Superwholock- Broken Wings

Chapter Eight- Deductions

"Is that meant to mean something to me?" the leather clad man asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Americans. He thought exasperatedly. They're so slow.

John kept his gun trained on them, a look of disbelief plastered on his face.

"You've seriously never heard of Sherlock Holmes?" he looked incredulous. "He's the most famous dick there is! And he saves people!"

Sherlock, however, was not very surprised. They clearly didn't leave America often. Except for that strangely dressed one. He travelled a lot. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Put the gun down, John. These people aren't a threat," he decided. John visibly relaxed as he clicked his safety back on and stowed the gun in the waistband of his jeans.

"So, who are you?" the tall one demanded.

"I told you. Sherlock Holmes. I'm a consulting detective for Scotland Yard," Sherlock answered. Bowtie frowned.

"Then why are you in America?" he asked politely, a British accent colouring his voice. At last, someone intelligent.

"We saw an article about a murder over here. London was getting boring, so we decided it might be less boring to solve cases somewhere new. I saw camera footage of you arriving, and just waited for facial recognition to pick you up. It did, a few miles away, and then we tracked you here," Sherlock shrugged. "It was easy."

"And you just decided to trust us?" the tall one frowned.

"I know enough about you to realise you won't hurt us," Sherlock responded.

"You don't know anything about us," leathers protested. John groaned.

"I know both your parents are dead, and that the taller man there is your younger brother. I know that you two just met bowtie over there, and that you turned up at that crime scene to help. You haven't had easy lives, always looking over your shoulder and moving from one motel to the next. You grew up around weapons and learned to fight at an early age. You have a friend who sometimes visits, but never for very long. However, you hold him in high regard and never hesitate to ask him when you need help. Am I missing anything?" Sherlock remained expressionless.

"How the hell..." long hair breathed.

"How did you know all that?" leathers asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.

"The jacket you're wearing is worn and tattered, showing you wear it a lot, but you haven't thrown it away so I'm guessing sentimental value. It's a size too big, so it must be 'inherited', I'm guessing from your father. The fact you wear his jacket shows that you miss him, most likely because he's dead. No one would hold that much value in a jacket otherwise. Your attachment to the jacket indicates that your father raised you single handedly, yet you are not bitter so your mother didn't leave. She died.

You automatically place yourself in front of your brother when new factors are added, showing your protectiveness. You don't stand close enough to bowtie to be comfortable with him, so not friends. Acquaintances.

You both stand in a defensive stance, as if constantly expecting trouble. This means you would move around a lot to stay out of trouble. Our guns didn't faze you, so you're comfortable around them, which suggests familiarity. Which means you learned to defend yourself early on. Probably to avoid that trouble you're running from.

There are three chairs pulled away from the table, showing three people have recently sat there. Two are worn considerably, but the third isn't as used. You two like routine, so would sit in the same chairs. The third one means an extra friend. The closeness of the chairs shows affection, but the third isn't close enough to indicate family.

Do you understand now?" Sherlock smirked.

Dean punched him in the face.

A/N: Sorry that was so long. Looking back I realise that must have been really boring to read. It was a bastard to write too. What do you think? Please comment xxx