An Ancient Companion

Career change

Noire started her morning slightly differently to Sherlock. She did get up and dressed, yes, but for her there were more important matters than cases, dreams and bacon.

Her recent encounter with John Watson had pleased her, but the man he was with, Sherlock Holmes, he had definetly been lying to her about being a consulting officer. Excessive eye contact, minor head movement, and there had been a slight hesitation. Definitely a lie. So now, she just had to research him. She pulled out of her pocket a square object, and began typing things into it. Numbers, to be precise. Eventually, she found what age had been looking for: a complete file about Sherlock. She grinned.

"Consulting detective, eh? Almost told the truth..." she said to no one in particular. "Well I suppose that I'll see a lot of him now." Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She sighed.

"Jen, the door's open, you know that," she shouted.

"And I wish that you would lock it, it's dangerous. Anyone could get in," came the reply. The door opened and a girl who looked around Noire's age walked in. "I swear, if I leave you alone for more than a day... well I don't even know what you would do." Noire looked at her.

"Mike dump you?"

"Other way round," Jen sighed. "Finally saw what an idiot he was."

"Honestly, Jen, you have the absolute worst taste in guys. No scratch that, the worst taste in people."

"That's not true, otherwise I wouldn't have befriended you."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Noire threw her arms back in mock frustration. "Worst taste in people ever!" Jen laughed, and Noire took in her swishing strawberry blonde hair.

"No hair dye this week?" she asked. Jen smiled.

"Thought I'd keep it natural for a bit. The hairdresser says that my hair needs to recover after the white dye." Jen looked at Noire. "Do you want a lift to work? I'm passing the place anyway." Noire grinned.

"Sure, why not? It might be fun to get there before my new colleagues..."

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Sherlock looked on at the crime scene from a distance. Although this case was promising, it was also frustrating. There were very few suspects, and little evidence so far, as a bottle of so-called water had not returned from the lab yet, and it was their only clue as to how the victim had been killed. If it was actually water, they would all be back to square one. The was also a knife, but there was no blood on either it or the victim. The oven glove fibre was also a clue, as the victim clearly did not own one, but not a very reliable clue.

"No wonder you have no suspects! This chick fights with practically everyone, every day. Any argument could be passed off as regular."

Sherlock jumped at the unfamiliar voice. Well it was familiar, but it couldn't be, such a person wouldn't even know how to behave herself at a crime scene, surely. Just to make sure, he turned around. And saw what he had hoped that he wouldn't see.

"Hello, Mr Holmes." Noire, as per what seemed to be the usual, was grinning maniacally.

"Fancy seeing you here."