A Study in Miscommunication

Chapter 6

—-Sherlock's POV—-

I opened the door and looked down the street. My taxi wasn't waiting. I noticed something I should have seen before: the spot by the flat had been marked 'disabled.' Mycroft. I hissed in my head. The paint wasn't fresh; just how long had it been there? I needed to pay more attention. Especially if I'm going to a crime scene. John came out behind me and I turned the other direction to draw John's eyes away from it. "Taxi!" I called when the cab came into view.

As soon as I was seated I started texting.

-The spot was interference and not appreciated. Since the space has been marked disabled I'm assuming he approves and they don't have to meet. -SH

-The spot was a peace offering. -A

-Clearly, neither of you have done any research! -SH The spot was a glaring coincidence would not do anything but hamper John's desire to move in. For John convenience wasn't a selling point. Plus, neither he nor John had a car. What would we possibly want a spot for?

Negotiations started and kept me occupied. I drew it out to avoid talking to the blond. Making pleasant small talk for longer than two minutes wasn't a skill I possessed and I'd had people dive out of moving vehicles rather than endure my presence before.

-If I'm going to do this I want every single word. -SH

-I'll do my best. -A

I tried to think of a comeback that would convince her to cross my brother but nothing came to mind. He was, after all, far more powerful and signed her paycheques.

John managed to stay quiet for a very long time. It was dark before his glances were strong enough to draw my attention from my argument with Anthea. Well, my argument with Mycroft through Anthea. He looked at my phone again and since I wasn't texting I didn't have a good excuse to ignore him.

I glanced at him. He was not going to let this go. It would be better to answer his questions now than at the crime scene. If John was going to call me a freak it would be better if he didn't do it in front of Anderson. Or Donovan. Although, maybe Donovan has had enough time to get over it by now? She's had plenty of time to mull over my apology.

Either way, it would be best to do it now. John didn't have enough money to get a cab back so he'd have to be really desperate to leave. And he was going to be stuck with me long enough for me to explain myself if need be but not so long that if the explanation made things worse we'd be stuck together long enough for him to get to the point where he'd punch me. Hopefully.

I took a deep breath, here we go. "Ok, you've got questions." I kept my eyes on John's reflection in the window.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

I had to look at him directly to make sure he wasn't joking. He knew where we were going. And it wasn't what he wanted to ask. Oh, it was probably one of those stupid small talk questions people who didn't know each other prefaced asking real questions with. "Crime scene. Next." I didn't manage to keep enough of my irritation out of my voice but I did manage to keep the fear out. Which was ridiculous. What was I afraid of?

"Who are you, what do you do?" John looked away while he was asking the question. He was uncomfortable with it for some reason. Once he was done asking he stared at my face.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. "What do you think?"

He looked away "I'd say, private detective..." John trailed off.

"But?" I prompted.

He looked back at me. "But the police don't go to private detectives."

Good. Either he'd researched that while looking me up or he had a basic understanding of police protocol. Each had an upside. "I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job."