A Study in Miscommunication

Chapter 12

—-Sherlock's POV—-

I wanted John to do the texting I wasn't sure I could currently accomplish. My hands seemed steady now but... He decided to be difficult and irritable. He glanced out the window instead of going to the desk.

"What's wrong?" I asked. Why was he so distracted?

"I just met a friend of yours?" John tilted his voice so the sentence came out as a question.

That was rather alarming. I didn't have friends. No one, save maybeLestrade even bothered to save my number. They couldn't stand talking to me.

"An enemy." John clarified.

That made much more sense. He was talking about Mycroft. Wanting John to insult my brother and wanting to check up and make sure my brother hadn't done anything unforgivable Anthea hadn't told me about I asked which one.

"Well, your arch enemy." John was upset. Why? "According to him. Do people have arch enemies?"

Stupid question, of course, they do. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Anthea said he didn't take it but she might be lying.

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

John sounded slightly off put like the question was somehow confusing. "No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." I teased. I was so relieved I really didn't know what was coming out of my mouth. The drugs were making me sluggish and sleepy and that was normally welcome but right now John was angry and I was too slow to figure out why.

The blond didn't laugh. "Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now," I stressed the last part of the sentence because as slow as I was it seemed John was slower. He was ok and there was no point in dwelling on my stupid brother when there was work to be done. "On my desk. The number."

"Jennifer Wilson." He read the name. "That was- Hang on, wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes!" Stop stalling and just type! "That's not important just enter the number."

John was slow and made me repeat the address which made me irritable. Plus his attitude wasn't helping.

I grabbed the suitcase from the kitchen and walked it over to the desk. I took a chair and put the contents on display so John could go through them.

He seemed stunned and confused by the case and stuttered.

John didn't say anything further after I affirmed that it was the victim's case and I nearly rolled my eyes. John was going to be one of those people. "Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did."

Interesting. "Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case it's a perfectly logical assumption." And you are so fond of assumptions.

His eyes turned softer. "Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John clearly didn't. He felt bad that other people often thought of me that way but didn't seem to realize it in himself.

I couldn't help but smile. "Now and then, yes." It was actually every time, always but John needn't know that.

"Okay," John grunted awkwardly and walked over to his chair. "How did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?"

Again John surprised me. Most people didn't care for my explanations. They didn't care how I did the things I did they just wanted me to give them the answer, give them evidence they could use and then leave. And usually, they wanted to punch me in the process. Since John enjoyed my deductions at the crime scene I decided to indulge him.