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Chapter 3 - A Scandal in Belgravia

The man named Phil, who had apparently stumbled into the kitchen and fainted in front of the startled Mrs. Hudson, has finally regained consciousness. He sits in a dining chair, facing the fireplace. He stares ahead blankly.

John sits behind him on the sofa and Sherlock paces to the side. I lean against the wall beside the fireplace, arms folded.

"Tell us from the start." Sherlock says sternly. "Don't be boring."

Fourteen hours earlier, somewhere in the country, Phil's car breaks down on a quiet country lane. He attempts to start the engine for the billionth time, but the car does nothing but whine and not start. He angrily slams his hand on the steering wheel and once again gets out of the car to uselessly stare down underneath the open bonnet of the car.

He tweaks a few connections and looks around even though there's no sign of traffic whatsoever. He looks out into the field on the side of the road, the field stretches down to a river not too far away. A man wearing a red jacket stands at the edge of a stream that leads down to the river. His back is to the road, and Phil looks at him for a moment.

The man is too far away to have noticed what happened on the road. Eventually Phil once again gets back into the car and tries to start the engine. It whines again, but then backfires loudly. Phil heaves a sigh, then looks towards the man. He realizes that the man is now lying on the ground, and he gets out of the car and stares once again.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Phil calls out to the man, who doesn't answer or even appear to move. Phil starts walking towards him. "Excuse me! Are you alright?"

The man has landed on his back, lots of blood is underneath the back of his head.

Some time later, John has gone to the crime scene where Phil found the man in the red jacket's body. I stick around the flat with Sherlock, who walks into the kitchen...

Wearing nothing but a sheet wrapped around him.

"Oh Christ..." I mutter, putting a hand to my forehead and looking down. "You have a billion coats and scarves and pants and you wear a sheet."

"Sorry, what did you say?"

I look up at him and see him yawn. He looks back at me. "Nothing." I reply.

He narrows his eyes for a moment before turning to the open computer laying on the kitchen table in front of him.

"You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?" John asks over skype on the computer.

Sherlock picks up a mug of tea from the side table. "It's okay, I'm fine." He says as he picks up the laptop and looks into the screen as he carries it into the living room.

"I didn't really mean for you." John says.

"Look, this is a six." Sherlock says, sitting down at the table in the living room and setting the laptop on the table.

The doorbell rings but Sherlock just ignores it.

"Should I get that?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "No, check this out." He says. "There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass."

I get out of Sherlock's chair, walk over to him, and sit next to him as John points the camera on his laptop towards the grass at the edge of the stream.

"When did we agree that?" He asks.

"We agreed it yesterday. Stop!" Sherlock leans closer to the screen and appears to be looking at the mud on the ground. "Closer."