased.

“Oh my God there’s two of them.” John sighs, talking to himself more than anyone else.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“There’s two Sherl-“

 “Very good." Erik interrupts, nudging John with his elbow. "But how did you know about my brother?”

“A shot in the dark, a very good one I guess. However I know that you do, in fact have sibling. An older one.”

“Very good guess.” He replies.

“Thank you. Why did you want me to do that?” I ask him.

“I wanted to know.”

“Know what and why?"

“Just because.” He answers. “Come John, Mrs. Hudson will be wondering where we are. See you later.” He addresses me on the last sentence, then whisks out of the pub. John lays down a tip and walks out the door, saying good-bye and thanks as he does so. I wipe the counter again with a damp cloth and start to lock up the place.